#also I have never been so happy with metal rendering

[sinkat-arts]

Demon Lord Suga and Prince Daichi for the HQ Royalty Reverse Bang!

Read the fic: no sleeping potion required (rated E) by inkyhajime

[kozachenko]

[Click for better quality]

OK finally back with some more drawings! Since Touhou 17 is approaching it's 5 year anniversary soon, I wanted to draw at least one of the charatcers (hopefully I'll still be motivated to draw Keiki lol) and I had some ideas for Saki and I've never drawn her before, so that's how we got here!

Artist's Notes;

So after doing some drawings of my OCs (who I will reveal upon a later date since I still wanna finalize their designs) and finally getting out of my art funk that I've been in for a while, I started off this drawing with the mentality of "oh yeah I'm just gonna put together this quick outfit for Saki and I won't bother rendering it"

...and then I did but to be honest I am very happy I did because oh my god clothes are so fun to render for me now. I remembered the technique I used on my drawing of Reimu and applied that here. That technique being using triangles to imply shadows and highlights in clothing and then blending out those shadows to give the clothing some three dimensionality. My favourite things that I rendered in this piece were the gloves, hat and the belt buckle (since I applied a technique for rendering gold and metal objects that I remember seeing/hearing about a while ago). Don't get me wrong, I love how all the clothing turned out in this piece but the gloves are the real standout of this piece to me. I also had some fun with the cowboy boots (I couldn't figure out how to make those cool metal star things work on the boots though that is a sin I fully intend to fix later down the line) since when I looked at references for them I noticed how some of them had these intricate details embroidered (?) onto them.

Also, in the earliest phases of this drawing Saki had this really big black coat that I decided to get rid of later down the line because it really does not work with her fighting style and it did not stand out against her wings, and the logistics of her getting said jacket with her wings on confused me. Like, I can kind of imaging that on her shirt she has a little open spot for her wings that she can just put them in. That goes for Yachie to but now I'm even more confused because all her clothes must need some open backs because of her shell??? Which raises some more questions, like, can she just never be on her back when sleeping??? Looking at Yuuma we can see that the beast yakuza in Touhou can freely change their form from human to beast so can Yachie just double down on the human bit and get rid of her shell temporarily so she can sleep comfortably??? Because if she lays on her back is she just kinda wobbling around like most turtles are when they're on their backs? Can she hypothetically retreat into her shell, if so that has some weird implications to how her anatomy works. Like, what does her skeleton look like? Seriously, what are the logistics here WHERE DOES YACHIE GET HER FUCKING CLOTHES BECAUSE THEY PROBABLY NEED TO BE SPECIFICALLY TAILORED SO SHE CAN PUT IT ON TO FIT HER SHELL I DON'T NEED SLEEP I NEED ANSWERS YACHIE WHY ARE YOU LIKE THIS-

....rant aside, you can see the remnants of this idea in the tattered back of her... idk what to call it but I know she has a variant of this in her OG design. I mainly wanted to test this out because of the cursed realization that The Ghoul in Fallout Prime is just a male Saki but if Utsuho gave Saki radiation poisoning. No seriously, they're smug ass cowboys who are so sure of their own strength that have fought at least one mechanically engineered robot in some variation of a wasteland with an affinity for dogs. I'm now morbidly curious as to what would happen if you put the two of them in a room together. Would they try to kill each other? Would they become besties? Would they try to kill each other and then become besties? Who knows. But yeah jokes aside the tattered cloth was a design choice that was inspired by The Ghoul from Fallout Prime because y'know, same vibes. And also because yes I do love Fallout Prime and I am so ready for season two IT'S SO GOOD GO WATCH IT EVEN IF YOU AREN'T FAMILIAR WITH FALLOUT AS A SEIRES GO DO IT NOW, SAIL THE SEVEN SEAS FOR IT IF YOU HAVE TO JUST WATCH IT-

I knew for Saki's face I wanted to give her some thick eyebrows, it just makes sense. I also wanted to give her some scarring on her face because she's a crime boss, why wouldn't she have scars? I also had some fun with her little horse ear that's sticking out from the side of her hat since it would kinda look weird if she just had no ears period. I also went ham on stylizing her ponytail into this weird swirl, since if I were to show you some of my recent doodles from my sketchbook you would notice that that has become a common motiffe in some of my art. I don't know why but I just like it. Saki's wings were also very fun, I found a good reference for bird wings that are specifically shaped for high speeds (though I did add some stylistic touches so her one wing that's out wouldn't look like a big blob) since her whole thing is speed. From very early on in the process I knew that I wanted Saki to not look skinny, so I found some refs of female kickboxers for her legs and noticed that while parts of their upper body are maybe a bit toned, it's the legs that have a lot of power. I mainly did this because kicking is a huge part of her fighting style.

Overall, I'm really happy with this drawing, and once Touhou 17's anniversary rolls around I do want to go more in depth on my thoughts in the game, it's themes, and how the animal realm functions as a dark parallel to Gensokyo in many ways. I'll also have to get around to drawing Yachie and Keiki as well (if I still have the time and motivation to do so) since I have some ideas for their designs that I'm very excited to draw (especially Keiki).

[leoruby-draws]

hello hello hello

i just want to say i love your little drawings so much they're adorable and so full of life and everything feels exciting in them and i love how you draw and make really fun stuff for many of the minor characters, you're doing such a good job with them and it gives me so much joyy

Hi Hi Hi

Thanks for liking my stuff! Happy to bring you joy, drawing these brings me joy!

Also its fun to get into and draw minor characters because their reading lists are super short lol! But I like to give a little love to characters that most people might not know about, in fact here's some random drawings that I had in the back-burner for the past year! Never could find a chance to just post them:

Here's a cute drawing of Cyclone, Maxine Hunkle! Wanted to give her a cute costume makeover. Kinda has a magical girl look to it huh? Took a bit of inspiration from Ojamajo Doremi, but also she's meant to resemble Dorothy from the Wizard of Oz! Both the princess and the witch. I have a bit of idea of what I'm going do with her, but that's for later.

Got a drawing of Gan, Jason's friend from the Knight White books. Not sure if she exist in my Training Wheels au, but I like her a lot. Her rapport with Jason was fun to read.

Here it looks like the Outlaws are trying to recruit new members, from the Relative Heroes group, Damara Sinclaire (Allure) and Tyson Gilford (Blindside). They're not likely to join, preferring to stick with their own group. Just as well since Damara's powers might make things a rather chaotic, she doesn't need that drama in her life lol. Tho I like the thought of Tyson helping out now and then, his invisibility would be pretty useful.

Here's some random assortment of heroes, Ray Terrill the...Ray. Amethyst, tho top pic is uncolored (im lazy) but theres a Sailor Amethyst to make up for that.

There's the first Green Lantern (Alan Scott) with his kids,Jade (Jennifer Lynn Hayden) and Obsidian (Todd James Rice). Wonder why their babies here, de-aging mishap?

Jason and Toni gossip about their fellow teammates, and down below Jason decides to annoy a young Kyle Rayner. A universal constant!

Todd can't help but join in!

Also some cute father-son bonding! I sent this to someone else earlier, so imma just stick here too.

For a really minor character, here's Jay, Eddie and Rose meeting up with a very strange new friend!

And lastly here are the Metal Men, or should I say the mini-Metal Men. Read some comics about them, including a bit of silver age as well (they get destroyed pretty often, kinda funny ngl). I thought about what kinda sidekicks they could have, but I didn't want to look up metals or learn about metallurgy or chemistry or whatever. So I just made them smaller, its just temporary though, aren't they cute? Look at poor Copper, she just wants to join in!

Anyways, hope that wasn't too much, tagging all of this is gonna suck.

Sorry I haven't been posting, due to Tumblr being a pile of shit and trying give our stuff to ai websites. So I thought I would download nightshade and glaze, but that didn't work out at all (I got a new laptop but it still wont render for me at all). So I'm just gonna hope my opt-out in the settings will be enough for now. Sigh!

Hope you like all this anon, might be a while til I post again. Later!

[heliopauseentertainments]

At The End Of A Long Day

A birthday present for @tarklesbehindthescenes. Happy birthday!

Continuity: G1

Rating: General Relationships: Galvatron/Rodimus

Characters: Rodimus, Galvatron

Warnings: Alternate Universe, Vignette, Established Relationship, Fluff, Cuddling, Not Beta Red

Summary: In which Rodimus is exhausted by the burden of leadership.

Crossposting: AO3 | Dreamwidth

Fic under cut. See AO3 for complete notes.

The sun shone in through the windows of Rodimus’s private quarters. Well, not solely his, the ones he shared these days with Galvatron, who was out at the moment. He had no clue when his partner would come back.

The light formed an accusing spotlight on the back of his head.

Worse, the chronometer on the wall flashed the time, indicating that it was only early afternoon.

Yet Rodimus already felt so exhausted, his limbs heavy and his mind sluggish.

After finishing with his morning meetings, he had rolled home… and promptly flopped prone onto the ground.

He turned his head away from the wall as though not looking could negate the reality of linear time.

Rodimus had, over time, gotten used to the idea that, to some extent, he would always be involved in keeping a fractured, nearly barren Cybertron together, despite having tried to separate himself from the burden of the Matrix whenever possible. It had been difficult to accept the immense, inescapable responsibility that he had never wanted in the first place.

If only that were all of it.

After the wisdom in the relic had been drained to push back against the Hate-Plague, the added task of refilling it with new wisdom also weighed him down. Only a small seed of light had been restored to the chamber.

Most days were an uphill battle, but that was hardly new for Rodimus. Life just tended to be a Sisyphean task.

At least these days, that task tended to involve fewer battles and more administrative pressure. He could do without the tedium and public appearances and approvals and interviews and blah blah blah—If only he could liquefy and saturate the floor.

Then again, given that the floor was solid, Ultra Magnus would likely just come by and mop him up, wring the resulting Rodimus juice out into a bucket, and then prop that bucket up in the chair in Rodimus’s office. He would probably even tape a light-pen to the rim of the bucket for Rodimus’s “convenience.”

An absolutely terrible way to go, he thought, pressing the side of his face into the cold, metal floor.

And they’d write it on his epitaph: “Forever Dedicated To The Betterment of Cybertron”

The bust, of course, just to rub salt into the wound of his exhaustion, would be a lovingly sculpted damned bucket, in beautiful black granite, with a faithfully rendered taped-on pen.

He heard a door slide open behind him. It was probably the front door, but he couldn’t be sure without looking. Looking would require moving and he had little to no interest in doing that at the moment.

However, just in case whoever had walked in thought him dead, Rodimus groaned horribly to dispel any worries about having stumbled upon the corpse of the vaunted leader of the Autobots. He wasn’t dead, not yet anyway.

“I have returned from the day’s battles!”

It was just Galvatron then; that was fine. He had never been one to fear a half-dead body. Or a full-dead body. Any body, actually.

Rodimus managed to slide one arm over his head to give his partner a tired thumbs up.

“Welcome back,” he mumbled into the ground. “Good job.”

With the reintegration of the Decepticons into mainstream society, Galvatron’s role these days was more ceremonial than practical. Rodimus was often envious of how little paperwork he had to do. Public appearances were the mainstay of his duties. At least Galvatron, being a blowhard, liked the sound of his own voice. That would make it a less tedious duty for him personally.

“Rodimus, why are you on the ground?” Rodimus, still not able to see Galvatron, could hear the heavy stomp of his footfalls as he approached… and then the creak of his old joints as he squatted down. “Where is your dignity?”

“Uh… Misplaced it this morning.” Assuming Rodimus had had any dignity to start with was very generous of he, so he decided to humor Galvatron a little.

“I shall graciously help you locate it—“

He probably ought to intervene before Galvatron’s sometimes tenuous grasp on reality slipped. He did better these days, but best not to chance it.

“Galvatron, I was joking. It was a joke—”

“Perhaps it has been stolen then.” A strong hand pressed into his shoulder, as though to comfort him, to assure him that all was not lost in the course of some grand quest. “I shall sally forth and reclaim it for you from the smoldering corpse of the would-be thief.”

How, uh, valorous.

“No,” Rodimus said, “you really don’t need to do that.”

“But why?”

“You’re being incredibly literal again—Look, I’m just tired. It’s fine. Really, it’s fine.”

Said a mech lying prone on the floor and having spent untold minutes wishing to ooze into it. Totally fine and normal behavior and goals.

He could hear Galvatron humming with doubt.

“Are you dying?”

Before Rodimus could say anything in protest, a heavy weight pressed along his side before arms rolled him over. The next thing he knew, he was both cradled into a tight embrace and also pressed into the floor. Good thing he had never been claustrophobic.

“This is hardly a warrior’s death!”

Despite being a somewhat squished, he was comforted by the embrace, as though the hug would keep the worst of the exhaustion at bay. If anyone could intimidate a sensation, it would be Galvatron.

“No, Galvatron, it’s… it’s an accountant’s death and I’ve always hated math.”

Galvatron’s grip around his torso tightened, but not uncomfortably so. Not yet anyway. It happened sometimes when he got a little too… enthusiastic in his affections. The guy never did anything by half-measures, both a blessing and a curse depending on the day.

“I forbid you to fall to such a pathetic enemy.”

There was no winning any complaint otherwise; he knew that by now. Best to just give up and let Galvatron have his… whatever this was. Victory, maybe? That didn’t seem quite right, but it didn’t really matter.

Rodimus relaxed into the sense of safety and concern.

“Alright, alright; I won’t. You’ve convinced me,” he conceded.

Galvatron scoffed, as though the very idea of an alternative was laughable.

“Of course, I did.”

And, frankly, Rodimus felt a little better already.

[wordstro]

[2:24 PM] + hero/villain au + "are you happy?"

part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5 part 6 part 7 part 8 part 9

masterlist

a/n: 4k words, no one asked for this at all but I read over this fic and felt it needed something more definitive i guess? so here is a more conclusive ending to this fic!!

-

there is an irony to your new living arrangements, you think. yeosang, san and yourself sharing a three bedroom apartment.

you'd been arrested after wooyoung, handcuffs suppressing your powers wrapped around your wrists and a blindfold over your eyes, and after weeks sitting in a prison cell alone awaiting your fate, you'd been called into court. hongjoong sat in the witness stand, dressed in a suit, his hair a different color and an eyepatch over one eye.

you could not get used to how different he looked. how much older he was. the soft lines in his face were harder, and his eyes were ancient, as if he'd seen too much, and you did not dare ask anyone how much time had passed. you hadn't gotten the chance, anyway, since you'd been locked up the entire time.

hongjoong explained to the court that you'd been brainwashed. the serum. the research from the labs. the gaps in your memories. brain scans of how the serum affected you. the doctors had already told you how it affected your hippocampus and how they weren't sure how your short term memory would be affected. he hadn't looked at you the entire time he spoke. you hadn't had the chance to speak with him either.

the judge and jury ruled that you would be on house arrest for fifteen months, and you would need to do community service afterwards. you were banned from using your powers for two years.

you didn't think that was punishment enough, really, but you did not say anything. there would be enough outcry on the internet anyway, after the trial results were released.

that night, the government officials handling your case drove you up to an apartment building at the edge of town, and hongjoong did not look at you then either.

you'd had weeks to think about the aftermath of wooyoung surrendering. you'd let the armed officers cuff you, and only yunho stayed with you during it. you'd sat on the ground, with your hands behind your back, a flimsy piece of metal wrapped around your wrists, and hongjoong had appeared before you, a bloody scar running over his eye, and his chest heaving, and he crouched in front of you that day and held you tight. you were taken into government custody with his blood on your shirt, mixing with wooyoung's.

while in captivity and isolation, you knew you'd done too many despicable things, serum or no serum, to not be punished. even then, wooyoung was right.

that night, you stood in front of a red apartment door, and the government officials reminded you once more of the court's stipulations before they left you with hongjoong. you were given a bracelet on each wrist, so tight it made the skin around the bracelets tender, that rendered your powers completely useless. for the first time in your life, you did not have enhanced strength.

hongjoong looked at you then, for the first time in weeks, and you asked then, "how long has it been?"

"seven years," he said, his voice soft, his hard expression crumbling into something sad. his good eye flickered over your face.

"oh." you could not believe you were seven years older and you missed all those years. not only did wooyoung steal your autonomy, but he also stole years from you. you wanted to hate him for it, a part of you did. a part of you will never, though, and that's the worst part.

hongjoong held out his arms, and you'd blinked at him, and he said, "i'm sorry we couldn't figure out a way to get you out sooner. i told you you wouldn't have to do it alone again, but you did."

you shook your head, "that isn't your fault."

hongjoong let out a small laugh, shaking his head, his arms falling to his side.

you stepped into his limp embrace anyway. you hadn't had anyone hold you since yunho, and you needed it, despite everything.

he seemed surprised, but he quickly wrapped his arms around you, and he said, "i'm sorry."

you just shook your head, and hongjoong held you for a long moment before turning to the door.

when he opened the door to the apartment, yeosang and san were curled on the couch. they'd turned off the news as soon as they realized you'd walked in, but you'd still caught a glimpse of your face walking out of the courtroom.

"we thought it best you stay with some of us during your house arrest," hongjoong said.

yeosang had a burn across his face, a puckered scar that marred his pretty face, his dark hair pulled back from his face in a messy bun. he had scars on his arms, too, that ran all the way up. it wasn't there before. san's hair was short, and his eyes were harder as he looked at you. wary. they both looked so different from how you remembered them, especially when all you've seen of them these past few years were the memories in your head that kept you sane in the serum's liminal space.

you'd wondered briefly why san and yeosang had been chosen, but before you could ask, san explained, "you can't punch me easily and yeosang can...yeosang understands. you've also hurt us less than mingi or yunho or -"

he cut himself off, and his gaze flickered to hongjoong. you'd frowned. hongjoong sighed, but he just pat your back, and said, "i'm down two floors. you can't leave the building, but you can visit if you'd like."

then hongjoong left, disappearing into thin air.

the irony of it was not lost on either of you. three of the people who loved wooyoung most, learning to cope in a tiny three bedroom apartment together. it was not lost on you, when you'd be in the kitchen reaching for a wooden spoon or a plate or a pan or if you stretched your arms over your head while watching television, and san would flinch slightly at your movements. it was not lost on yeosang when he'd open his mouth to say something, raising his voice slightly, and you'd close your eyes, fear running up your spine. he swore he wouldn't use his powers on any of you again, but he made the same promise back then. that was the only thought that ran through your head at those times. it was not lost on either of them when you'd try to open a jar or lift something heavy, and you couldn't do it because of the damned bracelets, and you'd hide in your room for hours trying to ignore the way the thought of being so vulnerable reminded you of when wooyoung ordered yeosang to keep your hands in place, or the fact that all your life you were supposed to be strong and that guaranteed you at least a modicum of safety. if san and yeosang noticed your red eyes or the tear streaks the next morning while you maneuvered around each other in the small kitchen, neither said a thing. none of you ever mentioned the small moments of fear or sadness you'd noticed. you'd figured it was because things have changed between you all. at least between yourself and them.

it was worse when mingi or yunho would visit, and they'd flinch at your movements too. or hesitate to touch you. or treat you as if you were this fragile, weak thing they should handle with care.

it didn't help that you were stuck in the apartment building. there were only so many times you could go to the small apartment gym before you lost your mind. yeosang and san had a job, and you wanted to help with rebuilding as well, but you couldn't leave. the bracelets would electrocute you, hongjoong had said once, and you'd stared in horror as hongjoong shrugged and patted your shoulder gently. you couldn't even visit hongjoong because he was barely home in his apartment. the other patrons of the building avoided you completely, and you couldn't blame them for it.

you only knew a bit of what happened to jongho and seonghwa. they were in prison apparently, but their sentences were much shorter than wooyoung's due to a plea deal worked out when seonghwa had decided to spy for hongjoong, feeding information back to them and even helping yeosang and a few others escape. a light sentence for jongho was a part of seonghwa's plea deal.

you'd avoided the news as often as you could, and san and yeosang always changed the channel. it was strange, trying to figure out how to navigate living again alongside san and yeosang. the three of you didn't always get along. especially san and you, but that had always been your dynamic, even when you first joined the team. you would be an idiot to think everything would be normal between you three. the tiptoeing and awkward silences were enough of a testament to that. you noticed often that san's bed would be untouched, the mornings you woke up early to get some quiet time to yourself, and the door to yeosang's bedroom would be shut, soft music drifting out from beneath the door. perhaps before everything, you would have felt comfortable teasing them for it. now, you weren't sure where your dynamics stood, and what you could and could not tease them about. it made you sad.

the tension did not entirely dissipate for a while. not until one evening where you'd flipped through numerous channels, landing briefly on a news channel. your phone buzzed, san's name lighting up.

i'm bringing pizza home, by the way. with y/n's favorite toppings.

he'd been doing that more often lately, and you wondered often why. he never really asked what you wanted for dinner the times he brought anything home, but the past week he'd gone out of his way to bring home your favorites. even yeosang brought you desserts from various bakeries without you having to ask.

yeosang responded with a cute smiley emoji and a, can't wait! i'll be home in a bit too

you'd smiled at the previews, turning to change the channel, when you'd realized what the broadcast was about.

the eighth anniversary of the siege of seoul. the footage was devastating. you'd stared in horror as you saw wooyoung rise from the ashes, like a phoenix. as you saw yourself tearing through buildings. cctvs devolved into static. the footage was blurry. but it was you. you'd done that. and afterwards, there was a memorial. seven hundred and sixty two died civilians died that day.

"y/n."

you'd jumped at the voice, the remote falling from your hands. it clattered on the floor, and the sound of it made you jump again.

you craned your neck to look behind you in the direction of the voice, and san was placing the pizza on the kitchen bar counter as his gaze flickered between you and the television. yeosang was right behind him.

you'd blinked at them both.

your chest felt tight, and your vision blurred, but you said, "is this why you're being nice?"

san blinked rapidly, taken aback. he said, "what do you mean?"

"for the past week," your voice sounded tight, pitched, even to your own ears, "you've both been so much nicer. is this why? is it because...i did that?"

you didn't know why you were asking. you did do that. even if you didn't remember. even if you were brainwashed. you killed those people. you killed a lot of people.

"because i don't remember it," you gestured at the television still broadcasting the memorial, and your hands shook as you said, "i don't remember anything. and so...so if you're trying to make me feel better i don't think i deserve it."

"don't say that," yeosang said, tone soft, and brows furrowed.

"i killed people, and i don't remember it." your voice cracked then, and you couldn't help the way your eyes stung. you said, "what kind of horrible person can't remember that?"

"none of it was your fault," san's voice was firm, even as he approached you, as he crouched in front of you on the couch and turned off the television.

"then why does it feel like it is?" you blinked back the tears, "i don't know where i stand anymore with any of you. i don't even know what fucking year it is. but i know that that was me, and i did unimaginable things. to innocent people. to you and yun-yunho and mingi and joong, and i got off with a slap to the wrist. i told wo - i told him i hoped he'd die with the guilt, but i think i'm going to die with it first."

"i was the one that took you, y/n. i was the one who started all this," yeosang's voice rang through the apartment, a soft thing that filled you up, up, up. you looked to him, and the guilt in his expression made the tears spill down your cheek. "i've been distant because of it, but i didn't think you'd notice...or care. i just...i'm sorry, y/n."

he trailed off, and you shook your head as you said, "you didn't know how this would turn out."

"why do you do that?" san asked, even as he placed a hand on your cheek and wiped at your tears, "why do you forgive him so easily when you won't even forgive yourself?"

you'd blinked, frowning, "do you want me to be mad at yeosang?"

"i want you to stop crying," san wiped away all your tears before pressing his palms to your cheeks. "most importantly, i want you to stop tiptoeing around us."

"i'm not the only one. why do you flinch around me then?" your voice is louder as you frown at san.

"you've beat the shit out of us for years. i'm getting used to the peace. forgive me if a month hasn't fixed it." he'd rolled his eyes, "still doesn't mean i'm scared of you."

you let out a small laugh at the indignant tone, at the way san still held your face between his palms. his smile turned soft as he observed you.

you glanced sideways at yeosang, "i'm not scared of you either, yeo. i just...didn't know if you hated me."

"i don't hate you," yeosang said, gently. you held out a hand anyway, gesturing for him to take it. he relented after a moment, letting you squeeze his hand.

it was quiet for a long, long moment, before san murmured, "he really fucked us up, didn't he?"

san didn't have to say his name for you to know who he was talking about. san dropped his hands from your cheeks as he sat across from you on the couch. yeosang leaned over the back, leaning his chin against his hands. you dropped your hands to your lap. yeosang hummed, but his brows were furrowed, his expression troubled.

you observed the puckered burn scar on yeosang's face as you wiped your face of your tears.

you asked, "what's happened to him?"

you didn't want to ask, but you wanted to know. you would always want to know.

"death sentence, and solitary confinement in a maximum security containment center until then," san said, quietly. "we all agreed he should live with the guilt. he's technically on death row, but he'll probably die of old age before the state carries through with it."

you watched san's eyes glisten as he spoke.

"do you think he feels guilty at all?"

san only shrugged, fiddling with his fingers in his lap.

yeosang said, "i think he does. he always did."

"you think so?" you asked, reaching up to touch the scar on yeosang's face, the skin rough under your touch. you dropped your hand as you said, "even after this."

"he cried after," yeosang murmured, his eyes faraway. "isn't that fucked up? he cried, and he asked me if i wanted to leave that night."

yeosang laughed, but it sounded hollow.

he said, "you were there."

you'd nodded, but your heart lodged in your throat. you said, "i think i was always there."

"you were," san said quietly. "he never let you leave his side. he let yeosang leave, but he...he never let you leave."

you took that in. the few times you'd woken up, it was beside him. of course it was. of course he didn't. san reached over and thread his fingers through yeosang's limp hand, his thumb drawing circles along the back of yeosang's hand.

yeosang asked after a moment, "do you think we'll be okay?"

"we can try." you murmured. "we have to try."

san nodded and nodded, and yeosang brought the box of pizza and a bottle of wine to the table, changing the channel on the television without another word.

~.~.~.~.~

years later, too many years to count, you find yourself standing on the other side of the glass.

wooyoung sits in a chair in a white room, every wall made of glass. his hair is overgrown, and his tanned skin paler than usual without the sun. he has the same demeanor as he always does, an easy nonchalant façade that you don't think will ever go away.

your phone buzzes in your pocket, no doubt a text from yunho or mingi or hongjoong.

they said they'd be waiting outside. yunho, mingi, and hongjoong agreed to pick you up for dinner afterwards. yeosang, san, seonghwa, and jongho would meet you both there.

the first time you met seonghwa again, he'd crumbled to the ground, holding your hand in his cold hands, and he repeated apologies like he was praying. jongho cried. it took a while, as it did with everyone else, to rebuild what you had. even then, you didn't think it was entirely there. it was certainly different.

his voice is full of static.

"i didn't think you'd visit," wooyoung says, and his voice is rough from disuse.

hearing him talk, seeing him, it made your heart feel heavy. the anger you felt towards him, every time you couldn't remember something that you could have before he put the serum in you, every time you saw the scars over your heart, every time you were reminded of what you did for him, every time yunho or mingi or san or hongjoong flinched, every time you went to the doctors to check if the serum was fully out of your system and the trigger words no longer worked, returned tenfold as you looked at him. you thought you'd come to terms with it. you thought you were okay enough for this. maybe you were wrong.

you said, "i didn't want to."

"then why are you here?"

"i wanted to ask you something," you say, wooyoung's gaze flickering over you.

wooyoung smiles. it reminds you of Before. you shake that thought from your head.

you say, "do you regret it?"

wooyoung's eyes flickers between yours. his voice is a soft, crackly thing, "sometimes."

you stare at his admission.

wooyoung laughs, "i've had a lot of time to think. if there's one thing i've come to terms with, it's that i ruin everything i love."

"you do," you say, thinking of yourself, and san and yeosang and hongjoong and yunho and mingi, even jongho and seonghwa.

a beat of silence, before wooyoung says, "can i ask you something?"

the guard knocks on the door, signaling that your visit is almost over.

you nod.

he asks, "are you happy?"

wooyoung's eyes are soft, sad, and you find that the part of you that will always love him, despite everything, curls in on itself. however, the part of you that is always angry, that despises him for admitting his feelings for you only to take seven years from you while you forcing you to do the most despicable things, wants to scream at him. wants to hurt him. wishes the glass wasn't there so you could kill him the way you'd wanted to years ago. you will always resent him for his choices. he knows that. he nods as if he can hear your thoughts.

you say, "happier than i've ever been."

he nods, but his eyes are a glassy thing. the guilt in his expression is clear then, and you find it satisfying more than anything.

"and everyone else?"

you want to say, the happiest they've ever been.

but you choke. you can't say it. you can hurt him using yourself, but using your friends? you can't do it, despite everything.

they weren't the happiest they've ever been without wooyoung. you've seen them try to move on with the heavy burden of jung wooyoung on their shoulders. he would always remain a hole in their hearts, and in their groups, in their group chats and dinners and conversations. in fact, when you told hongjoong you wanted to visit, he hadn't argued, only looked as if he would cry - something you've never seen from him in all the years you've known him.

"why did you do it? was it really worth losing everything? was..." you frown, "was losing us worth it?"

wooyoung was always one to stand by his resolutions, but perhaps years alone has changed him more than any of you could have.

he murmurs, "i have to believe it was."

the guard knocks on the door, opening it. the creaking hinges echo in the room.

"goodbye, wooyoung," you say, knowing damn well you don't think you'll ever return.

wooyoung smiles as if he can tell.

"goodbye," he says.

[korereapers]

If I may pop in again and send more Adajima, haha, how about "relationships are built on trust, and i trust you"? 👀

The first time they manage to have a drink after Adachi is out of prison is, unsurprisingly, in Okina.

Adachi isn't really sure if he should go back to Inaba. It has been years, of course, but the town still brings back memories... and then there's the fact that he did murder two people in there years ago.

He looks up from his drink, his very first drop of alcohol in years. It couldn't be beer this time, of course. The fruitiest, most colorful cocktail sits in front of him, and he doesn't really remember what it's made of, but it's nice to the palate, and Adachi has drunk enough cheap beer and tapwater for a lifetime.

For now, at least.

Dojima sits in front of him, too, dark grey eyes that were cold as metal back in the day looking at him as if they were melting under an anvil.

Adachi wishes he got it.

The man, now older but still so, so handsome is drinking an alcohol-free beer.

Sober, he wants to be completely sober, Adachi reminds himself. He wants to be sober for Nanako, of course, but also for himself. And this time, also for him.

Alcohol works in funny ways, Adachi knows that. Put enough in your body, and it will make your shame and self-consciousness go away. Put in a little more, and you start saying or doing shit you will later regret. Put in way too much, and it makes you dig your own grave, slowly, deeper and deeper. Until sadness and apathy make it impossible to climb back up.

Dojima's hand is resting near his, almost touching him, and Adachi wants to close the small gap, but he can't.

His smile is small, contrasting with Dojima's one, that feels way too big, way too honest. Adachi has never been too good at dealing with honesty.

"You're really that happy to have me back, huh..."

Dojima snort, as if Adachi had said something really stupid. Adachi just sighs, drinking from the little strap. It tastes of cranberry, orange, and peach. And well, of hungover if he keeps drinking them like they're water.

"I don't really see why not."

Adachi's sigh is louder this time.

"Who's to tell that I won't start killing people again when I get bored?"

"But you won't."

Adachi is not drunk enough for this shit.

"And how do you know that? Are you sure you're not just being delusional?"

He can feel Dojima's forearm twist in anger. For a moment, Adachi wants him to hit him, to show him that nothing has changed, that he is right, that there is no hope, that this was all a mistake.

What Dojima does, instead, is grabbing is hand. It's a weird gesture coming from him and Adachi watches it all happen in slow motion. The way rough lips brush against his knuckles, choosing to cherish, and not to hurt. He just watches him, speechless, until Dojima decides to talk again.

"Relationships are built on trust, and I trust you," is everything that Dojima says. Gentle, honest. More than what Adachi deserves.

Dojima smiles against his skin, knowing he has rendered him speechless. He feels his ears boiling, even more when a thumb brushes against his hand. He is pretty sure that it's not just the alcohol at play.

"Okay... well..."

Dojima's breath tickles his skin as he speaks.

"That's what I thought."

[gremlins-hotel]

✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: 　ANON LOVE　 :･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧

Just wanted to stop by and share what I love about you and it's your art! I could probably ramble on and on and on about your art for pages and pages but only a smidgen of it would even be coherent, especially when writing about the way you draw Russia! And I can't remember the name of the AU, but that render of America standing under I think a sign in the desert? The lighting, the drama, and I'm not sure if you have fics too, but just from that image alone, I just know I would read the HECK out of that!! I also love your archaeology Jones blog and all the stuff I get to learn, something that has to be one of my favorite things about this fandom, thank you for being such a wonderful part of it!

Now spread the love! (But no pressure!) You can tag someone to say what you love about them, or if you're shy like me, drop some love as anon in their inbox! There's never too much love for us to share with each other 💖

so i've had this sitting in my inbox for nearly two weeks, trying to think of how to respond. nothing eloquent came. so i am thanking you from the bottom of my cringe-loving heart and here to spread some of that love in the most obnoxious way possible.

@ironicorange i can't not start with my goof squad, my beloved, my sunbeam. i love you lots, more than i can say. thank you for always letting me be in your dms with insane words and ideas, we both grow closer to delirium each day. watch your back you whore i'm going to steal your hands so i can one day draw like you.

@abbittheturtle my beloved irl bestie, this creature would be wayward without you. you are a fucking jewel and i will eat your art at every opportunity. also seeing you be happy in working with metal and jewelry has been amazing. i hope you continue to enjoy it! i'm wishing you love and luck with your move and good luck in our upcoming semester! i will be coming up there. this is a threat.

@temtamoo our romerica echo chamber and transatlantic 5g connection is so strong dude. your ideas are deep and your art is stunning, i love to hear from you always, regardless of the topic.

@artistically-hershie from late-night crazy au ideas to invading your workplace establishment to give you a soul-crushing hug, seeing messages from you so we can both be giggly and nuts is the best. also ugh, bro, teach me to draw.

@sunnysssol clown duo, clown twins, the dumbass squad. i will slobber for your oc and your art right here, right now. can i just say i specifically love how you color eyes. like bro!! the sol eye stare. trademark it.

@dusklikescats to you, who was one of my first more steadfast buddies after rejoining hetalia, i know you aren't into it much now, but i still light up seeing your messages. you have an energy unmatched and a contagious laugh.

@snackbar-chez-paro i drooled over your art for a long time dude and similar to miq, you became a fast friend. i always adore seeing your headcanons on discord even if you say wonderful things my tiny anglo brain doesn't always understand. you're awesome!

@irlusa you, good sir, are a fucking angel. and i will smooch you on the lips. stop living so far away!! i'm gonna fight the state. you are far kinder than you let yourself think and your art style is so fucking soft i'm gonna sleep on it.

@picturespurple-68 i'm sending you to the camps for revealing my classified secrets (code for i'm definitely going to watch more shows and movies with you someday). you are so very quick on your feet with ideas and always have fun ones to share. i could slurp up your writing like a fuckign smoothie it's so wonderful. i love our conversations and our hangouts.

there are so many more people i would love to ping but then this post would be far too long. return rebloggers and likers and people in my askbox, those whose posts i see on my dash and interact with, names i have come to recognize and associate with the crazy tunglrites, i salute you. and ily guys.

[glasswinggames]

OHO???? Writing prompts? Then I send one in for my most beloved Jedrek, perhaps the mc is enraptured with how he appears in photos(they.....have some form of camera right? I assumed so with the magitech and what its capable of in this game), even outside of the little reporting work they do, so more often than not they end up staring at him like hes a piece of art- maybe this happens so often the mc spaces out- a vague prompt but I figure u can work more with this since im giving a specific interest for this prompt

Omg I love writing Jed!! 👀 And this prompt!!

Also they do have matech! The exact design of the camera is still being workshopped but I'm kinda imagining it having steampunk type vibes!

Writing below expand more line! Thank you for the prompt! 😘

For extra fun tidbits I was listening to In the Middle of the Night by Elley Duhé when writing this! (That's my go to song for Jed!)

CW: References to blood and m0rder

At first, you'd only kept the photograph to remember his face. So that even when your mind forcefully forgot his name, his gravelly voice, or the feeling of his hands brushing against your throat every time he wanted to remind you what he was capable of, you'd always remember what he looked like. It was never meant to be anything more than that, a preventative measure to protect yourself from the monster of a man who you'd come to… collaborate with. 

Yet, as you stare at the Polaroid like picture, tentatively perched between two fingers, you can't explain the feeling that curses you. For what should horrify you to your core, what in fact already horrifies the nation every time they see one of your articles, instead you find it hauntingly beautiful. The way he postures, ready to pounce on his victim, how the moonlight catches his hair to reflect an opalescent glow, how his pointed teeth bare in his cruel smile… it's artistic in a way.

Though, whether it's your own talent or the subject of your lens that you admire, is not something you find easy to answer. 

Your eyes flit between the photo and the almost perfect recreation of the scene that unfolds before you until the photo is no longer sufficient, your gaze completely entranced by the killer. You barely even notice the prey, their screams just a background noise at this point. You wonder, what scene must Jedrek be showing the helpless victim for his ruby eyes to gleam so brightly, to render him so full of delight that his pale cheeks flush in satisfaction, as his teeth bare, poised and ready to take his prize at the perfect moment.

You know you should take be taking pictures right now, but you can't bring yourself to trigger the camera; you're too lost in the terrifying beauty of it all. 

“Am I boring you, Kitten?” The gravelly breath against your ear breaks you from your daydream, and your senses are overwhelmed by the metallic smell as your space is completely invaded by the subject of your thoughts. Though his crimson stained lips curve into a smile, you can tell, for having been the one to capture his every expression, that he isn't happy.

“I was just distracted, trying to decide the right shot to take for tomorrow's edition.” You know he can hear that slight jump in the pace of your heartbeat when you lie, you know that he is almost breathing in the signs of your attempt at deceit, as is his nature, but you still try regardless. 

“I'm sure I gave you plenty, yet I didn't see you use that device of yours once.” Fingers against your jaw force you to look at him, and your breath can't help but hitch the same way it did when you first met. Every fibre of your being tells you to run, that he's dangerous, yet it's exactly that same part of you that thinks he's dazzling. A long, sharp finger trails down the artery in your throat. “Now, what exactly were you thinking? Oh, and I wouldn't lie to me again. Your heart always gives you away.”

“You're like a piece of art–” your words bubble out before you could even attempt to stop them, and you can't help but curse yourself for it. 

Unexpectedly, instead of teeth ripping through your throat like you'd braced for, it's laughter that tears through the air. 

“Jed?” Your voice ripe with disbelief, you daringly question the man who cackles with pure joy at your answer. 

Before you can react, his arms enclose you against the wall, the stone scratching at any exposed skin on your back, and he gives no opening for escape. His whole body casts yours in shadow, as if he suddenly grows several feet, and the only light that highlights you both is the ravenous glow of hellfire in his eyes. 

“You are such a strange one, I'm starting to think you're not half as afraid of me as you should be. Maybe I should rectify that.” 

“No!” Your voice comes out embarrassingly strangled. You've seen what he's capable of, and you had no desire to be on the receiving end, even if you did seem to have a tendency to enjoy watching the show. “I know exactly how scared I should be.”

“Ah that's the key word, should. You should be scared of me, but instead, I don't think you'd complain if I was to make you scream.” 

“No… that…” Your mind scrambles over the innuendo, trying to figure out whether he actually meant his implication or whether he was teasing you… again.

“Hm, turns out there's more ways other than fear I can use to make your heart race Kitten. How fun.” He seems delighted at the fact; he did always love something new and entertaining. “What else could I do to make it jump for me?” Fingers whisper against your shoulders, down your arms, interlocking with your own… and pinning your hands above your head. His grip is inhumanely strong, and no matter how much or little you struggle, it does nothing but appear to amuse him. “What if I was to do this?” His low voice somehow drops further as he leans in to brush just against the lobe of your ear. “You wouldn't know if I was going to make you relive every nightmare you've ever had,” whilst one hand remains to restrain your own, the other thumb runs against your lower lip. You can taste the iron stain left in his wake. “Or if I was going to kiss you.” He laughs, deep and low, “though who says I can't do both. Pleasure and pain both sound fun, don't they?” 

“Yet you do neither.” You gulp with whatever stupid bravado you decide to muster. Why are you so reckless? Did your sense of self-preservation just decide to go off on a holiday? Or are you just an idiot–

“I don't think you could handle it, and I'd hate for you to break too quickly.” His hand finds purchase over your throat, applying a warning amount of pressure.

“I'm not scared of you, Jedrek.” 

“You should be.” 

[borrelia]

okay here are my combined takeaways from the director/producer commentary on robots (2005):

production designer william joyce was also a creative lead on rolie polie olie (started in 1998). so you may connect some stylistic similarities there lol

he and director chris wedge knew each other for quite a while before this and had been dreaming up this movie since, if I heard them correctly, they were teenagers?

the movie started from the setting, then characters and story were developed for it.

they took a Lot of pride in the setting, in figuring out how a world of metal people would function. artists would design Cool Things In The World and they would scramble to figure out where they could put it in the movie. they knew that including lots of background details would give the world life, and they were very happy to see it

if you don't remember the 3d animation scene in the early 2000s, you might not intuit that they were constantly amazed by what they were able to do. the technology was in a rapid stage of development, so there is physics and rendering in the complete movie that they simply could not have done at the start of production. these two were in constant awe of how good the movie looked

on that note, lighting was a big priority for them. they talked a lot about trying to find ways to texture and light metal so that it could look friendly, or so that the main characters would pop in a crowd.

the dominoes thing wasn't initially intentional. they were pretty late in production when they figured out that the way they would approach bigweld's reclusiveness would be Big Dominoes.

oh right, they were writing the story like As it was being animated. this was not a very linear production. the script was Not finished when they moved to the next steps.

they both liked to point out the Function of scenes. like "ok here's where we had to put in more exposition, here's where we had to introduce the stakes, this scene is important for letting the movie Breathe after all that action" etc etc. as part of that, they also liked to point out scenes that Didn't have a function, they were just extended gags or maybe at best helped to flesh out (hah) the world. they liked these scenes tho :) they took a lot of inspiration from buster keaton gags

there was originally a lot more stuff about cappy and from her pov :( her whole deal was that she was Also, like rodney, a small-town bot, but she upgraded herself in order to succeed in the industry. so that was like, her motivation to sympathy and to help the heroes. also that was the connection point between her and rodney from which they built their romance, which, was also, largely cut.

the voice actors never recorded together. at all. but would come back and do retakes when they heard the others' line reads.

they point out that robots is Almost a musical. which, yeah! it does feel like that! there are musical moments, or moments that feel like they Belong in a musical. but besides fender's singing in the oil song (which robin williams just. made. unprompted. bc of course he did) there's no actual singing.

bigweld has two designs, i never noticed! between the time the children's show was shot and the next time we see him, he got upgrades. apparently most other people didn't notice either so I'm glad I'm not alone lol

robots fun movie with a lot of love in it and these two seemed exceptionally proud of the result :)

[geeky-politics-46]

NSFW Alpahabet

Bucky Barnes

Charector as depicted in my mini-series "Friends, Just Friends".

Includes both during & after the alternate Part 2 - “The Confession”.

As usual, ignore spelling & grammar errors. I will fix them as I find them.

Back to "Friends, Just Friends" masterlist

Smut/Explicit content - 18+ only!

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

Bucky becomes the sweetest little puppy after sex. He is always happy to clean both of you up & get you anything you need. He wants to be sure you enjoyed it & that he wasn't too rough with you, that he didn't hurt you. He can get very vulnerable right after sex & you quickly discover that those are the times he needs the most praise. So you let him do things he feels like he needs to do for you, while you assure him that he is perfect & tell him how much you love him. His favorite praise to hear after sex is how happy he makes you, both in & out of the bedroom. Once you coax him back into the bed, once he is satisfied you are taken care of, you always snuggle close to him. You put your head on his chest & his vibranium arm around your shoulder, placing a few kisses on the line where his flesh meets the metal & a few more on his metal fingertips. Even though you know he thinks he should take care of you after sex, you are very aware it is really him who needs to be taken care of a little. It's because you never say anything, you never belittle him or rub it in his face, that he happily lets you do it. Mentally noting to himself that despite everything bad that has happened to him, it's that broken road that led him to you. 

B = Body Part (Their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Bucky is crazy about your hips. Specifically the spot right where your hips dipped back in right where your joint was. It was the spot that constantly kept you from wearing pencil skirts or tight dresses. You didn't like the way them fabric wouldn't lay flat & left a break in your otherwise nicely rounded hips. So instead of looking like you had these juicy round full hips, you thought it looked like you had two mini lumps of fat on the outside of each leg. The same reason you disliked that spot was the very reason he loved it. He fit there. His palm perfectly fit right into that dip. It made him feel like you were two pieces of a puzzle, meant to effortlessly fit together. When he would spiral into his own thoughts, into the memories of his past, when he thought he didn't deserve you that dip made him think that somewhere, someway, somehow he must have done something to deserve you. How could he fit so perfectly against your body if you weren't meant to be together? That was his sign he was made for you, & you for him.

You loved his lips. Specifically you loved how his emotions all seemed to show up there. When he was pouty or upset he would push his bottom lip out like a said puppy. When he was feeling ornery or flirty his lips would curl upward, usually on his right, into a lopsided Cheshire cat smirk. When he was excited, aggravated, or turned on he would lick or bite at his bottom lip inevitably leaving it a little flushed & slightly more full than usual. Last was an emotion that seemed to be just for you. The best you could describe it as was bliss or adoration. His jaw would slowly relax & his mouth would fall open a little bit like he had been rendered suddenly unable to speak.  He also seemed to have the hardest time keeping his tongue in his mouth. It was always poking out or circling over his full lips. It makes it very hard to concentrate when you are very aware of what he can do with that tongue.

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically… I’m a disgusting person)

He is over the moon with all the debauched things he can do you with his cum & how much you enjoy it. In the 40s the rare occasion a girl agreed to give a blowjob she was always adamant you not cum in her mouth & the idea of swallowing was something you only dreamed of. So now he loves cumming in your mouth & on your face. When you let him cum on your tits, then start to play by swirling his cum all over your breasts & tease your nipples with it he nearly cums again at the sight. His favorite is when you beg for him to cum inside you. Until you he had never cum in anyone without a condom, but with you, fucking you bareback & then filling you up he swears he is in heaven. Then he leans back & watch's his cum slowly leak from your pussy, still gaping from where his cock stretched out your hole. Sometimes he loves to fuck it back into you with his fingers, sometimes he smears it around so your pussy is covered in his sticky white spend. He loves the idea of breeding you too. Occasionally if you get frisky in public he'll put your panties back on & make you walk around knowing your pussy is dripping him all day & wondering if people can smell his cum on you.

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

As jealous as Bucky can get, his biggest fantasy is throwing you on the table during a mission briefing or on the bar in the middle of one of Stark's parties, & having everyone watch him fuck you. He wants everyone to see the pleasure he pulls from you, hear you beg for his cock & for his cum. He wants them to want you but to know that they can't have you. That only he can have you. He wants to show off his perfect girl, both sides of you. How sweet & beautiful you are around everyone else, & the needy slutty little girl you are just for him.

You friendship with Stephen only adds fuel to the fire. He knows Strange wants you, that you guys had a thing, but Bucky wants to show him exactly what he can't have now. He wants to rail you face down ass up in front of Strange. His metal hand in your hair & your cheek pressed into the table turned to face the sorcerer, so you are looking at Stephen when you beg Bucky to fill you with his cum. Bucky's flesh hand shifting between smacking your ass & holding both your wrists to your low back. He wants Strange to watch him absolutely ruin you. He wants him to hear how wet your pretty little pussy is for him, & see how deliciously his fat cock stretches you with each thrust. Bucky relentlessly pounding into you as he asks you who your pussy belongs to. You're chanting his name as you fall apart in front of your friend & former lover. Cumming hard inside you as he growls "mine" through gritted teeth. Bucky only letting you up once he's filled your pussy so much you're dripping his cum for days. A reminder that your pussy is his.

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

All the brainwashing kinda fucked him over there. He knows he's had sex, with a few different girls in the 40s, but he really doesn't remember an exact number or anything. He knows that pre-marital sex wasn't exactly encouraged then so by today's standards his number was probably towards the low end, but he wasn't a virgin. Since he got his mind back his experience was pretty much just his hand, the internet, & his imagination. Not because he didn't want to, but he was afraid if it was just some random chick he would end up losing control & hurting her or at the very least scaring her to death. He didn't want his first sexual experience in decades to end with him hating himself even more. When he met you & started getting closer you somehow managed to put those worries at ease, you soothed him without even trying. You made him feel like himself. He would never be the Bucky from the 40's again, he was a stranger now, but he was starting to like the Bucky he was now. God he wanted you so bad. So he tried to research & jog his memory about what to do & how to make you feel good. They say it's like riding a bike, that you never really forget. He knows that he knows what to do, but now that he has a virtual instruction manual he wants to learn how to work all the bells & whistles. Luckily he has you to learn with.

F = Favourite Position (This goes without saying. Will probably include a visual)

Bucky prefers positions where he can make eye contact with you, like missionary or cowgirl. He craves that human connection he has with you. He spent so long being afraid of or unallowed to look eye to eye with someone. At Hydra he would be punished if he looked his handlers in the eyes. As the Winter Soldier no one dared make eye contact, & if they did he could feel the icy shiver he sent down their spine. So now to see you look into his eyes with love & lust makes the moment even more special & makes him feel whole. That's not to say he doesn't enjoy taking you from behind too. Ultimately if you want to try a new position he is pretty much always game. He wants to give you the most pleasure he can possibly give. His personal favorite position though will always be him on top of you with you on your back & your legs jammed back by your head. 

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc)

Somethings get started goofy but once everything gets going the humor tends to disappear. Bucky is still learning how to really express & deal with his emotions, so once it's just the two of you he focuses on the feelings of love & passion. That's not to say some wild sex hasn't started because Bucky chased you around the tower until he caught you & carried you to the bedroom.

H = Hair (How well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)

He's experimented a little since joining the modern world. He's tried bare, after noticing that seems to be the most popular in porn, & that was just too tedious. So he has settled on just trimmed. As far as your grooming is concerned he couldn't care less. While there was something oddly erotic about seeing you completely bare, everyone was natural in the 40's so seeing everything so on display made his head spin a little, but he has no problem with a bush. It was normal & it was your body. Frankly he's just happy to be there & will gladly love whatever you offer him.

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…)

This varies depending on lots of things. Did he have a good day or a bad one? How long has it been since you last had sex? Has one of you been gone on a mission? Was one of you about to leave on a mission? Sex always had a little more intimacy than some of your other relationships because of Bucky's history. It took an amount of trust in each other that was missing from a lot of other relationships. So it wasn't rare that things leaned a bit more on the romantic side. He liked surprising you with the sweet & cheesy little things like candles lit everywhere & of course bringing you flowers. If one of you had been away things could definitely get wild & if he was having a really bad day he liked getting a little rough. Neither of which you minded, but you loved that you got to see the romantic teddy bear side of him.

J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon)

He didn't jerk off a lot before he started having feelings for you. It was like that part of his brain just hadn't quite rebooted yet. Sure he would get morning wood, but touching himself was more functionary than to feel good. Once he started fantasizing about you though he had a hard time keeping his hands off of himself. At first he felt kinda bad about it, even after the two of you started having sex. You were his girl, he shouldn't be objectifying you like that. It was different if you were having sex, this just felt like him using you for his own pleasure. Somehow this came up one night while you were in bed & it was weirdly endearing that he thought it wasn't right if it was just to get himself off & wasn't about you. This is how you discover you have a thing for watching Bucky jerk off. You love the idea that he thinks of you when he strokes himself. Talking him through each slide of his hand. Telling how turned on you are watching him play with his hard cock just for you. Soon you start playing with yourself too & mutual masturbation quickly becomes a regular part of your sex life. Which is a damn good thing since missions often take one of you away from the other & phone/video call sex is the only thing you can do sometimes. It wasn't as good as touching each other, but you both enjoyed watching your partner get off even if you couldn't be the one getting them off.

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)

Bucky 100% has a creampie or breeding kink. It's less about the knocking you up part per say, although the thought of you pregnant does drive him nuts. You take such good care of him just as your boyfriend, he has no doubt you'll be an incredible wife & mother. He wants that to be with him & he wants it to be with his kids. The idea that drives him feral beyond all belief is that he gets to fuck you bareback & cum inside you. The first time you told him to fuck you raw & cum in you he swore his heart nearly stopped, he couldn't believe you had just said those words. He had never done that before. That was something that you didn't do in the 40's unless you & the Mrs. were ready to be in the family way. So the fact that he gets to cum in you & fill you up whenever he wants is one of his favorite things about the 21st century. Not just that but the fact that you seem to enjoy it so much, the fact that you really want him to cum inside you, fills his chest with a weird sense of pride. It says you love him so much you want that extra little bit of him. Then he gets to see his cum leak out of you & he swears he's never seen a more erotic sight. He would happily wear a condom if you asked him to, if you needed a break from the pill or for some reason didn't have another form of protection, but he does a little dance in his head everytime he gets to fuck you raw. He has never felt anything so good. He could die right there & be happy about it.

L = Location (Favourite places to do the do)

Bucky feels safest in his bedroom in his own bed. As he is relearning himself it's initially the only place he can really let his guard down. After a while he starts to feel the same way about your room & your bed too. He definitely wants to be more adventurous & you have discussed all the places he wants to have his way with you once he feels comfortable enough. There's lots of places around the tower & the Sanctum: the living room couch, the kitchen counter, the table in the meeting room, a dark hallway where anyone could walk by, even in the back of the quinjet. Then there are some public places where he wants to play even if he can't go all the way & fuck you there. He talks a lot about about taking you out to a fancy restaurant, maybe for your anniversary, & fingering you under the table. He wants you to give him head in an alley near the club when he is forced to go on one of the team outings. He wants to fuck you in the back seat of a car somewhere. He's got a whole list, it's just a matter of him getting comfortable enough to start working on that list.

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

When you first start having sex a good stiff breeze could get Bucky going. He just can't believe he gets to do those things with & to you. He can't remember if sex was always this good or if it's just this incredible with you. He likes to think it's the second. He also loves when you do little things that make him forget he's different. Like when you snuggle into his left shoulder when you're sitting on the couch together. Or when you hold his hand & kiss him for no reason in public. One of the fastest ways to get him going is by running your fingers through & playing with his hair. He practically starts purring. He also has a soft spot for lingerie & when you dress up for him. Specifically lots of lace & sheer fabric, garter belts & stockings of course. Things that just like you are the perfect mix of sweet & naughty.

N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Anything involving real pain or evoking the idea or memory of torture. The last place he wants to have a flashback is in bed naked with you. While he might enjoy a little bit of tying up & sensory play, anything bordering on hardcore BDSM is a hard no for both safety & sanity reasons. That being said he will never get tired of how your ass jiggles when he spanks you. He also really wants you to blindfold him again, but that's about as out of control as he can be for now.

Also Alpine is not allowed to be in the room while you are having sex. It makes him nervous.

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)

I feel like it's fairly obvious with this man, but he spends so much time between your legs you're convinced he must be able to breath through his ears. He is genuinely obsessed with the vast array of noises he can pull from you with just his mouth & fingers. He could literally cum just by making you cum, & it is always his goal to make you cum so hard you think you got hit by the train he fell off of. Of course he would never say no to you sucking him off either, but he also knows guys have it a bit easier in the pleasure department so knowing he can get you to cum like that is a bit of extra pride for him. In the 40's oral sex wasn't something that was just a given, so the first time you started to give him a blow job for no reason he nearly had a stroke. That same night when you told him to cum in your mouth he literally thought he might drop over dead by the time you got done with him. He is also always game to 69 if you are both determined to go down on each other & neither of you want to wait your turn.

P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)

It can go either way, but there really isn't much of an inbetween. Somedays he would pound you so hard the drywall behind his headboard would be cracked by the time you were done. Walking after those encounters was always an interesting experience & stairs became your mortal enemy. Lots of ass slapping & filthy noises taking over the room. His voice would get low & gravely as his cock was slamming into you over & over. For a guy from the 1940s Bucky had quite a mouth on him when he fucked you hard & fast. "Such a good little slut, letting me ruin this pretty little pussy. You look so good with your pussy all stretched tight & stuffed with my fat cock." & some variation of "whose pussy is this? Who does this needy little juicy pussy belong to? That's right babydoll, it's my pussy. My little fuck hole to pound & fill whenever I want. Tell me who owns this slutty pussy baby." Then there were times he either felt needy or just wanted to make it last as long as possible. Those times his thrusts were slow & deep, almost tortureously slow. He would stop every now & then once his cock bottomed out inside you & kiss you passionately until you were practically begging him to move again.

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)

He will take the quickie, but he wants an IOU for a nice long round later so it can really be done right once you are in a comfy, safe, private space. He wants to spend hours playing with your body like it's his personal toy. So a quickie will do, especially if he is really horny or you are out somewhere & he starts feeling possessive or jealous, but you can guarantee he is not done with you yet. Not by a long shot.

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

With everything he has been through Bucky isn't the riskiest guy when it comes to sex. Before you got together he would flirt with people, that was just kind of his personality, but he definitely wasn't the type to go home with a stranger for a one night stand. He was still a man from the 40's & hook up culture was very much not the 40's way of dating. So when he asked you out & you started dating you figured out pretty quick he might need to take things a little slower. You suggested the 3 date rule, which by Tinder standards seemed a little antiquated now, but had always been what worked best for you. Letting him know that if he felt like it was too much or he wanted to stop you wouldn't be upset & that you don't have to have sex to spend the night. 

Once your relationship had been established you really didn't try anything very risky for a bit, & that was totally fine. Then Bucky brought up the idea of wanting you to tell him more about the kind of things he might have missed. It wasn't long before you started working on a list of things he was interested in trying with the understanding that you would start slow & ease into the riskier, more intense or kinkier stuff. You still weren't anywhere near whips & chains but that was fine with you. You were just glad he was willing to try new things & take some risks, & you were very glad it was with you. 

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…)

Super soldier...  need I say more? Physical stamina is out of the park & his refractory period is pretty non-existent. Multiple rounds are basically always a given. Where his stamina is trickier is mentally. At first between anxiety & just emotional overload his body well out performed his mind. Maybe 2 rounds before he was mentally done. The first round was usually a little rushed & got out all the jitters & lingering emotion of the day. The second round was longer he really got to enjoy it with a clear mind. He got to focus on enjoying you & your body, making each other feel good. Once he gets more comfortable being physically intimate & vulnerable with someone like that you are gonna need a white flag, because you will be tapping out long before he does.

T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

Toys are still something he is trying to completely figure out, there are just so many kinds & sizes it can get a bit overwhelming. He knows you have a couple vibrators, a dildo or two, & some other basic things. You've played around with your vibrator together, & he specifically had you send him pics & video fucking yourself with a dildo when he was gone on a long mission. Toys aren't something he thinks need to be involved everytime you have sex, but he will happily embrace anything that helps him make you cum like crazy. He's looked a couple times at different toys online, trying to figure out what you would like & what would be fun to play with together, & his endeavours have always ended with him overwhelmed & horny. So he decided that he wanted to go toy shopping with you so you could help & guide him. Would the part of him that still thought it was the 40's be mortified? Absolutely, but the thought of playing with whatever you got as soon as you got home would easily win over the embarrassment.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Bucky is a huge tease, sometimes intentionally & sometimes unintentionally. He just sometimes gets all touchy feely & doesn't realize what it does to you. When he teases you on purpose it's usually somewhere you can't immediately get your hands on him. Some of his favorites are winking suggestively at you when no one else is watching, eye fucking you across the room at one of Stark's parties or something, & lord have mercy he knows how you fall apart when he bites his lip or licks his lips. The man is a massive flirt. He also loves hugging you from behind & whispering naughty things in your ear, pulling your hips back firm against his crotch & grinding into you. He has also discovered that he loves having the ability to take & send photos & videos with his phone. If he's away on a mission you better believe he's asking for nude pics of you or looking back at some of them you've taken together. He has more than a couple videos of him fucking you & it's not uncommon you get a photo of his hard cock or a video of him stroking his cock saying how much he misses you. You just really really hope he doesn't accidentally post or send anything naughty to someone else by mistake, he is still a 106 year old learning to use new technology after all.

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make)

The more time goes on the more comfortable Bucky is making noise. It starts as just little moans & groans or growls if he's feeling particularly possessive. Before long though he starts experimenting with dirty talk, something you love & had been easing him into since the first time you had sex. That first night he discovered he loved hearing you spew the filthiest things to him, hearing you beg him to fuck you harder & good his cock felt. The first time he got up the nerve to call you a little slut you made the most incredible sound that he swore was gonna make him cum right there. Now his mouth is almost filthier than yours & he tells you that if you aren't screaming his name everytime he fucks you then he isn't doing his job right. Not every time is loud now, but let's just say you've fielded enough complaints that your rooms have since been soundproofed.

W = Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice)

Morning sex with Bucky is always a bit softer & sweeter. It usually starts with cuddling or snuggling until neither of you can ignore his impressive morning wood any longer. One of you starts rocking your hips into the other or you start to grind your ass back into him as he spoons you. Then hands start to wander & soft moans fill the room. Lots of nuzzling & kissing & smiling. Also, if he has had a decent night of sleep, morning sex is pretty much every morning.

X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words)

Again, super soldier... Need I say more? His cock is nice & thick, beyond average, a little beyond average length. He's big enough to stretch you completely but not hurt you. The serum effected him differently than Steve. It didn't increase his height much but it thickened his muscle mass everywhere including his cock. He was incredibly thick & when hard, his veins protruded on his shaft. Due to being touch starved & after having his sexual & romantic feelings suppressed by Hydra for so many years, he also got hard at a drop of a hat. Even at the moment inopportune times a lick of your lips, the slightest moan, or even just bending over with your cleavage on display would have him stiff & aching.

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

You are gonna have to peel him off of the ceiling once you crack the seal & get him going. He's got 70-80 years of pent up just awakened sexual frustration, a world of new naughty things to try, & the sexiest girl to try them with. He has trouble keeping his hands to himself during down time. Even around the rest of the team he's constantly pulling you into his lap & nuzzling into your neck. The last movie night came to an abrupt end about half way through the film when he couldn't stop himself from starting to rut up against you despite a very freaked out Scott trying not to jump out of his skin at the other end of the couch. He's also scarred Wong for life when he walked into the Sanctum's kitchen to find you leaning against the counter with Bucky on his knees & his head under your night shirt. You had never seen him run as fast as he did when he ran away from the kitchen. Bucky on the other hand didn't even notice anyone came in. He was too busy "enjoying his breakfast".

Z = ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Bucky isn't so good with sleep. Between general insomnia & then the nightmares you are almost always asleep first. Although when your insomnia acts up he does find it nice to just be close to you. Having you share one of his ailments puts him a bit more at ease with it. It can't be too bad a thing if his perfect dream girl suffers from it too.

Back to main masterlist

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Series Taglist: @oliveoilthoughts @onebatch--twobatch @lil-sweater-slut @princesspogue @dragonalpha54 @verycollectivecreator @blondekel77 @telepathicheartss @arrozsocarrat @yourmajesty13 @general-latino

[yoko-ni]

Minors / Ageless DNI.

🌞 🌈

Let's rewind a little further. You seemed like you rushed into that, huh? A lot happened and it's only fair to help you remember. Who knows, maybe you can even prevent all of this from happening to start with!.. Right? Well, so much for happy thoughts and all that positive bullshit. I know you remember that tape and how it got into your hands, sn average college kid working a dead end part time job. You probably also remember the technicolor clown that's taken residency in your apartment, or moreover what's left in that skull of yours. I know it's not much after the waterworks of emotion, but nobody thought you were gonna start having hallucinations. Actually, hold that thought: hallucinations wasn't the right term. Not after you discovered he can,, cook? And interact with everything as though he were real. (Now this was some Ghost Adventures type shit.)

You most definitely remember before that, how Ian had metaphorically stabbed you in the back by cheating. You couldn't get off the couch for almost two weeks- you almost got fired for that one, had it not been for how understaffed Popov's is & how reliable you were. You really did lose yourself there for those few months. Even if you weren't spending your time stuck to that spot on your couch, you didn't really bother getting out of bed on your off days either. Though at least Shaun did his best to console you there wasn't much he could do from a few states away. And lord knows you didn't have the heart or the energy to beg him to pause any of his film projects just to fly over for a hug: Especially not after he just began going somewhere with his career. Meanwhile you were still major hopping. You never really did know what what wanted your degree to be for..

Jack seemed to appear right at the right time, albeit irregardless of how irritable and frustrated you were with his refusal to let you collect dust while you moped about.

"Come on now, Sunshine- the day is still young, and there's all kinds of fun things you can do!" The positivity made you gag at first. Who could blame you, after all? Anything life could throw at you, it did- and if you could feel the metaphorical blows you'd probably even be hospitalized. There were a few days where Jack would pull the curtains open to wake you up, sit at your bedside with a plethora of dad jokes until you had to roll out in order to escape, even once pulling you up and helping you to the kitchen for a simple glass of water. "No matter how you're feeling, it's always important to remember to stay hydrated. Have a drink, sunshine!"

Though, there were those early days where a notification or missed call from Ian would render you paralyzed and seeking refuge in the comfort of your covers, hiding from the reality delivered by the metallic rectangle on your night stand. Those days, Jack sat next to you with a hand to your back. He at one point even held you while you choked back sobs of frustration and despair. Later on he made you some soup to help keep you nourished. It was chicken noodle- you can never go wrong with chicken noodle soup (lol). Jack was patient and quiet with you, and that night he laid next to you so you could get a decent amount of sleep.. That day, you didn't do much. "It's going to be okay.. I know you may feel like the sky is falling down right now, but this just means that the worst is already over. You're on your way to better days. You get some sleep, sunshine, and I promise I'll be right here when you wake up."

Ever since then, you've been more open and more relaxed with Jack. He didn't seem like a strange hallucination sent to torment you with overpositivity and overused puns, but he seemed a lot more understanding than you had initially painted him to be. And you know, maybe you could use a new friend.

Author's note-

Thank you guys so much for reading! This is a continuation of my previous drabble. I didn't expect anyone to find this blog, but for the few of you here- thank you for your support! I'm trying to work on a more balanced posting schedule, and maybe even having a few fillers for my headcanons on the few faces we've seen so far- So! If you guys would want to see that, please let me know :)

[acourtofsnakes]

Returning The Favour - Bucky Barnes x F! Reader part 2 (smut)

Summary: After one hell of a day, you decide to help Bucky relax, and to repay the favour from a few nights ago. 

Warnings: 18+ only, smut ahead! Oral/blowjob – M receiving, hand job – m receiving, swearing/cursing, p in v sex (unprotected) – doggy style, face sitting, cowgirl, just pure filth, tbh. 

Smut under the cut!!

Word count: 4.5k+

A/n: A little bit of body positivity added in here too. You are all beautiful, and don’t let anyone else tell you otherwise  

A/N: This is part 2 of A Helping Hand, but as there isn’t much of a plot (aside from the smut. I mean, c’mon), it can also be read as a standalone!! It touches briefly on the plot of FATWS, but nothing really detailed. 

Permanet Taglist: @greeneyedblondie44 @mamacitapascal @mypedrom @undiscovered-misunderstood​

Part 1

A few weeks had passed by since that night Bucky had devoured you, tearing your soul to pieces and burning through you like wildfire. 

You hadn’t stopped thinking about it… and hadn’t stopped thinking about him. 

His hands on your body, searing lines into your skin, one hot and one cold. 

The drag of his tongue inside your walls, letting you ride his face whilst the world crashed down through you. 

His hand, that damned vibranium hand fucking you into oblivion. 

God, you needed him. You needed more of him, all of him. You wanted him to tear you apart again and knit you back together with his lips and his tongue. 

You wanted him to feel the same release you had the same earth-shattering pleasure. 

You’d tried to calm the fire by using your own fingers and toys, but no matter how much you replayed that night in your head – in perfect clarity – it just wasn’t the same anymore. 

Your toys, which you had spent a hell of a lot of money on… just didn’t do it. They weren’t enough. 

They weren’t… him. 

You couldn’t concentrate on your work, earning you more disapproval from Fury and he even asked you what the hell was going on and would you mind keeping your thoughts on the job, not on whatever was making you zone into space for twenty minutes straight with that look on your face. 

Luckily, you had managed to escape anymore of Nick’s wrath, by tagging along with Bucky as he went to help Sam, who was engaged in trying to take down a group of rebels called the Flag Smashers. 

You’d arrived to help him and the three of you set about doing what you could, also whilst trying to avoid John Walker, who had been rebranded as the new Captain America. 

Touchy subject. Best not to go there. 

Anyway, back on the case of the Flag Smashers.  They were being supplied with Super soldier serum from someone called the Power Broker, and the boys were at a loose end as to how to learn more. 

Well of course, there was one person who was the most knowledgeable about the serum. 

Helmut Zemo, a Sokovian villain who looked like he’d walk straight out of a film about British spies, fast cars and imaginative villains. 

You knew Bucky’s past with him, of course. 

You had fought alongside the others when Zemo triggered Bucky into becoming the Winter Soldier again. 

So, you had to admit you were surprised when you learned that Bucky himsef had ‘hypothetically’ given Zemo the way out of his German prison. 

Plans had been made, which is how tonight, you’d found yourself in Madripoor, each of you posing as a different persona. 

Sam was to be the ‘Smiling Tiger.” 

You were Zemo’s… acquaintance. His “Little Bird” he’d called you – much to Bucky’s frustration. At first, you thought it was simply because Zemo was… well, he was a ‘bad guy’. 

But as the night wore on, you noticed the looks Bucky shot the pair of you, his jaw clenching every single time Zemo’s hand brushed your waist, or he pressed his nose to your hair. 

The Baron didn’t touch you in any way you hadn’t already discussed, and you were comfortable but… the icy glint in Bucky’s eye, the tightening of his mouth when you asked him what was wrong, and he stayed silent… 

Something more was going on. More than just the role he was required to play. 

Bucky was be the Winter Soldier again. The very man he tried so desperately to escape from, the man who’s actions he was still trying to make amends for. 

You’d had to watch him play the Soldier all night, watch the tension build and build in the clenched muscle of his jaw, in the hard line of his shoulders and the tight prowl in his walk. 

Which was why, after escaping a fight and getting a little banged up yourself, you were looking into the mirror in your hotel room, adjusting the straps of the lingerie set you had slipped into. 

Okay, so maybe it was cliché. 

But Bucky had had one hell of a night. You could practically feel the tension rolling off of him from his hotel room opposite your own. 

You still had a favour to repay him, so why not go all out? He deserved it. 

Besides, you had spent a long time working up the confidence to look into the mirror and be happy and proud of what you saw, instead of feeling the need to change. 

You were proud of yourself and needed no-one else’s approval. 

But it didn’t mean it wasn’t rewarding to hear. 

Especially from a man with a wicked jawline and killer baby-blues. 

With one final shake of your hair, you pulled on your silky robe, padding to the door of your hotel room and you slipped into the cool hallway. Goosebumps rose on your skin as you moved across the plush carpet, knocking on Bucky’s door. 

Thank the lords, saints, old-gods and the new that Zemo was a Baron. This hotel was expensive, luxurious and did not have that funky smell that most hotels seemed to have. 

The rooms were lavish and richly decorated, the bathroom dripping with taste and money and the bed… well. The bed was certainly big enough for what you had in mind tonight. 

You were thoroughly determined to wreck the neatly folded covers. 

A few moments later, you heard footsteps and then the door opened. Those eyes greeted you, though they were deeper, like the colour of the sea in a storm. 

Bucky tilted his head, one hand braced on the door to open it, frowning slightly when he saw you. It was late after all. “Is everything alright, doll?” He peered down the hallway, like he was looking for threats. 

You shook your head lightly, “Nothing’s wrong, Bucky…” Lifting your eyes to his through your lashes, you moved your hands to the front of your robe, “I just thought I’d return the favour. And help you relax…” 

At your honeyed tone, at the movement in your hands, Bucky went rigid. Less in a tense way, more in anticipation. His eyes zeroed in on your hands, watching as you undid the sash and let the silk robe fall open, baring your body to him. 

Clad in gorgeous lace and delicate fabric of your favourite colour, the lingerie clung to the shape of your body, flaunting it and accentuating every beautiful line. 

Oh, it had so been worth the small fortune it cost. 

You were glad you had purchased more.

The door creaked, wood protesting as his vibranium arm gripped it. Bucky’s pupils dilated, black blotting out the blue as he raked his eyes over every inch of you. It wasn’t creepy or possessive. It was… worshipping. Awestruck. 

You had him in the palm of your already. 

Soon, it would be physically. 

“Are you going to let me in, Buck? There’s so many ways I could help you relax…” You let the robe slip off of your shoulders, leaving you incredibly bare in the middle of the very open hallway, in the very expensive, reputable hotel. 

But you didn’t care. 

Not with the way his Arctic eyes had deepened to the colour of cobalt, searing into you with the same fire that he had consumed with the other night. 

Not as he stood back, letting you in and following every single movement you made, the sway of your hips, the feline smile gracing your lips as you sashayed past him. He was enraptured by you, rendered helpless by the mere sight of you.

You saw his hands clench just before he turned to shut the door, like he was stopping himself from pulling you into his body and shredding the scraps of lace and velvet that were a barrier to your gorgeous skin and curves. 

The door snicked shut softly, shutting you both off from the rest of the world. 

You turned to face Bucky, extending your hand to him, “Come here.” You kept that honey rich tone, but you had no need to raise your voice, because Bucky had moved before the words even left your mouth. 

He slid his left hand into yours, the vibranium cool against the warmth of your skin. It was welcome, for you were burning an inferno inside that you were hiding very, very well. In fact, you were already wet, since the moment you slipped that lingerie on and saw your refection in the mirror. 

You pressed your lips to the back of Bucky’s hand, saying with movement what you knew he wouldn’t believe in words. 

That it was beautiful, strong… an extension of the graceful, deadly power that he had honed. You were never, ever afraid of it. Not even tonight, when he was playing the Soldier. Not even when he was the Soldier. 

Lifting your eyes to his, you let your tongue dart out, tracing along the golden grooves in the plates of dark vibranium. 

Fuck, the mere taste of the cool metal brought you back to that night. 

You moaned a little in the back of your throat, appreciatively and flattened your tongue over his knuckles, bringing his fingers into your mouth and sucking on them delicately, just as you had before. Except this time, it was you in charge. 

Bucky twitched, in every sense of the word. The plates of his arm clicked just faintly, like he was restraining himself even as a soft growl rumbled in the base of his chest. The sight of you sucking on his fingers again only made his jeans even more uncomfortable and he longed to feel your hot wet tongue on his skin. Every single inch of his skin. 

His own hand wasn’t enough anymore, especially not after that night. It had been near painful for him when he left, and he’d barely made it back to his own room before his hand was jamming into his boxers and he fucked his own palm until he was crying your name through gritted teeth. 

Never before had he felt such an urge to have feeling in his left hand, to feel your walls clench around him as you fell apart above him. 

It was like you could read his mind. 

You slipped off of his fingers with a small pop, a wicked gleam in your eyes as you dropped your hands to his belt buckle. Seconds later, you were undoing the zipper to his jeans, wasting no time in looping your fingers into both the waistband of his jeans, and the band of his boxers. 

You pulled them slowly down, lower and lower past his hips until his heavy swollen cock sprung free. 

Holy fucking shit. 

He was huge. 

Thick and smooth, the head already swollen and leaking. 

You wanted to taste him. 

You wanted him down your throat and buried inside you every single way until you could feel nothing but him, think of nothing but him. 

Forcing back your impatience, you slowly lowered, pulling his jeans down until they reached his ankles, and you were on your knees before him. 

Looking up through your eyelashes, you saw his head tilted down to watch you, is chin touching his chest. Those ridiculous eyes were fiercely burning, and his full, plush lips had parted in an effort to suck in more air. 

Oh, you were going to wreck him. 

You rose up a little higher, pressing your lips to the patch of neatly trimmed curls before following a trail lower, and then dragging your tongue up the underside of his cock, over that swollen vein that made you positively feral. 

Bucky’s hands flew into your hair, a barely restrained groan rising from his chest and he muttered, “Shit – shit.” 

Barely able to restrain the grin, you darted your tongue into the tiny slit, gathering that little bead of precum and then you took him into your mouth, inch by inch.

Fucking hell.

He was heavy, hot in your mouth and the velvety feel of his skin against your tongue and teeth was something you might just have died to feel again. 

You kept him still for a second, really wanting to draw this out for him – and because the weight of him against your jaw was sending floods of pleasure between your thighs and you knew the expensive lace of your underwear was already drenched. 

Bucky twitched, both inside your mouth and out and he tugged a little on your hair, “Baby, you gotta move – please, move.” 

Had this been a normal game you were playing; you might have let him suffer a little longer. But this was about relaxing him, about making him feel better so you granted him his wish and began to bob your head up and down. 

His soft moans were a symphony to your ears, a song you quickly learned the rhythm of as you moved faster, hollowing your cheeks now and then so he felt the drag of your wet, warm cheeks. 

His moans turned into curses when you reached up to toy with his balls, massaging them just slightly as you dragged your lower teeth against the vein. 

He jerked forward, the head of his cock hitting the back of your throat suddenly, “Fuck, sorry baby, I didn’t mean to-“ 

His apologies were almost stammered, but you swiftly cut him off with a sinful moan. 

The mere feel of him, the pressure of him pushing against your throat nearly made you explode there and then. 

Your eyes rolled back slightly, hips rocking against nothing by instinct and fingers digging into his thighs. 

Bucky swore softly under his breath, his voice nothing more than a broken whisper, “You – you liked that?” 

Nodding around him, you pulled all the way off briefly, “Yes.” You gasped the word, pumping him with your hand a few times before taking him in your mouth again, sucking him with all the force of someone eating a five-star meal. 

You devoured him, setting a relentless pattern of kitten licks, hollowing your cheeks and licking that throbbing vein. You let him brush the back of your throat a few times, never gagging, only crying out with pleasure at the press of him. 

And Bucky’s moans… God, you could forgo music for the rest of your life and listen only to those noises his made. 

Wanting more, more of those delicious moans and growls from him, you relaxed the muscles in your throat, pushing him down all the way until your nose was once again brushing his curls. 

It was hard to distinguish your moan from his, the way his hands yanked hard in your hair, your fingers digging into his ass cheeks to force him deeper down your throat. You took a deep breath in through your nose, moaning at the heady scent of him as it pervaded your sense. 

More, - you wanted to take him deeper and deeper until you couldn’t speak tomorrow without feeling him there. 

You slid a hand down, grasping his balls once again and you palmed them, massaging and tugging them as you shook your head lightly against him, making him rock against your windpipe.

“Fuck!” Bucky’s head tilted back, his rough moan bouncing off the elaborately decorated walls and his legs trembled, signalling how close he was, how thoroughly you were hauling him toward that edge. 

You felt his balls tighten in your hand, felt how close he was so you squeezed them harder and at the same time, swallowed around the thick length of him.  

A broken version of your name echoed above your, both of his hands tightening in your hair so fiercely, you feared he might snap a bone. “Shit, shit-” His hips jerked forward and then he shattered apart, exploding in hot ropes down your throat. 

You heard him mutter an apology, but you didn’t care, you couldn’t care because he tasted divine. 

You drew back slowly, pumping him a few times with your free hand until he was gasping in a ragged breath, his legs threatening to give way, so with a gentle judge, you pushed him back on the bed. 

He plopped down weakly, watching with wide eyes as you lifted your head, wiping the corner of your mouth with a feline grin. “Sweetheart, that was-“

A finger to his lips cut him off, “Oh, no no. I’m not done with you yet, Buck.” You quickly rid him of his shirt, revealing the broad plane of his shoulders and chest and then you urged him up the bed. As he lay back, you climbed on top of him, rising up on your knees. “I believe you made me come… three times was it?” 

And that was when James Buchanan Barnes whimpered. A sound of pure carnal need and anticipation. 

You grinned at him, reaching behind your chest to unclasp the delicate bra, before sliding it from your shoulders and throwing it to the side of the room. “I intend to repay the favour, and then some, Soldier.” You reached down for both his hands, placing them on your breasts. One warm, one icy cold. 

Both your moans echoed in tandem, especially when he tightened his hands, squeezing and pulling at the soft flesh. “So beautiful…” He mumbled the words lowly, his voice a rough rasp and his ministrations caused you to arch your back further into his touch, allowing yourself a moment of pleasure. 

But not for too long, because you soaked through the lace of your underwear, and you might well have been dripping down your thigh at this point. Dropping a hand, you moved your underwear to the side, before gliding your fingers through your glistening folds. 

Yep, you were right. 

“All of this is for you, Bucky. Because of how good you tasted in my mouth.” You moaned delicately, eyelashes fluttering as you circled your clit a few times, “How thick you were in my throat.” You gathered some of your wetness on your fingertips, before pressing them to Bucky’s lips, “See...”

He wasted no time in drawing your fingers into his mouth, dragging his teeth along the skin and cleaning every single millimetre. He seemed determined to pay you back, to try and make you feel some of the desperation he had felt. 

You let it go, only because the combination of his hands pulling at your nipples and his hot tongue sliding between your fingers. You lowered down, resting over his already hardened length before dragging up and down it a few times, coating him in your slick. Low moans came from your throat, your eyes fluttering closed as you rocked yourself against him, waiting for him to recover for round two. 

He soon groaned around your fingers, earning you a muffled, “Baby.” In an impatient tone as he twitched underneath you, hard and throbbing again.

Fine, you could give in. 

You grasped his cock, before rising up and then lowering back down, taking him in. 

Every single damn inch of him. 

The stretch of your walls was painfully delicious, making you throw your head back and cry out softly, a low keen until you were seated on his thighs again. He was buried to the hilt inside of you and you could feel him everywhere. In your belly, in your toes, in your spine even. 

Bucky’s back arched off of the bed, teeth clamping down on your fingers and his hands tightening on your breasts, before falling to your thighs where his fingertips dug into the soft flesh, “Fucking hell.” He gasped in a breath, lowering his head, “Look at me.” 

The words were choked as you dropped your chin, meeting his eyes and the look int hem nearly floored you. 

Near midnight blue with desire and lust, but they glinted like the night sky, full of admiration and… adoration of you. Complete and utter adoration. 

Shit.

You stayed where you were for a second, speechless from the look of unbarred emotion on his face as the pair of you adjusted. Bucky soon swallowed, croaking again, “Move, darlin’ – please, move.” 

Well, you didn’t need telling twice. 

You rose up off him a few inches, before dropping back down with enough force to sear your spine in half. You quickly set an earth-shattering pace, rising up before sinking back down, his hips rising to meet you and push that little bit further inside. 

Once again, the room filled with the scent of sex, the symphony of your bodies gliding with each other, mixed with Bucky’s rough moans and mutterings and your keening cries. 

His hands grasped your hips, tight enough to bruise even with his right hand, but you didn’t care. You wanted to be marked, you wanted to feel him tomorrow. 

And you wanted to mark him too. 

You dropped down over his body, bringing him for a messy, deep kiss that was all stroking tongues and teeth. 

He groaned into your mouth when you rotated your hips around him, this new angle causing your clit to drag against his firm muscles and rough curls. 

The sensation was absolutely mind-blowing, and you dragged your mouth from his to bite at his jaw and neck, swearing against his hot skin, “Fucking hell, Bucky, you feel so good. You have no idea how good you feel – filling me up. So big-” The words were stumbly, broken sentences but you knew he understood them because he matched them. 

Telling you how tight you were, how deep you were taking him. How good you looked fucking yourself and taking what you deserved – it was all yours. 

You soon felt the pressure build in your lower back and belly, at the same time Bucky’s hips were snapping up into yours with more urgency. Quickly, you dragged yourself back to sit up, and began to ride him with wild abandon. His left hand came up to yours, giving you an anchor as you fucked him relentlessly, making the pair of you cry out with wordless groans of ecstasy. 

To Bucky, you looked like – no, you were a goddess. Your body moving with carnal grace, head thrown back and those gorgeous moans and curses falling from your parted lips. 

To him… there would never be a more beautiful sight. 

Just as you began to grind your hips in circles with each downward motion, words started to spill from those plush lips, like he wasn’t in control, “You have no idea how much I wanted to tear Zemo apart tonight. His hands all over you – they shouldn’t be there. You shouldn’t be touched like that.” 

His lips parted wider for a moment, his hips thrusting up to meet your circular motions and it made the head of his cock thud against that spot deep inside you, sending shockwaves through your spine. 

Your whimpering plea spurred him on, kept him hitting that spot with hard pressure that threatened to tear you to pieces, “You’re a goddess - Not a fucking piece of arm candy. The sight of him touching you-” He snarled, pulling you down hard on his dick for a second, taking the opportunity to rotate his own hips this time, “That should be me. Worshipping you. Not him.” 

His rough words and the sheer intensity of his thrusted hurtled you closer and closer to that edge, the admissions sending just as much pleasure through you as his hard length. 

That should be me.

Did he mean…?

You looked down through hazed eyes, like you were seeing all of this with a fresh gaze. 

Bucky was already a mess beneath you, his head tilted back, and the line of his throat held taught. His deep curls with a mess, ruffled up over his forehead and the pillows. 

Beautiful. 

Bucky’s hips were starting to lose rhythm as he jerked up into you, but he never failed to repeatedly hit that spot, again and again. 

You both chased down your orgasms, and with one final grind of your hips, one final sharp jerk of his own, you fell to pieces in tandem. 

Bucky’s back arched, freezing as he spurted his hot load up inside you, at the same time your walls clenched around him, milking him for everything he had as your combined wetness slipped down his balls, making a mess of his skin – and the bed. 

Like either of you could care. 

Time lost all meaning yet again as you came down from your high, and later, you’d remember only by the places your bodies occupied. 

Bucky hauled you up, finished with the lack of control and he took you against the floor to ceiling windows, your breasts pressed to the cool glass, the city twinkling below you as Bucky fucked you deep from behind, that vibranium hand against fitted snug around your throat. 

Then on the plush rug in front of the fireplace, his dick sliding down your throat again as his tongue dragged between your folds, your knees braced either side of his head as you held onto his thighs. 

When you retired to the sunken tub to wash up, you found yourself seated on Bucky’s lap, riding him once more with the hot, jasmine scented water splashing over the ornate tiles, your combined moans mingling with the steamy air. 

The whole time, Bucky’s words played over and over in your head, echoing in the tiny space of your mind that wasn’t sex-addled. 

He wanted to be the one to walk into a club with you on his arm. He wanted everyone in the room to know he worshipped the very ground you walked on, the air that you breathed. 

It wasn’t like the feelings weren’t reciprocated either. 

It had been the blue-eyed soldier in the forefront of your mind for months and months now, perhaps even far before that. 

And it wasn’t until you were back on the bed, covers strewn on the floor that things truly shifted. 

Bucky’s hands were gripping your thighs, pulling you down to fuck his face and tongue whilst you gripped onto the headboard, his groans of delight muffled against your wet heat. 

The feeling was… other-worldly. 

Your sexual partners of the past had gone down on you, sure. You’d even been in this exact position once, but it was nothing compared to Bucky. 

No one worked you over with the same acute knowledge of what you liked, before you even knew it yourself. 

His nose nudged against your clit, providing the perfect pressure whilst he spearheaded his tongue deep within you. Every time he did, he pulled you lower, shaking his head from side to side so that his stubble scratched your sensitive inner thighs and your swollen folds.  

Words were beyond you, and all you could do was make incoherent moans and keens, sure the people in the rooms surrounding yours could hear your screams, but you didn’t care. 

Especially when Bucky dragged his teeth over your clit, ever so lightly biting it and causing you to hurtle into the outer atmosphere and forget everything.  

You collapsed, losing the tension in your legs and only Bucky’s hands shooting up to your ribs stopped you from smashing your forehead on the wall. 

Light exploded across your vision, your blood roaring in your ears and you couldn’t move, your body was completely boneless. You were truly spent, muscles twitching with aftershocks and you only just noticed Bucky coaxing you to lay down next to him. 

You faded in and out of a warm haze, registering a warm cloth gliding between your legs, over your flushed skin. 

“Go on a date with me.” 

The soft words underlined with that oh-so familiar rasp brought you rushing back to the present. “You... what?” 

“Go on a date with me.”

You snapped your eyes open, only to be met with the Arctic ocean, almost glowing from within with sated desire. 

Curling your lips up into a smile, you gently dragged Bucky’s head down to yours, pressing your lips to his equally swollen ones, “Okay.” 

[dnf-fic-recs]

Hi, do you have any fic recommendations that have romantic dnf but are also heavily focused on the whole dream team friend/family dynamic? I feel bad whenever authors just conveniently send Sapnap to NC indefinitely (I get it though 😅)

Also happy middle of June to you and everyone who celebrates it /hj 💙💚

salve for the wounded soul by falsettodrop - Ongoing & Explicit

Dream isn’t one to go deep in the ocean—he prefers standing safely on ground, with his feet planted in the sand—and so Sapnap takes George instead, gripping his hand as he pulls, and George joins him with ease. Dream can hear their laughs in the air as he looks around, back turned to them; a familiar sound, one that he’s heard nearly every day in the most recent years of his life. He turns, and there they are: his boys, watching him, waiting for him to look at them. They wave, as if to say, Dream, do you see us? Do you see? And he grins, heart full and beating and alive

A crush injury to the fingers shifts dynamics within the Dream Team household. Tensions arise, of differing varieties.

snf fight and dreamnap brotherly moments!

if you find me (will you know me?) - mooshrooming

The problem is this: Dream hasn’t slept in a week.

It started the night before George’s flight. He and Sapnap had spent the day preparing: clean sheets on the bed, setup ready for use, cupboard full of British snacks that Sapnap had excitedly brought home from the supermarket. Dream was already in bed when it hit -- a sudden, certain fear that things were about to change in ways he couldn't control

Or, Dream doesn't have any answers, but he asks a lot of questions.

Thirdwheelin' by jestbee

The thing is, Sapnap met Dream first. They'd hit it off right away, from the first response in a public chat to the first DM they ever sent, Sapnap and Dream had been fast friends. The best. Except then he had school and life got busy and in the in between moments of their usual hang time, there was George.

Or, Sapnap is tired of being the third wheel

happy ending!!

Catholic Boys by richietozlr - Ongoing & Mature

George's senior year is supposed to be uneventful. He's supposed to spend his afternoons with his best friends Quackity and Niki in the shitty local diner, talking and joking around until they're kicked out. He's supposed to act like somebody he isn't so he can graduate from his quaint little Catholic school and move on. That's the plan. That's how it's supposed to go.

Until George meets Dream. He hates everything about him.

--

A Catholic school, coming-of-age AU featuring closeted transman George, a very confused pining Dream, a supportive Niki, and a healthy serving of Karlnapity.

CB has a lot of friendship focus, primarily between george and other characters. specifically quackity and niki, but karl and sapnap are there too!

Without Guilt by venus43 - Ongoing & Explicit

It’s a honeyed tone, almost husky when the words drop—something that George doesn’t think he’s heard before, and he watches ivory teeth drag over black snake bites, fixated on the way a pink bottom lip moves hard with the metal piercing. It’s hard not to stare, gaze lifting to dirty blond hair and a small smile, features so tantalizingly perfect that they render George breathless. Eyes widen, the boys smile growing, and Sapnap’s brother was not meant to be hot, that was never a part of the plan.

or, george has a crush on his best friend's brother

snf friendship with biiiig angst

hug all ur friends by heyobsessions

“Dude, my TA is so your type,” Sapnap said in greeting, sitting down across from Dream in the library.

“Huh?” Dream said. “How do you know my type?”

“He’s like… twink central,” Sapnap said.

-

Or, Sapnap watches his best friend fall in love.

[strangelittlestories]

A weird poem started when I was doing Very Badly and finished when I should be sleeping...

Here are 3 true things about me:

1. I really like the feeling of squishing avocado with a fork

2. I think that all magic is fuelled by sacrifice

3. It blows my mind that a chrysalis is full of goo.

The other day,

I was turning nearly-ripe avocado into guac

Feeling the green flesh flense itself

As it blorts through cool metal tines

And I realised

This was the first thing I had enjoyed

In weeks.

I realised then

That for some time I had given

Zero fucks at all about anything

And in that moment I had precisely one *fork*

To give.

Why that feeling in particular?

Maybe the sensation of thoroughly

Destroying something soft and round

Just getting under its skin

And rendering it to mush

Then licking the mess you made

And finding it … tasty

Maybe there’s something about knowing

You can make this better by breaking it

That is hopeful.

Or maybe I was just hungry, I don’t know.

I do know that I’m maybe not okay?

And that I enjoy the thought of delicate things

Jellifying.

You know that when a caterpillar goes in its chrysalis

It dissolves.

It’s goo.

Jelly.

Caterpillar custard.

Primordial ooze.

If I rendered you down to ooze

You probably wouldn’t become a butterfly

And honestly, I doubt you’d be happy

With the whole experiment

And I worry the feeling would not be as magnificent

As squishing avocado.

To be clear: I am not going to liquify you

I only squish people who are into it.

But I must admit: recently, I haven’t been into anything.

I think that is why I've been thinking of magic

Wishing I had a spell

That could fast forward through the boring bit

To where the action picks up again

But right now, the boring bit?

That's everything.

When I say I've been thinking about magic

I guess

I mean I've also been thinking

About not existing.

I've been thinking about shortcuts

That's a lot of what magic is, I think

A shortcut.

A way of cutting out the boring bit

I am imagining, now, my fairy godmother turning up

And taking the stone of the avocado

Hollowing it out

Shoving me inside

Splorch! In I go!

And rolling it down a hill.

When I get out of this hipster crash-dummy carriage

It's the future

And things are better.

But if I think about all the stories

That I like best…

Well…

There's no such thing as a free wish

Running from the prophecy will make it come true

The man who spun the straw has a stupid, unguessable name

And the fairy godparent doesn't know

What the fuck they're doing.

Magic is a synonym for shortcut

And shortcut is a synonym for Trouble.

The stuff you buy from the magic store comes at a terrible price

Because that's how tax works.

But you do it anyway

Because magic is also will

And magic is also choice

And magic is also change

And change doesn't come at a cost

Change *is* cost.

It is all the pain of getting from A to B

It is the magic leaving

An ugly strikethrough across your life:

No-one asks for magic

If they don't have revisions to make;

If they don't have somewhere or something to be.

The caterpillar can become a butterfly

But first it must be nothing.

The avocado can become guacamole

But first it must be paste.

All you want can be yours

But first you must realise that was never what you needed.

And I suppose that

If I am going to eventually be

A person that I like

Taking a shortcut through the place

Where I don't like anything

Might be a route I'm happy taking.

Though I don't particularly fucking recommend it

When I tell you these three true things about me

What I mean is:

Every change is a death

Almost every way we transform anything

Into anything

Should, by rights, destroy it.

And that being true

I will happily murder the person I am now

I will kill him with the dry heaves where tears should be and with ungiven fucks and with days spent sad in bed and with forks and hope

I will sacrifice him thusly

If that is the price to be the next version of me

I will remember that surviving these down days

Is the ticket to better ones

And by doing so, I will make it true

On purpose.

I will flense myself through the cool tines of the fork

And I'll survive

On purpose.

[hobidreams]

november 1869.

to remember what has been lost; to protect what still remains.

pairing: joseon king!yoongi x reader genre: drama. words: 2.4k contains: descriptions of blood/death, a reckoning.

moonlit throne index. this is drabble 26. start from the beginning?

Before Queen Jeonghui’s tomb, you stand with hands bowed in reverence, mind laden with warm memories as sticks of incense burn above your fingertips.

“We all miss you, daebi-mama. I hope you are resting well,” you murmur, letting the smoke mingle with your breath in the air as you bow, deeply. “Happy birthday.”

A little ways away, the single guard that accompanies you is also offering his thoughts to the raised, grassy mound that the queen lies beneath. You’re glad it’s Myungho to come with you today. He’s a good man, one who allows you as much freedom as possible. He understands your need to escape sometimes. Nearby, the horses you rode here are grazing on the field, quietly snorting as their tails swish from side to side.

As you look upon the tomb, you wonder wistfully if mother has found the queen in the spirit world. If they’re playing the game of janggi they so loved in life, when both could find the rare time to continue their decade-long (friendly) rivalry while indulging in cups of strong, dark tea. The thought brings a smile to your face even as fresh tears fall at the remembrance.

In your peripheral vision, you see a swish of fabric, the sign of someone approaching. You give one last bow and slot your incense in the traditional tray, realizing it must be time to leave before it gets too cold and your limbs begin to freeze even under the layers of clothes. You must go back eventually, you know it, but that doesn’t make it easier.

But when you turn, the man that stands beside you wears royal robes — the scarlet fabric and golden dragons unmistakable.

“Jeonha?”

The king’s face holds only sorrow as he holds matching incense in his hands. Staring straight ahead, he bends into a bow, dipping his head repeatedly low, low, lower until he’s almost on the dying, waterlogged grass with it, the lit grey tips flickering in the wind as they are nearly doused from the force of his movements. He bites his lip hard, so hard he draws blood as he punishes his own legs with the bows but he doesn’t stop.

You watch him with emotion clinging to your throat, but you swallow the questions you want to ask as you swipe at your wet cheeks. Why are you here? Why did you change your mind? How are you? Are you okay? All these impertinent questions are for you, to satisfy your own curiosity, and that’s not what he needs right now.

Quietly, steadily, you wait until he has finally stuck in the incense in the memorial ash. You wait until he opens his eyes, red-rimmed as they are, and finds your gaze.

“I… decided at the last moment,” he murmurs. “You… were right. I had to see her.”

You nod. Think you understand everything else he means as well, even if he’s left it unspoken. “Me too.”

“She would have liked that you’re here.”

That simple sentence threatens another wave of nostalgia and longing. You let it pull you under. Sink yourself into it. The mourning, the grief. And the love. The love that was there. The love that still remains, the traces of it held in you both. Your fingers twitch with a sudden, daring want to take his hand. To meet your palms and find the warmth and the life pulse that beats so closely, so resolutely just beneath the surface despite all this pain and all this loss. If you could just reach out. If you could just take another risk…

“Jeonha, run!”

The scream comes from the hill behind you. You both whirl.

The head of the royal guard comes running over with his sword drawn. His teeth are grit, hair blown from the wind that sweeps through the grass, rippling. His blade is already stained with a color that makes your stomach lurch at the implication.

“Hoseok— What’s going on?” The king yells back.

“Rebels! An ambush. We don’t have enough men!”

These few seconds are all the warning you get.

An incredible roar of voices comes exploding up and then you see them. The thick crowd of men that come surging over the hill, fighting their way towards you. The unforgettable clatter of metal on metal desecrates this once-sacred ground. Your legs go soft as you panic, scrambling. You’re trying not to watch as guards and rebels alike are cut down, but the enemies are steadily advancing still. What should you do? Where should you go?

“Myungho, get the horses!” The king barks out. But one look at the steeds tells you that they’re frightened, rearing back as men descend upon them. They’re off, running away on instinct to preserve their own lives while damning yours.

“Jeonha, what are your orders?” Myungho’s grip on his weapon is tight.

“Go. Help Hoseok.”

“Yes, jeonha!”

But as the battle wears on, the dread in you only grows. The king’s men are skilled, but it seems there were only a few to begin with. They are overwhelmed by sheer numbers, yelling for jeonha to escape but he doesn’t move. You don’t know what to do. You are at a complete loss, standing beside him with fingers growing steadily numb. You have to do something. You— You can’t just let it end here, at the hands of these men bellowing with violence and anger and pain.

“Jeonha, w-we have to run,” you stutter, forcing yourself to move, tugging at the fabric of his robes. But when you look back at the opposite side, your only escape route, a throng of rebels come scattering across the grass. Cutting you off; rendering you helpless.

“Myungho, cover the rear!” Hoseok spits out as he takes down another three by himself, the quick whip of his blade reflecting a beam of sun. But even he, with two other guards in front, cannot hold all of them off, though there are less of the rebels now that remain standing.

Caught in the middle, you can only watch your allies strain and sweat. In your heart, you promise desperately that you heal them in the end, if only they will hold on now.

With an awful cry, one of the guards hits the ground and a rebel uses that chance. Breaks through the line of defense and charges right towards you both.

“Fuck the king!” He yells, his face smeared with dirt, his sword raised as his bare feet trip upon the grass but he just keeps coming somehow and you have no weapons and you have no shields but the very first instinct, the most primal one you have is to throw yourself in front of the king and take his pain for him and—

Hoseok dispatches the rebel from behind just as you move a single step forward.

“You…” The king’s voice is hoarse. His eyes are wide with shock as he stares at you, at what you just did. Then he’s shoving you aside and stooping to pick up the abandoned sword from the ground.

You realize what he means when he sweeps up his sleeves, adjusts his grip on the worn handle. “Wait, no, jeonha, you cannot—”

“Stay behind me.”

“I cannot allow you to—”

“Do not argue with me.”

Again, he leaves you with no choice but to watch his back.

Fear pounds away in your body like a thousand drums, thunder booming through the pulse of your clenched heart in your ears as the king takes a first brutal swing at an enemy. Somewhat out of practice against the towering man, he’s shoved back by the sheer force of the clash, feet skidding across the wet grass but he refuses to yield. Stubborn as he always is, he rushes in again only to be pushed back. Again.

The king tilts his blade, slices it quick only to have one sent right back at him, barely missing his shoulder by an inch. He doesn’t even flinch as he stands firm. Adapts in the moment and tries a new strategy, a new tactic that has him spinning, robes fluttering in the winter air as his shuddering breath comes out in a puff of white and ends in a fury of red. And again. And again until finally, finally, only the strongest of the rebels remain standing with the few allies you left, along with your brutal, bloodied king.

Before you, all the men are panting, open mouthed, every last one of them desperate for a victory that spells the doom of the other.

“Come on then,” the king goads, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand in a show of nonchalance even though he’s obviously fatigued. “Attack.”

“You little shit!”

This man is enormous, easily a head above the king and he’s strong, muscles bulging from his torn tunic as he thrusts the sword ahead with surprising speed. The quick rush of air slices through two layers of robes, splitting the dirtied fabric open as the king narrowly escapes without a new scar. But his return stab doesn’t meet a mark and he’s slow on the rebound, steps lost some of the agility he had at the start.

Please. Please, you beg to whatever god may be listening, don’t let him die. But that rebel seems to have an endless strength as he forces the king back, meets him blow for blow for blow and you are so worried, terrified you’re going to see his last moments like this. Like this you will have been with him until the end just like you once stupidly wished. You’re so caught up you don’t realize what’s going on behind you.

“Su-uinyeo-nim! Watch out!” Myungho’s voice cracks as he cries your name, but you turn too slow. Myungho’s on the ground and the rebel that beat him is sprinting towards you, savagery in his scowl, his crude axe already suspended in mid-swing, just a few more steps, just one more shove to land right across your heart and you, you who has never held a weapon before in her life, you who has lived to heal and mend instead of hurt, what can you do right now but die?

“No!”

The scream is hoarse, a furious sound matched with a rush of robes that whip past your own.

You peel open your eyes in time to watch the king take the axe blow meant for you with his left arm. Despite his bark of pain, he swings with his right in exchange and it’s enough. The rebel falls, his axe plummeting uselessly beside him. Then the king falters too, sword clattering down as he finally drops to his knees.

“Jeonha!” You scramble to him. “Oh god, oh god, jeonha, why did you do that— Jeonha, how could you do such a thing? Jeonha!” You part the stained robes, stomach churning at the raw sight of his sacrifice. “We need to fetch you help. You need medicine, oh god, oh god.” This is panic like you’ve never felt it before as you look around, as if some miracle could occur, as if it hasn’t already occurred by the fact that you’re both still alive.

To one side, Hoseok is alone, gasping hard with the enormous rebel lying prone beside him, evidently having finished him off. Myungho has a gash running down his side, but he’s crawling towards you both still with a hand pressed to his wound for pressure. There is no one else. You have to do this on your own. You have to calm the hell down.

Using the nearby sword, you force yourself to focus and stop shaking as you cut strips of the inner layer of your skirt. You have to save his arm even as nausea swims in your mind, nerves making you want to empty your stomach.

“Hah...” The king’s chest lurches as he struggles for air. His eyes are hazy but he manages to fix them on you, as if to ground himself. “You’re… safe?”

Nodding frantically, you start to wrap the cloth around him, willing your fingers not to slip. “I-It’s deep, jeonha. Your wound is so deep.” You’re quietly sobbing as you tie the makeshift bandage to stop the worst of the bleeding. How could he be thinking of you at a time like this? It must hurt excruciatingly so, yet he is still trying to be strong.

Beside you, Hoseok is carrying Myungho’s weight, using the extra cloth to help his ally with his limited medical training.

“…Hoseok.” The king sucks in another long breath. “They… Those rebels were peasants, weren’t they?”

“Yes, jeonha… I think they were.”

He accepts this knowledge silently as you finish your preliminary treatment, but lack the resources to do anything else. You stare at the fresh red seeping through the flimsy cloth and hope desperately that it will be enough for now, until one of you can return to the palace and gather reinforcements to take you home. Feeling your fingers stop, he immediately tries to move his arm but winces, bites his lip at the sudden jolt.

“Don’t move, please,” you instantly say.

The king huffs a long, exhausted sigh as he sinks into the ground. Lets the tension seep out of him, though likely not by choice. His dark eyes flicker to the tomb briefly before they slide closed, the scar ever slashed startlingly crimson across the right side. Despite his best attempts, he is still winded, depleted. Human, after all. After all of this.

You brush matted strands of light hair away from his forehead, and pat at the drops of sweat that linger and prove how hard he pushed himself to fight. He shifts into your touch like a stray animal, allowing you take care of him for once without argument until his breaths even some, settling only in your arms.

“It seems it’s been a long time,” he says softly after a moment, his eyes remaining shut.

“Since?”

“Since I’ve protected someone.”

Your pulse catches. Blood thrums through you as you whisper, “but you did.” Your voice is viscous with relief, and gratitude. “You did.”

Only now do you dare to reach for his hand, to lend him some of your strength, even though you have seen again just how much of it he already holds in himself.

Wrapped in your warmth, he squeezes back just the once. Lets you know he is here, he is here, he is here with you still.

a/n: because i could never forget the way he wielded that sword in the mv. so... how you feel about our king now?

[dem-obscure-imagines]

Try

Warren Worthington III x Reader

Fandom: Marvel/X-Men

Summary: Warren has been through hell and then some, but will meeting his soulmate turn that around?

Note: That’s right, it’s ya girl, back on my BS. I watched Apocalypse again and BIG SURPRISE, I’m in love with Warren and Kurt all over again. Still hyperfixating on Pietro also, so…expect more fics for him as well. Anyway, I’m a ho for soulmate aus and I haven’t written one for birb boi in literal years, so here ya go.

Reader is: Gender Neutral

Warnings: swears, mentions of alcohol

Word Count: 2.8k

Warren knew one thing beyond a shadow of a doubt: he didn’t deserve a soulmate. He didn’t. There was no question in his mind. Anyone who was destined to end up with his winged, alcoholic ass had been fucked over by the universe. No one deserved to be stuck with him for the rest of their lives. And yet, these thoughts didn’t seem to erase the words written on his forearm:

Hey, um, you’re Warren, right? The Professor wanted me to talk to you.

Professor. He scoffed. He was never going to college. If his parents had gotten their way, their son “cured” of his wings, he would have ended up at Harvard or Yale or somewhere similar. But it was far too late for that. Sitting in a cage in the back room of an illegal underground mutant fighting club in Berlin…it was far too late for that. He’d probably die before he met his soulmate anyway, rendering the prophecy on his wrist—and theirs, for that matter—useless. A waste of space.

That was all he was anyway.

He spiraled. His dependence on vodka got worse. The fights got harder. He wasn’t making it out unscathed anymore, winding up with burns and scrapes and cuts, depending on what kind of mutant he was up against. One night, one of his cuts had gotten dangerously close to the writing on his wrist. He stared at it for a long time, tears burning his eyeballs until they escaped and dripped down his cheeks, angry and hot.

He hated it, but even after everything, he still had hope. He still had hope that things would get better; that he could be better, even if it seemed impossible.

And then it got…worse.

Apocalypse had come, turned his wings to metal, tuned into his anger, his rage at the world, turned him into a monster, complete with knives for feathers and winding tattoos framing his face. He wished he could blame it on mind control or something, but Apocalypse hadn’t brainwashed him, only used his anger against him. Turned him into a weapon.

And then everything went black.

When he woke up after the battle, he was in an unfamiliar room, large and white and sterile; it smelled like hand sanitizer. He heard the steady beeping of a heart monitor and when he sat up, he noticed how sore he was. His whole body hurt. His head spun. But he was alive. And when he looked down at his tattoo, the words were still there. Wherever his soulmate was, they were fine. His stupidity in joining Apocalypse hadn’t caused anything to happen to them.

For the first time in what felt like years, he breathed.

“You’re awake.” A voice said as a tall man with brown hair entered his room. “I’ll let the Professor know.”

“Where…” his deep voice rasped and the man pointed to a glass of water sitting on the table adjacent to the cot he was situated in. He picked it up and took a few long, greedy sips, not realizing just how thirsty he was until the cool drink hit his tongue. “Where am I? What is this place?”

“This is the infirmary at Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters.” The man told him, pushing his glasses further up the bridge of his nose. “You’re safe here.”

Warren nodded hesitantly, but didn’t say anything else. Safe. The word was almost a myth to him at this point. But at least he felt like he could rest for a little while.

***

It had been a few weeks since Apocalypse and his horsemen had almost ended the world. Erik had decided to stick around, and two of the younger horsemen, Storm and “the Angel of Death,” respectively, had been absorbed into the school’s student body. You didn’t know the Angel’s name. No one really talked to him, not even Ororo, Storm, who had been quickly adopted by your friend group.

Supposedly, Peter had tried to talk to the Angel guy, but he didn’t say anything to him. Ororo theorized he probably felt guilty about the whole thing. She did. But you all knew she didn’t know what Apocalypse was really trying to do. He probably hadn’t either, but that didn’t seem to keep the grim expression off of his face.

It was on a nice, sunny day that Xavier called you into his office, and you went down without complaint, knocking on the door a few times before he called you inside. You sat in the chair across from his desk.

“Hi, Professor. What’s going on?” You asked.

“Ah, yes. Just the empath and healer I wanted to see.” He smiled brightly. “(Y/N), if you don’t mind it too terribly, I have a small job for you.”

“Of course! What do you need?”

“I’m sure you’ve seen our newest pupil, Warren, around.”

You thought for a moment. “The, uh, guy with the wings? The big metal ones?”

“Precisely.” He nodded. “Warren…he’s been having quite a hard time adjusting.”

“I’ve noticed.”

“He came to me yesterday discussing…well, quite simply, he was wondering if any of our mutants here would be capable of…reverting him to his previous state. His wings, before Apocalypse, were made of feathers. They’ve been serving as quite a reminder to him and it’s been weighing pretty heavily on him, both literally and emotionally.”

“Yeah, I’ve, uh, caught his vibes from across campus.” You nodded. “It’s like there’s always a rain cloud hanging over his head.”

“Yes,” Xavier agreed. “It doesn’t have to be right away, but at your nearest convenience, if you see him around, would you talk to him? Tell him I sent you?”

“Yeah, of course. I’ll see what I can do.” You promised him.

As an empath and a healer, your first priority was helping others. And even if he was known to be a bit intimidating, you wanted to help him if you could.

So, you walked out of Xavier’s office, attended your final class of the day, and when it was over, you wandered out into the courtyard where, because of the nice weather, students were everywhere. And luckily for you, just as you suspected he might be, Warren was sitting under a tree, still sporting his leather jacket despite the warm weather.

You shielded your eyes from the sun and walked over towards him, your heart racing as you built up the courage to talk to him. So, you took a breath and said, “Hey, um, you’re Warren, right? The Professor wanted me to talk to you.”

He stared up at you for a long moment, his green eyes wide in shock. He took a breath, blinked a few times, glanced down at his wrist, and then back up at you. You could have sworn you saw tears beginning to form along his waterline, and you didn’t realize why until he said, “You’re my…No…Oh my God…I’m…I’m so sorry.”

You froze, your knees going weak. You glanced down at your bare forearm and read over the words he’d just said, exactly the way he’d just said them.

You’re my…No…Oh my God…I’m…I’m so sorry.

“Why are you sorry?” You whispered, lowering yourself onto the grass beside him, not trusting your legs to support your weight for much longer. Now you were the one with tears in your eyes. “Don’t be sorry.”

“You deserve so much more than me.” He insisted, his eyes locked on his boots, unwilling and unable to meet your gaze. “I can’t drag you into…this. Me.”

His emotions were heavy, a bleak blue and gray haze and you felt it radiate off of him in waves. His pain, his everything. And you felt it, deep within his chest. He thought you wouldn’t want him anyway.

“Warren…” You shook your head. “Why…Why would you think I don’t want you?”

He was shocked into silence for a few seconds, thinking over his words carefully, his jaw tense and hands shaking. “You’re a telepath?”

“Empath.” You corrected quietly. “And…a healer. Which is why Xavier sent me.”

“Oh. Right.” He swallowed thickly, nodding. “Did he…tell you why?”

“He did.” You smiled softly. “And I’m willing to try if you are.”

Finally, his eyes met yours and he could tell that you meant more than just the healing when you said it. The weak little voice in the back of his head was screaming for him to push you away like he pushed away everyone else, but looking into your eyes, a genuine and warm smile on your face, he just…couldn’t lose you.

He couldn’t lose anyone else.

***

Today was the day. Warren was sitting on a stool in the infirmary. Hank had run his vitals and the two of them were in the room waiting for you to come down after your class was over.

“(Y/N) is the one who saved you, you know.” Hank told Warren while he jotted down some notes.

“What?” Warren asked, snapping out of whatever daydream he had been caught up in. “What do you mean?”

“(Y/N) found you in the rubble. We didn’t think you would make it, but…they healed you. They insisted we bring you back here. Give you a chance.”

Warren was quiet for a long time, thinking about what that meant. Part of him wondered if (Y/N) had known back then that he was their soulmate, but he decided that would have been impossible with just their tattoos alone. Especially without context. They hadn’t known and yet, they’d still wanted the best for him.

“Didn’t know that.” Warren said, his voice soft and deep. He stared at the words on his wrist for a little longer, a hint of warmth swirling around in his stomach. Was this happiness? Was that what happiness felt like? He barely remembered anymore. But he knew there must have been a reason that when you walked through the door, his heart started beating a little bit faster.

“Sorry I’m so late. Professor Leaf kept us a little later than she was supposed to. Are you ready?” You asked taking off your backpack and setting it against the wall. As soon as you looked up at Warren, you felt the way his heart rate was increased and you didn’t miss the warmth swirled with the anxiousness. The anxiousness, you had expected. Even you didn’t know if you could pull off what you were going to attempt to do, but the warmth…it was a pleasant surprise.

“Don’t worry about it.” He told you, shaking his head. Was he…was he smiling? It was a small smile, sure, but you didn’t think you had ever seen him smile before. It looked good on him. “I’m ready when you are.”

“Alright.” You nodded, walking over towards him. Underneath where he was situated on a stool, Hank had laid out some pads from the training room, you assumed, to catch his metal feathers if they fell out rather than transforming back to his normal…feather feathers. None of you really knew how this would unfold. “Again, I’m not sure this will work. I don’t want to get your hopes up in case it doesn’t.”

“I’m not expecting it to.” Warren assured you, but it wasn’t in a rude way. “If it does, I’ll be pleasantly surprised. Cross my heart.” What he didn’t say was: You could never disappoint me. Not even if you tried.

“Okay.” You nodded, taking a few steps closer until you were standing right in front of him. He looked up at you and for the first time, you didn’t feel any negative emotions from him. Only anticipation and that lingering warmth. “Here goes nothing.”

You focused on the warmth in your own chest, the tingling yellow healing power that constantly swirled around your heart, and you forced it into your palms. You reached forward for his hands and he took the hint, his larger hands wrapping around yours.

Immediately, he gasped at the sensation, warm tingles running up his arms, down his spine. It stopped in the center of his back, right where his wings intersected with his body. At first, he didn’t feel anything. And then, he felt everything. The pleasant warmth flooded his metal wings, and one by one, the knife-like feathers fell out, each one landing with a thud against the mat situated underneath him.

Hank’s pencil jotted against his notebook as he took notes. He knew you were powerful, but he’d had no idea you were capable of something like this.

Neither had you.

Once the metal wings were gone, Warren felt a new sensation: another pair of wings, this one soft and familiar, slowly emerging from him. Part of him expected the process to be painful, like the one Apocalypse had forced upon him was, but it wasn’t. Warren chuckled to himself. Of course you would never hurt him. Not even unintentionally.

After a few minutes, the feathery wings had fully emerged, stretched out to his full former wingspan and he stared up at you in awe. You stopped your flow of power to him, but he held onto your hands, squeezing them to keep them in his grasp.

He looked back at his new wings, flexed them and moved them. They felt familiar, like they had always belonged to him.

“Thank you.” He said, giving your hands another squeeze, the warmth in his chest brighter and bolder than it had been before. “Thank you so much.”

“Of course.” You told him, squeezing his hands right back in a way that caused his heart to lurch. “I’m glad I could help.”

“I don’t mean to interrupt, but do you mind if I keep some of these for research?” Hank asked.

“Keep all of them, if you want. I don’t want them.” Warren told him, standing up from his stool, his hands still in yours. “So, um…do you want to go grab dinner or something?”

“Sure.” You nodded, smiling up at him. “See you later, Hank.”

“Bye, guys, have a nice night.” Hank said as you and Warren walked out of his lab. He couldn’t help but notice the way one of your hands remained in one of his as the two of you left.

***

Later that night, after dinner and after you and Warren had split for the evening, you were walking back to your room from Jean and Jubilee’s and you found Warren, lingering in his doorway, his toothbrush sticking out of his mouth. His eyes widened when he spotted you and he held up a finger, indicating you should wait for him, so you did while he went into his bathroom and rinsed out his mouth, returning a few moments later.

“Hey.” He said, the word casual as it fell from his pink lips.

“Hey yourself.” You chuckled, feeling ridiculously underdressed in your pajamas. But then again, he was wearing his pajamas, too, a large black Metallica shirt and a pair of plaid pants.

“How…how are you? Feeling?” He stumbled over his words, chuckling as he rubbed the back of his neck. You felt a wave of nervousness rush through him. “Hank said sometimes you get tired after, uh, bigger healing jobs?”

“I’m fine.” You nodded. “For whatever reason, I never get tired when I’m healing you.” You chuckled, your cheeks heating up the slightest bit. “Well…I think I know why…”

“Heh, yeah.” He nodded, mulling over his next words very carefully. “Did you, um…I don’t know how to ask this. Did you mean what you said about…trying? About us trying…this. Trying us.”

“Of course I did.” You nodded and took a few steps closer to him. “You’re my soulmate.” You reached for his hand and he gave it to you, letting you play with his fingers. You felt the way his heart fluttered when you did. “Of course I want to try.”

“I’m broken.” He told you. “I’ve never done this before. I’m…I’m a lot, and I know that.”

“Well it’s a good thing I’m a healer, huh?” You tilted your head. “And if we’re being honest, I’ve never done this before either. So how about we teach each other? Learn together?”

He smiled softly, nodding. “Yeah. Yeah, let’s do that.”

You let go of his hand and instead took the last few steps between the two of you, wrapping your arms around his torso. He froze for a few seconds, unsure of what to do. It had been…a long time since anyone had hugged him. But after a few moments, his arms got the hint and wrapped around you, pulling you to his chest. He rested his head atop yours and exhaled a long, long breath. And for the first time since you’d met him, you felt a wave of peace wash over him, encasing him entirely as his wings gently cocooned you in their warmth.

You felt his lips brush against your temple, pressing a soft kiss there. You looked up at him and his eyes met yours before fluttering shut as he leaned in to press his lips to yours.