#I hacked my own ao3

[neon-danger]

Successfully got into my account

Still pretty sussed out tho

[pia-writes-things]

Wtf, I think someone hacked my AO3 account ? There's a bunch of fic in my history and marked for later list that I've never seen in my life, nor for fandoms I'm in ?

[zee-aka-pretty]

I understand that each person has their own different way to filter through Ao3, but as reader, this is why whenever I delve into a new fandom or a pairing or a tag etc, I tend to filter it through the number kudos and read through all tags and summaries of the first 40-60 fics and choose out of them. (At first.)

I understand that this means I might miss recently updated/created well-written fics, and as prev pointed out, a fic being popular doesn't necessarily mean I would like it.

However, this is why you read the tags and the summary of the fic before you delve into it. And, if I like the author's writing style, their interpretation of the characters, the world building, etc..,

I check other works by the same author in the same fandom.

(If by any chance they've written for another fandom which I'm in, but currently not in the mood to read? mark it for later.)

This might come off as stalking, but your bookmarks are usually public. I do not know if there's any way to make it private on Ao3. If there is, I've not come across it so far.

So usually if I like an author's works but they've only got like, 3-4 works in that fandom which I'm reading? I check their bookmarks in the same fandom.

Also, If an author has moved on from a fandom/ put a work on hiatus/ incomplete for awhile, for the love of all things fluffy. Do Not Go Into That Author's Most Recent Work and Comment On It! Especially If It's In A Different Fandom!

It doesn't Motivate authors when you go into their other works and ask why their previous work is still not updated. I subscribe or bookmark, leave kudos, then a comment saying I loved it, and move on like described above, hoping I would find equally quality content to what that author was creating.

Sorry for the derailed rambling.

Alright, to ao3's soon to be arriving Wattpad Refugees, a basic guide to general user culture:

1.) Unlike Wattpads vote system that let's you like each chapter, the ao3 equivalent kudos only allows one per work. Everyone is generally quietly annoyed about this. To engage with each chapter, you're heavily encouraged to comment. Trust me, it makes people's day.

2.) Ao3 has no algorithm. By default it's latest updated work first. You can find things to your taste through searches, filters and tags.

3.) 'No archive warnings apply' and 'user has chosen not to use archive warnings' mean two very different things. No archives warnings means the work is free from any content that could require a warning tag (character death, graphic depictions of violence, non-con, etc). User has chosen not to use archive warnings means it could contain any of the warning content, be it hasn't been explicitly tagged. Treat it like an allergen. No archive warnings apply is allergen free. User has chosen not to use archive warnings, may contain traces or whole chunks of the allergen. If you're likely to have a bad reaction, maybe don't take the risk.

4.) Speaking of warnings, ao3 has very few restrictions on the type of work that's allowed. Whatever your personal thoughts or feelings on that are, thats how the site is. You're likely to run across some dark subject matters and a lot of people are uncomfortable with reading that. You're well within your rights not like these works and have your opinion on whether they should be allowed, but harassing the authors of such works (or any works) is more likely to come back on you than them. Ao3 operates on a strong policy of 'don't like, don't read'. Use the tagging system to your full advantage to only engage with the kind of works you want to see.

We look forward to welcoming you all and seeing the fantastic works you create. Happy writing!

[court-jobi]

When Asking Feels Right

((banner by me! I don't own Horikoshi's work/art))

Pairing: Midoriya x reader (fem!reader is an active pro-hero)

Words: 3.6K

Rating: T+

Warnings: canon-typical injuries, love confessions, mentions of intimacy, talk of marriage, BIG FEELINGS, light injury aftercare, language, because Katsuki Bakugou knows no other way

Summary:

You know Izuku loves you, and proudly tells anyone within earshot just how much he adores his darling pro-hero. But it's not until a close call that 'Kacchan' convinces you just how much the nerd means it. Making you pull yourself together for the sake of his best friend solidifies the fact that you are the love of Izuku Midoriya's life, and he's damn well sure gonna keep you alive to do something with that information. Bakugou might be barking at you gruff as always as he's trying to keep you conscious, but when he says it like he means it, you pay attention.

A/N: Ok yall's love for Let's Heal Each Other has really surprised me, thank you so much! Here's more of our favorite boy, feat Bakugou in full guard dog mode

For my My Hero Academia Masterlist, check it out here!

Read on AO3

“OI, WATCH YOUR TEN!”

Forced to the ground hard, you’re dazed– but not totally crushed. 

There’s a host of noise around you that grates on your senses: groans of steel supports, concrete and drywall crumbling in batches around you; it's now just a slow burn of collapsing chaos. But considering this portion of the building just fell apart not three feet from where you were once standing, you consider this a blessing. You’d deal with a sore hip than be dead. 

One thing you didn’t know was who did the saving of your ass, until you try to turn around and another support starts falling off in chunks–

“STAY DOWN, ALREADY–” a firm, hot hand cushions the back of your head from smacking the ground needlessly, but he’s not exactly gentle about it.

Dynamight?.. Bakugou– or ‘Kacchan’ as you hear him called at home– he’s– the one pulling a full body shield on you?

You cough from the debris and your ‘guardian angel’ makes sure to not press down on your back too much so you don’t feel smothered. With a gruff hand, he bats the air around your faces to will the dust away so you both can catch a breath. He hacks right along with you, he’s still human after all– but at least he does so from over your shoulder, a courtesy.

Soon enough, the shifting of earth and rock and damage settles, and Bakugou detaches himself from the kneel over you and lifts you up from under your arms to get you to a sitting position at the only remaining wall he deemed supportive enough.

You are equal parts amazed and confused watching the agency hothead acting like the most dashing hero you’ve ever seen, and you're lowkey shook that this attention is being put on you  when he presses you back and crouches back to your level with a guarded eye. 

"You ok?"

"Nngyeah?"

"You hurtin’?"

"Ouch. Nah, just my head a little-- OOF–”

Bakugou’s looking you over with a hard hand on your jaw, peeling aside your hair not too gracefully with tough, padded gloves, fussing over you with a concerned scowl.

 “-BAKugOU!"

The pieces click together a moment too late: you'd blurted at him right as you realize why he’s looking at you like this, so intently– you're bleeding from the head.

"A fucking head wound isn't a LITTLE PROBLEM, DUMBASS- /Oi, I need a med evac at the old Sorgan hospital! Look for the smoke on the southside, that’s where we fuckin’ are–/ FUCK, he's gonna KILL ME for this!!"

You bawk at the way he looks– nervous.

Your teammate's concerned as most coworkers at your agency would be, but for the chilliest of your pals, he’s looking uncharacteristically wild about it… like he seems inclined to punch you for it if you were only in better shape. Instead, Bakugou just picks you up and sets you on some slanted rubble to get you sitting higher. While your head bobs at a lag, you watch as he’s rummaging in his waistline's pockets for that dry cloth he's supposed to keep better accessible for first aid.

"YOU DAMN IDIOT,” Bakugou gripes not too angrily, “You’re NO BETTER than he is, jumpin’ into shit--HOLD THIS–"

You're starting to worry why he's so mad. It’s not like your quirk can directly correlate to the building falling via explosives; that’s his department. You followed your path to an opening of the building altogether as directed. In the mess of it all, you had to get creative with your exit strategy which did put you at a disadvantage, but it all had worked out even after facing off with the last batch of villains before the entire wing came tumbling down.

You honestly thought he was just being heroic and appreciated him literally keeping you from being crushed- only now as you want to thank him, you're sure it would fall on deaf ears. He must be angry that you were there in the first place for him to have to tend to now.

 "I-- that could have been really bad, I guess-"

"You 'GUESS'?" Bakugou's tone demands that you look him in the eye while he talks to you, right as he's staring you down incredulously, "Yeah, I saved your damn ass from getting CRUSHED, - and it's on MY HEAD if something happens to you while you're on my watch!!"

You feel sarcastic, "Well, thanks a lot, m’sorry for the inconvenience. Wassn’t my fault for the building though…”

He swishes a bit of remaining water on the cloth and jerks your head to the other way, ensuring the other scratches aren’t actively sporting fresh blood. “Tch, well running towards the sound was a pretty DUMBASS move!! Don’t know where you got that from!!”

“I can’think a few heroes who migh’...”

“Yeah, DEAD heroes!!”

Sheesh, nothing will please him when he gets like this. You tried for a last stretch of sympathy behind a pounding headache, “Well, m’sure Deku will appreciate you keepin’ me alive, so m’tryna say thanks."

"Yeah he damn well better, if he doesn’t wreck m- HEH??! SIT. THE HELL. DOWN!!"

At your try to stand up and join him in getting out of the alcove, you squatted back,

"What?!"

Bakugou pushes up his facemask more like a headband so you have no choice but to see him clearly. He smooshes your face in his palms- risky, given he's fully sweaty and the smell would be enough to turn you away-- but the way his hands are shaking forces you to stay still and pay attention.

"YOU are the love of his life, dumbass,” Bakugou threatens seriously. “You're the sparkle in his eye and you are damn good for him, so I'm sure as hell gonna make sure nothing happens to you if I can help it-- and you runnin' around with a concussion ain't making my job easier. So SIT. down."

You don’t blink or breathe.

"-I’m sat."

He fixes you a challenging look, then lets go of you to get a better view of the street to check on the ambulance.

He's protective. Because he's loyal to Izuku, he's loyal to you.

But you’re still stunned on what he said- like it was God’s honest truth and an immovable fact.

Pressing down on the tight space at the base of your sternum, you feel for something past your suit’s seam. "Did he say that?"

"Say what?" Bakugou shouts back tirelessly from the hole he’d opened for ventilation; you imagine he may not be hearing so well after this fight. Despite how cheesy it sounds coming out of you, you clarify with a hand to the gauze up against your head,

"-me being that? For him?"

Bakugou scoffs with a smirk, "Only reminds me every damn day I see him."

You can see it, after all. It happens with enough frequency that you know the two talk even before starting patrol with you. The routine of Midoriya meeting up with Bakugou like how you imagine they did in their school days: your adoring boyfriend sharing news of his curriculum workload in earnest, and retorting to his best friend’s loudmouth brand of bragging about his villain count for the week, followed by turning the tables back to Izuku and asking for the nerd’s professional opinion about his performance- and what he thinks he should be strengthening. 

It makes perfect sense that you should come up in conversations, but to know now that Izuku speaks of you in this way? Past the usual lovey-dovey pleasantries Bakugou usually gags at? It should have made you happy, but given the pulse in your throat and the general ache radiating from your -everywhere-, you sniffle– Your concern weighs you to your seat now that you probably have Izuku worried sick. If he’s glued to the news for televised coverage on missions that he knows you’re working on, he would have seen this whole ordeal in real time. 

And in the entire time you’ve dated Izuku, the whole relationship where you’ve stayed in sync with each other despite working in entirely different fields (namely you remaining in the clearly more dangerous one), Izuku never once discouraged you. 

-Never asked you to scale back or retire for the sake of his fears over you. 

-Never asked you to do anything other than ‘be as safe as you can, and do your best to come back to me’. 

He believes you were a hero- just as you believed he was, too. But God, if it didn’t kill you inside to think of breaking his heart over and over as he sat on his break room couch watching close calls. 

You know had he been here on duty instead of Dynamight, your sweet Deku would have been the one here trying to lift you up and perhaps put your worries at ease getting the chance to help you and see you through to safety. But Katsuki Bakugou is hardly that touchy-feely, so having to come up with a pep talk to yourself is hard.

"Oi-"

You toughen up to look back at him, but get a softer response than before.

"You're gonna be ok. I got your back, didn't I?"

You nod.

"I will, y'know. Have your back. Just don't make it difficult."

You nod again, about to cry.

Bakugou rolls his eyes, shaking it off and catching sight of the blue and red lights before he fully hears them. "You, with the waterworks too? Match made in heaven, I swear to GOD."

That night, you are hardly in any shape to drive yourself home and a bit too unsteady to even wrangle with public transit, so naturally you ask Izuku to come get you. With a faithful grin, he looks incredibly happy to see you in the agency lobby- if distracted momentarily by your expertly wrapped head and script bag in hand.

When you meet downstairs, you reign in your immediate reaction to seeing him like you normally would. It's busy tonight- teeming with interns, a changing out of a few vending machines, and a friendly spat between two other sidekicks is happening not far from the evelator you just stepped from. 

The building’s deceptively cheery security officer sees you coming, and shares to your boyfriend that he is going to put on a podcast, taking a moment to fiddle with putting his earbuds in and ‘conveniently’ switch over to his shades against the setting sun, which allowed you the sneaky propriety to fully hug Izuku, as quick and tight as you could before getting in the car. 

Talk in the car consisted of the usual after missions, which felt familiar and good. Obviously your darling didn’t hide his concern, but between your assurances were legitimate questions about how the villains were apprehended, what he’d watched, and the interest he gave in what the news didn’t cover- like asking more about your civilian recovery efforts and compliments about how many were saved today. This kind of cool down genuinely helped you leave work at work, and you appreciated that so much. It was a short drive, which you spent mostly holding Izuku’s hand in both of yours and receiving little kisses on that hand at stoplights. 

You walked arm in arm with him up to the second landing of your apartment, with him finally running through the more caring questions of ‘does it hurt to climb?’ ‘Throbbing or dull pain?’ ‘Are you hungry, or are the meds making you feel sick?’ 

You knew he’d be clingy and honestly needed that constancy after such an explosive afternoon. He was insistent on taking off your coat and getting your laces off with minimal effort from you, which you adored on any old regular day– but the waterworks came flooding back so hard while watching Izuku on his heels taking care of you that you stopped him altogether.

"-I remember the concussions Denki would have after going too hard with his quirk, too- ‘Chargebolt’, I think you’ve met. ‘Course, I think it affected his nervous system more than anything else-- w' h-honey? Are you crying?"

"Please just get up here~"

You hugged him tight the second he rose to full height,

"Oh sweetheart," Izuku petted your hair as you muted your cries, "Sweetheart it's ok, you're ok."

"I love y’so much..." you eeked out from a tight throat.

The eyes unseen over your shoulder stung at your words, but squeezed in just as tight there in the foyer.

"I love you too, honey. So, so much." Izuku kept you close and just rocked you in place to ground you, "Were you scared today?"

You nodded.

"I'm sure it was scary. Would have scared me too, being caught in the middle of all that," Izuku cooed over your shoulder. "Y'know it's okay to let it rattle you sometimes. That's why we're all here to support you. Help you bounce back."

//I have your back// Bakugou’s words hit you again in a wave. 

"It.. would have landed on me. I was right in the impact zone, when the southwest end came down," you sunk into Izuku’s neck at the memory, "...Bakugou got to me first. I wouldn'tve gotten out without him."

Izuku breathed out, touched beyond measure. “...he did?...”

"H'yelled at me for being stupid," you chuckled mirthlessly, "but he said some things. Really big things. And I'm just so sorry it happened at all! I don't wanna worry you when I’m out there!"

As you rushed through the emotions; not just of this fight, but filled to the brim and spilling over with other close calls like it. Izuku had a hard time understanding what was said that upset you, and just held you through it.

"C’mon, let's sit you down," Izuku picked you up like the koala you were and took you over to your couch, sitting with you perched in his arms. 

No longer surprised at the incredible strength he still carried -being able to pick you up like your dead weight was nothing- you sunk into his safety, solace found in his pressed shirt collar.

Your apologies turned into cries within a few minutes of settling in. 

The poor man's heart broke all over again, holding you tightly through your sobs, and hushing you through them. The crying was only going to make your headache worse. He knows this from experience, unfortunately… so even though he usually encouraged you to ‘feel your feelings to the fullest’, he did make an attempt to still you this time. Izuku pressed kisses to your warm forehead.

"Honey, easy, honey... what big things did Kacchan say?" 

//you're his spark//

//you're just like the damn nerd//

//match made in heaven//

//you're damn good for him//

"Tha-That I was... the love of- your life?"

Unseen, Izuku's sights widened. But had you been watching him and not hiding in his complete, cozying embrace, you would have seen the proudest look of love lifting those cheeks of his. How he smiled despite the concern he held for you in this moment, and took a grand look around the room - at the life you were tending to and nurturing together with fondness.

"You are the love of my life," Izuku assured you gently with the sweet coupling of your name, "Have I never told you that?"

Shown, certainly, but never told so beautifully. And to have come from Bakugou’s harsh lips of all people, the revelation was jarring in more ways than one.

You whispered 'no', but didn't let go for the life of you. Wouldn't ever let go of this darling man if he’d allow you to stay.

"-M'ere, look at me. Just for a minute, look here~"

You pressed back from his hold with unwilling muscles, only to be cradled in his hands. Green eyes full of tears looked back at you but with a full, strong smile forcing bravery forward.

"You -my sweetest girl- are the love of my life. I love who you are now, and who you're going to be forty, fifty, sixty years from now,” he pet your hair back and away with a little shaky nod, “and yeah- I might lose my lunch every now and then watching you out there…”

You sniffled again, baffled at how telling you all this could possibly be making him chuckle through his words–

“--but I can’t even begin to tell you how many times I’ve watched the same tv screen and been so insanely proud of you! To watch you go out there and win, and shine, and– I can stomach all that fear. I can do that. Because I know you and I believe in you! And I am so thankful that I happen to know the heroes you do this hard work with can help take care of you and have your back. That’s what it’s all about- doing it together.”

You hang on Izuku’s every word of affirmation. It’s the language he’s best in, no matter the subject. Thankfully, right now, he's set on putting you back on solid heartground- assuring you of everything you doubt about yourself. Your power, your inspiration, all of it.

“You’re saving people- helping those who can't do it themselves, and you do it so well, love. These scary things happen… but honestly? It only makes me love you more for facing it like you do. And getting up the next day, and watching you come at it again.”

You keen under his full attention. The praise and love he’s washing you with is so earnest and filled with pride, it kills you to ever have obligations elsewhere in the world outside of his company.

Surely you can just stay supple in his arms for eternity and no one would miss you. 

“So you don’t need to be out there worried about what I’m thinking of you,” Izuku worked on wiping your blurry tears, “because I’m going to double down on replacing those worries in your head. I’m going to remind you every day of it. You’re never going to not have me in your corner, because you are the love of my life.”

Soothed and emotional in an entirely different vein, you nod you head back with a firm, brave smile of you own, before gingerly pulling him close for a little forehead touch, a well-earned kiss, and another hug latched around his shoulders. 

Izuku tended to you after your hero work in a number of ways, depending on what you've weathered that day: from taking off your shoes, cooking you a meal, holding you soft and sweet against his body on the sofa like this, or even helping you burn off any excess steam on the particular amorous nights where you just feel too alive to not show him exactly what your primary reason for fighting is. 

To protect him. To protect everyone you love and care for. Making your family proud both here and heavenward, and proving to yourself that you can do the hard things. Having a partner to support you in this work is an invaluable bolster in your life, and you feel it in every swipe of his hands up and down your back in this exact moment. 

His touch assures you just as much as it comforts him. Tells you how much you're appreciated and welcomed when you reach the end of the day like it soothes him to have you safely off the streets. You also know that any tear-filled nights on his end come from a place of complete affection and commitment and you don't really care how much Bakugou or any of your other workmates might tease you for being soft right along with ‘the damn nerd’. 

He's your damn nerd. The one you come home to and plan to spend the rest of the evening tending to your headache and scratchy throat and whatever other hurts have trickled out from your tough shell. 

From about your fifth date on, you'd felt in your gut that ‘Midoriya’ was likely going to be the name you'd be filling out as your emergency contact for life, so you started doing so on your contract renewals. That probably proved he was the love of your life, too, even if you didn't say so outright. 

Content to hold you forever, Izuku still asked of you gently, 

“Poor thing, you gotta be exhausted. I know you showered, but would you like a bath to let the steam help?” He kissed your nearby shoulder within reach, “It'll help the drainage go away.”

That sounded amazing and all but guaranteed he'd like to stay as close to you as possible. You hummed in the affirmative, close to bursting. 

“Good. We’ll get that started, whenever you're ready. Anything my brave girl wants.”

There's truly only one thought on your mind- the insistent proof of it lies hidden beneath your sweater neckline, slid onto a long silver necklace:

A ring sized for Izuku is something you've worn every patrol for a couple months now, and is practically burning as you adjust your seat on his lap to find his face. 

You're fishing past your collar uncomfortably, looking for the damn thing tangled with your agency lanyard, but dead set that you can't go on without him wearing it.

“Hm? I'm here, hon’, what do you need?-- what's-… Baby. Oh baby, what's that...?”

You hold the ring still looped on the chain, lifted for him to see between fingers that don't shake anymore. Firm and steady. Because he's loved you so well and so thoroughly tonight and every night, it's the easiest thing to ask the stunned, gorgeous man beneath you,

“Marry me.”

[slytherizz]

Fight or Flight - Sebastian Sallow/F!MC

Summary: Sometimes sleeping dogs don't lie.

Two years after his uncles death and with Anne missing the last remaining Auror who scents deception requests a testimony from the only person witness to what really happened between Sebastian and Solomon in the catacombs that day. In a bid to protect those memories and keep him out of Azkaban their marriage is arranged - A marriage Sebastian is hell bent on putting a stop to.

Word count: 15,000 (remember when I said I’d keep it under 10k)

Tags/Warnings: Arranged Marriage, 18+, Explicit Sexual Content, Smut, Angst, Masturbation, First Time

Link: You can find the complete fic on Ao3.

A/N: Sebastian ‘my wife’ Sallow. To the anon who requested this, I’m sorry it’s so late but it was so much fun to write.

Sebastian is almost certain he’d been on the receiving end of a lethal confundus charm. Either that or he was at present suffering a massive life altering haemorrhage somewhere amongst the sun deceptively warming his cheeks and the familiar groan of the dragon bones anchored above them, as it tilted its great head in greeting when they'd arrived in Hecate's office. Full of mysterious tombs and the lingering scent of smoke. Ash trampled so tightly into the grooves in the floorboards he doubted even the house elves could scour out the smell. 

He’d gotten too comfortable. No. Down right complacent as of late and now his psyche in a riotous act of self-preservation was giving him a blistering slap back into reality. 

Pull yourself together. 

Sebastian dug his nails into the soft flesh of his palm. He hissed at the sharp pain as he broke the skin. Felt the blood prickle hot against his sweat slicked palms as it beaded along the thin superficial wound. Uncomfortable. Stinging. And far, far too real. 

“What-?” he managed to croak around a lump in his throat. Praying to Merlin that if this wasn’t a dream it was some elaborate and albeit cruel practical joke. 

“Spousal Privileges,” Hecat repeated. Matter of fact. Her features were drawn and to his dismay betraying no hint of amusement. 

Sebastian choked violently on his own saliva. A hacked cough, raw against his throat. As if the wind had been knocked out of him by a patient and vindictive phantom.

“What this means is you couldn’t be forced to give a testimony or surrender any memories pertaining to anything to do with Mr Sallow. With his sister still missing, the only people who know what really happened in that catacomb are the two of you. If you can’t be forced to corroborate this theory that has been gaining traction at the Ministry that’s the way it stays,” his professor continued to address the witch beside him, unmoved by the blood draining rapidly from his face. 

Her eyes were fixed intently on Hecat, chin raised as she refused to meet Sebastian’s increasingly panicked eye. He shifted in his seat towards her. Turning rapidly back and forth between her and their professor. 

Waiting. A heartbeat and then more passed. Mounting up until it became a deafening drum in his ears. 

He wanted her to laugh. Let it loose. Burst the dangerous tension mounting with every second this insanity stretched on for. Most pathetically of all - he wanted her to save him. Wanted to watch her face crease with laughter at the absurdity of what Hecat was saying. Cling to some sense of normalcy, her stability by his side whilst the rest of him was spiralling out of control.

She was uncharacteristically still in her chair. As frozen as the statue of the mourning lover in the courtyard. Her fist clenched so tightly in the pleats of her skirt her knuckles blanched. A half finished braid she’d been fiddling with behind her ear hung abandoned. Not a shadow of humour remaining. 

“Why now? It’s been years since…”  she asked, with a more measured tone Sebastian felt the situation did not warrant.

She spared him a glance which did little to put him at ease. If anything the serious crease to her brow set him on a razor's edge. 

Sebastian was unravelling. The thread he’d used to stitch back together a semblance of a life was pulling apart at an alarming rate. And the only two people who had any hope of holding him back together were entertaining this insanity. 

“Some of Miss Sallow’s effects were uncovered at the former Feldcroft residence. It seems no one had tended to the home since your Uncle passed…unexpectedly. My contact at the Ministry informs me that there's only one Auror pushing for those memories. Sergeant Tuttle. Old guard. Worked closely with your uncle when they were both juniors in the department. The rest are happy to let Solomon’s memory remain as it has been for the past two years - the heroic final act protecting his young charges from a horde of uncontrollable inferi,” she paused and Sebastian felt the weight of every word. “Personally I am inclined to agree.”

Hecate’s already thin lips pulled so tight they almost entirely disappeared. Her inscrutable brown eyes peeling back the curtain seeing far beyond the truth to the crux of him. Weighing his mettle. And he wasn’t sure she’d be impressed at what she found. 

Because what he was - was careless. Sebastian supposed he could argue that his distress over losing his sister had made it too painful to return. Knowing Anne was not there, Feldcroft seemed rather pointless. 

But really all he’d been was too eager to turn his back on that hovel that had never been his home. Ivy grew thick over its stones and he hoped one day it would pull it down entirely. No one had touched the wards in over a year. Perhaps when he’d boxed up his feelings and shoved them away in his desperation to move past what he had done, he didn’t consider the possibility that there were others out there who, unlike him, may not want to move on so hastily from Solomon's death. 

Anne certainly hadn’t. 

“With you two being so close, this is the cleanest option-” Hecate continued. 

“I don’t bloody care about clean!” Sebastian broke from his stupor. Fist slamming on the table rattling the spoon from where it rested against his saucer. “Tell me the other options. I don’t care how messy they are. I’ll do them.”

“Perhaps I should rephrase,” Hecat said sharply. “This is your only option. And you’d do well not to leap to such dramatics if you want this to work, Mr Sallow. In particular I’d advise against taking such a tone with me.” 

Sebastian didn’t care. He’d already geared up to argue back against this preposterous idea when the statue of the witch beside him suddenly came to life. As if Pygmalion himself had loved her into life just to spite Sebastian. 

“We’ll do it,” she said firmly. 

Sebastian choked again, head snapping to look at her. “You can’t be serious!” 

She simply glared back at him, as if he wasn’t the only reasonable person left in the room. “I’ve kept you out of Azkaban this long-“

Their professor cleared her throat, having little patience for the squabblings of teenagers that was beginning to unfold in her office. It set Sebastian even more on edge. She’d thrown a bomb into their lives and was now regarding him as some petulant child causing a scene. As if instead while he was scrambling to hold it together she expected him to thank her for it. 

“I’d choose your words more carefully in front of an audience but I admire the passion. If you want this to succeed you’ll have to make them believe this. Believe you. You can’t cast any doubt on the reason for any of it. A young couple, so in love they simply cannot wait to be married.”

***

It was like taking a match to a forest doused in kerosine. How quickly word could spread overnight when students kept such close quarters and they were eager for anything to save them from revision. Whispers billowed up from steeped mugs. Steam laced with secrets curled around their lips. Huddled so tightly together they looked like hydras. Each set of eyes alight with amusement. Teeth bared ready to feast on their speculation. 

From the moment Sebastian had stepped into the Great Hall he’d felt it. The oppressive shift to the atmosphere that usually welcomed him each morning. Clouds dark, heavy with the foreboding rain swirled on the enchanted sky. At least it was fitting.

Instinctively he sought her out. Looked for hers amongst the hundreds of eyes turned towards him. Which he pointedly ignored instead following the remaining half who stole glances towards her. 

Blue. Green. Brown. Shifted between them assessing to see what they might do. 

She was boxed into the middle of the table by Onai and Sweeting with Reyes taking up the spot across from them. A vicious hound guarding her flock ensured even the most brazen little wretch who considered interrupting would think twice - give her wrath a wide berth. 

Reyes to her credit - snarling banshee that she was - looked as deeply horrified by the pathetic silver band on her friend's finger as Sebastian felt it deserved. 

They’d transfigured it hastily from a pair of silver spectacles once they’d stumbled out of Hecat’s office the previous evening. One she kept in an odd tangle of items in her satchel and the rushed magic had already begun to tarnish its appearance. It was a wonder anyone actually believed them with how dull and thoughtless it looked sitting on her hand. 

If her smile wasn’t so tight, or her laugh a little too airy she would be executing Hecat’s ludicrous scheme to perfection. 

Sebastian swallowed around the lump in his throat and sheepishly changed course. Rerouted himself away from the group of witches throwing his bag down on the bench and slumping into a seat at the Slytherin table. Which seemed to delight some of the onlookers. Clearly humiliation was a good seasoning for eggs, he thought as he poured himself a cup of tea from the pot and took out his potions essay in an attempt to look busy enough no one would suspect exactly why he was sitting alone. Or worse, try and talk to him. Not that they would dare when his face looked as thunderous as the sky overhead. It didn't, however, stop him from overhearing their animated gossiping. 

‘Do you think she’s…you know?’ 

‘Obviously! Who in their right mind gets married a month before they leave school? Clearly they’re in a rush before she starts to y’know...’ one girl smirked with an exaggerated flourish over her stomach.

Sebastian shot a glare across to the gaggle of Ravenclaw’s in the year below. Who giggled even more loudly when they caught his eye, one turning pink from the tips of her ears to well past the neckline of her jumper. Sebastian on the other hand felt like someone had doused him in a bucket of water from the lake. 

If Reyes didn’t skin him for the insulting piece of jewellery she certainly would if she suspected he’d gotten her favourite flying partner up the kyte. 

Sebastian tried to focus on his potions essay. List even a single ingredient of ‘Felix Felicis’ which was proving to be impossible when behind him a brazen fourth year proclaimed and loudly he’d caught them sequestered away between the stacks of the restricted section - her body bent over a desk. Sebastian’s grip on the quill tensed as he strained himself to write the differing effects between wyrm and dragon scale on a potion - and not a very vivid description of what he apparently looked like on his knees buried between her thighs. Ink blotted on the parchment. 

Sod Hecat on ‘selling it’. Why did they need to go to such lengths when apparently every gossiping vulture was content to click their beak and do all the work for them? 

Surely Azkaban couldn’t be worse than this? 

Well, that was delusional - but if he overheard one more person comment on if her robes looked bigger he was more than likely going to do something that would get him thrown in Azkaban regardless. 

Sebastian had anticipated suspicion but he still wasn’t prepared for how much it would chafe. 

He knew if they were not at the centre of this farce, the two main players on the stage they would have jovially picked apart their performance too. She would have speculated over their sanity as she picked idly at her cauldron cake. Made some snide comment about being too eager to get his leg over. He’d bet her a galleon they’d see the proof in nine months and she would have snorted, undignified unladylike into her pumpkin juice. 

Being the subject of this speculation however was mortifying. 

Would that be next? Bringing a child into the fucking mess he’d made just to cover his own back? If the thought of dragging her into a marriage him feel ill it paled in comparison to the feeling of crippling dread that conjured. 

But would she want that one day? In a young witch's sacrifice to keep him had she truly considered all the things she was giving up in his stead. Things she may not know she even wanted until the opportunity had already been bartered and sold off for the price of his freedom. What kind of man was he to take the hope of any kind of family from someone who already had none to show for it? Take away the chance for someone to love her. 

Or maybe she never intended to give up on that particular dream. And Sebastian would be expected to play his part - the cuckolded husband. 

Work late until the candles burned down to the wick to give her lover time to retreat. Share her with one; or with many. 

Vow now to never let her go without. 

Even go as far as to raise her children as his own. Glamour their cheeks with foreign freckles he’d wish were inherited. Brand them with the Sallow name with ink on thin parchment but not their blood; their ties to him just as flimsy and performative as hers.

Her easy smile as she lathered honey onto her toast set his teeth on edge. Sebastian felt in that moment like he never really knew her at all. Head pounding Sebastian stuffed his ink pot and notes back into his bag. Abandoned his breakfast in a rush to get out of the stifling hall. Away from the whispers that he knew would also be deafening in her ears. Perhaps even more so.

‘I didn’t even know they were courting. It’s a shame he’s off the market.’

‘Here’s the thing - I don’t think they were. Clearly, he’s marrying her to do the right thing. Now that she’s trapped him with a baby.’

She caught his eye, her eyebrows stitched together in concern but it did not offset the rigid lock of her furious ticking jaw. Teeth set, clamped together as if Hecat had clamped a muzzle on a fucking dragon and then handed her chains to Sebastian. 

Shamefully, he couldn’t bring himself to hold her gaze. Couldn’t even bear to face her in that moment despite knowing he was the reason she had to listen to these lies spread. He should tell her he was sorry. But instead he fled. 

Complete fic can be found on Ao3.

[brucewaynehater101]

Didn't know who else to send this to, so suffer my brain rot, I guess ♡

Anyway I've been on a fake powers!Tim kick and just the idea of fake psychic/medium!Tim looking unrevealed!hood-jason in the helmet and telling him he'd personally fist fight the crime lords personal demons. Jason is just "child no???? Also how would you manage that??"

Turns out that second question really should have stayed inside the head because Tim just smiled serenely, and 2 hours later, the Joker had been brutally assaulted.

Also, Tim did this as Tim, not as Robin. Jason is now reevaluating litterally everything he was told about this prissy rich kid

Fudge. I love a good fake psychic!Tim AU.

Let's see... as far as fics, obviously we've got to recommend "cards on the table" by wesslan. It's a good Tim joins batfam late au.

Shit... There's another really good one where Tim pretends to be a psychic because he can't otherwise explain how he knows who the Bats are (he's afraid of going to jail or something). They even "train" his powers, lmao. I can't find it, though :(

EDIT: "psych you out" by lukewarmbeefstew. It's locked so you'll need an AO3 account

Anyways! Two AUs inspired by this idea:

First one: Psych inspired AU - Tim, instead of becoming the third Robin, opens up his own psychic detective agency. He utilizes his stalking, hacking, and sneaking skills to gain information on people and pretends all of this "came to him in a vision." He starts this agency a little before Jason dies. Therefore, Jason uses his services to find more info about his bio mom (cause he doesn't want Bruce to find out anything and the agency promises secrecy). Tim finds out all the crimes Shelia committed, passes that info to Jason, and unknowingly prevents his death. Jason and Bruce still have a falling out, but Jason just moves in with Dick instead. The Bats are trying to prove that he's lying about his capabilities, but they can't quite catch him yet.

Second one: Tim, as the Dick Grayson fan he is, doesn't want to implicate Dick by admitting that his Robin gave away their identities to nine year old Tim Drake. Therefore, he knocks on Bruce Wayne's door and tells him that his "vibes are rancid" and Tim's there to fix em. Tim ends up becoming Robin and spends the majority of his career ensuring anyone who can give away his non-psych status (e.g. Martian Manhunter, Raven, etc.) are not in the same room with Tim and a Bat. He also has to go out of his way to procure information via stalking without the Bats somehow figuring it out.

The second one fits the ask better! Tim in that one is unhinged and has a habit of speaking in what he calls his psychic mannerisms. He has to sound all mysterious and mystic and shit to sell the act, but he also ends up being blunt as hell. This is how he ends up telling Bruce that his aura is "like a kicked puppy Bat dipped in angst glitter sauce." No, he does not elaborate.

[gwensy]

sigh. ok back to it

i need to shower and wash my face but of course the ginger

[covetyou]

any other week

ao3 ⋆ main masterlist ⋆ series masterlist

pairing: Dieter Bravo & gn!reader rating: Teen (18+ only blog!) warnings: sickfic. no smut or nudity (shocking, I know). sickness (no vomitting) and associated gross feelings and metaphors. fluff. word count: 2.3k summary: You're sick. That much is obvious. Even if the fact is you can't be sick. Not now. Not this week. Not when the only one around to look after you is the very person who pays you to look after him - Mr. Dieter Bravo.

A/N: if you hadn't heard, I have (had? I still feel shit but I'm technically negative and going to see Taylor Swift tomorrow, wish me luck lol) covid, and it's kicked my ass, so I wrote the least appropriate man in the universe looking after someone. enjoy 💛

follow @covetedfics and turn notifications on for updates on future fics

"D-!"

You barely get out the first syllable of his name before you're hacking a cough, pressing your palms to your knees as you splutter, bent over in a silent prayer to whatever virus has your esophagus in a chokehold, willing it to please let go.

It's feeling benevolent today, you think, when the clenching grip around your throat gives way a moment later, letting you take in a few blissfully sharp, painful gasps of air again.

Not that the cough has really stopped. That's been a niggling tickle for days now, growing and growing into something bigger as your body has gradually lost the fight with whatever asshole thing has set up shop inside your sinuses. Still, it's eased off enough now for you to raise yourself on wobbly legs, chest heaving and your head too fuzzy to really take in the foyer of Dieter's home, or the man himself as he tentatively creeps down the stairs.

It was going to be a bitch of a week. The last week before Dieter head's off to shoot always was. Full of last minute meetings and prep, and Dieter being all too much of an asshole for you to want to deal with, and you being entirely too much of a cunt to him in return. The last thing you needed was to be sick.

Whatever plague had befallen you didn't seem to give a shit you were assistant to the Dieter Bravo, or that sorry, we're busy this week, can I pencil you in for September? You'd just have to deal, and suck it up, and hope to the end of the earth that you could stay far enough away from Dieter than you didn't get him sick too.

"You look like shit."

You almost jump out of your skin, a muffled voice echoing down at you from the top of the stairs as your eyes strain to focus and find the source of the voice. It sure sounds like Dieter, but you can't tell if it's the cotton wool stuffed inside your own head, or some weird voice he's putting on in preparation for his next role that's making him sound entirely off.

He's there, you're sure of it, your heart pounding in your chest as you wheeze and stare up at a Dieter shaped blur you're certain is wearing a balklava.

You cough again before you speak, your voice a weak rasp of what it usually is, razor blades slicing up your throat as you force the words out.

"Dee? I've got your mail, and those clothes from the designer, and -"

He's coming closer, taking the steps slowly, coming in to focus then wobbling back out of it as you blink rapidly at him and heave in another pained breath.

"You're sick."

Usually you'd argue with him. You take just about any opportunity to talk back to him, just like he does with you. It's how you work so well together. Even now, your head is indignantly saying no. You are not sick. You are perfectly fine and if he could just get off your ass, that'd be wonderful.

But, you are sick. That much is obvious. Even if the fact was, you couldn't be sick. Not now. Not this week.

"- your laundry -"

"You're sick."

Any argument is lost in your throat as another cough drags itself out of you, kicking and screaming, forcing you to hinge over again just to stop the force of it all from knocking you flat on your ass. Dieter is retreating up the stairs a little as you watch stars dance across your eyes with each forceful hack of air from your lungs, and even through the pain and lack of oxygen you can sense he feels uneasy about this, about you, and for the first time you think you may have made a mistake.

You shouldn't have come here.

You should have called, or sent a text, and worked from home where you could stay in bed, keeping your germs to yourself and away from him.

When your cough finally eases off again, your head pounding now and your throat burning more than it has in days, you lift yourself up, and admit defeat.

"Okay," you wheeze. "I'll go. I'm - fuck, sorry - I'll call you later. Let me know if you need anything."

Your head spins as you turn, and Dieter thunders down a few more steps before abruptly stopping as you hobble back to the door.

"No!" he shouts down the stairs the moment your hand touches the handle.

You look back at him confused, as he stands there, still keeping his distance, but reaching for you as if force of will alone could stop you in your tracks. And, in a way, it does. You turn to him, propping yourself up on the door, watching him as he tries not to recoil from you, especially now that he can see you up close.

You'd been pallid when you left the house. Now, you felt positively gray. Though you felt cold to the touch, your insides felt like you were roasting alive. No doubt, a few steps closer as he is, he can see the sweat beading on your forehead simply from the effort of keeping yourself standing there and not sliding down the door into a heap on the floor.

"You can't fuckin' drive in this state," he says, flapping his hands at you as his mind kicks into overdrive. "You're sick. You'll crash your fuckin' car. You need rest, and soup, and drugs - the good kind - and a doctor, I should call a doctor, you need to get better, you can't be sick, I can't - because I nee - lo- no!- care - " he stops himself, his mouth flapping as he stares and gesticulates in your general direction before letting his arms flop at his sides.

"I am not getting a new assistant," he settles with, hugging his arms tight around his body.

Before you can tell him he's stuck with you as his assistant whether he likes you or not, another cough beats its way out of your chest, and you slump against the door. Dieter is on you in a second, his balaklava'd face coming into view as he holds you gently by the shoulders as you splutter.

"You - you gotta get in bed. Now."

He's panicking, you know that much. He's never so much as seen you with a hangover, let alone seen you sick. So, you let him guide you upstairs, watching you with wild eyes through the balaklava as you wheeze at the stop of the staircase.

You let him pull you down the hallway, and push you into a spare room. You barely register his hands helping you peel away sweaty layer after sweaty layer of clothing until you're being guided into a soft bed, the sheets being pulled gently over you until you sink into the plush pillows and fall alseep before he's even left the room.

⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆

When you wake, some minutes or some hours later, you're not sure, it's to shuffling in the corner of the room. The handle of the door clicks before it slowly swings inward - that horror movie creak only playing in your head though fitting perfectly with the scene you're watching in front of you. When the door is half open, a shaggy head pokes around the frame, before shuffling in on croc covered feet, cardigan wrapped tightly around itself and mask replacing the balaklava he'd so hastily thrown on earlier.

"Dee?" you croak from the bed, failing to sit up as the weight of the blankets holds you down.

"Stay back," comes his muffled voice from beneath the mask as he shuffles in further. He walks to a dresser kept by the wall. There's nothing in it. There's nothing in this entire room except for empty furniture and blank walls. The only time it sees any action is after some of Dieter's more frivoulous parties, when one too many people can't make it home and need a place to crash. In essence, it's the spare room to the spare rooms spare room - not the guest room, or his room, or the room he'd designated as yours some years ago, that's down the hall next to his own, but the last of three rooms that sit empty nearly year round.

Dieter tugs on the dresser, his crocs gripping to the floor as he yanks it away from the wall and pushes it with a squeak all the way across the floor toward the side of the bed you're trapped in.

"Stay there," is all he says before he leaves you again, the giant piece of furniture slotted right up against the bedside. You couldn't move even if you wanted to, and now he's all but blocked in your easiest way of escape. You weren't going anywhere.

A moment later he's shuffling back in, a tray in his hands and what you think is an umbrella under his arm. He's staring carefully down at the tray - balance and dexterity having never been his strong suit - before placing it gently onto the dresser.

"Tea," he grunts, pointing to the tray, "that lemon ginger shit. Some other stuff too."

It's at the end of the dresser, beyond your feet, and not really of any use to you right now, but the sentiment is nice, especially coming from Dieter.

"Thanks, Dee."

He grunts again, shrugging his cardigan covered shoulders before taking the umbrella from under his arm and gently pushing the tray along the top of the dresser until it's within arms reach of you. When he's done, he nods to himself before backing out of the room, and closing the door. You hear the faint sounds of jesus fucking christ being muttered from the other side of the door as he walks away, no doubt to have a shower and rid himself of as many of your germs as he can before he goes about practicing lines and keeping himself busy.

That lemon ginger shit is smelling divine as you lay there, slowly peeling your arms out from the sweaty confines of the sheets. The soothing heat of it is just what you need - if you hadn't forced the stuff on him so many times in the past, you'd be stunned that he even thought of it himself.

Sitting up, an ache in your hips like no other, you groan and reach for the tea, taking a small burning mouthful, and swallowing it down with a gasp before taking another, then another, then another. The burn soothes the raw feeling in your throat, and when you can finally swallow a little more freely, if only for a second, you take a chance to look at the tray Dieter left with you.

Some other stuff, is an understatement.

There's bottled water, snacks undoubtedly taken directly from the stash you keep in his kitchen, plus a few of his own that he knows you steal when he's not looking. Then, there's what can only be described as a miniature pharmacy. Tissues, nasal sprays, throat lozenges, tylenol, cough syrup, and little packets of Liquid IV lined up on the tray for you to take your pick of.

It's exactly the kind of thing you've done for him countless times before when he's been holed up in bed, too sick or too hungover to deal with the world. Now, here he was doing it for you just as dutifuly as you ever had for him. He'd even gone as far to get dressed and leave the house, driving to a pharmacy just for you. You knew for a fact he didn't keep half of this stuff in the house, and neither did you.

Before you know it, your throat is constricting and your lip is wobbling, but another burst of pain rips its way through your chest as you cough again, and again, and again. Your eyes water, the tears forgotten, until the cough subsides. You'll cry later, when your throat hurts a little less and you have the energy. For now, you throw back some tylenol, finish your tea, and flop back down into the sheets, ready for sleep to take you once more.

Over the course of a few days, though you barely see his face again, you know he's been in to check on you by what he's left for you on the tray. A hot bowl of soup and soft bread. More tea. A bowl of yogurt and fruit when sunlight creeps through the cracks in the blinds. A stack of books. His iPad, loaded up with movies and TV shows that you're not sure were always on here, or if he downloaded them just for you. Fresh towels so you can take the most exhausting shower of your life, only to come back out to find underwear and one of Dieter's old worn movie tees waiting for you. Then there's more tea. More food.

He cares for you from a distance, day in day out, until your cough turns to a splutter, and you can breath a little deeper. And so can he.

Around the third day, when you're no longer coughing and feeling far more like yourself, but still too exhausted to do much of anything, you finally see Dieter's face again. He silently herds you into the room he calls yours, shuttering the windows as you crawl under the sheets, and curls into bed behind you.

"You smell different when you're sick," he mumbles into your neck. "Fuckin' hate it."

"Sorry," you whisper back to him in the dark. "I showered, but I -"

"No. You smell different. Sick different. Not gross different. Didn't smell like you."

Smiling into the dark, you let him snuggle into you as you drift off into the most restful sleep either of you have had in days.

tagging my Dieter beloveds: @schnarfer @missredherring @whatsnewalycat @sp00kymulderr @ozarkthedog

@ghotifishreads @rebel-held @amanitacowboy @readingiskeepingmegoing

[miss-celestia13]

Mask On

Jake x MC - Smut One-Shot

The lovely @hacked-by-jake asked if I could write a smut scene inspired by this meme. I said yes, it’s been a while, and it was a lot of fun; I missed writing smut 🤭 all credit to HBJ; I wrote it, but it was her meme that inspired me enough to do so!

It's sex against a window! So they can watch themselves. And Jake can enjoy the visual of MC coming apart for him while wearing his mask.

It’s also available on Ao3.

With that out the way, I hope you enjoy it 🥰

The MC here is my Manon from Marked Me Like a Bloodstain and other stories. But you don’t have to read those to be able to read this. This is more of an “in another life, we might’ve done this instead” type of thing. It doesn’t fit their current timeline and can be read as its own story.

It is a dual POV. The names are in bold when they change.

———————-

The elevator ascended in slow motion. Or felt that way to Manon. She was a ball of frenetic energy as she stole glimpses of Jake from her periphery and edged ever closer. He was remarkably tight-lipped despite the filth that spilled from his lips a mere 24 hours before they arrived.

They were rising to the top floor of a swanky apartment complex he’d brought her to from the airport. She’d known he had a base home hidden in the city and was aware he had money stashed in secret accounts and cash buried in multiple places in Duskwoods forest. However, upon seeing this fancy building, she realized he was wealthy as she caught sight of the formally dressed doorman who required ID on entry and observed the expensive marble floors, polished to a dazzling shine, as they walked over them.

A thousand questions swirled in her overactive mind, but she kept it all inside as the elevator came to a sharp stop. Jake turned to her, a bashful smile curling the corners of his full mouth.

“It’s been a while since I’ve been here. It might be a bit of a mess.” He said, sounding uncertain.

She sidled closer, slipping her hand into his to squeeze, and smirked as she replied, “After all we’ve been through, do you really think a little dust will frighten me?”

He chuckled, lovely and deep, and she fought off a shiver as he led the way out the open doors and into a red-carpeted hallway. The beat of her heart went out of time as they approached a black door, and Jake took out his keys. She let go of his hand and stepped back, pretending she didn’t notice how his hand shook as he turned the key.

An eardrum piercing, loud, robotic screech sliced through the peaceful quiet between them, and Jake hurried inside, beckoning her with a hand as he punched in the code to shut off the alarms.

“Well, that would wake the dead, never mind frighten off an intruder.” She joked to lighten the tension, settling on Jake’s shoulders as he loosed a sigh once the alarm silenced.

As he said, “I couldn’t let myself get caught unawares,” he reached up and scratched the back of his neck, continuing, “It had to be loud enough that I’d hear it through my headphones.”

She nodded as they kicked off their shoes, surveying the expansive apartment as Jake locked the door. Her eyes skipped the other closed doors she assumed led to his bedroom and the room she’d seen in their first video call. The sparsely furnished space held little personality; the most dominant feature was a massive dark couch by the floor-to-ceiling windows.

She suspected the stretched around the whole building.

“I’m guessing they treat those windows in a way that allows only you to see out and prevents anyone from looking in?” She asked when Jake seemed anxious about her thoughts on how he once lived.

He gave her a sly smirk and slid a hand around her waist to guide her into the living area before he spoke. She watched him in the window reflection.

“You guess right. I can’t have a drone appearing outside and catching sight of me.”

She wanted to cry for him, but knew he wouldn’t want her pity. Manon did what she did best—distracted him.

“And where do exhausted hackers sleep when they finally run out of caffeine?”

With a suggestive brow waggle, she turned to face him and grinned so extensively that she wouldn’t have been surprised if he could see her wisdom teeth.

Jake laughed, stepping closer and staring at her as he said, “We sleep wherever we fall. But I assume you’re looking to rummage through my bedroom. Unfortunately, you’ll be disappointed. There’s just a bed and a gun safe in there.”

“You really know how to get my blood going. Guns and a bed? What more could a girl want? Come on, show me!” She teased, grabbed his hand, and tugged until he allowed her to drag him behind her.

He laughed as she flung open the door and came to a stuttering halt.

“I warned you. I rarely used this room,” he said.

She cast her gaze around the ample space and shook her head. He hadn’t been lying. There was only a double bed and a safe cunningly disguised as a nightstand decorating the room. Or so she thought. Her feet were moving toward the black and white object hanging on a hook beside the bed. It was in her hands before she could recall giving her body the command to move.

Jake had worn the scuffed and cracked Guy Fawkes mask during his video calls. Without thinking, she turned it over and pulled the elastic attached to the back and shoved the mask over her head. It severely limited her peripheral vision, the hard plastic cut into her jaw, and it smelled slightly sweet and sour. A blend of chemicals and sweat, she thought.

She was so engrossed in her own thoughts she didn’t notice Jake had gone wholly still as though petrified.

“Don’t tell me you actually wore this on a regular basis? It’s terribly uncomfortable. I thought it was just for me, so I wouldn’t be able to describe you if Bloomgate ever got off his ass and did some work!”

There was a long pause, and Jake seemed to take a steadying breath as she cut her eyes to him. He practically trembled as she frowned at him.

“What’s wrong? Is there some strange rule that only you can wear this mask?” She enquired when he only fisted his hands and groaned softly.

He shook his head. His pupils had blown wide, black swamping the blue, and his fingers spasmed at his sides as though he wanted to reach for her. It hit her like a slap, and she grinned behind the mask, adopting a nonchalant stance as her muscles went loose and she sauntered closer to him.

“Are you going to answer me? Or has an invisible cat caught your tongue?”

It was as if she electrocuted him. He shuddered, blinked heavily, and said in a sheepish tone, “What were the questions?”

She choked down a gleeful laugh and swished her hips as she approached him. Her dress swirled around her knees as she moved and she lay a hand on his chest to feel the rapid fluttering under his skin.

“I asked if you really wore this mask while working, Jake. Keep up, love.” She taunted, tilting her head and tapping her fingers over his pounding heart.

Jake reached up and rested his hand over hers as he shook his head, grinning freely, saying, “It’s an annoying accompaniment to my lifestyle. I have faith in my ability to prevent people from getting through my intensive security measures. Still, if someone manages to view me through the webcam, they won’t see anything they can identify.”

“Clever. Handsome, intelligent, and you have a filthy mouth on you? Are you real, or am I dead and in heaven?” She said in a sing-song voice, edging into his personal space until her senses were filled with him. She reached up and shoved the mask up so it rested atop her head.

He didn’t hesitate to wrap his arms around her and replied, “I don’t know about that, but I’m real. It’s you I’m wondering about.”

She smirked, winding her arms around his neck as she said, “And what are you wondering about me?”

Jake drew a deep breath, pulling her closer, eyes flicking to the mask on her head and back to her again.

“You’re wicked, infuriating, and so beautiful. I’m terrified I’ll mess you up.”

With a purr in her voice, she said, “If you don’t mess me up, I’ll be sorely disappointed.”

It wasn’t what he meant; she knew his fears of dragging her down with him, but she was prepared to fight for him. The air between them was electric. A thrumming current seeped under her skin and made her restless; her eyes dipped to his mouth. His gaze did the same to her, neither wanting to break the spell as the delicious tension threaded through them.

She felt like a moth at a candlelight vigil whenever she was around him—overwhelmed, unable to keep still, and desperate to share his light.

He pressed his forehead to hers. They were sharing breath, and her lips tingled as familiar impatience itched at her and demanded she push up on her toes and close the distance.

Time seemed to halt as she waited for him to make a move; her voice was little more than an airy breath as she said, “Do you want to kiss me now or later? Or both?”

His response was instantaneous. “Both.”

She chuckled, low and throaty, and said, “Good answer,” before taking the lead and digging her fingers into his hair to pull him down to her.

The first brush of his lips on hers was the sweetest. His deep groan as she plastered herself to his front and silently encouraged him to kiss her forcefully sent a wave of lovely heat rolling out from her center. He listened to her unspoken demand, much to her delight.

His hands splayed wide on her back. One slid up to cup the back of her neck, the other settled on the base of her spine and tugged her flush against his rapidly hardening cock. She almost whined as his bristled mouth bruised hers, coaxing her open, and his tongue slipped inside to slide along hers as she sighed in relief.

Glittering, scalding heat surged through her, turning her liquid between her thighs and making her hands shake as she lightly pulled his hair as though to drag him inside her. She forgot about seeing his hacker hideout as his sharp teeth nipped and his plush mouth ruled hers.

She wasn’t a religious woman, but when he kissed and touched her like this, she felt like she was holy. The silly, dramatic thought made her smile into his addictive lips as their breathing grew labored and their hands wandered.

She didn’t know where to touch first. All of him. Preferably draped all over her.

Her fingers roamed along his broad shoulders and back again, climbing up his neck to cup his bearded jaw as his tongue flicked in her mouth and his hands gripped her hips mean.

Chemistry sizzled between them like a pot of rich, thick molten chocolate begging to be indulged and she was nothing if not a greedy woman. His knee parted her thighs, and she whimpered as it pressed against where she burned for him.

The skimpy underwear she wore was already soaked as she wriggled against the hard length trapped between them and gave into the urge to grind down on his muscled thigh. Sparks shot through her like tiny lightning strikes. Their kissing turned wet, sloppy, and utterly filthy.

A thrill shimmered down her spine, setting her entire nervous system alight and making breathing difficult. What little air she could suck in. Jake stole it right from her mouth. Heat built to a blaze inside her and her empty cunt clenched in complaint as his hands moved to grasp her ass and began kneading her until she was in a frenzy of sensation and painful anticipation.

She nipped at his plump bottom lip, teeth sinking in and pulling, a whine leaving her as she felt him smirking into it. Her pulse flickered in her neck. The shake in her hands turned to a quake, and she needed him to touch her. She needed him to fuck her before she came out of her sweat and gooseflesh adorned skin.

He tasted wild and sweet and felt like home. A place she’d long given up finding until he appeared in her path. She was desperate to have him inside her.

Jake felt Manon’s distress as her body shivered and tautened under his hands. He hadn’t expected that her wearing the mask would have such a profound effect on him. His painfully hard cock twitched as he teased her tongue with his and bent at the knee, sliding his hands down the back of her parted thighs to grab hold of her and hoist her up.

Her legs wreathed around his waist and locked in place. Captivated by the little sounds she made and the way she fit perfectly into all his hollow spaces.

Her enveloping body was a warm embrace of sunshine, wrapping around him like a cocoon and melting the night’s chill from his bones. The heat emanating from her scalded him as he blindly walked over to the wall of windows and pinned her against it.

Freeing a hand, he flattened it on the window beside her head as his other hand tapped her thigh. She hesitated all of a second before catching on and unwound her legs from his waist as he reluctantly parted from her mouth to help her stand on weak knees. His heart trembled in his panting chest as she looked at him with eyes full of trust and smoky lust. Their emerald color had darkened to evergreen as she licked at her swollen lips and waited for his next move.

He eyed the mask perched precariously on her head and decided. She liked it when he bossed her around.

“Turn around, step back, and face the window.”

He moved away to give her space and smiled when she immediately did as he bid. The flimsy dress she wore had buttons from the neckline to the hem, all down her front, and his fingers itched to tug it open, but he held it back as she met his eye in the window reflection.

“Good. Now, put the mask on, Sweetheart,” he ordered in an undertone he barely recognized.

He watched her as she swallowed thickly and shifted on her bare feet. Time slowed to a crawl as he observed her hands lifting and grabbing the mask, slipping it down to cover her face as he nodded in approval.

A sparkling, fizzing sensation trickled down his spine and swirled in his lower back, sweeping through all of him and he was hard enough to hammer nails as he swept her long hair up in hand. He let the pale strands rest over her shoulder and dropped his head to the side of her throat he’d bared for his teeth.

He ran his nose down the elegant column of her neck and inhaled her warm, spicy scent and let it feed the desire racing through his bloodstream. She trembled as he brushed his lips over her rattling pulse and bit down. He banded an arm around her to keep her upright as she gave a muffled moan and her knees failed her.

The scent of her arousal, heavy with musk, was a humid warmth cloaking them both as he sucked and bit her skin, a swipe of his tongue over the small hurt so she murmured his name. His cock jumped at the sound of it. There were so many emotions packed into that four-letter name of his. He wasn’t entirely sure he deserved them yet, but he wouldn’t tell her that.

He glanced at the window as his hands moved to her full breasts and cupped them, enjoying the weight of them in his palms as he watched them in the night dark window.

Manon stopped seeing the incredible view of the city as Jake teased her sensitive flesh, nipples stiffening to hard peaks, and the wetness between her legs turned to a drenching flood.

If he didn’t have that devouring look in his eyes, she would feel foolish wearing the mask, but his feverish touch and harsh breathing conveyed his desire was at a level she had never seen from him. Excitement turned her legs to water as he grasped the neckline of her dress. She gasped in shock and giddy pleasure as he tore it wide open. The fragile buttons were no challenge for him. They popped free and clattered off the window as he hurriedly dragged it down her arms and exposed her nearly naked body to his starving eyes.

Sweat trailed down her face as she ignored the ache eating away at her fast failing patience. Her mouth went dry as she saw his reflection take off his t-shirt and jeans, hands fisting at her sides as she waited for his move. His boxers and socks soon joined the rest of clothes on the floor and his fiery body melted into hers from behind.

She ground her ass against his hard cock. Wetness dripped down her inner thighs as her mind skipped ahead and she needed him inside her before she exploded from the ardour burning through her. She luckily didn’t have to wait long before his large hands were on her again.

He latched his fingers into the elastic back of her mask and firmly pulled her head back. His other hand slid around her hip and traveled to her weeping cunt, teasing her soaked folds through her underwear. His fingertips traced the shape of her like a rhapsody, each taunting stroke composing a symphony of desire that echoed through her entire being.

Her head lolled against his chest as he shoved the lace covering her aside and met no resistance as he plunged two fingers into her tight cunt. The strangled moan that left her seemed to bounce off the walls as she felt herself clenching to keep him from leaving her body. Slick and so hot, he groaned. She couldn’t think as he played with her like he’d always known her body.

Her pounding heart and rushing blood muted all sounds as those fingers moved within her taut heat and she ground herself into his hand at his whispered urging. Her cunt clasped and unclasped as he grazed her clit and sent a trail of wheeling stars scattering across her bare skin.

The hand holding her mask slipped to wrap around her throat and the gentle squeeze he gave her was a warning of what was to come. She couldn’t wait for it. The simple action sent her heart thrumming, and she panted into the plastic covering her face. Any discomfort it might’ve caused blasted away by Jake’s obvious delight in it.

His touch unraveled her like a tightly bound scroll, releasing a cascade of longing and urgency that surged through her veins like liquid flame.

Suddenly, he removed his hands from her and stepped away, leaving her swaying as her head spun and she blinked stupidly as he whirled her to face him and ripped the mask off her. He dropped to his knees in front of her and did the same with her underwear, lifting her ankles one by one to help her step out of them. He tossed them both aside without a care as he crowded her until her overheated skin met the cold window. She hissed in shock as her head thudded back to meet his ravenous gaze.

“I want to taste my name on your tongue as I fuck you,” he said in a voice like a growl.

She squeezed her legs together to counter the ache as her empty cunt clamped around nothing and her essence glazed her inner thighs.

She formed three words, but they were enough. “Fuck me then.”

His smirk was salacious. They pounced on each other, and he quickly caught her. She extinguished his midnight chuckle with a dirty kiss and he trapped her between him and the window. He reached under her to palm his cock.

Her hips tilted as he ran the fat head of him through her saturated folds and sank inside her so fast she had no time to prepare as he stretched and filled her so completely she didn’t have room for the air in her lungs. Her nails clawed at his shoulders, mouth agape and gasping as his hand smoothed loose strands of damp hair away from her sweaty face.

The maddening pressure built and built as he remained unmoving to let her acclimate to his sudden invasion. Her hips rolled, and she used his shoulders for purchase to lift and drop back down, taking him to the hilt, both groaning as she slowly softened for him.

He muttered her name as he let her breathe and studied her face as she shook in his arms. Part of her worried the treatment on the windows only went so far and someone in the building across from them might get the show of a lifetime. But most of her didn’t care if that was true. Let them watch.

Jake had gone still, muscles jumping and quivering as she made soft little noises of frustration as that intense pressure demanded a release. Her skin stuck to the glass and there was an audible sound as he peeled her off it and he at last moved. Shallow darts of his cock inside her to open her up and rile her further.

His strength thrilled her, no strain as he hefted her up and finally, finally slammed her down on his rigid cock. Her rapturous cry of pleasure sliced through their heavy breaths and the vulgar smack of flesh meeting flesh. Fingers dug into her ass as he fucked her, planting violets and giving him more leverage to ruin her.

Every deep caress of his cock inside her dripping cunt set her ablaze, a wildfire of untamed passion consuming her as she surrendered to the exhilarating storm of sensation. When he kissed her, she clung to his hair, fingers weaving through the black strands until she could use it to hold him captive against her whining mouth.

He tasted like sin, felt like heaven and looked like hers all at once, and she could only hold on. It was as though someone had flain the first layer of her skin to expose her nerves. Even the whisper of air pressing against her skin as his hand braced on the window sent a bolt of fire down her torso.

His lips branding hers, his thumping heart that matched the beat of her own, and the heady, clean scent of his skin. She wanted to never forget a single detail. They had earned this. Through blood and sweat and fire, they had earned this and she would be damned if she didn’t take all he offered her. Tension coiled in her core as his thrusts fell out of rhythm and each one shunted her up the window.

As his tongue teased hers, she yanked on his hair, feeling owned by him and getting swept away. Drowning in the blistering sea of their shared desire. The heat in her abdomen grew out of control, but it was nothing compared to the fire she had kindled in Jake. All the awkwardness in him had vanished, and he fucked her like he’d never get the chance to do so again.

He stole moan after moan from her. The sanity eroding tension coiled and coiled until it drove her to the brink of insanity and made it impossible for her to breathe. Her stuttering hips, his thick cock, and her clenching cunt were all she knew, her throaty cries smothered against his stubbled lips as they rubbed her mouth raw.

Hovering on the brink of shattering, Manon sobbed and rocked her hips, freeing a hand from his hair. She worked it between them. The tense skin of her stomach flickered as her fingers ghosted over it and she kept going until she swirled them around her swollen clit.

“Fuck, Manon,” Jake cursed as her inner walls clamped down hard on his cock, making her smile.

A little helpless sound spilled from her as she toyed with herself and the tension in her drew so taut she arched. Jake pounded into her mercilessly, giving her no room to calm down. The sensations and lust were so intense her mind fractured with jagged white light and she struggled to withstand the tremendous pleasure ricocheting through her.

Her body convulsed as she circled her clit and pushed herself to the precipice. Jake sobbed into her mouth as he felt her clench around his cock, burying his face in her neck as his forceful thrusts slowed a little. Bursts of darkness speckled the edges of her vision as her orgasm sparked its warning.

Relief glimmered at the back of her mind as her back arched again and Jake lifted his head to see her face. His voice was a sinful melody she’d been searching for from the beginning of time.

“Come for me, Sweetheart. Take me with you.”

Any thoughts she had left disintegrated at his words. Her fingers swiped that bundle of nerves deliberately again and again. The rough glide of his heavy cock inside her threw her over the edge and she splintered into a million glistering pieces. His kiss smothered her warbling moan of his name as her cunt spasmed around his cock and sucked him in deeper, dragging him down with her as he slammed home one last time and they soon sank to the floor as his legs failed him.

Her twitching, useless body slumped and practically merged into his as he lazily drank from her mouth and ran soothing hands down her slick back. She felt every jump of his cock as he spilled into her, and her inner walls fluttered as the scalding waves of her release rippled out from her core.

How long they sat there in a complete knot of disheveled limbs, kissing and touching. She didn’t keep count. Just reveled in it and in him, as he silently told her he loved her. She shivered from the chill settling in the room at some point and he instantly broke away from her lips, concern in his cobalt eyes that she rushed to comfort.

“I’m just a little cold. Take me to bed and warm me up again.” She winked and smiled softly as the worry in his gaze cleared and he gave her a proud smirk as he eyed the bite mark he’d left on her neck.

“Your wish is my command,” he chuckled, but made no move to get up. She caught sight of the Guy Fawkes mask, and an enticing idea popped into her mind.

“After we sleep a bit and you’re able to go again, it’s your turn to wear the mask.”

A startled laugh burst from him as she nodded seriously and fixed her features into a haughty expression as he said, “Is that an order or a punishment for making you wear it?”

She gave an indolent shrug, committing his smile to memory and hoping to make good on her promise to christen every room in his apartment before they left for Duskwood. There was only one thing left to say.

“It can be both if you’re into it. Pain and pleasure, Jake,” she said in an imperious tone that made him shake his head and she patted his shoulder, jerking her head toward the bedroom door as she finished, “Come on, let’s get food and some sleep. You’ll need your strength later.”

——————————-

Thank you for reading. I hope it was worth your time. If you comment or reblog, thank you so much for that as well❤️

If I have time, I might write another part where Jake wears the mask. But I am busy with many other stories, and it won’t happen anytime soon.

I hope Sunday treats you well!

[flamingpudding]

Part 15 of Ghost Kid in Gotham

>>Masterpost >>AO3

<<1 Previous Next

Green and Red Emotions, similar but not

Jason leaned against the wall, arms crossed, as he waited. He checked the time one more time and then listened for the sounds in the hallway. The bandage against his arm was causing an itch he ignored skilfully. If there was one thing the little shit was apparently good at in his feral stage it was fucking biting, though it was nothing to be proud at. Well unless you were well versed in the art of fighting dirty.

Eitherway the kid had a sharp set of chompers and apparently some sort of homing sense, considering Jason was only sporting three visible bite marks all on the same forearm and all nearly in the same area. The kid always aimed for that specific spot to bite. Maybe Jason should start considering keeping that arm out of sight for the little shit so he wouldn't latch onto it. But the following worst case would be the kid deciding on a new spot to bite on.

Footsteps caught Jason's attention and he inclined his head slightly. Light with purpose loud enough to make sure people knew they were coming.

So he knew and was not going to avoid him today.

Good, Jason wasn't going to allow his brother to make that choice today anyway. He had waited long enough. His patience lasted long enough for his brother to step into the room fully and flick the lights on, before Jason closed the door behind him. Considering Dick was only simply turning around with a tired smile, confirmed his thoughts that his brother knew this was coming.

"Got enough of avoiding me already? Thought it would take me a week." He could help the teasing dig.

"Jason."

"Safe it Dickbird." He shook his head. "You're good. I don't think the 'kids' noticed anything. No bets on Cass though. She can read any of us like an open book."

He watched how his elder brother sighed, put his hands on his hips and still smiled at him. "What gave it away?"

Eyes traveling over the wary form of his elder brother he considered answering the question honestly. Dick was good at hiding certain emotions, but even he slipped up in the smallest of moments. Moments you wouldn't catch easily if one wasn't looking for them, small tells Jason had gotten familiar with over the years. He could be honest but then his elder brother would attempt to cover these tells in the future so he wouldn't 'worry' them and put even more on his shoulder unnecessarily.

"During that Dinner you stuck close to Demon Brat, little shit and me." It wasn't a lie, but neither the full truth. It was the first thing that tipped him off along with what Dick had said. "Besides that I have my own sources ans suspicions. The little shit has a pit, one that is different from mine."

"Is that going to be your nickname for Teethling, that's not a very nice little Wing?" Dick joked but Jason's expression didn't change as he watched the other. After a moment Dick once more let out a sigh and comped through his hair with one hand.

"If this is about what we found out about Danny's past. We didn't hide anything there. We have found an entire paper trail of his schooling. You know he could use some help with English." The light heartedness of Dick's voice did not carry as Jason didn't take the bait, but instead heard something else out of it.

"So what did you and the old man hide?"

"Jason." He tensed at the seriousness that entered his brother's voice. So it was bad, really bad. He wanted to curse Bruce but he didn't really know for what exactly, it was just one of his go to mechanisms whenever the old man kept something from them.

"Keep talking Dickbird or I will go to Barbie instead." Dick flinched, he refrained from arching an eyebrow but couldn't help the small lift to his lips. It was just a thrown out thread, implying that he would have Barbie hack into the Batcomputer if necessary to get the information it wanted but looking at that reaction. She was involved, and most likely not happy with their handling of the information they had.

As the silence stretched on he got impatient again.

"Chop chop pretty boy. Spill or do I really need to see Barbie?" Was it fair to use Barbara as some sort of weapon here? Probably not, but did he care? Nope, he didn't. He was going to get information on what was going on with the little shit and how much of that fucked up green juice was involved. Though he was pretty sure for the kid to get dragged it must have been a shit ton of it.

Neither of them moved for a while again, and Jason really thought that he might have to go to Barbara for real until Dick once more commed through his hair seemingly finally having come to a decision himself. Turning on his heel the elder went over to his desk and pulled out a laptop, not any laptop but the one with direct connection to the Batcomp Servers.

Jason caused heavily under his breath as he walked over and watched Dick power it up before logging in to access files. Fuck, it must be really bad if they went that far which meant Bruce had intended to keep all of them out of these files should they attempt it directly over the Batcomputer.

Which meant Demon Brat would have no chance of seeing these unless he uses one of the special access ways. The moment Dick pulled up the first image, Jason only half heartedly listened to his brother's explanation as his eyes turned green.

"These fuckers!" Oh he would need to go out on Crime Alley tonight, otherwise he wouldn't know where to put this shit ton of rage. His head sharply turned towards his elder brother for the first time he realized just how much of his own emotions Dick had been hiding from them reflected in the others eyes.

"The bits and pieces of the reports we recovered are even worse." He watched how Dick closed his eyes for a moment before opening them again and focusing them solely on Jason. The rage he had just seen no longer reflected in his eyes but at the same time his brother halted like he saw something else that stopped him for a brief moment before he continued. "It's more speculation based on the bits and pieces we have discovered. Are you sure you really want in on this information Jason? It will not be pretty, and Danny…"

"Will still be a little shit that fucking bites me like I am his personal chew toy." Making direct eye contact Jason attempted to earnestly convey his stand on the situation. Besides now that he had seen a glimps of what was most likely truly going on, he was not going to leave that fucked up shit alone.

Jason only later learned through Dick's admission that his eyes had glowed green throughout the entire explanation of what they had dug up so far as well as what they were suspecting and only turned back once Dick was done and had closed the laptop. If he punched a couple of criminals in close combat just a tad bit harder than necessary in response that night, that was no one's but his own business.

Meanwhile in a Area hidden between Illinois and Gotham

Dan sat on the little hill of unconscious bodies he had created in his ghost form. Originally he was going to go for the headquarters of the League of Assassins. Thing was, having a merged ghost core of two different ghosts, as well as a newly created human side (thanks to his clone body), did intact impact his 'Danny' memories slightly. Which meant he sort of forgot where it was again, but hey instead he remembered where some of the sub hide outs where. Like this one that happened to be close to Illinois.

He kicked the guy squished under the one he was sitting on, enticing a pained groan out of them. They weren't dead, Jazz, Ellie and the twerp had spent a lot of time resocializing him. He was not about to fuck that up by taking a live. Besides, the twerp as well as his human half never really had been able to take a life.

Still he was stuck, now. He had thought that they had been involved. Danny had disappeared without an explanation. Of course there could alway have been the chance that the GIW as well as the twerps former parents had lied in some way. That instead of disappearing, the twerp just got transferred to some other place they didn't know about.

But Dan had remembered when he had seen the world map. He had remembered them. People capable of making people disappear without a trace. Be it permanently or for their body to turn up at a later point as a warning. He wouldn't have put it past them if they had been behind it.

If the old sack of bones had learned of the twerps powers, his tone most likely would have changed. His eyes flashed for a moment just a bit brighter in a muddled red at that thought.

In a way it surprised Dan that he was able to think this way about these people. But then again. He had left his human side behind and merged his core with Plasimus. He did not hold any sympathy for these people anymore. Well maybe only for one of them, the rest could go screw off as far as he cared. And if he knew his former self the way he did then he knew that the only ones the twerp would really care for would be his mother and twin. Which was fine with Dan only to a certain extent, he would only care for one of them and which one it was was pretty obvious in his opinion. Damian held the same value to him that Jazz did.

Talia was a different matter. Without his human half and probably a bit of the influence of Plasimus' core, Dan had a more objective opinion on his shared memories with Danny in regards to her.

Kicking another unfortunate soul on the human pile to give his frustration way, he growled as he sensed a new presence coming closer. When the growl didn't work as warning enough and the presence did not deter in their approach, he turned, flaring his hair and snarled towards the shadows.

His eyes glowed stronger and dangerously warning red as they narrowed at the person that stepped out of the shadows. Observing him and the pile of unconscious bodies stacked under him.

"This is quite the surprise. I did not expect your appearance."

"Where is he?" Dan snarled gloved fingers turning into claws, figures she knew about his existence somehow.

"Won't you at least greet me, Habibi?"

His hackles rose and held out his claws threateningly, preparing for the fight that was most likely to come. "I am no son of yours! Now, where the fuck is he?"

[jen-with-a-pen]

F O X ＨＵＮＴ

summary: Not only has HYDRA executed their infiltration on S.H.I.E.L.D., but they have also reclaimed their finest weapon. Your safety isn't the only thing that's compromised.

pairings: WS!Beefy!Bucky Barnes x F!Avenger!Reader

word count: 6.1k

warnings: chasing, being hunted down, implied n0n-con elements, canon-level violence, cursing, implied t0rture, blood, beat1ngs, forced nud1ty, language, HYDRA-level cruelty, Bucky gets Brainwashed (again), there's Steve x Reader if you squint REALLY REALLY hard

read here on ao3!

a/n: This was inspired by last year's Whumptober Day 2: NOWHERE TO RUN - CORNERED, CAGED AND CONFRONTATION. I know it's February JUNE, but shit came up and my motivation tanked lmao thanks adhd med trials Literally have never done a dark(er?) fic before and this one has been cooking for god knows how fucking long now. I hope y'all like it <3 (also the hydra victory au is something i discovered from the lovely @lunarbuck reset series and stewed obsessively over for literal months now. still obsessed with it whoops)

dividers by @firefly-graphics | gif by @lost-shoe | @hydravictrix

my ao3 | my masterlist

Translations

Lisitsa | лисица - fox/little fox

Soldat | солдат - soldier

Syuda | сюда - over here

Khitraya suka | хитрая сука - sly bitch

Moy priz | мой приз - my prize

Glupaya pizda | глупая пизда - stupid cunt

Moye | мое - mine

The infiltration was subtle at the start.

A few missions gone mysteriously wrong, agents killed in action or disappearing entirely, hacks that were, thankfully, contained within an inch of a full-blown data breach. All of it seemed so coincidental when it happened, swept under the rug each and every single time before Director Fury could have a swear-filled say as to what the hell was going on. 

But hindsight is 20/20. It always is.

The day S.H.I.E.L.D. fell was, ironically, the perfect day: brilliant sunshine, clear blue skies, a breeze weaving between the towering buildings and skyscrapers. It was almost eerie, in a way, how perfect of a day it was. 

You found yourself in the gym, Steve and Sam hashing it out on whose turn it was in sparring. You had all but knocked Sam out cold in the previous round as Steve watched from behind the ropes, cheering you on with a cocky, proud grin as he watched all of his hard work in your training pay off.

Of course, the stubborn ass he was, Sam wanted another go. 

“C’mon, Steve! I wanna rematch!” Sam protested, gesturing wildly in your direction with one hand while his other held an ice pack to his bruised temple. Steve stifled a laugh, tossing a glance over his shoulder to you. You shook your head, smiling back as you gulped down the rest of your water bottle. Cool strands spilled out from the corners of your lips and down your chest. You welcomed the relief from the sweat gluing your t-shirt to your skin. 

“How ‘bout I take Steve instead of giving you another concussion?” you retorted, giggling as Sam shot a narrow look at you. He huffed, forfeiting his argument by waving a dismissive hand. 

“Fine, ’m gonna go find some pain meds,” he grumbled, turning to point a swollen finger at Steve. “I better see you in the infirmary next, Cap.” 

He stomped off through the metal doors and left the two of you in silence.

“Whaddya say, sweetheart? You up for round two?” Steve teased, stepping under the ropes and into the ring. He wrapped his hands as he moved to the center, muscle memory carrying him while keeping his eager gaze on you. His eyes carried excitement as they journeyed up and down your figure, rolling his lip between his teeth as he drank you with his stare. 

You did little to hide your pride at the Captain checking you out, chewing the corner of your cheek to tame your own smirk at the beautiful blond. You turned away, hiding the heat from your cheeks as you tossed your bottle at your bag. You weaved under the ropes, coming face to face with your willing opponent in the center. You lifted your chin to meet his, the hidden smirk on your lips growing into a grin.

“With you? Always, old man,” you purred. You tossed him a teasing wink as you positioned your fists in front of you, feet planted firmly in the starting stance. Steve lingered on you for a second longer, tongue swiping across his lips hungrily as he cracked his neck and rolled his shoulders, raising his hands to mirror you.

The two of you began to circle one another, dancing in a familiar pattern you knew by heart. Steve took his first swipe at you and you ducked, managing a hit to his stomach. A grunt escaped from him– not of hurt but of thrill. He lunged for you as you dodged again, blocking his failed strike to your head. 

“Wow! You really can’t teach an old dog new tricks!” you taunted, dodging another blow, his wrapped fist only grazing your shoulder. You rolled it back, holding back a slight wince as you continued the violent waltz. 

You lunged at him, instead faltering and falling to the ground. Readying the curse on your tongue, it stopped short of your lips as you looked up at Steve. 

He stood frozen in place, panting, fists at his sides clenching tighter and tighter. As you opened your mouth to unload even more cursing questions, screeching erupted from the loudspeakers around the room. High-pitched tones screaming above, a robotic voice speaking clinically and quickly. You scrambled off the floor, unease creeping in as you latched onto Steve’s arm, his arm tensing under your touch.

CODE WHITE. CODE SILVER. ALL SECURITY AND TEAM UNITS URGENTLY NEEDED. 40th FLOOR. THREAT IS ACTIVE AND HIGHLY DANGEROUS. REPEAT. CODE WHITE. CODE SILVER. ALL SECURITY AND TEAM UNITS–

The message had cut out, static replacing it alongside the echoing alarms throughout the hallways outside the gym. You looked up at Steve. Anxiety surged upon finding his face devoid of all blood, his jaw slack, eyes boring into the metal doors leading to the hallway. He looked scared. 

You’d never seen Steve scared before. 

“Steve, what the fuck was that–”

“Get to the locker rooms and hide,” he ordered. He pulled his arm from you, jumping over the ropes and sprinting to his duffel bag on the floor. He pulled out his phone and dialed frantically as he ran to the doors. 

“Steve!” You stood trembling in the ring as your stomach churned. 

“Now!” he yelled. “I’ll come back for you!” 

He didn’t wait to hear your response as he slammed the gym doors shut, followed by a whir and click.

He locked you in. 

You didn’t– couldn’t– hesitate as a surge of urgency overtook you. You needed to hide. Now. Fast.

Your legs carried you as you jumped out of the ring and raced to grab your duffel bag, sprinting to the back of the gym through another set of double doors. You wove through the tiled maze of the locker room searching for some sort of hiding spot, settling on the showers. You snuck over to the stall at the very end, the closest one to the emergency exit, and ducked under the opaque plastic curtain. Your bag fell to the floor as you climbed onto the stall seat. Blood pumped in your ears, thumping as quickly as your shaky, shallow breathing. Millions of thoughts and questions and worries rushed through your mind at impossible speeds.

White and Silver. Which alert was that for?

You racked through fleeting memories, distant recollections of training and orientation from months ago, searching for anything remotely familiar. You remembered all of the other codes– red, orange, teal– but no white, no silver. 

A faint buzzing sounded from inside your duffel. You lunged, unzipping it and fishing out your phone. Natasha. Her name lit up the screen and you frantically hit the answer key before the call could even think about dropping.

“Where the fuck are you?” Her panicked voice hissed into your ear. Her edged tone was enough to make your stomach backflip faster. 

“Locker rooms, forty-fifth floor. What the fuck is going on, Nat?” Your voice shook as anger and confusion boiled in your blood.

A muffled swear. “Where’s Steve?”

“He ran out, locked me in, told me to hide.” More incoherent curses.

“Fuck, fuck, okay, look, trust me on this, you need to stay where you are, okay? I can get you out, I–” 

High-pitched ringing overtook the speaker, sending you reeling away from the receiver. Static echoed out of the speakers.

“You what? Natasha!”

“No– time– you–”

“Natasha! Hello?”

Beep. Beep. Beep.

You tore the phone away from your ear and choked back the bile rising in your throat. Service was out. The blinking bars at the top of the screen mocked you and your sudden plunge into isolation. 

The lights went next. 

The dull fluorescents flickered. Someone cut the electricity, sending you into almost darkness as the backup generator lights kicked on. Scattered lights from above cast an eerie yellow glow over the shower tiles. You’d only seen this kind of outage happen once before, when New York was hit with Hurricane Noah a few years back.

The fear you felt in that storm paled in comparison to what you felt now.

You sighed, shaky and surrendering, and pulled your body closer to you on the shower bench. A chill snaked its way down your spine as your skin brushed the cool ceramic, an unwelcome addition to the cold already enveloping you. Your sweat-soaked t-shirt and shorts failed to aid you and your aching muscles. Fingernails dug into your kneecaps in a struggle to stop trembling as you tried to focus on your breathing. Inhaling, exhaling, in, out. Screwing your eyes shut, praying to any deity imaginable it was all just a drill, it was all an accident or a misunderstanding or–

The ground shook as a loud bang echoed from outside the locker room. A panicked yelp escaped your throat before your hands could scramble and cover your mouth. You froze as the tremors subsided and listened. It, or they, sounded close. 

Too close. 

Another BANG! Then another. 

Rhythmic, steady blows, each quicker and more powerful than the last. Hands clamped tighter over your lips until your blood froze at the sounds of crushing steel and crumbling concrete. The lump in your throat grew as horrific realization flooded over you. 

They, or it, broke in.

You couldn’t wrap your head around it– those doors were more fortified than Tony’s lab. Four-inch-thick, steel and plexiglass doors with a three-tier secured locking system. Nothing, nobody– not even the strongest Super Soldier– was powerful enough to make the faintest of dents in them.

Racing through who, or what, could have possibly broken into the gym, your train of thought derailed as echoes of men yelling indecipherable words and mixed commands shattered the remaining air of safety you clung to. Listening intently, a mix of combat boots and tactical gear filtered in with the echoed commands.

The S.T.R.I.K.E. Team.

Your legs begged for reprieve from crouching, but your body disobeyed and froze you in place. Part of you didn’t trust who was outside. Footsteps and gruff voices became heavier, closer. The relief that greeted you was replaced again by panic as you listened closer.

Clear, Russian commands resonated at the entrance to the locker rooms. They were coming in. 

Your breath hitched, blood running cold as footsteps closed in. It was one person, but their steps didn’t sound like the heavy boots before them. They sounded more like…

Sneakers?

The rubber from the intruder’s shoes squeaked on the tiled floors. Ragged breathing echoed off the walls. A low growl, accompanied by quiet whirring. Someone big, someone mean. 

Your heart made its way to your throat as the intruder inched closer. Slow, methodical, as if trained in search and rescue. 

It didn’t feel like a rescue.

The lump almost turned into a scream as an echoed BANG carried from the bathroom stalls around the corner. Silence followed, then a growl, then another BANG. The cycle repeated for the remaining stalls, the intruder slowly creeping along. Growls became deeper upon each disappointment. 

Hostages. They were looking for hostages.

Soles squeaked as the intruder changed course, stomping around the corner to search the line of shower stalls. You hiccuped a sob, realizing tears started to trail down your cheeks. Biting your palm only proved a lame attempt to calm your racing heart, a scream threatening to leave your throat as they began tearing the plastic curtains off the stalls. Each clang of metal cracking onto the tile became closer as you ground your teeth into the meat of your hand. Eyes screwed shut, silent prayers raced in your head, pleading to wake up; to wake up from this hellscape of a sick, twisted nightmare. 

The intruder’s steps stopped. 

Your eyes opened, widening at the blurred, hulking shadow standing outside of your stall. They had to be well over six feet. Towering, bulky, monstrous. 

Slowly, the shadow’s hand reached for the curtain. One by one, its fingers closed around the plastic’s edge, preparing to rip it down and rip you open. Eyes burning, hot tears felt like molten metal as you attempted to make yourself as small as possible in your corner, huddling your knees as close as they could be. This was it. This was the end. You prayed– actually fucking prayed– hoping they couldn’t hear your pathetic whimpering, hoping they would make this quick, painless; break your neck or put a gun to your head and get it over with. Leave your body for someone else to find.

“Soldat, syuda!” 

The command made your heart stop.

The shadow froze, stopped by a call from the entrance to the locker room. Skin met your teeth as you bit harder into your hand. Lungs began panicking as you started hyperventilating, bile reaching your throat and burning the back of your tongue. 

The shadow, the monster, growled in protest. It retracted the curled hand from the curtain, wordlessly moving back towards the bathroom stalls. Footsteps faded as muffled conversation floated away from the locker room.

You needed to get the fuck out of there. 

You slid off the bench, legs aching and knees popping as you crouched silently over to the curtain, peeking out behind the plastic. It crinkled quietly and you bit your lip, leaning out ever so slightly over the threshold. 

Tiptoeing around the corner, you faced the emergency exit. The glowing sign omitted a creepy, green glow that added to the eeriness brought by the generator lights. 

This was it.

You slammed the push bar down, throwing the door open with your body and spilling out into the hallway. Sunlight flashed through the infinite glass hallway, blinding you. In your frozen state, you hear commotion from behind the door as it slammed shut. Banging from the other side, the sound of metal on metal, made your teeth grind. Indents from punches dented the door, deforming its smooth outside. You didn’t stay frozen for long as your body screamed at you to fucking move, now.

Your legs obeyed immediately, carrying you through the corridor to the closest means of escape you could find. As you rounded the corner, the crushing sounds of the door breaking off of its hinges hit your ears. You didn’t dare to look back, sprinting through the twists and turns of the infinite hallway. You followed what felt familiar, burning muscles egged on by the sound of pounding footsteps getting closer and closer.

Finally, you stumbled onto the entrance to a stairwell, pausing to gasp for air your lungs demanded. The burn in your legs and chest only aided in the physiological need to hyperventilate. Sweat dripped from your temple and your head pounded as hard as your feet hitting the ground. 

You leaned into the safety bar, inches away from further distancing yourself from whatever, whoever, was on your trail, when a yell erupted from the end of the hallway. 

It felt like slow-motion; one of those scenes in those cheesy horror movies Sam always made you and Steve watch on weekends off. The ones with cheap FX, bad sound, but somehow great editing for the budget. The scenes where realization hits the main character and suddenly everything is half the speed while they still move in real time. 

You turned your head towards the source. Then, it hit you. Blood drained from your face as the horror of realization hit you, like a speeding sixteen-wheeler head on.

Bucky Barnes stood hulking at the end of the hallway. Generator lights and setting sun illuminated his snarling teeth, gleaming from parted lips that had him panting like a rabid dog. If you hadn’t known better it would’ve looked like he was heading for the gym for his daily workout. Blown pupils, sweat-stuck hair, complimented by a shaking frame– most definitely caused by adrenaline, dopamine, and a slew of Gods-knew-what other drugs he had pumped into his system. Splotches of drying, smeared blood coated his neck and shirt while even more dripped onto the ground from his fists. The crimson contrasted with the medically white floors. 

Bile rose in your throat again. The acidic taste made you dry heave at the sight of the blood, knowing from the looks of Bucky it definitely wasn’t his.

He snarled as your eyes finally met. Fists of flesh and metal flexed. Rippling muscles shook as he readied to launch forward.

“You’re mine, lisitsa!” he barked. His voice booming louder than the speed of sound, it made your ears ring.

Your throat finally opened. You screamed as he sprinted towards you, making more ground down the hallway than an apex predator out of hibernation. You shoved the exit door open, heaving your legs forward as you ascended the stairs. No choice but to go up, you refused to look back– nay you didn’t dare to even consider it. Muscles and tendons and joints burned, yearning for you to stop, but the door slamming from flights below you only pushed you harder, flying up and passing floor after floor. 

You were fast, but he was faster. 

Dizziness overtook you as your vision began to blur. Darkened edges of your peripherals made you stop your climb at level 50, pausing for a split second to hear Bucky’s progress. He was close behind, but you still had more of an advantage. You knew the Tower better than him. You knew level 50 had another stairwell on the opposite side of the floor, through another hallway off the corner of your current one. Sneakers pounded too close for comfort as you shoved the door open and made a break for it down another corridor labyrinth.

If you made it out of this alive, you swore you’d kill Tony’s architect yourself. 

“You can’t hide forever, lisitsa!” Bucky’s voice rang out from the stairwell as you rounded the corner, sprinting through more identical-looking hallways. Another corner later and the glowing red EXIT sign appeared above the next stairwell. A beacon of hope, almost. Relieved, you head straight for it, body and mind and soul pushing against the burning and the gasping for air. You were right there, hand outstretched, fingertips grasping the metal bar–

It felt like a car crash. 

Not an accident or fender bender. No, it felt like seventy miles an hour meets a tree with no intent of moving. That split-second feeling where your stomach drops and you can all but brace for the deadly impact destined for you to meet.

Time stopped as you were yanked backwards. Cold, slick metal wrapped around your ankle, bloody hand print smearing some poor bastard’s DNA all over your calf as your body fell to the ground. Hard. Your jaw clenched as your chin slammed into the linoleum. Teeth ground into your tongue as copper flooded your tastebuds. Your lungs, with little wind left in them, gasped for oxygen. Another scream rising in your throat became stuck in your vocal cords. 

Bucky whipped you around as you struggled to free your lower half. You landed on your shoulder, head bouncing against the floor and teary eyes struggled to stay open and endure the pain. He straddled your form, the weight crashing down on your bones and organs. A sharp inhale impaled your chest as you met Bucky’s darkened eyes, then; the familiar steel blue replaced entirely with dilated, unhinged pupils. 

It was the first time you got a good look at his face. His face is speckled with blood spatter and several bruises spread across his cheek down his neck. Two black eyes, a bloody nose– one you hoped was his– and a broken lip. The bloodied collar of his shirt only aided in the mess of his hair. His soft, chocolate strands stuck in mats to his neck and temples with sweat and blood. 

Out of sheer habit, because he looked like your Bucky, you couldn’t help but reach a hand out to him. A soft plea for the man behind his eyes, one you begged everything holy was still there. He held your stare, face contorting into unrecognizable emotions. Tears brimmed your eyes as your hand stretched further, sobs escaping as your fingers inched closer and closer to his battered face.

“Bucky, it’s me–”

Your appeal transformed into a shriek, quickly snuffed out as Bucky wrapped his crimson-spattered metal hand around your throat. You choked, sputtering lost pleas as your hands flew to your neck. Fingernails flailed in futile attempts to claw off the weapons-grade titanium. 

“You’re done running, khitraya suka,” Bucky’s hot breath fanned your face as he leaned in. His mouth grazed your jaw, titanium hand on your throat flexing with each syllable. He slowly made his way down your neck, pushing harder into your chest with his forearm. A heavy growl. His grip only tightened as you tried to knee him in the groin, picking you up by your neck and slamming you down again.

Stars circled your blurred vision, eyes rolling back into your head. The corridor, the lights, everything split into two.

“You owe me for my victory, lisitsa,” Bucky’s husky whisper resonated in your ear as he licked the side of your face, his hot, wet mouth against your tear-stained cheek. As his free hand moved to the waistband of your shorts, another surge of panic washed through you. You tried to sputter a weak cry from your closed-off throat, blood turning cold, another scream building and building in your chest and aching for release. 

“You owe me what’s mine –!” 

BANG!

Something from somewhere all of a sudden. The object slammed into Bucky, throwing him off of you and spilling across the floor. 

Finally, your lungs lunged at the chance for air, leaving you a heaving, choking, coughing mess. Spitting at the ground as you made your way shakily to your hands and knees, a freed hand traveling to rub the fresh strangulation bruises forming on the column of your stiff neck. 

“Get the fuck off her, Bucky!” 

Steve.

As your vision cleared, the shield whizzed past you as it ricocheted back into Steve’s open arms. Bucky groaned, low and guttural, but only for a moment is he subdued. Slowly, he rose, like smoke from extinguished ashes, looking to his metal vice. A large dent adorned the weathered, bloodied appendage where his bicep met his shoulder. He then turned his attention to Steve, baring his teeth, anger coursing through him as he immediately disregarded you. His sights set on a new target, launching himself at Steve without a beat lost.

Steve grunted as Bucky’s metal fist met the vibranium shield with a deafening clang. Steve gritted his teeth and pushed back, managing to break Bucky’s attack and aim a kick for his stomach.

“Go! I got him!” Steve yelled to you through a gasp as Bucky countered with his own swipe at Steve’s middle. Your body stayed put, relishing in the ability to fucking breathe again, also painfully aware how screwed you’d be if you didn’t escape as you had the chance. You willed yourself to move, to run and to keep going, to no avail. As Steve landed a blow to Bucky, his eyes met yours once more. His baby blues, pained and tired, begged for you to listen to him for once in your life. 

“Now!”

The strain in Steve’s voice seemed to ignite a fire underneath you. Pushing yourself up, you willed your legs to carry you to the exit. Bloody shoe prints tracked your route as you slammed through the doorway. You cursed, knowing they’ll give away which way you’d go, knowing your life matters more than a twenty-dollar pair of sneakers. Kicking them off, throwing the pair down the exit, praying they made it far enough Bucky wouldn’t know any better. 

You threw yourself up the stars, tremors and pain afflicting every limb as the cold concrete seeped in through your socks in each step. The railing helped as you heaved yourself forward with help from the railing. Sweaty palms slipped on the bars, but your grip only grew tighter. 

You didn’t know how you, or your body, was able to do it, making it up seven more flights of stairs before your knees buckled on level 57. Heaving the door open and slamming it shut, you stumbled out into the new hallway. You hadn’t visited that level before. Something Steve and the others– especially Doctor Banner– said was “just a business floor.”

The sign on the wall directing to ‘SAFELAB’ said otherwise. Nothing in the Tower was “just business.” 

What you did know was that every SAFELAB on every floor was located in the same, far-east hallway. 

Wiping the sweat from your temple, you turned right, jogging down the darkened, emptied-out hallway. It felt like the apocalypse. No sign of anybody else. Doors left ajar, papers and bags and other employee memorabilia scattered throughout abandoned offices and cubicles. You hoped everyone was able to make it out, at least.

Part of you didn’t hope for much, though. 

The door to the lab came into view as you rounded the last corner. The door was still locked, the lab inside sterile and untouched. A sigh of relief escaped you. Holding your palm to the door’s scanner, it answered your prayers in a soft beep and whir, miraculously allowing you in. 

You maneuvered through the multiple security doors, four in total, crouching low once you managed to slip into the lab itself. The gigantic window at the front of the labspace spared no room for you to hide easily, but you had zero room to complain about it. It was your only option, after all.

Well, besides the roof. 

Crouched, you snuck your way around the counters and various equipment to one of the supply closets. The furthest corner from the entrance. You scoured through drawers and cupboards for some sort of weaponry; the most you could find was a new scalpel out of a box of extras. 

You closed in on the supply closet, reaching up and grasping the handle, turning it slowly to prevent any squeaks from the inner hinge. A tear glided down your cheek in relief. You hadn’t realized you started crying. Again. 

The door swung open. It greeted you mostly empty, deep enough for you to cram your body into. Crawling inside, bones and limbs contorted into the most comfortable position you could manage. You pinched the edges of the doors to close them as best as you can, accepting they, in fact, couldn’t close all the way from the inside. A curse under your breath, the sliver of dim light through the crack cast onto your face. Once settled, you crumpled your damp t-shirt up from the collar and shoved the fabric into your mouth. Teeth and tongue greeted sweaty cotton and hints of copper as you bit down on the collar, covering your mouth with a free hand. 

At last, after Gods knew how long it had been since you ceased moving, a silenced sob heaved out of your chest. Tremors only worsened as your nervous system rode out the fumes of its adrenaline high and flight mode instincts. Hot tears spilled down your cheeks, mixing with snot further down your face, slipping down to your neck and leaving behind streaked paths in the bloodied, hand-printed bruises adorned on your flesh. The pain from the near-strangulation you suffered broke through the shock and endorphins that were keeping you sane until then. You knew, though, you couldn’t break down. Not yet. Not until you saw Natasha or Steve or someone you trusted face-to-face. 

You started counting your breaths. Mind racing, thoughts traveling near sonic speeds through your mind carrying questions at how the hell it all happened.

You thought for sure S.H.I.E.L.D. was secure, especially after the ordeal with Bucky, Steve, and the whole ‘defeating HYDRA’ ordeal from a few years back. Hell, you thought it was safer than taking the FBI’s recon mission that was offered to you before being referred to Tony himself. Your mind raced, what-ifs and endless possibilities flashing across your eyes like a snuff film. You hoped Steve was okay. You hoped Natasha was on her way to your location any second. You hoped Sam was safe and made it out okay. You hoped Bucky –

Bucky. 

Christ, you hadn’t even stopped to think about how the hell everything happened to him. He’d been doing so well in his recovery program. Steve was even telling you about it that same morning, bragging about how well Bucky was doing, how much progress he was making, how soon they’d finally be able to move in together once Doctor Banner cleared him. Another sob overtook you. How you’d never seen him like that before, the feeling of his titanium arm slowly crushing your windpipe, the weight of his entire body crushing your internal organs as he’d held you down. The things he’d said. You tried to wrap your head around what he’d said, what he was going to do–

Crashing followed by shattering glass emitted a muffled yelp from you as your blood ran cold. Another wave of tears flooded out of your burning eyes, chest heaving unevenly. Your hand clamped even tighter over your mouth as teeth bit into the salty fabric of your shirt, drying up any more moisture your mouth was grateful to finally have.

BANG! Then another. Then more in rapid succession. Shattering, crashing, shattering, silence. The final blow to the security doors sounded from inside the lab itself. Your breath hitched and bile began bubbling in your stomach, reaching the back of your throat and across your tongue. You forced yourself to swallow the acid, listening intently to the crunch of sneakers on shattered glass.

He’d found you. 

“Lisitsaaa,” Bucky drawled, his voice dropped to a primally low octave. Lower than before. You almost couldn’t make out the words, a mixture of growled mumblings of English and Russian. Knees folded closer to your chest, you tightened your grip on the handle of the scalpel. Bucky’s footsteps were slow, methodical, predatorial. 

His heavy steps inched closer, each followed by a pause, then sudden crashing of lab equipment and smashing of drawers. More glass and metal slammed to the ground and walls after each pause. He sounded feet away. Then inches. 

Your breathing stopped as the sliver of light clouded over. The lump in your throat threatened more puke to rise as you dared to peer up through the crack, heart dropping like a dead weight to your stomach as your eyes fell on freshly bloodied sneakers. A stifled scream in your lungs choked you. You refused to think about whose blood that was.

Eyes darted back up. You could see Bucky’s blurred features clouded in shadows. The only light visible, then, was the glint from his wicked smile. Bloodied teeth shone as he licked his lips hungrily, a predator finally cornering its prey. 

Ever so slowly he crouched, shoving his face closer into the seam in the door. Tears and snot continued to stream down your face, your body hyperventilating as you forced yourself to look into his eyes. There was nothing else you could do. Nothing else to say, to cry about. There was nowhere left to run. He got you. 

“There you are, moy priz,” Bucky hissed before reaching through and throwing the doors open, heavy hands leaving imprints in the flimsy metal. Frozen, your fist was still closed around the scalpel, your muscles tensed as joints locked in place. His evil eyes scanned your body greedily, looking for which cut of meat to divulge in first. His gaze stopped at your fist and he chuckled, tisking in a disappointed tone. 

“Oh, glupaya pizda,” Bucky shook his head, amused at your meager choice of weaponry. Compared to him, you might as well have been waving a white flag. His smile only grew, tongue jutting out to lick his lips. Specks of blood coated the sides of his cheeks and edges of his mouth, smeared about from ear to ear with the back of his hand.

“Come with me and they might consider your life, lisitsa–”

You sprung into him, swinging your arm, landing the scalpel into the middle of his flesh hand, impaling straight through it. In an instant, blood spewed from the impact. Bucky screamed out in pain, a slew of mixed language curses reverberating in your skull. You scrambled out of your hiding place, bashing him with a balled fist to the face as you tumbled out and onto your feet, sprinting to the lab’s only exit. Freedom was only an arm’s length away when an overturned stool tripped you. The impact didn’t hurt near as much as the millions of shattered glass bits shredded cut into your skin, your hands and knees and arms and face littered as blood smeared under you and across the once-sterile white floors. You cried out, writhing around. Battered and bloodied, struggling to rise and run again despite the searing pain in your ankle.

Before you could form your next thought, a rough hand snatched your scalp and dragged you up by your hair. You uttered a panicked scream as Bucky hoisted you to eye level, snarling like a rabid dog as he shook you hard.

“I thought you were smarter than that, lisitsa,” he sneered, “but I was wrong.”

He hurled you back onto the floor, his bloodied, titanium fist still gripping your hair, dragging you over to one of the disheveled lab tables. More glass shredded your skin, blood and sweat and tears mixing and pouring over your face and hands and body. With ease and a free hand, he swiped the rest of the contents off another counter; beakers and burners crashed to the floor. His grip tightened as he threw you up onto the stainless steel counter, the dead weight of your body banging onto the table, landing you hard on your back. Eardrums rang into your skull and jaw, radiating down your spine and out your limbs. Your hands slip against the smooth metal from the blood, futile attempts to grab onto something, anything. You groaned and huffed excess sobs. The pain, unbearable; the fear, unimaginable. 

Bucky hoisted himself onto the table, landing on top of your broken body, his knee hitting your spine and knocking your last breath out of you. Straddling you, his thick thighs bulged through tattered sweatpants, squeezing into your rib cage. He looped another fist into your hair, raising your head and slamming it down. The side of your face smushed into the steel table, smearing around more blood as he did it again. And again. The cartilage in your nose cracked and throbbing pain radiated into your eyes, your skull. Warmth from the break and the blood poured over your face. The pain, dulling into numbness as you began to fade in and out of consciousness.

Your vision started to blur and blacken, stars and specks orbiting around Bucky like a halo of hallucination. Your body, finally surrendering to him. No fight left. Any strength you could have mustered, funneled into staying awake, proved useless. 

A new sound, then: ripping.

You didn’t have to look to witness Bucky unrelentingly tear your t-shirt away from your body, training his eyes on your open form. Bruised skin exposed to cool air, your chest still momentarily held together by your sports bra. He made quick work of it next, the nylon snapping off in one swipe, sending goosebumps racing down your spine. 

Ice-cold titanium fingers untangled from your matted hair and made their way from your nape, to the small of your back, to the waistband of your gym shorts. Muscles tensed as you felt each digit wrap almost leisurely onto the elastic. He tore them away swiftly, baring the rest of you and your skin to him. A growl, one of pleasure, vibrated into you from him, emitted he palmed the skin of your ass. His fingers journeyed languidly in a slow trail from your back to your core. You squirmed, wasting the last of your strength, a hopeless attempt to get away one last time. 

A crack came across your face. Flesh against flesh, he slapped you. A punishment. A command for obedience. Your body fell limp. Breathing raggedly and gagging on blood and spit, you shuddered as he took your wrists and tied them together with your t-shirt. 

Satisfied, his prey finally submitting, Bucky paused, panting as he leaned down to you. He wet his lips before speaking, gruff words slurred against your ringing eardrum. As he spoke, cold metal grazed your entrance, a threat of what was to come. 

“Now, I get to take what’s mine.”

Your screams echoed as the world fell dark.

[schrijverr]

Batman Fatale

While on a mission with the Justice League, Batman (who hasn’t revealed his secret identity) pulls out his Brucie voice, shocking the others.

Inspired by Head Problems by That_One_Curly_Haired_Fangirl on AO3.

On AO3.

Ships: none

Warnings: none

~~~~

The Justice League is going for stealth, something Bruce didn’t think they were capable off, but so far he’s been pleasantly surprised. Though, maybe the promise of a good brawl later is what is keeping them quiet.

They’re infiltrating into Luthor’s office, underneath which he is building a robot army to overtake the world in the name of peace. Hacking in to disable them means sounding the alarm and Bruce has already calculated that it will take too long for him not to get swarmed by them, before he can take them out. Hence, the League, who will keep them off his back while he works.

However, they’ve run into a bit of roadblock in the form of the security guard, who is manning the front desk during the night shift.

Everyone has thrown out ideas to take him out, but Bruce wants to attract attention as late as possible and there are likely human operatives further down as well. They’ll notice if the guard were to disappear.

Besides, the guy, Amir, cleared his background check when he was planning this mission. He doesn’t know what he’s guarding and is just trying to make ends meat.

So, he holds up his hand and the whispered deliberation quiets down. As he pulls out his phone, he says: “I’ll handle this. Wait for my orders.”

They all shoot him confused and wary looks as he sets to dialing on his phone, keeping the screen away from them. He can say that it hurts that they don’t fully trust him, but he doesn’t care. He has his own family/team back in Gotham and if being a mysterious prick keeps his kids safe, he’ll gladly play the part.

He knew this roadblock might come up, so he prepared in advance. So, within seconds he is bringing the phone to his ear, while the others continue to look between him and the guard that’s on the other side of the glass doors.

Bruce mentally laughs, they probably expect assassins to swoop down and drag the man into the shadows.

Which is the opposite of what happens, because instead Amir startles then looks down at his now ringing phone. He smiles, then looks around a bit, checking that the coast is clear and completely missing the League, before picking up.

As Amir looks around, Hal hisses: “What the hell are you doing, Spooks? You don’t call the guy you wanna sneak-”

He shuts him up with a hand over his mouth, because Amir has picked up now. “Hey, hi, uhm, how are you doing, John?”

John is the fake name he used on the dating profile with the doctored photos. He feels a little bad about catfishing him, it’s slimy and Amir is actually cute too. Still, can’t be helped, so he puts as much Brucie charm into his voice as he flirty replies: “Hi, Amir, I’m good, just lonely. Would be better if you were with me. I’m practically indecent here for you.”

Immediately all the League’s heads snap his way, but he ignores them in favor of observing Amir. He is blushing, but looks pleased, before he sags a little. “I would love you, you’re so handsome-”

“I’d prefer pretty,” Bruce interrupts. “If you’re letting me down, at least call me pretty so I’ll know what it’ll sound like from you.”

Now Amir’s darker skin gets even more dark as he continues to blush. He stammers: “No, no, no. Not letting you down. Fuck. You’re so pretty, John. Of course I’m not letting you down. I’m just working, pretty boy, just working.”

“Booo,” Bruce whines, knowing how to sound appealing instead of annoying, albeit a little spoiled. “Can’t you just have a little break? Where do you work? I can come over, little blowie in the ally on a smoke break never hurt anybody.”

Amir groans at the offer, leaning back in his chair and looking at the ceiling, feeling a little despair by the look on his face. “I could get fired,” he protests, but it’s weak. Got him.

Bruce knows that he’s going to get fired anyway for letting them pass, but at least like this he’s out of harm’s way. He’s planning on offering him a job anyway. So, he insists again: “Promise I’ll get you off before they notice. It’ll tide me over until they let you go and you can show me what a proper good time is.”

Now Amir is looking around, no one except the League (who are all still staring and he wishes they’d stop) to see. So, he relents: “Alright, I work at the Luthor office. Uptown, you know it?”

“Oh my god, you’re kidding?” Bruce laughs in his most ditzy Brucie voice. “I’m literally at one of the bars down the street.”

“And what are you doing there?” Amir asks, trying to sound flirty, but coming across as a little insecure. It’s cute on him.

Bruce imagines himself twirling the phone cord at this point as he bats his eyes through his voice as he says: “Feeling lonely and thinking about you.”

Amir looks relieved at that, straightening up again as he asks: “Well, I can change one part of that for you. How fast can you get here?”

“Like two minutes,” Bruce answers.

“Meet you in the alley on the left then,” Amir says. “See you soon.”

“See you soon, handsome,” Bruce greets back, before hanging up. The second the line is dead, he reverts back to Batman’s voice and grunts: “Get ready to move.”

“What the fuck was that, Batman!” Hal is unsurprisingly the first to break. He never does know how to keep his mouth shut during stealth missions.

“Are you still Batman? Please tell me you’re still Batman. Because if you’ve been replaced by some alien, shape shifter or pod person, I don’t know what to do with myself. So you have to be Batman, even though Batman is creepy and mean and stand-offish and not flirty and-”

“Flash, quiet,” Bruce cuts of the rambling of the speedster. He’s not in the mood.

“You can at least tell us how you know the guard,” Clark speaks up, going for firm leader. Bruce can respect him for trying to lead these people who are all obviously not used to working as a team nor good at it. But the boy scout act sometimes gets on Bruce’s nerves.

He’s sure his kids and Alfred will have something to say about it, pointing to his trust issues that makes him perceive everything as an interrogation, but they aren’t here right now. Plus, he knows Damian at least will be on his side. He has people in his camp.

… Though that might not be a good thing. Hm, should he talk to Damian about it?

“It seems familiar somehow,” Oliver comments and Bruce hopes Amir moves soon. The last thing he wants is for Ollie to figure out who is under the cowl, the man is insufferable enough as it is.

“Batman?” Clark prompts, apparently he’s been quiet for long enough.

Falling back on one of his contingencies, he says: “Everyone should have skills in the acting and grifting department. Contact is sometimes unavoidable. I study people and I plan ahead. This is planning ahead.”

Right at that moment, Amir finally moves. Bruce feels a little bad about standing him up, but is glad to grapple away from the rest of the League. He hopes there will be a fight soon, because that way no one can ask him more questions.

[court-jobi]

Tuning Out, Tuning In

((banner by me! I don't own Horikoshi's characters or this art))

Pairing: Bakugou x reader (biker!pro hero, some afab pronouns used)

Words: 5.1K

Rating: T+ (language, bc obviously)

Warnings: Pro-Hero Bakugo/Pro-Hero Reader, cursing as a love language, insecurities, arguing, use of hearing aids (not an expert!), light hurt/comfort, she falls first-he falls harder

Summary:

So he's got context clues down. Smart, but not convincing enough. He's still not hearing you- because he can't.  You check on your Katsuki after an unannounced leave of absence, only to discover the true reason why is the source of a mighty insecurity of his that he's expertly kept you out of the loop of till now. He's defensive and mean- uncharacteristically so, towards you when you find out. It's heart-wrenching when he realizes he's snapped at you, and gutting when you love him through it.

A/N: *Can be read as a follow-up in the 'Backpack Privileges' universe, but not necessarily a series. Just how I envision these babies evolving~

For my My Hero Academia Masterlist, check it out here!

Read on AO3

News from the girls at the scheduling counter is  that Dynamight was actually putting in PTO for the first time this calendar year.

Sure he’s worked hard, but when doesn’t he? It wasn't like he expended so much energy from his last rescue call that he was too tired or anything when you’d last seen him… so the time off request surprised you. Katsuki Bakugou never took time off, even when he’s congested to the point of sounding like a wounded seagull and hacking up a lung.

You called to check on him the first day he was out, but it went unanswered; he texted back instead that he was in the middle of eating and asked what you needed. You told him to rest up, and he proceeded to spam you with the same angry animal memes as always. 

At the office, things were at a surprising lull by the end of the week, with Kirishima on your right on the sofa scrolling through some mods Hatsume had for him to review. Meanwhile, you took the rather unprofessional route and scrolled on your phone. Your retort to Kiri’s tutting over the bad habit was that you knew the higher ups were off with Jeanist at some press junket, and you could risk it. Called you a naughty thing, how Bakugou was rubbing off on you. You’re sure even at your hangriest you’re not that prickly. 

An instinct, you try calling Bakugou again, this time on speakerphone. It’s been a whole workweek, after all. It rings twice, then straight to voicemail. You end the call before recording anything, and fuss at the phone in your hand. 

“Ok, Kiri? This is weird.”

“Hm? What is?”

“He’s never answering,” you lock the phone habitually, “-and I mean never. No ‘hi’, no ‘whaddya want’; did he lose his voice or something?”

Kirishima finally breaks focus to look at you, questioning, “Bakubro?”

“Yeah, he hasn’t– not that I’m trying every day or anything, but it’s been almost a week of nothing and-” 

-your phone dings: one new preview of a message from ‘Backpack’ lights your lockscreen, and your frustration ramps up to 60.

“-Then he freakin’ texts– like two seconds later!! What the actual hell is going on with him?!”

Kirishima just snorts.

“Maybe he’s taking a dump~”

“He would not text me on the toilet.”

“All men do it.”

“KIRI.” you swat his foot off the couch that’s laid out towards you, crossing yours while he cackles behind his ipad’s screen.

“Oh cmon, he’s fine! He’s just taking a breather~” Kirishima presses you with an assuring look you’re inclined to buy, because his delivery is just that sweet, “Doesn’t really take time off much anymore, so if he did, he probably needs it. Been doing a lot of those muscle contracts, which pays well! But it’s no joke how much it takes out of you– Kamui wants him, Rocklock wants him-”

You do worry about the workload Bakugou is  under given all the names Kirishima rattles off, but your boy’s assured you it’s all part of his drive. That, and he says Bakugou’s saving up for something important for work, but doesn’t disclose more than that.

You don’t press when Bakugou puts up a wall– knowing full well he tells you things when he’s ready.  Till now, he’s not given an indication that he doesn't distrust you with anything- not even his life. You have each other’s backs, and that’s an honor that you value and reciprocate. Perhaps it’s by that faith in one another that you should grant him the benefit of the doubt. Maybe one of these days under another starry sky from the back of your bike, he may share his whats and hows and whys to that sweet spot behind your ear, disguising his secrets with yet another kiss he saves for when you’re alone.

But this silence is really throwing you a curveball. Katsuki’s voice is just one of the many things you’ve come to adore about him. When you confessed that little thought to him, he turned a soft answer -a promise- that he’d answer when you called, day or night. It’s a gruff, punchy sound when you hear it over coms, or even through your shared helmets; but it’s also rumbling, constant, soothing when you hear it fitted against your ear. 

You never thought you’d even miss Dynamight’s passive aggressive screaming so much– until you don’t have any echo of him in your head at all.

“-or yknow if it’s not his schedule, it’s his body that’s about to quit on him. He’s probably giving his ears a break, if I had to guess!”

“...His ears.”

Kirishima looks up at you again, like his point was obvious, “Yeah. He can’t wear ‘em all the time– they’ve gotta charge, and if he’s sweat them out of their normal place, they pinch-”

Realization forces you to sit up straight, “Katsuki wears hearing aids?”

“Well he has to, with his quirk!” Kirishima tickled himself explaining so, “Kats probably blew out his inner ear in middle school, and it’s only gotten worse the harder he’s trained. He got fitted for new ones sometime last winter which he says are more comfortable than the last ones, but I dunno-” Kirishima cracked his neck in a roll, “I think he keeps' em in too long; and they drive him batty after a while.”

You didn’t like the sound of that. 

Down at your phone, you read the text message fully:

Backpack: Knee deep in dishes. What’s up pretty girl.

You decide to answer,

//Waiting on a call for a pickup, just keeping the couch warm~  Up for a call real quick?

‘Backpack’ takes a minute this time. You reason maybe he’s using speech to text given the perfect grammar.

Backpack: Can’t right now.

// Podcast instead? ((eyes emoji))

Backpack: Pass.

//Kiri misses you… ((sad eyes))

Backpack: No he fucking doesn’t. 

Backpack: Throw him a bone or try some fetch, he’ll be fine.

You don’t even laugh at the image with how much he’s deflecting talking to you. Laying back, your concern must be palpable because Kiri nudges you with his foot, and you stare at its buckles; anything from looking at his face.

“He never turns down food.”

“What d’you mean.”

“I mean, he’ll need to eat~” Kirishima’s never ending support coats his words. “-and I’d be shocked if he’d  turn his Darling DoorDasher down.”

You snorted, “Hush, you.”

Kirishima knew full well about you two- he’s not blind. He knows about dates one, two, well- every date, whether from Bakubro's lips or your own. But while it doesn’t feel new and raw… it feels tender and personal, what you share with your hero off the field– and you don’t want the bubble to burst between you and Katsuki. Not just yet.

-which is why, despite your firm concern deep in your gut reminding you of your plans throughout your shift,  you are nervous for your first time going to his apartment, unannounced. 

You knock four times, then back away to the near side of the door so it doesn’t hit you when it opens. A lull of ‘nothing’ hung in the air.. 

You reconsidered,  suspicion making you  bite your cheek: what if he can’t hear you?

You knock four more times, a bit louder. You’re cringing as you come back to your lean. Shuffling, you do indeed look like a food delivery service- an insistent-looking one, to the couple passing by on the ground floor who look up at you and likely wonder why you don’t just call this a ‘contactless delivery’ and jog on.. 

“Cmon, Kats…” you bemoan before steeling your nerves. You try just three more times, channeling your inner ‘Dynamight’ yourself and banging at a level that would take it off its hinges before cringing away to your waiting spot. 

Bakugou’s neighbor pops his head out of the door opposite you this time– nailing you with a reproachful look. Apologies mouthed, you smile demurely as the sound of a very aware Bakugou approaches now.

“I’M COMING, DAMMIT!”

The neighbor -perhaps wisely- shuts his door as he hears the door about to be unlocked. The way his eyebrows fly up, you infer that he does little to ever cross his hotheaded neighbor.

“ALRIGHT ALREADY- WHAT?!”

He's gorgeous, still. Pissy and caught off his guard, and donned headphones around his neck. But Bakugou double-takes to you with a frozen mouth, watching you push off the siding seemingly unaffected by his outburst and smiling casually.

“Hiya~”

His jaw flexes, but he forces his snarl away. Clearly conflicted at your presence, he pinched his brow.

"Said you were workin’ today. What’re you doing."

"I was in the neighborhood. Brought you a bowl~" you bribed the man's heart with the top way you knew how: a white and red ‘thank you’-covered baggie with the jackpot inside..

He likes kamameshi so he doesn’t hafta chew a ton. If his ear n’ jaw are tired, the softer the better. You can't go wrong with a nice bowl o’comfort…  Not like it’d last long with that guy’s appetite on a good day, anyways! Hah!

Hardly one to refuse you (just as Kirishima lovingly predicted), Bakugou stepped aside to let you in, granting you a gentle stroke on your back as you passed him..

Inside, you trade giving him the bag with his offering of your choice in houseshoes. On the far side of the room, the TV is on, including a scroll of subtitles. You look about and the place is spotless- he wasn’t lying about the rage cleaning.

"In the neighborhood, huh?" Bakugou called to you, dishing out the box of takeout while watching you get settled in.

You already said so, but made sure to face him as you speak- eyes all on you. You think that making a sweet delivery is reason enough for your presence here,

"Yeah~ the office drew a short straw on the menu this week, so I’ve been eating out more~ still don’t know how you can mess up potatoes, but sure enough, Feefee’s found a way~" you smile, coming up to his side with a little lilt in your step.

-but Bakugou just drones back,

"Overdue on our lunches, aren’t we sweets. We'll go do something this weekend."

Oh boy. You’re really bad off. A diss at the agency kitchen staff would never go unnoticed by the resident lunch snob, you think to yourself. You may not have lightning fast quips like Kaminari, but c'mon, that was a little funny…

Any other time that Bakugou would willingly suggest a date would thrill you. Maybe he’s even aware that he’s been avoiding you, and is trying to make up for it by suggesting a couple places offhand. But knowing the real reason behind the aversion, it doesn’t warm you the way it always does. 

His answer was typical and wasn't really related to what you asked at all, so you watch him take some bites and try again.

You trailed over to his dining kitchenette, taking a seat before him, tone lovely and appropriate for the distance between you. 

“You should have seen Kiri’s attempt to make my coffee order. Almost put a pump of salmon oil in instead of simple syrup! But hey, that just means job security for you, yeah? You’re so much better at it.”

You make eyes at the tv behind you as you speak- a test. 

He catches your intentional look, but he twists in his seat to glance. Then, focuses back on you and not making a mess of his dish, “Yeah, you can change it if you want.”

So he's got context clues down. Smart, but not convincing enough. Still not hearing. 

You try once more, sass tinting your voice as if you were teasing him privately.

"We adopted a purple hippo as an office pet~"

"Mhm," Bakugou picked up on the attitude, pausing and coming to your side with a bit of a swagger he hopes looks natural, "Sure been a crazy week. Missed a lot. We’ll get back to normal soon, yeah? Cmon, let's go watch somethin’."

Your hands fall to your thighs in a resigned slap. Sighing, you look to him desperately, urging him with more enunciation. 

"This is bad, Katsuki."

"What's so bad." Bakugou reads your lips and deflects.

You tap your ear with a sympathetic look.

– his demeanor changes. Horribly.

Bakugou steps away in almost disbelief, edgy and firm: a rolling boil starts to simmer behind his eyes. Turning aside, he huffs. Guilty. 

He turns tail to the kitchen, cursing under his breath to ‘give him a second.’ Bakugou pushes his stacks of cleaned dishes aside, making a clash of noise even you flinch at. It’s evident the sound doesn’t phase him. 

"No, you don't have to put them-"

"I can't fucking HEAR YOU, woman; give me a DAMN SECOND!!"

Coming around the island after him, you see he’s trying to get at the charging dock on the backside of his butcher block.

Watching him fiddle with just his right ear, he turns back and faces you prickly as ever, with arms crossed and barely attempting to rein in his anger.

You are sure now you've struck a nerve if he's acting like this around you. You tread carefully,

"I'm not here to just yap your head off, or commandeer your days off. I… was just concerned."

"About what? I'm fine."

"It's been five days,” you stress gently, “you didn't think I would think it’s weird if you didn’t answer once?"

"I answered you back every time," Bakugou raised his voice a tick, "Every text– never left you on read, cuz I know that feels shitty!"

"I know you did," you give him credit, "But it's– different when we talk, and you know that difference. It's just that you always call back. It just hasn’t felt normal -for you- is all. And I didn’t know there was going to be a reason like this that’s why."

"Well it's not like I could hear the phone ring anyway, so fuck me for that. How the hell’d you find out anyway."

"...I didn't know until Kirishima said something. I was telling him I-"

"Of course it fucking was,” Bakugou huffed again, “Well, it's none of his business, it’s not his problem, and he should kept his DAMN mouth shut."

To trash Kirishima like this -hotheaded and bitter- definitely feels more like an attack than he'd ever mean on a good day. Kiri is his best friend, and clearly close enough to have been there at the first fitting and have a picture perfect memory of it because it mattered so much to his buddy to be there for him. To not let it define him.

You can't pretend to know how sensitive of a subject this is, based on how confident Bakugou is with everything in life: even the litany of scars he wears outlining his hero work aren't off limits to discussion. But his answers come armed with cached ammo and heat.

You certainly don't think yourself entitled to everything about him, but you see now that he clearly hadn’t planned to tell you about his wearing hearing aids, or at least hadn’t intended for you find out this way… so someone had to take the brunt of his ire. You think to be grateful he doesn’t appear ready to snap at you, but you feel so much on the outside, it hurts to watch him sizzle. 

You try to take the pressure off the leak of the news, "Where's this coming from, hon?"

Bakugou grunts, looking back to you with a raised brow. 

You gestured between you just to talk with your hands a little, "Where  is  this  coming-"

"HELL IF I KNOW!” Bakugou shouts back, “It just IS. I just wanted- it-- Look, just fuckin’ drop it, ok? I will. be back. tomorrow. And everything’ll be like it was before you knew a damn thing, ALRIGHT??"

He's defensive and mean now; the pitch he never aimed at you before now entered the ring.

This was a line you were damned sure not to let any man cross.

"Ok, we're gonna try that again,” you spoke plain as day.

"Try WHAT again??"

"Discussing, not fighting." You stood firm at his counter. You will not be taking up a screaming match under any circumstances, and have to make that clear. "Coming up with an answer -together- because that's what we do when our backs are up against the wall... Not bite the hand that's trying to help. ‘Hit the problem, not the player’."

The words resonate with Bakugou, having been the one who shot that reminder to you not a week ago from his own mouth, and everything in that face full of fire wants to rear back– 

"-and before you say ANYTHING else... You will. not. talk to me like that."

You hear the hero’s palms sizzle, and see by the look of hatred he glares at them with that he clearly hates the feel. 

Bakugou lets out a growl then goes silent, obeying. He takes a little pace around, finally settling at the tall, bar-height stool, rubs his palms compulsively at his thighs as a reset, and pulls at his head until it lays dejected in those explosive hands propped up on his knees.

Your invitation to stand by him opens when he lifts his head and scowls behind tented fingers. Kindly, you make sure to stand closer to his right to give him the best chance of catching your words.

"Y'know I'm the last one who's ever gonna give you a hard time for this, don’t you?"

Bakugou doesn't answer, but you know he's listening.

"It's hard for me to take time off work too, I don't do it as much as I should. I know it's hard to leave work at work, and you did that on your own, in order to take care of yourself. You know your limits and that’s keeping you alive. That was really wise."

You see a little bob of the head by the slight jostle of his hair.

What bothers you here and now isn’t just selfish thoughts of ‘why didn’t he tell me’, but ‘why didn’t he tell anyone’? It’s clear by what you’ve learned that next to no one knows of his condition. That small aspect of this gives you a little comfort, but opens up a bigger dose of worry. Hearing impairment might be perceived by a bystander as a defect or weakness, but for the old friends and medical experts who surely surround him, you’d feel confident in Bakugou’s care to know he’d surely not think of himself that way. 

Surely not… surely not?

“But the thing is, if it's coming down to you hurting and needing help- or just, getting time away if that's what you really want, I can totally get that. But  between you and I? We've gotta figure out how you really feel about this, because it’s eating at you. Affects everything you do at some point, right? Can't have you working yourself to the bone here, overworking your senses out there, feeling like you can’t speak for days on end, setting things off, either. Even accidentally."

You swipe along his shoulder and arm sweetly, just for a little connection.

“I… I really do care about you, Katsuki. I don't want you to feel you have to manage it all on your own.  I want to be someone you can have in your back pocket for help- even with something like this.”

A ‘ride or die’ offer if there ever was one.

Bakugou looks in the direction of your hand. The smooth, unscarred hand you sport is so different from his own. Proof of the softness he lost a long time ago, his sunken eyes tell you. He blinks, and it’s a pensive, sad sight. 

 "M'sorry." 

The hoarseness in that proud voice fell hollow.

To anyone else, it may sound apathetic and half-assed, but Bakugou held so much ‘punch’ in his daily speech that you realized this apology featured the even breath of emotion. Restraint. His control. His gentleness.

“You can't help how your body works, Kats. You don't have to apologize for what's happening naturally. This is... just a side effect, unfortunately.”

“T’snot that,” he said limply.

A second attempt to finish for him, you try again studying the takeout boxes left open. “I.. get you not telling me, too. It’s not my business either.”

Bakugou shakes his head, with a dismissive jerk of the head altogether. Instead he lifts up, miserably.

"I don't talk to you that way."

Through a brief silent showdown, you accept his apology. As rough as he is even with his own mother, Bakugou has framed a different ring for you two to dance in, and harshness doesn’t belong in it.

"You don’t,” the agreement is established, “that's how I knew something's out of whack. Plus, I mean.. if you can’t pick up background noise, it must be hard trying to match volume in a space, right?"

Bakugou’s hoarseness fails him, falling to which air, "That's a shit poor excuse. You were right. I know the difference." 

Meekly reaching for hip, the man sniffles: pulling you the rest of the way between his bent legs. 

You step in and he crumbles into your core, strong hands encircling your hips. 

"I'm sorry," he swears.

"It's ok..."

Bakugou squeezes you in, "It's not. Ok. You should have slapped me for that shit.”

“I’m not doing that, either,” you get weary hearing how the guys rough each other up. You’re certainly not applying the same tactics to him of all people.

“Well, it’s inexcusable. I respect you more than to do that. Know better.”

"I forgive you, then."

"You shouldn't, so easily.”

Chin jutted on his still-bowed head, your answer comes simply but openly:

"...That's commonly called love, Katsuki. I love you. That’s what I do."

He's silent and frozen. The only sign of life is that he is -in fact- breathing still.

You said these, the magic words, in record time for anyone you've held affection for... and you didn't care. You loved Katsuki. Loved all of him. Even the prickly bits that threatened to square up at you like  a bull. 

Friendship was an surprisingly easy test for you two.

Partnership, battle-proven in the public sphere. 

But this is the final straw that you’ve been keeping safe and special. Telling Katsuki you loved him would push things to a deeper level than you felt the term ‘boyfriend’ afforded you both at thirty years old. In loving him, and no one else, you just wanted to call him ‘yours’ already and be done with searching for the One.

Since he doesn’t speak, you busy yourself elsewhere. He may not answer nearly as quickly as you given how on-the-spot he mulls in currently… but he hasn’t let go of you, which is a good sign. Good enough for you.

Your mind veers a bit in the quiet. You think to yourself about what feels nicest when you've had your helmet on too long; athletes deal with it, racers deal with it.. Anyone who wears a support item with internal padding giving cushion around the head is bound to force unnatural pressure on every angle for the sake of protection. 

On you, this tension lies just behind the ears. 

To soothe it, you’d usually draw a sun: a half circle design, zigzagging up and down with your fingertips, creating lines of relief along the tender sides of your head. It's to help the blood flow, and the scratches crackle nicely to the ear canal. Acts as white noise to the senses which is often a welcome change to the low thrum of a headache or grating road noise.

So with careful fingers, a mind set on comfort and a heartful of soft love for this man, you draw twin suns deep within Katsuki's hair.

…within seconds, he wept.

Bakugou softly cries and he holds you close. He turns in his seat, pulling you to fit even tighter between his knees with no gap of room between you.

When he can regulate his breaths down to calm blows from his lips, he shares more what's on his mind, down the space between you.

"...that feels really good."

"I hoped so~. So your head bothers you too, after a while. Having them in all the time?"

He turns his head finally to rest on one side, the functionally deaf side leaning into your chest... listening out for a heartbeat it seems.

“N’it’s all inside, so it’s hard to touch it unless I pump myself full of horsepills… makes m’stomach hurt."

From head to toe, he’s being honest about what this means for him. "The thing that’s meant to help, hurts? I’m sorry, hon."

He's still swallowing back his emotions, so you don't press for what he wants to say when it's clear he's focused on getting good rhythm back.

"My arm gets numb sometimes, too."

You're surprised at this, as more pieces fit together you didn’t know were necessarily missing, "-Yeah?"

"It's somethin' in the tendons. Can fight fine, but small moves are weird. I can't pick up a fucking piece of paper right. N'holding my phone hurts some days."

With a kiss to his hair, you see the teed-up ‘in’ to make him laugh,

"Well, who're you gonna be texting anyway, now that I won't be blowing up your phone?"

He tuffs. Joking aside, you hugged you close. “Gotta to back to that dumbass doctor, don't I."

"They can check your nerve endings with a scan. See if there's a reason for it."

Bakugou accepts this and continues his baring of his heart. He mentions old pains, some new ones, even some random details about which oscillating fans he likes on or off because of how warm he runs. Some of it relates to his work, some not, but you take it all in. Each little snippet he offers up reminds you of penguin pebbling. 

Satisfaction rang through you with the news that caused the biggest physical response in him: he confessed after all that he hadn’t wanted to ignore you at all, and it shows.

His hands massage at you– never getting enough.

“V’missed your voice too,” Bakugou’s voice finally seeps back in- that low, growly rumble of the chest you wanted to play on loop, “But I know I needed that break. I wanted 'em out, just for a little while. Even if I didn’t want to miss the good that comes from keepin’ em in.”

“That’s fine to want. Anytime you need.”

Bakugou turns exploratory with his hand. With the one not locked around your waist keeping you to him, he gives long scritches across your back, up front to hold your side- rooting him. 

“N’for the record, not everyone knows. It’s probably in a record somewhere, so it’s not really been taboo or anything. No one’s ever banned me from fighting; not yet at least. It’s not a secret. But… s’been so long, I’ve… never had to explain them to anyone. Sure as shit don't tell the public.”

Tender fingers seek out the soft inner side of your wrist, just a small touch.

“But you…I didn’t know how to open that up. Seems like a random ass thing to drop on you.”

You understand, and think it sweet that he at least had contemplated telling you at some point– but now, you could only look to his future and knew this would only help you moving forward.

"Nothing’s random if it’s important to you. So head scratches are a yes. Fast food is a yes, keeps you out of the stores. Anything else I should keep in mind to help?"

Bakugou thinks, but just holds onto you with a little nuzzle, "Not now. Yer doin’ it."

Happy and soft, you smile, "Okey~"

After a minute, he's matched your breathing, and you only move when he lifts his head to chin up at you from his spot. You smile expectantly seeing him less harsh around the edges and looking at you on the softer side of pitiful. Like he's looking to you for the solution-- neck bared and showing a rare vulnerability.

"You're my hero, Kats," you dote on him. Hands through his hair, scritching at the base, "y'know that right?"

"Damn right."

"And you aren't anywhere near throwing in the towel over this."

His smirk returned, "Damn right."

Bakugou’s neck received more soothing treatment again– making his eyes flutter, 

"Because my Lord Explosion has way too many baddies left to murder before he allows anyone get to his getaway driver, right?"

Finally showing signs of his spark back, Bakugou growls his pleasure. 

"Y'talking about murder does things to a man, baby."

"Thought it might... I mean every word though. You take such good care of me, Kats. Let me do the same for you sometimes, ok?"

"... Yeah alright," he finally caves easily with tepid palms smoothing over the back of your thighs. Still keeping you close, forehead falling to rest against you, you feel finally content that your presence has helped him. 

All your one-sided concerns now settled, you feel glad that your update to Kirishima later will share that Bakugou’s okay– and will likely add in a fair heads-up that he might still be pissy with him come Monday.

After some cursory scratches across his shoulders, you remember to hold out a hand by his eye level. Bakugou hums when he notices it, and raises his hand to hold yours-- only for you to dodge it, and keep it open.

Let me have it, silly.

After checking ‘what on earth you were getting at’, he tilts to see your fingers open again. The blond head of hair at your chest sighs, decides, then takes the lone hearing aid out and returns it into your open palm. With careful depositing, you set it on the counter behind you with the note-to-self to put it back with its mate– and return your hands to yours.

Bakugou centered himself by breathing you in. Once he had you snug in his arms again, he pressed a firm kiss through your shirt, hoping you felt everything he couldn’t say behind a tight throat. 

You thought it silly, but with him resting fairly tame right on your chest, you thought you'd try a little enrichment for him:

That stupid song from the pop-up takeaway truck was still stuck in your head, so you started humming it to him. 

With how high you stood above him doling out scritches to his temple, you missed how his eyes opened for a flash in recognition of today’s current brainrot love ballad; but you didn't miss how he pressed in closer to you and really listened.

[epicbuddieficrecs]

Weekly Recap | January 8th-14th 2024

TWO MONTHS UNTIL SEASON 7!!!

I'm sorry it's late and I'm sorry if I missed anyone but my ao3 history was sortof a mess 😩 I think maybe some userscript I downloaded is fucking up my history. oh well. (or else someone has hacked my ao3 account and has been reading House M.D. fanfic?!?!? (how the fuck did I even get in my history, I don't even remember searching for anything that had House fics in the results wtf))

Complete

Followed By Ghosts by itsanapothecary (Canon Divergent, S1-S2 | 21K | Teen): Instead of hiding the truth about Daniel from their children, Margaret and Philip memorialize their lost son in every one of their remaining children's accomplishments. Growing up, neither Maddie nor Buck felt like they could escape the shadow of their brother. When Buck finds the 118, he gets a chance to be his own person, although the looming attention from his parents and weight of expectations threatens to jeopardize what he's built in Los Angeles.

no harm, no foul by callmenewbie/ @callmenewbie (Getting Together | 5K | Mature): Eddie knows how Buck feels. Buck knows how Eddie feels. So why is Eddie giving him the cold shoulder instead of talking about it?

what to do when evan buckley breaks into your house at 3:17 in the morning by oklahoma/ @malewifediaz (Love Confessions | 3K | Teen): After a night out drinking with Maddie, Buck (kind of) breaks in to Eddie’s house.

Wait For It by oliviacirce (PWP, Post-S6E6: Cursed | 8K | Explicit): Buck kind of liked not jerking off.

in a fix by rainbow_nerds/ @rainbow-nerdss (Getting Together, PWP | 4K | Explicit): Buck gets himself into a bit of a sticky situation, and Eddie helps him out.

we were lucky once (could be lucky again) by hattalove/ @hattalove (Post-Break Up | 1K | Teen): which they're not together anymore, but they can't sleep apart.

Mark Me Like a Bloodstain (Burning Red) by sirencalls/ @usersiren (Vampire Eddie, Post-S4, PWP | 3K | Explicit): “Eddie, you’re freezing,” Buck says, worry creeping into his tone. “Eddie, we need to get you to the hospital—” “No.” His voice is echoey and strange, definitively not human, and he picks up on the way Buck’s pulse quickens. Fuck, he’s scaring Buck. The human part of him is ashamed, guilty for making Buck ever be afraid of him. The vampire part of him is delighted, is even more wanting because of it, and that’s why he calls himself a monster.

Kinktober 2021 series by sirencalls/ @usersiren (PWP | 31 works | 68K | Explicit)

all that is you makes up all that is me by soyxunxperdedor/ @messyhairdiaz (Post-S6E11 | 1K | General): “I was just checking if you’re ready…” Eddie says faintly, trailing off as his eyes track the path of the lightning seared across Buck’s skin. -or- In the aftermath of a lightning strike, Buck and Eddie have a conversation.

Long Overdue by mansikka (PWP | 3K | Mature): Eddie realizes his feelings for Buck are more than platonic; what's he supposed to do now?

kiss me, kiss me (i don't know if i can let you go) by ipretendtobesane/ @useramor (Getting Together, Accidental Kissing | 10K | General): If anyone ever asks- they were both drunk. Eddie knows they weren’t, he and Buck don’t like to drink during the week, regardless of whether or not they work the next day. If they are working, they don’t want to be out of it on the job, and if they’re not they don’t want to be out of it when Christopher wakes up the next morning at 7:00am with more energy than either of them can handle. But there’s not really a good explanation otherwise. No other way to explain why, as Buck was walking out the door, Eddie leaned in and gave him a soft kiss goodnight.

til there was you by woodchoc_magnum/ @woodchoc-magnum (Hurt Buck, Married Buddie | 16K | Mature): In which Buck's appendix tries to kill him in the middle of a busy shift, and Eddie has to stage a dramatic rescue.

spread a little christmas cheer by soyxunxperdedor/ @messyhairdiaz (Post-S3E10: Christmas Spirit, PWP | 1K | Explicit): Eddie has a realization at the Christmas party and goes the wrong way with it.

do you love me? all you gotta do is say yes by fleetinghearts/ @shitouttabuck (Friends to Fiances, Crack | 3K | Teen): “It’s always pretty fun to see a former fuckboy from your grad school era bootycall list all domestic and settled down.” or, two boy best friends and an ex lover walk into a grocery store. everyone is on their normalest behaviour.

🔥 Echoes of Your Name by sirencalls/ @usersiren (Canon Divergence, PWP, Sex Worker Buck | 9K | Explicit): Of course he’s immediately wary of it. Porn videos have never worked for Eddie, so why would the audio version of them be any different? It’s the same strangers faking the same moans and whines as the other actors, just without a pretty face to go with it. Eddie thinks it’ll almost be less effective—seeing every tiny reaction that someone has to what you’re doing to them is part of the fun—so he doesn’t have high expectations. He doesn’t expect it to work.

marry me, eddie diaz by elisela/ @elisela (Marriage Proposal | 1K | General): There’s a long silence, and then, “you do that a lot,” Eddie says, looking over at him strangely. “I do what a lot?” “Ask me to marry you,” Eddie says. “I know it’s just a joke, but I feel like—” he stops and shakes his head, bringing his hand up to rub the back of his neck.

sit present in the darkness by elisela (Post-Shooting, Established Buddie | 4K | General): In the midst of stories about their jobs, catching up on what the kids have said, and making endless fun of each other, Eddie’s sitting at his seat with his phone face down on the table in front of him. Occasionally it will buzz and he’ll look around the table, pick it up when he thinks no one is watching. He types something quickly, looks over his shoulder at the kid’s table—where Buck has been since the food was brought to them—and puts it down again. Face down. Karen knows this game. She’s played it before, almost lost.

WIP

🔥 Precious & Fragile Things by Daisies_and_Briars/ @cal-daisies-and-briars (Small Miracles AU, Angel Buck | 13/? | 31K | Teen): Buck is the Fallen Angel of Petty Temptation, who has been tasked with tempting human Eddie Diaz to sin and enjoy life, but just a little. He thinks the job will be easy - get in, get out, go back to Peru to continue messing around with eternity. But when Buck arrives in Los Angeles, he finds Eddie is harder to tempt than expected, and more compelling than Buck had hoped.

🔥 and if i bleed (you'll be the last to know) by diazchristopher/ @captain-hen (Canon Divergent Season 6, Friends with Benefits | 2/18 | 9K | Explicit): or, an alternate look at season 6 where buck and eddie have been casually sleeping together since before the beginning of the season. somehow, this changes both everything and nothing at all.

🔥 Things We're All Too Young to Know by @cal-daisies-and-briars (Canon, S1 through S6 | 106/? | 290K | Mature): This is a love story. Even if it doesn’t always look like it. Even if it doesn’t always feel like it. A look back on Eddie and Buck's lives up to now, and what led them to each other, interpreted from the current 9-1-1 canon.

Innocence died screaming, honey, ask me I should know by JJK/ @trenchcoatsandtimetravel (Demon Buck, Canon Divergent | 9/? | 15K | Teen): Buck is a demon with the power to help with pregnancy, childbirth, and infant health. When the Buckleys make a deal asking for someone to help 'save their baby', Buck leaps at the chance as it will give him what he's always wanted: a life on earth. But demon deals are tricky and neither of them gets quite what they're after. This is Buck's journey as he navigates growing up on earth and remembering how to help those in need.

🔥 for all the haunts and homes of men by euadnes/ @kananjarus (Canon Divergent, Post-Apocalyptic, Station Eleven Crossover | WIP | 12/? | 105K | Mature | Warning: Violence): The year by the old calendar is 2025. Home is gone. Home is a failed rescue mission and an echo of a memory. Home is a lost boy living in a wooden house by the sea. But first, there was a promise. Christopher, when it's safe, I'll take you back to your father. Buck had all but given up on keeping it after the world had died and everyone in it. But just as some oaths refuse to be forgotten, so the same can be said about the endurance of love.

🔥 Right Where You Left Me by hyacinthusbloom/ @thebloomingheather (Canon Divergent, Post-S4, Angst | 21/? | 106K | Explicit | ❗️Warning: Rape/Non-con): "Therapy?" Eddie suggests. Buck almost laughs, but instead says, "I'll go if you go." Because he had fully expected him to be chicken shit, to disagree, and instead Eddie, the bastard, replies, "Deal." Or Buck never tells anyone that he slept with his therapist and deals with the butterfly effect years later.

🔥 a foundation of trust and love we cannot see by lemonzestywrites/ @lemonzestywrites (FWB, BDSM, Sub Eddie, Dom Buck | 2/17 | 24K | Explicit): “It’s like I want to explore it and dive into it, but it’s not exactly like I’m seeing someone to try this all out with,” he explains, doing his best to keep down the annoyed huff that threatens to escape him at every other word. Buck nods to himself before steadily going silent. For a minute, Eddie thinks that this is the end of their conversation. “I can show you if you’d like.” Eddie nearly chokes on his beer.

Love Ends. by rowan_wood (Exes to Lovers | 5/17 | 7K | Explicit): But what if it doesn't?

Re-read

🔥 Relationship Advice from Complete Strangers Online by HMSLusitania/ @hmslusitania (Getting Together | 4K | Teen): When he gets home for the night, Buck turns to the one source of information that’s never let him down: the internet. But where does one go for relationship advice from complete strangers online? Which is how, ten minutes later, he finds himself on Reddit with a shiny new account and username. It takes him a while after that to craft his question for r/Relationships, but he thinks he’s got it pretty accurately conveyed before he hits post.

🔥 You Could Be The One I Keep by browney3dgirl6/ @hoodie-buck (Didn't Know They Were Dating | 6K | Teen): Eddie finally get's up the nerve to ask Buck out, his best friend accepting much easier than Eddie ever dreamed. Things are better than ever between them, the two of them becoming even closer, going out on several dates—only problem? Buck has no idea they're dating, like not even the slightest clue.

[steddieunderdogfics]

This week’s writer spotlight feature is: starryeyedjanai! @starryeyedjanai has 74 fics in the Stranger Things fandom and 60 of them are in the Steddie tag!

@steddieas-shegoes recommends the following works by @starryeyedjanai:

All things end and all things change.

what lurks beneath

nights like this

if i could hold you for a minute (i’d go through it again)

"Janai is one of those authors that can make absolutely anything hot. I could sit and talk for hours about how they characterize Steve and Eddie. I absolutely love everything they write and always make it a priority to open the AO3 email when the notification comes in!" -- @steddieas-shegoes

Below the cut, @starryeyedjanai answered some questions about their writing process and some of their recommended work!

Why do you write Steddie?

These two burrowed their way into my brain and just won’t leave. I can’t not write them when I am thinking about them literally all the time and am brimming with new ways for them to fall in love.

What’s your favorite trope to READ?

I’m kind of a sucker for steddie talking via notes, letters, etc. before they ever meet in person. There’s just something so special about them falling in love in unconventional ways before they ever meet in person that hits the spot, you know? I also just really love all the creative AUs that people come up with that I never would have thought of writing.

What’s your favorite trope to WRITE?

I love writing anything that has friends to lovers and especially if they are so, so stupid about it. Idiot4idiot my beloved. friends/acquaintances to lovers is So fun to explore because there are a million ways to do it. I love a good oh moment where things just click into place.

What’s your favorite Steddie fic?

It is So hard to pick just one!!! So i’ll list a few: One that I have reread a few times that I just really, really love is All I Do Is Want by novemberthorne. There’s just something really special about it—all the emotion in the beginning and then the smut which is just top tier. like a sack of bricks and literally anything by alligator_writes is great off the beaten path by pukner is also really, really great

Is there a trope you’re excited to explore in a future work but haven’t yet?

I have a fic idea that I've been thinking about for a while that involves alternate universes, like the metaverse, because if the Upside Down exists, there are probably other dimensions as well.

What is your writing process like?

It is honestly so variable. For the majority of my ficlets, I get an idea and just start hacking away at it intermittently until it’s done, so it’s safe to say that at any given time, I have like eight ficlets that are partially written. I never used to outline because I didn’t really write fics longer than around 5k, but since I’ve started writing longer fics, it is almost necessary for me to have an outline that hits all the major plot points because otherwise I will forget what I have planned. So for anything that I know will be longer than a ficlet, I’ll write out an outline, even just a few bullet points so that I can reference it when I’m writing and not lose sight of where the story is going. 

Do you have any writing quirks?

I use way too many em-dashes and my sentences are sometimes comically long, but the way I write is indicative of how fast my brain is moving, kind of. I typically headcanon Steve and Eddie to both have ADHD, so any fics in their points of view will have their thoughts coming out as fast as my own typically are. And sentence length and structure can really help convey that.

Do you prefer posting when you’ve finished writing or on a schedule?

I prefer posting once I’ve finished writing because my focus shifts around a lot and it sometimes takes a while for me to actually finish projects (like i had a fic that sat at 16k for months as I worked on other things that caught my attention and then I finally returned to finish the last couple thousand words six or so months later)

Which fic are you most proud of?

I am proud of all of my fics, but I really, really love how All things end and all things change. turned out. Some fics just come together so easily and this was one of them. I outlined the fic and let the idea marinate for a couple months and then I wrote ~20k in about a week and finished the fic.

How did you get the idea for All things end and all things change.?

This fic was for a holiday server exchange so my giftee gave me three prompts and I found ways to incorporate all of the prompts. I saw the prompt for mutual pining roommates and immediately knew I was going to write Eddie taking Steve home to Wayne over the holidays. I originally only planned on using that prompt, but the prompt for a snowy cabin getaway really called to me as I got further along in the fic and needed more tension between them. It was just a really excellent set of prompts.

When writing All things end and all things change., what was something you didn’t expect?

I did not expect it to get so long! My original estimate was 10k, but then I kept adding more to Wayne and Eddie showing Steve how special Christmas could be with people who care about him and then I added the cabin scene which added an easy 5k to the fic and then I was staring at what was, at that time, my longest complete fic. Wild.

What inspired what lurks beneath?

This honestly came out of left field for me because I had only ever written one other fic like it. I was doing kinktober for the first time and had a few different ideas for the prompt for that day and then I saw that the date of that prompt was Joey (@matchingbatebites)’s birthday and remembered her lake monster Eddie ficlet and instantly knew I wanted to explore a different version of lake monster Eddie.

What was your favorite part to write from if i could hold you for a minute (i’d go through it again)?

I really, really loved writing the flashes into the future at the end of the fic. Throughout the fic, there was some yearning and pining from afar and getting to write that everything works out in the end was cathartic.

How do/did you feel writing if i could hold you for a minute (i’d go through it again)?

Oh boy, this fic put me through the ringer. This was written for the steddie big bang and it was the first longer fic that I was attempting to write. I just had so many different ideas for this fic that it made it hard to choose the direction I wanted to go in. I probably have like an additional 20k words that just did not end up in the fic because it contradicted things that did end up in the fic or just didn’t fit with the vibe I was going for. There were times that I felt discouraged and felt like I might never finish it, but I am very pleased with how it turned out in the end! It was extremely rewarding to finally finish it and get it posted in February!

What was the most difficult part of writing nights like this?

Honestly, I don’t remember this one giving me any trouble at all. Once I got the idea in my brain, I think I sat down and wrote all 2.5k in a day. I do not know what my brain was doing during kinktober, but I think I ended up writing like over 60k that month and it was the only time that I’ve ever really been able to sit down and write a ficlet from start to finish like that and it happened with multiple of the ficlets that I ended up writing the day before they were published.

Do you have a favorite scene and/or line from any of your fics?

I really love the lead up to the smut in my fic catch the embers on my tongue. Like eddie being a little self-deprecating and in awe that steve might feel the same way he does was so fun to write. Also the summary for surface level freak is probably one of my favorite things i’ve written.

Do you have any upcoming projects or fics you’d like to share/promote?

Some of the projects I’m working on right now are things I can’t really talk about, but look forward to fics from me in the Steddie Summer Exchange, the Steddie Bang 2024, and the ST Sapphic Mini Bang!

Outside of these questions, Is there anything YOU would like to add?

Whoever nominated me, I am kissing you full on the mouth with tongue (if you’re into that kind of thing)

Thank you to our author, @starryeyedjanai, and our nominator, @steddieas-shegoes! See more of starryeyedjanai's works featured on our page throughout the day!

Writer’s Spotlight is every Wednesday! Want to nominate an author? You can nominate them here!

[twola]

I always hate like “requesting” something because it feels like a forceful “write this for me now!” kind of thing, but a I’ve always had this smutty idea in my head where Arthur is getting a little weaker from the TB, but is also pinning after some cute girl in camp. Some wooing occurs and things start getting steamy~ but it’s her first time or she’s not super experienced. I feel like HH!Arthur would try to be the gentleman to show her a sweet, gentle time, but wouldn’t have the stamina for missionary, so his partner would pick up where he leaves off by riding him like the work horse he is. I just thin the scenario would be perfect for like sexy words of encouragement (def NOT thinking of his mare voice lines *wink wink wink*) plus Arthur getting taken care of too instead of just doing the caring. I have like 0 writing skills tho lol so if you ever found yourself in need of smutty I soo I would feel HONORED for you to bring my nasty Arthur thoughts to life

Ooh, TB whumpy smut… I’m sensing a pattern here. My poor boah, how I love to torture him…

This was a good one! Still working on a few more. I love and thrive on feedback so drop me a line if you liked it.

Regret Me Not

Arthur Morgan x F!Reader Smut (18+), MDNI

➵ Fic Masterlist ➵ AO3 Link

Regrets seem to take up much of his headspace these days... But for one regret of his, Arthur takes action with a little bit of urging on your part.

Arthur wheezes, covering his mouth with the back of his palm, the wet, hacking noise that scrapes out of his throat as he sits on the boulder south of Beaver Hollow, out of earshot of the camp. 

Not that he needed people’s stares. He looks terrible enough that he gets looks of pity from the women, avoided by the men - and Dutch? Well, he is living in another reality.

Another cough rips through him, as he feels as if he were drowning within his own body. A small hand lands on his back. He looks up, rubbing his mouth with the back of his sleeve.

You stand over his shoulder, rubbing gently, concern alight in your eyes. You look down and dig into the pockets of your skirts.

“Here.” You say with a small smile, handing him a bottle of tonic.

He coughs again, butchering his thanks, as he takes the bottle from your hands, uncorking it quickly and downing the foul-tasting liquid quickly.

“How are you feeling?” You ask quietly, hand still resting on his shoulder, slowly, gently rubbing circles into his upper back.

Arthur wants to lean wholly into your touch. He wants to wrap himself into you and let you card your fingers through his hair. He wants to rest. He wants to sleep.

He wants, he wants - but alas. None of that was possible.

“Like hell.” He grits out hoarsely, tossing the empty bottle to the dirt at his feet.

“I’m sorry, Arthur.” You say softly. Your other hand moves to his back as well, rubbing at his other shoulder.

“ ‘S alright.” He murmurs, not wanting to let on how good your hands feel on him.

A silence settles in, and you rub at his shoulders for a few moments more before drawing your hands away from him.

“Well… I just wanted to check on you. See how you’re doin’. I’ll see you later, Arthur.” You say, and he can hear the crunch of gravel under your boot as you turn on your heel. You begin to walk up the path back toward camp, as he turns and follows you with his gaze over his shoulder.

Arthur wants. In the embracing of his mortality, the facade of propriety and the painstakingly built walls around his heart crumble in the face of his own death.

He has watched you for months. Yearned for months, wanted and needed your attention, always too self-conscious to reach out and touch.

Sister Calderon’s words echo in his ears with each step you take away from him.

“Take a chance that love exists.”

“D-do you wanna get outta here?”

His voice is hoarse, almost weak sounding. Nothing of the man that he used to be.

You stop, turning around, a small smile creeping across your face. “God, get outta this hell hole? Absolutely. Anywhere is better than these hills.”

His heart hopes.

“I gotta go grab some mail from Van Horn. Ain't much better though…”

“It ain’t here, Mister Morgan. Let’s go.”

—

Van Horn is just as decrepit as the last time he was here. Falling apart and full of the dregs of society, left behind by the churning wheel of progress. He mirthfully counts himself as one of them, he supposes.

He tucks the letters he retrieved into his satchel, moseying slowly toward the back of the dock, where you stand with your elbows on the railing, gazing at the river’s lazy waters. Northward, toward the mountains and the river’s origins.

“Y’ready there, ma’am?”

You look back at him but don’t move. “Already? Ugh. Camp’s just so…”

Arthur sidles up next to you, placing his own elbows on the railing, grunting in agreement. You didn’t need to go any further, he knew where you were going with your comment.

The camp was… well, a gloom has settled upon it. Dutch acting irrational, angry. The loss of Hosea and Lenny. Running from Pinkertons.

And his own impending demise, of course.

“What’re you gonna do after?” Arthur asks quietly and notices the stuttering breath you take as your shoulders drop a little.

“I… I don’t know. I don’t have much else than this.”

Arthur hangs his head, taking in a deep breath. A breath that seems to barely fill his ailing lungs, and he coughs slightly under the rim of his hat.

“Y’got a good head on you. You’ll do fine.” He grits out, voice hoarse.

You remain silent, your eyes set on the water of the slow-flowing river. A boat chugs southbound, heading toward Saint Denis.

“I don’t know how I’ll fare being alone.” You softly murmur.

He sighs. “I’m sure you can stay with Abigail or Missus Adler. Or Charles. You got people to watch out for you.”

“But not you.”

A pang, a sharp pain shoots through his chest, above and beyond the near-constant constriction of his lungs.

“No. Not me.”

You look up at him, a sheen of wetness over your eyes. It pains him as he looks back.

A tear rolls down your face and it’s everything he is not to lean over and cup your face in his hands and wipe your tears away.

“Sweetheart, you deserve-”

“Don’t. Don’t tell me what I deserve, Arthur Morgan.” You spit out, tears openly running down your cheeks.

Arthur sighs, looking back down at the water. It is murky, muddy, dirty right under the dock. Just like this damn town.

You push yourself into his surprised embrace, clutching at his shirt, and it takes him a moment to realize that this wasn’t a dream, and he winds his arms around you, pulling you against him.

“I wish you would stop hiding from me.” You whisper as he holds you to his chest, your cheek pressed against his breastbone, probably hearing the crackling failure of his lungs with each breath he takes.

He doesn’t know how to answer that. For years now, it’s been easier for him to keep that urn with the remains of his heart buried from all.

“I’m here… I’m here now.” He murmurs, resting his chin atop your head.

“I’ve been waitin’ for you, Arthur. Waitin’ and wishing for you to ask me to be yours.” You bury yourself in his embrace.

Fuck.

Arthur’s resolve cracks like a piece of porcelain.

“I’m just a fool. A fool for making you wait.”

You shudder against him, digging your fingers into his shirt, and your breath stutters as you try to stifle a sob. Pulling away, you look up at him, his bloodshot, sunken eyes, still the blue-green pools you would drown in.

You lean up on your toes, arms winding around his neck, but he turns his face away as you draw closer. 

“No. I ain’t gettin’ you sick too.”

You frown, glassy-eyed, about to draw your arms from him before he leans down and presses his lips to your cheek, again and again, moving up toward your ear.

“But…. I’ll give you whatever else it is you want.” He rumbles, arms wound tight around you, his body arcing over yours.

You shiver in his embrace, pulling your head back ever so slightly to look him in the eye.

“I want whatever you’re willing to give me.” You whisper, hands moving up and clutching at his collar.

He leans his forehead against yours. “If you want a dying, washed-up gunsling-”

You interrupt, pressing up on your toes and kissing his cheek, “I want you, Arthur Morgan. I’ve wanted you for so long.”

So long.

So long.

Goddamnit. He’s been looking at you, yearning for you, for months. Before Blackwater and ferries and being chased by Pinkertons. Before Dutch became erratic, before all of these complications. When he was chasing tumbleweeds across the wild and open west.

He gives a shuddering sigh, and draws you closer, pulling you to him and placing his lips on the long line of your neck. You whimper as he pulls a bit of your pale skin between his teeth, suckling on it, hoping to leave a mark.

You throw your arms completely around his shoulders and begin to pant in his ear. Whimpers turn to whines as one of his large hands moves down from your waist to clench roughly at your rear, drawing you against his pelvis and his rapidly hardening cock.

“A-Arthur - please -” You moan, rubbing yourself against him, and he regretfully draws his mouth away from your skin, pink-tinged and wet from his attentions.

As much as he’d love to turn you around, throw up your skirts, and press himself into you for the sake of time, he knows you deserve more than that.

“Lemme get a room.” He pants, letting go of you, moving to adjust himself in his trousers. “Go on upstairs.”

You pull at the collar of your blouse to hide the evidence of your indiscretion and quietly nod, moving past him and slowly climbing the rickety stairs to the second story of the decrepit building. 

He quickly pays for a room, and grabs the key from the clerk with a dismissive grunt, hurrying his way up the stairs to find you leaning against the second-story railing, waiting for him. 

Arthur jams the key into the door’s lock, pushing it open, and lumbering into the room, where he immediately sheds the repeater strapped to his back and places it on the worn table next to the door. His gunbelt follows as you step inside, closing and locking the door behind you. 

He places his hat atop the pile of guns on the table, looking back at you.

“Still want to do-”

You cut him off by closing the distance between you and throwing your arms around his waist.

He pulls you toward the bed, and places his hands on your waist, holding you still, as he sits on the bed, the worn frame creaking under his weight. He doesn’t spare it a second thought, eyes trained on you, and he gently pulls you to sit in his lap.

You cup his cheek gently, thumb tracing along his beard that he’s kept longer to hide the gauntness of his cheeks. His large hand lands on your thigh, squeezing it as he presses his face into the hollow of your neck.

You gasp as you feel his tongue on your skin, clutching at his shirt as you tilt your head back.

You shiver again as his hand creeps up under your skirt, finger gently rubbing against the seam of your bloomers, which dampens quickly under his ministrations.

“It's been a while,” He grunts out, unable to stop his hips from bucking up against your legs with you seated in his lap, the long line of him chasing your warmth.

“M-me too. Ain’t since-” you mewl into his ear as his fingers push your bloomers to the side and brush against the damp skin of your core, “some stable boy when I was sixteen- ahh - we - we didn’t know what we was doin’.” You gasp out as his pointer finger, thick and strong, dips inside your entrance, sheathing to the knuckle within your cunt.

He slides another finger inside you, groaning against your hair when he realizes how tight you are, clutching desperately at his digits, imagining how good you would feel surrounding his cock.

“I’ll be good to you,” He grits out, crooking his fingers within you.

“Oh-” You gasp, “I know, I know you will, Arthur.”

Arthur pulls you from his lap and lays you on the bed next to him, and immediately starts to shed his clothing, tossing it into piles on the floor as you join him, skirts and shirts thrown from the bed, a union suit and chemise - your bloomers land on the floor and he quickly climbs atop you, spreading your legs and fitting his hips in the cradle of yours.

In this old, dirty bed in this old, dirty room, he swears he has never seen something so beautiful as you sprawled out beneath him, the rise and fall of your breathing, the blush crawling down your cheeks to your neck, spreading out across your chest, to your pink nipples, pebbling as they are exposed to the cool air.

He leans down, balancing himself on his forearms, finding that spot on your neck again and nibbling at it, while one of his hands works its way to the space between you, grasping his hard cock and stroking it as he presses the swollen head against your core.

You mewl as he presses in, the head of his cock entering you, his hand moving from its base to frame your head again.

“God, you’re perfect.” He groans as he starts to press himself inside, inch by inch disappearing into your wet warmth, your panting high and fast in his ear as he suckles on your neck once again.

He thrusts, gently, and his hips press against yours as he’s buried himself to the hilt in your cunt. You mewl out a high whine, nails digging into his shoulder.

Arthur presses himself up slightly, looking down upon you. His fingers begin playing with the curling hairs at your temple, waiting for you to open your eyes, a sign that you’re used to his length and girth within you.

And when you do, he’s stricken. Your eyes flutter open and you inhale a breath with a sweet sigh. God, for once in his damn life, he’s doing something right.

Your arms wind around his neck as you press your lips to his cheek, he knows that you want to taste him, to mold your lips together and moan into each other’s mouths - he wants that too, but it’s a step too far. He’s already half afraid of spreading his sickness to you.

Arthur thrusts, gently still, but faster and harder than he had been, you squeal in delight, which spurs him into finding a rhythm, his body moving over yours.

He grunts, panting as he moves his hips, fucking into you and pressing you down into this old, uncomfortable mattress. He swears he’ll bring you to some nice hotel in Saint Denis and make love to you on a plush expensive mattress-

A constriction in his chest stops him mid-thrust.

He pants, wheezing, his hips slowing as he struggles to catch his breath. Christ, what a sorry excuse for a man he is - can’t even please a woman in the state he’s in.

You gently push on his shoulder, and he has the stamina, at least, to raise himself up and look upon you, cheeks blazing in shame.

“Here, maybe I should get on top?” You ask, your hand cupping his cheek while the other gently lays upon his chest.

He groans at the thought, his traitorous cock twitching as he’s buried in your cunt, causing you to gasp out. 

“Alrigh’,” Arthur grunts, and steadies his knees while he pulls his hands to you: one beneath your lower back, one below your shoulder blades. In a jumble of limbs and skin, he rolls over, somehow keeping himself sheathed in you until you’re splayed atop him, your small hips spread out over his.

He has to admit, this was a good idea you had, even before you think to move, what a sight he’s given. His cock fully enveloped in your hips, the dark thatch of hair between your thighs mixing with the curls at his base. Up, up the curves of your waist, he trails his hands, gently skimming your sweat-slicked skin. Your breasts, small yet perky, he’s enraptured by the way your nipples pebble as he rubs his thumbs over them, the sweet sigh that leaves your lips as your head falls back.

God almighty, you’re the sweetest thing alive.

Your hands find purchase on his chest, fingers pulsing, as you roll your hips once over him. His breath stutters, eyes widening as inches of him leave you, only to gently return moments later.

“G-good?” You ask, a self-conscious fear in your eyes.

His hands clamp on your waist and help to guide your movement.

“So good, you’re so good.” He rasps, the end of his lips curling up into a smile.

You smile back, rolling your hips again, taking him and out, following the pathway to your own pleasure and dragging him along for the ride. 

Your murmuring devolves into gasping moans as you continue to gyrate above him, squeezing your eyes shut, your fingers spread wide over his pectorals.

“That’s it. You’re alright, girl.” He urges, one hand moving from your hip to where you’re joined, his thumb parting your folds just above where he’s speared into you.

You moan aloud, giving no qualm to volume as he circles and presses against that little nub of pleasure.

“C’mon, sweetheart, you’re almost there.” He whispers as his hips jut upward into yours, he can see the far-off look in your eyes, the way your lips hang open, the shortness of your breath, and the slightly painful way your fingers are clenching into his chest. He can tell, your pulsing, squeezing, sweet little cunt is so close.

You ride him fast, like a horse at a gallop, and that blooming lava in his gut churns in a way that he knows he’s not far behind.

“A-Ar…” You stutter as your eyes close tightly.

“That’s it, that’s it, Darlin’.” He urges, his other hand tight on your hips, aiding your movement.

“Agh, oh god - Arthur.” You moan out, bottoming out completely as you throw your head back. He groans aloud as he feels your muscles constrict around his shaft, the sweet clutch of your cunt.

He thrusts his hips upward again and is rewarded with the sweetest mewl from your mouth, he cannot help but to whimper as he feels warm, wet slick start to seep from where you’re joined, his swollen and heavy balls covered in them.

You recover, gasping as your hands move to his chest, your hips grinding down on him slowly.

“I wanna-” you pant, catching your breath, “I wanna make you come.”

Arthur groans in response, hips bucking upward as his hands fly to your hips again, clenching them hard.

“Ain’t gonna- augh- ain’t gonna be hard to give you that.” He stutters out, knowing that the pull in his gut is getting stronger with each sweet movement you make.

“You’re so good -” You mewl, rolling your hips over him as he grunts, hands sure on your waist, fingers pulsing as his eyes flutter closed, his mouth hanging open as he approaches that precipice.

“You feel just like I’ve always dreamed.” You sigh, and all he can respond with is a thrust upward of his hips, to give you more, to give you himself, all that’s left of him.

He’s there, he’s there. His eyes shoot wide and he grunts, hands hard over your hips. “Get- you gotta, move.”

But you lean forward, not stopping the gentle roll of your body over his, and kiss his forehead.

“Come inside me.” You breathe, hands steady over his beating heart, “Give me all of you.”

Of all the stupid, childish things… but the resolve of a dying man, it is far less strong than before - weakening much like his ailing lungs.

“Please.” 

He does, he does.

He grunts needily as he pumps his release into you. Staying sheathed in your warmth, not jerking himself into cold air.

Arthur sits up immediately, burying his head into the side of your neck, and suckles gently at the skin there as your fingers start to play with the wisps of hair at the nape of his neck.

He regrets, it’s all he has left, that again, he wasted his time, glancing shyly at you across the fire for all those months. All he can do is offer you a few fleeting moments of pleasure. He regrets, it’s all he has left, that he cannot taste your lips and the sweetness he knows lies beyond them.

“Darlin’-” he trails off into your skin, trying to compose himself.

I’m sorry- I’m sorry this is all that’s left of me - sorry I can’t give you nothin’ but -

You place your lips on his forehead gently before pulling back. You cup his cheeks in your hands and nod your head.

“Let’s not waste any more time.”