#any fandom au bingo

[42donotpanic]

Not Under My Watch

Summary: Tony does what he can to ensure the people under his protection are safe. But sometimes a situation can change from one second to the next and all he can do is damage control.

Pairing: Tony Stark & Bucky Barnes & Clint Barton

Word Count: 1509

Rating: Mature

Tags: Sex Worker Bucky Barnes, Sex Worker Clint Barton, Violence, Abuse, Protective Tony Stark, Asexual Clint Barton, Deaf Clint Barton (it's not important to the story but it's important to me)

Written for:

@seasonaldelightsbingo :

"that was surely something..." - types of love Bingo

attacked - summertime bingo

@comfy-vember : Car Ride - Day 22

@winterironevents : Sex Worker - Adoptable

@ao3tagbingo : FREE SPACE

@fandom-free-bingo :

"I want to belive you." - Valentine's Edition

One Night Stand - Maritime May

Sex-Positive Ace - Pride Edition

"Trust Me." - Bug Edition

Neglect, New Caretaker, "What Do You Want?", Helping the Injured - Medical Edition

@slumberpartybingo - Never have I ever... had sex in a public place

@marvelrarepairbingo : Picking Fights

@sweetspicybingo : punch in the face to medicine

@anyfandomaubingo : Escort AU

@fandombingo : "I'll escort you." - Wonderland Edition

[andrea1717]

New story is online!

Written for:

Stucky Bingo Round Four @stuckybingo Card: R4089 Square: N2 | Selective Muteness

&

Any Fandom AU Bingo | Soulmate AU @anyfandomaubingo

Read The Spell here.

[sarahowritesostucky]

📖"Temporary Custody"

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Steve x ofc x Bucky; Steve x Bucky

Word Count: 4861

Tags: Dom/sub, bdsm au, dom Bucky, sub reader, hurt/comfort, enemies to lovers, gay sex'n'stuff, straight sex'n'stuff, Steve being a literal Golden Retriever, mental health issues, dub-con, forced submission, referenced childhood abuse and resultant mental health issues, bakery au, m/f/m, gentle domination, total power exchange

Summary: The stigma and shame of being a submissive has kept Mary unfulfilled and in the closet her whole life, until an inciting incident leads to Bucky and Steve taking her in and giving her everything she was always too afraid to ask for.

Trigger warnings: This story contains themes of eating disordered behavior, body image issues, childhood abuse, self-harm, mental illness, and alcohol abuse.

Wait! I haven't read an earlier chapter of this fic! Story Masterpost

11. Palmiers

Bucky

Because he’s on the far end of the spectrum, Bucky’s sex drive is affected by his condition. He wakes up hard almost every morning of his life, and Steve doesn’t need much encouragement to get himself worked up into the same state very quickly. Mutual morning jerk offs were always bound to become part of their routine.

They take a shower and stand toe to toe, hands sliding and groping all over each others’ slick bodies, pulling on their cocks until both of them are shooting off against each other’s bellies. The water washes it away, and Steve gives him a deep, happy kiss. “Mmm. Mornin��.”

“Blegch. Go brush your teeth, you heathen.”

Steve laughs and gets out of the shower. Bucky stays in for a few minutes longer, adjusting the spray to its hardest setting and letting the hot water beat down on his back and shoulders. He sighs and stretches his neck this way and that, trying to get his vertebrae to pop, but his muscles are all too tight, and the stretching just seems to make it worse. Bucky drops his head in defeat. In all honesty, his shoulders and neck and back are all pretty fucked after months of near-constant use of his prosthetic.

Steve’s right: he doesn’t usually wear it this much. And he’s also right that Bucky’s been wearing it all day every day because he wants to feel powerful and able bodied in front of Mary. As per usual, Steve is the first one to have noticed what maladaptive behavior pattern he’s doing and why, and pointed it out to him. It really is for the best, Bucky knows. Because he can’t sustain wearing the arm all the time anymore. The thing is just too damn heavy.

The engineers who designed it have made tweaks and adjustments over the years. They’ve done all they can to lighten the load as much as possible, but the thing still weighs over twenty pounds. Twenty pounds doesn’t sound like much, but when it’s pulling on the same muscle groups day in and day out, everything in Bucky’s body winds up getting strained and unbalanced. He understands better now, how women fuck up their necks so badly from shouldering their purses (or their tits) around. A little bit of weight makes a big difference.

As a Dom, Bucky may have a tiny problem admitting when he needs help. He has to be in quite a bit of pain, trouble, or both, before he’ll ever speak up and allow himself to be vulnerable like that. It’s an inherent behavior that shrinks have been trying to therapize and medicate out of him since he was a kid, but nothing ever changed it much. Falling in love with Steve helped; Bucky can let himself be more vulnerable around him. But even still, it’s no small thing that he regularly approaches his husband to ask for help in getting his arm back on correctly (Bucky can do it, but it’s a pain in the ass, getting the mechanism lined up just right before it’ll take). 

He gets out of the shower and dries off, then approaches Steve with the prosthesis. “Gimme a hand?” 

Steve makes a cheerful noise of acknowledgement around his mouthful of toothpaste, spits and rinses, then takes the arm from Bucky. He lines it up just so, and then Bucky feels the deep shudder of the arm’s inner workings coming to life as they recognize their mate. The arm attaches and Steve lets go. 

“Thanks babe.”

“Uh huh.” 

It’s as Bucky’s bending over and pulling up his underwear and joggers that a spasm runs through his back and he cries out in a pained, “Ah!”

“Babe? What’s wrong?”

Gritting his teeth, Bucky slowly stands back up. He’s able to get his pants up, but when he tests the movement of his neck and shoulders, the pain flares again. It feels like everything between the base of his skull and his mid back is seizing up. “Fuck,” he hisses, frustrated. It’s his day off. He’d been planning to go to the gym for his long workout. 

Steve steps up and puts a worried hand on his left shoulder. “Babe? Do you need it off?” 

“No. I need some painkillers and a magnesium tablet,” he grunts, already turning around (full body, because turning his head is a bad idea right now). “Fuck.” He starts off for the kitchen. 

Steve follows along with worried protests, telling him to lay his “stubborn ass” down and he’ll get it for him. Bucky ignores him and goes to the kitchen cabinet where they keep their supplement stuff. He winds up yelling again when he tries to reach up and grab the ibuprofen. “Fuck!” he says angrily.

“Babe, I said to let me do it,” Steve scolds, his hand back on Bucky’s shoulder. “And let me take this off. It’s hurting you.”

“Steve, back off,” he snaps, angry and waspish from being in pain, and from being frustrated with his own goddamn body. 

“What’s going on?” 

Bucky turns his head without thinking, hisses in pain, and then turns himself full-body to face in Mary’s direction. She’s standing there looking at the two of them in concern, one hand holding one of those swirly, flaky, crack-cookies that she makes, and the other holding a cup of tea. Her eyes widen at the sight of Bucky’s arm and body, reminding him that this is the first time she’s seen him without a shirt on. “Nothin’,” Bucky grunts.

“Shit,” she says. “Are you guys fighting? Is this a couples’ fight? I’ll just …” She turns to leave back towards her room.

“We’re not fighting,” Steve says. “Buck’s just being an ass. He gets that way when he’s in pain.”

Bucky would turn his head to glare at him, but it isn’t worth another flair of agony in his shoulder. “I’m fine,” he says, when Mary comes back over. “It’s fine,” he stresses. He opens the pill bottle and dumps three capsules into his palm. “Jeez, will everybody stop babying me? I just need a glass of water.” 

“I’ll get it,” Steve says, causing Bucky to huff once again. “Don’t be a jerk, babe.”

“Why are you in pain?” Mary asks, her eyes tracing all over the left side of Bucky’s scarred up body. “Is it … does your arm hurt?” 

“No. It just fucks up my muscles, sometimes.”

“Your muscles?”

Bucky sighs impatiently. “Steve, do you know where the heating pad is?”

“I’ll have to look.” Steve has returned with a glass of water, and Bucky tosses back the handful of pills, wincing at how even the slight motion of raising his arm up makes his trap twinge in protest. “Ugh.” 

“You should get a massage,” Mary suggests, and Bucky fights not to lash out at her. She doesn’t know that one of his biggest pet peeves in life is having other people tell him what he “should” do.

“My PT maxed out back in October,” he tells her. “Doesn’t renew again till January.”

Steve takes the water glass from him once he’s done. “Go lie face down on the bed,” he murmurs. “I’ll find the heating pad.”

“Well I could do it,” Mary blurts out. Both Bucky and Steve pause and look at her. She looks surprised, too, as though she hadn’t been planning to say the words until they were out of her mouth, and now doesn’t know how to continue  “Um, that is ..." she gestures weakly with her cookie. “I just meant I know how to, if you wanted.” Eventually her cheeks color and she looks away. “Erm, Nevermind.”

“Wait,” Steve says. When Mary turns back, he’s looking at her earnestly, and Bucky thinks, Oh no. “You know how to give a back massage? Like a real one?”

“Yeah. My, ah, my ex always had neck problems, so.” She shrugs, looking embarrassed. “I took a class at the community college, learned the basics.”

Bucky blinks. That’s the subbiest fucking thing he’s ever heard. “You did this for the husband that beat you?” he drawls, immediately regretting it because it comes out sounding way more derogatory than he intends it to. “Sorry. I just … actually would pay good money for a massage right now. If you know how to do it.” 

Mary bites her lip, looking deliciously shy and sweet. Bucky’s mood sours as he realizes that she doesn’t really want to. He’s about to let her off the hook, but then some unconscious movement he makes without meaning to has him flinching in pain again. “Sheezus,” he complains. 

“It’s not usually this bad,” Steve worries.

“I must’a slept on it wrong.”

Mary nods, as if this settles it. “Okay. Well, go in the bedroom and tie your hair up so it's out of the way.” She turns to Steve, all but dismissing Bucky now that she’s got a task to complete. Bucky fights back an amused smirk as he heads towards the bedroom, and he hears Mary bossing Steve around, telling him she needs dry oil, the heating pad, towels, and all the seat cushions off the couch. 

The fuck does she need those for? Bucky thinks as he pads back into his and Steve’s room.

He finds out a moment later, when Mary and Steve come in with a couch cushion each, and Steve goes back out to get another. They lay them in a line on the bed, and Mary directs Bucky to lie on top of them, with his body placed just so and his face down just there, and … Oh. He gets it.

She’s left space between the cushion under Bucky’s chest, and the next cushion up, which supports his forehead. The gap creates a drop through for his face—like a massage table. And when she shapes the towel into a donut shape and sticks it there, it's pretty much perfect.

“Oh,” Bucky says, as he’s settling into place. “Oh, that’s actually really smart.” He can’t see Mary from his position, but somehow he senses her preening over the praise anyway. Steve returns from the bathroom with the heating pad and oil. “Found this stuffed in the back of the linen closet. I don’t know what ‘jojoba’ is, but, um … it’s either that or the virgin olive out in the pantry.”

“Do not use that,” Bucky grumbles. “Shit’s expensive, and I don’t wanna smell like garlic truffle for the next three days.”

“That’ll work fine.” Mary is totally task focused, ignoring Bucky’s surliness and telling Steve to apply the heating pad across Bucky’s shoulders and neck for thirty minutes before they get started.

“Thirty minutes?!” Bucky complains, unable to see anything but the top of the bedcovers as the two of them go out into the hallway. 

“Just relax, Babe,” Steve says (and if Bucky isn’t mistaken, he sounds amused). “Take a nap.”

“I just woke up!” He scoffs at the bedspread when the door quietly ‘snicks’ shut and he realizes that he’s been abandoned. “Well okay then,” he mutters petulantly. Steve is right: he does turn into an ass when he’s in pain. Hmm. Maybe he should work on that.

Steve

Steve turns the tv onto a low volume so they can talk without Bucky hearing. “Sorry about him,” he says. “He’s a humongous jerk whenever he’s feeling crummy.”

“You mean it’s not just all the time?” Mary drawls.

“He’s … just one of those people you have to learn to love before you like them.” Mary raises an eyebrow, and Steve winces. “Er, that sounded harsh. Don’t tell him I said that.”

She twists her lips and looks down. “Your secret’s safe with me.” 

“Thanks, Hon. You want more tea?” 

“Yes please. There’s more of the palmiers in a baggie next to the coffee pot, if you want any.” 

“Heck yeah, I love those things.” Steve had thought the prepackaged ones at Starbucks were good, hadn’t even realized that they weren’t supposed to be all stale and hard like that. Just another commercialized pastry that Mary’s gone and ruined him for. He goes into the kitchen and makes himself coffee and Mary tea, knowing by now how she takes it.

She thanks him silently as he returns and joins her on the couch, both of them sitting close to one another on the chaise, since it’s the only part of the couch that still has its cushion.

"Palmier is French. Know what else they call these?" Mary asks.

Steve's lips quirk. Mary's always got these little facts she knows about the origins of this pastry or that. It's cute. Endearing. "No," he plays along. "What?"

"Elephant ears, because of the shape, see?"

"Oh yeah. Huh. That's neat."

She goes back to eating and sipping at her teacup, and after a moment of unrequited, affectionate staring, Steve looks away. "Elephant ears," he murmurs, trying not to be mopey. "That's funny."

They split the palmiers between them, and aside from the sounds of them munching cookies and sipping their drinks, it’s quiet for a long time. Steve made both the tea and the coffee very hot, so they at least have the excuse of cradling and blowing on their steaming mugs to keep the silence from being too awkward. Mary keeps her eyes trained forward, but Steve gets the sense that she isn’t really paying attention to the home renovation program that’s playing on the tv. His suspicions are confirmed when she eventually asks,

“So: His arm.”

Steve inhales slowly. “Yeah. His arm.”

“What happened?”

Steve frowns. He can tell by her inflection that she’s asking not just about the arm, but about the state of Bucky’s entire left side from shoulder to hip. “We were in the army,” he confides. “Deployed overseas. I made captain young, but he was a specialist in the field: a sniper. So I wasn’t put into the same types of situations as he was. His convoy got blown up by an IED. And when the dust settled …” He shrugs. “No more arm.”

“Oh.” Mary sits there and absorbs that information. “I guess I kind of figured it was something like that. I mean what else is there, besides like, a shark attack or something?”

Steve’s mouth twitches. Shark attack, ha. He’ll have to suggest that one to Buck. Might be fun to lie about, the next time a stranger asks. “Naw, just a boring old bomb. And afterwards, well. It was a long road for him, after. He didn’t have the arm when I met him.”

Mary turns her head, surprised. “Oh. You two didn’t meet in the army?”

“No, after. I met him at the V.A., when he was already angry, hurt, and didn’t want to be where he was.” Steve looks over and gives her a meaningful look. “Kind of like when I first met you.” 

Her eyes widen, and then her face colors and she looks away again, pulling her knees up and hunkering over her mug. “Was I really that bad?” she mumbles.

“... You were pretty bad, Honey.”

She frowns and doesn’t say anything, and Steve decides to leave it alone. “So yeah, his arm. He got into a program for experimental cybernetics. It was a big gamble. Back then, he still had his arm down to nearly the elbow, which meant he could use a lot of the different types of prostheses they had on the market. The less arm you have, the less they can do for you. The surgeries for the implant required removal all the way up to and including his left shoulder blade. So if he went through with it and the procedures didn’t work out, he’d be left with less function than he started with.”

“Jeez.”

“Hm, yeah. It was a risk.” Steve stares across the living room as he remembers all of the hospital stays and surgeries and revisions and therapy appointments. “Luckily it worked out. They replaced some bones with metal supports, some of his natural muscle with enhanced synthetic tissue. His body didn’t reject any of the junk they were putting in him, which was the biggest worry. All in all, it took five surgeries over the course of three years, and then a shit ton of physiotherapy. Buck says it was worth it, now, but it wasn’t a walk in the park when it was happening, I’ll tell you that.”

Beside him, Mary makes a sad little noise in her throat. “But … all that and it still gives him pain?”

“Yeah. He gets PT for it, but like he said; it never winds up lasting the full year. I force him to my veterans' support group when I can, but he’s gotta be in a really charitable mood for that.” Steve snorts humorlessly. “He’s always hated being disabled. It doesn’t jive with his DPD. You know that stereotype about men: never wanting to stop and ask for directions?” 

“Yeah.”

"Well it's true. And then you take a guy who’s as far on the spectrum as Bucky is, and it’s ten times worse.” He widens his eyes in emphasis and gets a little giggle out of Mary for it, which makes him warm with pride. He pulls his feet up onto the couch next to Mary’s and nudges her knee with his. “Just fair warning: He’s the worst patient I’ve ever seen. So don’t take it personally if he’s grumpy at you in there.”

Mary frowns and looks away. “Well, I mean I don’t have to do this. If he doesn’t want to.”

“Pretty sure he wants to. And he needs help with it, whether his stubborn ass wants to admit it or not.”

She nods, though she still doesn’t look confident. “It’s been over a year since I worked on anybody …”

“Well then this’ll be good practice for you, won’t it?” Steve nudges her again in encouragement and tells her to finish up her tea: He doesn’t expect Bucky’ll lie around patiently for much longer.

(“Oh, and Hon, maybe don’t tell him we were out here talking about him this whole time.”)

(“Duh.”)

In the bedroom, Mary climbs onto the bed next to where Bucky is laid out on the couch cushions. She takes the heating pad off his neck and puts it aside, looking nervously over the broad expanse of his back. “Um …” She reaches for the oil bottle and pumps some into her hands. She spends a long, long time just spreading it between her hands and staring at Bucky, until finally he snaps,

“What’s the holdup?” 

“Babe, be nice,” Steve warns. “Mary? You need anything?”

“Um, no. It’s just … usually I'd ..." She makes an aborted move, like she's thinking about repositioning herself, but winds up staying where she is. "Right," she mutters to herself. "This'll work fine." She reaches forward like she’ll start rubbing Bucky’s back, hesitates, shuffles closer to his side, then sets her hands on his shoulders.

Bucky doesn’t so much as twitch, but he’s not used to new people touching him, and Steve would bet money that his eyes are clenched shut right now.

“Okay,” Mary warns. “I haven’t done this in awhile, so don’t get your hopes up for a miracle or anything.”

“Anything’ll be better than what I can do myself,” Bucky says gruffly, voice somewhat muffled by the cushions. “Just go to town. You can’t hurt me any worse.”

Steve can see Mary’s face, and he knows by now what she looks like when she’s flustered. Awkwardly, he steps to the side, heading for the door. “I’ll just go watch some—”

“No!” Mary squeaks, and when Steve turns back around she’s looking at him with wide eyes. “Don’t leave,” she says, like being left alone touching Bucky is the worst possible thing that could happen. Steve doesn’t miss how the muscles in Bucky’s arms do tense at hearing her plead for Steve to stay. 

“Uhm, okay. I’ll just … be over here.” He leans back against the dresser, feeling almost painfully awkward. Once again, he’s reminded how Mary has shown absolutely no desire to engage in sexual contact with them. He hopes she doesn’t think this is a ploy to force physical contact. She was the one who suggested it, after all.

She starts at the base of Bucky’s skull, rubbing her thumbs in small circles. “As I go along, try to tell me which areas feel the worst,” she murmurs, and Bucky hums in acknowledgement. Steve watches as she pushes and circles and kneads Bucky’s neck, working down on into his shoulders. He’s struck by how feminine and tiny her hands look against Bucky’s body … and then has to steer his mind away from the thought of how tiny they might look in other places.

“Ah, fuck,” Bucky gasps, when she reaches a certain spot on the left side of his neck.

She freezes. “Bad?” 

“Nngh. Good,” he slurs. “That whole area from there goin’ down into my back ‘n all around my shoulder blade is where it’s worst.”

“Okay.” She tentatively presses around in and around the left side of his neck and shoulder. “Oh, yeah. It starts right here and goes down.” She slides her hand down the muscle and hums. “Oh, I can feel it.”

(Steve tries really hard not to think sexual thoughts.)

“Riiight here? and … here?"

Between the cushions, Bucky’s voice comes out in a series of garbled moans.

“That’d be a yes,” Steve interprets, and Mary actually shoots him a grin at that. Glad to have cut the tension a bit, he dares to take a few steps closer to the bed. He peers down at what Mary’s doing, the way her fingers dig in at sharp, focused points in some places and rub more gently in others. “It’s your trap that’s the worst,” she mutters distractedly, feeling around with her hands and staring off into space with the tip of her tongue poking out at the corner of her mouth. It’s cute. “Mmm, but probably your levator scapulae, too. Those tend to get fucked up hand in hand.”

“Mmrr.”

“And here: your rhomboid.”

“Ooh!”

“Tender?” 

“Shuyeahhh,” Bucky grunts, then his breath hitches when she digs into another spot. “Oh, yep yep right there. Was’that?”

Steve can’t help but grin. Bucky sounds like he’s drooling at this point.

“Your trapezius muscle. It's big. Does a lot of work, covers a large area. Probably the main offender.” Mary hums and feels around a little more. “Oof, yeah. You’ve got a whole bunch of tension right here.”

“You can feel it?” Steve asks, fascinated. He can't see anything.

“Yeah. Here, gimme your hand.” Steve is taken aback when she grabs his hand and guides his fingers into place, her own smaller hand pressing down. “Riiight there. You feel it?”

Steve swallows thickly. “Ah, yeah.” His eyes flick from her hand on his hand on Bucky’s back, up to her face, and back again before she can catch him looking. “Y-yeah it’s hard.” He grimaces at his choice of words (If he's not careful, "it" soon will be).

“I’m gonna focus on this one for a few minutes,” Mary tells Bucky. Then you can guide me around to the other bad spots.”

“Sounds good,” he slurs. Steve is about to take a step back again, but then Bucky calls out, “Hey Babe?”

“Yeah?”

“Pay attention to what she’s doin’. It feels really fuckin’ good.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Mmhm. You can learn n' do it next time,” he says dreamily. On his back, Mary’s hands still for the briefest of seconds. “S’goood.”

Steve nods and comes back to sit on the bed. “Okay,” he agrees, scooting in close and glancing at Mary. Her face looks pinched all of a sudden, her expression stiffened as if in annoyance. “I promise I’m not as dumb as I look,” he jokes, and watches as her face smooths out and she smiles a little.

“Oh! Oh no it’s … it’s okay, I don’t mind. I’ll teach you how.”

“Don’t mind me, m’just a teaching tool,” Bucky drawls, and Steve laughs and pats his shoulder. 

“Yeah you are. So shut up and let her teach.”

Bucky grunts and shuts up. Steve looks to Mary for instruction. He can tell she’s uncomfortable, but she manages to hide it well and keep herself on track. The more he pays attention, the sooner she can get herself out of this and never have to do it again. “Ready to learn,” he tells her.

“Now when you’re doing this, you can get more leverage if you straddle his waist.” She says this like it’s a foregone assumption that she would never dare to sit on Bucky’s waist, and Steve is sure she doesn’t notice the grumpy huff of breath Bucky gives.

“Right,” Steve says, pained. “Okay, so where are the bad spots again?”

“Put your hand here.” She takes his hand again and places it just to the left of Bucky’s spine at the level of his shoulder blade. “Slide your fingers out. There. Feel that difference? Feel how it changes when you move out to just … there?” She guides his fingers, and Steve nods. 

“Y-yeah.” Mostly, he’s just thinking about how nice Mary’s warm, oiled, tiny hand feels guiding his hand around. “Yeah.”

“The trap’s on top, but there are other muscles underneath of this one, and that differentiation you feel is where the rhomboid is ending and the—”

She keeps talking, and Steve tries to pay attention and learn, he really does. But his mind is a veritable sieve, for how well he retains the information. It’s all in one ear and out the other, ninety percent of his attention stuck on Mary’s hands on him, guiding him, pressing on his fingers and gliding his touch over Bucky’s skin. Fuck, how did they wind up here? 

Eventually, having taught Steve the basics, Mary lets him go and works on Bucky’s shoulders for a little while more. For the most part it’s quiet, with Bucky making soft grunts of pain whenever she finds a new cluster of knotted muscle, and sighs of relief once she works them out. 

Her hands linger on Bucky’s mid back when she’s done. She doesn’t seem to know what to do. “Erm. Okay. I think … I think that’s it.”

When neither Bucky nor Steve says anything, she retreats on her own, getting off the bed and looking between Bucky’s prone form and Steve’s sorrowful expression. “So, kay. You can get up, if you want. Just move slowly.”

Bucky’s right hand gives her the thumbs up symbol, but the entire rest of his body doesn’t move. “Thanks Mare. Just give us a second. That was really good. Thank you. Thanks for teaching Steve.”

It’s the “Thanks for teaching Steve” that seems to do it. Mary’s expression firms up and she nods curtly, leaving the room and shutting the door behind her. Steve stays sitting on the bed next to Bucky in silence for a long minute, then says knowingly, “Got a boner?”

“Yep.”

*To anyone who's only ever had store bought, pre-packaged palmiers: I'm so sorry. Along with Madeleines, those should never be eaten more than a few hours max after they've been baked.

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This has been a fill for:

@anyfandomdarkbingo

Card: sarahyellow / sarah-writes-stucky

Square N3: Body Swap

@matchat3a @bethexo07

[issylra]

Square: A1 - Retired Dream Rating: Explicit (for future chapters) Chapter(s): 1/6 Word Count: ~1,300 Ship(s): Dream of the Endless | Morpheus/Hob Gadling Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Additional Tags: 5+1 Things, Slice of Life, Developing Relationship, Domestic Fluff, Cuddling and Snuggling

"You are staring," Dream says, after Hob has spent a few too many seconds mentally tracing all the lines swirling across his palms. Hob has to remind himself that there's no reason to be embarrassed, not now that Dream knows. Not now that they're something.  "Yeah. Just." He falters for a moment, old habits dying hard and all that, until Dream raises an eyebrow at him. "You've got pretty hands, is all."

Or five times Hob is distracted by Dream's hands, and one time Dream is distracted by Hob's.

fill for @dreamlingbingo.

[AO3]

[unhonest-iago]

Just. Tea.

Dipper

Orders the drink with the most caffeine in it. Is the type of customer who tries to find out how many shots of espresso the barista can legally put in the drink.

Just to then add a red bull on top of all of it. More of a Dutch Bros customer than a Starbies

Some days he doesn’t feel like coffee so he’ll drink straight black coffee. Even adds salt to it, though by accident. 

Is the only one out of the group who has a rewards card

Mabel

Is the 'I'll have a mocha caramel latte-chino / Made with skim milk, no whipped cream /' type of customer where it's not a complex order by any means, just long winded

Orders the sweetest, most colorful drinks on the menu; y'know those unicorn frappes? exactly that. Something that would give anyone a cavity.

When she does go against her usual go-to order, it's for those holiday specials. Like how there's pumpkin spice in October, peppermint in November, and then eggnog in December.

Asks for a straw no matter the drink, a collection of straw wrappers stuck at the bottom of a cup holder. Ends up making orgami stars out of them before throwing them away.

Soos

Doesn't really drink coffee or tea. If he does, orders a hot chocolate or a chai tea. Prefers soft drinks as his mode of caffeine

Collects soda tabs in a box/jar, makes a random figurine out of them once it’s filled up

Will surprise the rest of the crew with their coffee order every once in a while

Mabel coaxes him into trying a sip of her’s as to convert him to the ‘dark side,’ maniacally laughing afterwards

Wendy

Similarly to Soos, Wendy gets either a steamed apple juice or steamed milk type of drink

Using the cup more as a hand warmer no matter the season

Switches to a strawberry lemonade in the summer if they have it, or a herbal tea with honey in it

Has had a few books taken out of her pay checks after accidentally using them as a coaster

[howtodrawyourdragon]

For someone so small, Hiccup sure had a lot to say and he was willing to do anything to be heard. Luckily for him, Toothless was more than willing to listen. Always intrigued to find out what the fairy with the torn wings had to say. His ability to fly may have been stolen from him- something Toothless can relate to- but his will to live has remained intact. Together, they found a way back.

Written and drawn for the Any Fandom Fluff Bingo. I had SO MUCH FUN doing this one!

-XOXOX-

Please do not repost or misuse my art in anyway.

[evilwriter37]

Initiation

Rated: explicit

Warnings: graphic depictions of violence, torture, blood, blood drinking, non-consensual kissing, non-consensual touching

Relationships: Viggo/Hiccup

Word Count: 5,016

Summary: A cabin in the mountains sounds like a fun, perfect get-away to Hiccup, but Viggo has something else planned, something much more sinister.

Created for @anyfandomdarkbingo.

Square filled: Hazing

[drelizabethgreene]

Thank you to @creativepromptsforwriting for the bodyguard AU prompt that inspired this piece for @anyfandomfluffbingo!

[ruckystarnes]

Title: Curiosity Author: RuckyStarnes Card: B029 Rating: Teen Event: @buckybarnesbingo | @anyfandomgoesbingo Square: Adopted Square - Adventurers/Explorers | 1920's AU Characters: Bucky Barnes, OFC!Betty Ship: Bucky x OFC!Betty Words: 328 Warnings: fluff Summary: Betty agrees to join Bucky on one of his explorations Type: Moodboard | Drabble

Bucky smiled as he watched Betty put her hand on top of her head, holding the wide-brimmed hat in place as the car drove along the sandy landscape. He told her she was better off wearing a pair of those new dark shaded glasses that had come out and a scarf, but she insisted on the hat, stating the glasses hurt her head. Bucky smiled wider when she stuck her tongue out at him in a manner of answering his thoughts of “I told you so”.

“You insisted on coming,” he laughed, turning his head to look out to the barren landscape.

“Yes, well, Egypt sounded marvelous in the books,” she grumbled, her other free hand waved in a small circle, “and how else would I be able to see it?”

Bucky nodded, his smile waning a touch. She had a point. Even though she comes from a family with money, she couldn’t travel on her own, much like any other woman back home. It also pained him to lie, saying she was his assistant in order to get her a passport. The world’s view on women and race was absurd to him.

"Didn't think it would be this sandy?" he teased.

Betty narrowed her eyes at him and turned her head towards the dunes. "You think you're such a comedian."

"I think I'm adorable," he countered with a wink and smirk, which turned into a laugh quickly when her hat blew off when she moved her hand just a smidge off of it. He watched as her dark curls started to whip free from the style she worked it in. Slowly, her scowling face softened as the corners of her lips turned upwards.

"You're many things Bucky Barnes," she laughed, her hand in her bag to pull out the cream colored scarf, "but adorable is pushing it."

Bucky raised his brows, smiling brightly. “I’ll take handsome,” he teased. Again, Betty narrowed her eyes, but the smile remained.

[emily-mooon]

Nancy for blorbo bingo!

(Incoherent screaming)

Also thank you for asking!

[voiceoffenrisulfr]

Paws for Applause - Chapter Three 'Catahoula'

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 -> James "Bucky" Barnes x Original Nonbinary Character (Soldierbug)

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 -> There's some important conversations to be had, and some realisations to be made.

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓 -> 5000

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 -> (T) Considered violence, panic, nightmare, implied SA/Abuse.

𝐀/𝐍 -> Check it out below, or on AO3 here! Dividers by us! Cards at the end <3

<- Chapter Two

Prompts used;

– ‘Awkward Encounter’, “I’d Like it if You Stayed.” – @anyfandomfluffbingo; - ‘Memories – @buckybarnesbingo (B049); - “They Will Come For Me.”, ‘Bundled up in Blankets’,– @eclipsingbingo (Dark); - “I Didn’t Ask.”, ‘Shock Collar’ – @fandom-free-bingo (Flight Edition); - ‘Being Raped in a Dream or Being Raped in a Hallucination’ – @julybreakbingo (Kofi Exclusive, 3x2); - ‘Match’ – July Break Bingo (Kofi Exclusive, 3x4); - ‘Heat – July Break Bingo (Summer); - “What Did I Do Wrong Now?”– July Break Bingo (4x4); - ‘Melancholy’, ‘The Like Stage’ – July Break Bingo (6x6); - “What the Hell is Your Problem?”, ‘Desperate for Love or In Denial of Attraction/Feelings’, ‘Taking it Slow or Long-Distance Relationship’ – July Break Bingo (7x7);

They know.

They know who we are.

Who you are.

What are  we going to do?

We have to do something.

We can’t risk them telling anyone.

Can’t risk them talking about it.

We have to do something.

What can we do?

We have to kill them.

“No,” the softer voice and I said in unison, horror creeping through my shock. “No,” I continued. “No, I can’t do that. They’ve done nothing wrong.”

We can’t risk anyone finding out where we are! They’ll come for me – they’ll come for us! Is that what you want? “Of course not,” I growled, pushing myself to my feet and pacing anxiously. “Of course I don’t. I don’t want that any more than you do, but that doesn’t mean they have to die over it. There’s another way – there must be. I just need to think…”

We could talk to them? the other voice offered uncertainly, their tone low and hesitant. We could explain that we’re in hiding? Maybe they’ll keep our secret…

And if they don’t? the former growled, bristling with anger and stress.

“He’s right,” I agreed aloud, nodding. “They’ve been nice enough, sure – but that was before. Things might have changed now that they know who we are. We have no reason to trust them. We can’t risk it.”

I considered for a moment as disagreements waged in my mind, each side fighting for their view until I felt my brain would boil from the frustration filling my veins. “Enough!” I snapped, shaking my head. “Neither of you is right. We can’t trust them, but that doesn’t mean they deserve to be killed. There must be some middle ground, some form of… Compromise…” I trailed off as I began with the fragments of an idea, and the arguing dialled back at last.

Neither was entirely happy with the plan, but it was the best we had, and they grumbled their consent as I headed towards the door, Zeus’ new leash clasped firmly in my hand. He trotted excitedly along beside me, entirely at odds with the mood I was radiating, and, despite myself, I smiled – in part due to Two’s radiating delight at the thick tail thumping steadily against our thigh.

The harness did little to deter him as we left my building – he threw his weight into the straps with joyful abandon, but at least he could breathe easily. It wasn’t as though this dog, formidable though he was, was much of challenge for my enhanced strength, despite the desperate scrabbling of his claws against the sidewalk as he fought for better purchase. Halfway down the street, I realised that his antics had kept my attention almost entirely on the hyperactive hound, and my anxiety had barely spiked at all when entering the public view. I considered the slavering beast, and smiled.

Maybe this really was a good idea.

With Zeus’ speed, we reached our destination faster than I expected. The sign brought a grin to my face - but it faded quickly as my mouth grew dry.

Let’s get this over with.

Isn't there another way?

No.

I’m not happy about it either, but… I can’t see we have any choice.

The sad sniff was audible as I pushed on the door, Zeus straining to charge ahead.

It was silent this time, with no manic, feathered welcome party to greet me. The air felt heavy and expectant, and my eyes met theirs, the mahogany widening microscopically in alarm. “… Hi,” they breathed, voice barely audible even to my advanced hearing.

“We need to talk,” I replied evenly, a hint of a growl curling around my words. A visible swallow, and they nodded, fingers knotting together on the counter between us as I stepped closer.

“I didn’t-”

“I apologise, I should have been more accurate. I’m going to talk – you’re going to be quiet and listen,” I snapped, eyes narrowing. They nodded again, weakly this time, and I slid the gloves from my hands, letting the dark metal rest on the wood intimidatingly. “You’re not going to tell anyone you’ve seen me. We’re not going to acknowledge each other if we pass in the street. You’re not going to stop by the apartment, or get in touch with me in any way. You’re going to pretend we never met and that you never heard of me. Is that understood?”

Their expression flickered, then one eyebrow raised slowly, forming a perfect arch. “And if I don’t?”

My jaw worked wordlessly at their sudden confidence, before dropping into a scowl. “Then you’ll see why they used to call me a ghost story.”

I watched as they considered my words, their lips parting thoughtfully. Then – to my amazement and horror – they laughed. Their head fell back as they chuckled, exposed throat spasming with it. “What’s so goddamn funny?” I snarled, fingers tightening against the wood hard enough to make it groan. They simply shook their head, lowering their face to look at me, still grinning.

“You! Coming in here all ‘you’d better do as I say, I’m scary’,” they chortled, head shaking, tears pricking their eyes. “Did you really think that would work?”

I could only stare in response, dumbfounded.

Are… Are they serious?

I don’t think anyone has ever laughed when we’ve threatened them…

“… What?”

I couldn’t think of anything else to say. The disbelief flooding my system was almost overwhelming; there was a fair chance I’d never been quite so stunned in my life. Pleading, crying, fighting – I’d seen a range of responses to being threatened by me. But never laughter.

Their head tipped to one side, still smiling. “I asked if you thought it would work. Threatening me, I mean. Is that usually how these things go?”

“Well… Y-yes,” I offered, stammering. “Usually. What… You… You’re not afraid of me?” I stammered, blinking rapidly as I fought to digest this new information.

“No,” they scoffed. “No, I’m not.”

“Why?” I pressed, my brow furrowing so intensely it made my forehead ache. “Why not? You should be.”

“Why?” they argued back. “You’re clearly not going to kill me. If you were,  I doubt I’d have even known you were here.”

“I-” I cut myself off, thinking. They were right, of course, but I couldn’t concede that point. A low snarl travelled through my body, and I curled vibranium fingers around the edge of the counter until the wood creaked and cracked ominously. “I will kill you if I need to,” I warned, my voice dropping to a hushed determination. “I’d just rather explore other options first. But if you’d like to play it that way, I’m happy to oblige.”

“Well, I do like it rough,” they purred, leaning onto their elbows, one eyebrow raised. My jaw set as I scowled, and they chuckled again. “Relax, Soldier. We’re not going to tell anyone your secret.”

“We?” I snapped, leaning closer, eyes narrowing in fury. “You’ve already told someone?!”

They rolled their eyes and leant back in their chair, heels meeting wood in a display of such ease I felt the hair on my neck rise with lividity. “No – we, as in, the people who inhabit this meat-vessel.”

“What the hell is your problem? You’d better start making sense fast, or I swear-”

“At ease, Sergeant,” they snorted, shaking their head. “Don’t act like you don’t know what you’re talking about. I know you’re just like us.”

My jaw set, the whispering in my mind silent at last. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Another arrogant eyebrow raise, and their smirk grew wider. “Sure you don’t. You’re the exact same person who walked through that door, aren’t you?”

Something unnameable squeezed my chest, panic shooting though me, and I looked down at the hand gripping tight to their counter.

… No. I’m not.

How are you doing that?

I don’t know.

Who are you?

I… I don’t… I don’t know.

My hands began to tremble, and their eyes widened minutely. “… Oh.”

It was then that my knees gave out, breath hitching in my throat, and I pressed my forehead to the front of the register, blankly staring at nothing as I fought to control myself.

You know who you are.

You know who you are.

You know who you are.

But if you’re me… Who am I?

And who am I?

“I don’t know,” I whispered, voice cracking. “I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t… I don’t know…”

Memories flickered unbidden before my eyes, and I squeezed my lids shut in an effort to block out the painful recollections. My skin burned at the ghost of a shock collar tight around my throat, and I forced myself to swallow – to prove to myself that I could, despite the choking sensation threatening to overwhelm me.

How can I remember these things if I’m not me?

I remember the collar, too.

I don’t, the soft voice interjected, surprising me. Not that one, at least.

“How is that possible?” I breathed, knocking my forehead lightly against the wood in distress. “How is any of this possible?”

“Hey, uh… It’s okay. I mean, it’s not so bad once y-”

A hand found my shoulder, and I whirled, bristling. “Don’t touch me!”  I spat, scrambling backwards as their hands rose defensively.

“I was j-”

“Don’t,” I snarled, quivering with equal parts fear and fury. “Don’t fucking touch me.”

Their eyes were wide and panicked, the smirk on their face finally fading. “Okay. I’m sorry.” Their hand pushed through their hair, and they sank back from where they crouched beside their counter, landing on their ass with a light grunt. “I’m sorry. I… We thought you knew. I shouldn’t have…” They winced, looking away. “We’re not going to tell anyone. About y’all being here, or… About anything. It’s your business, not ours. You have our word.”

I could only nod weakly, still fighting to control the panic coursing through me. “Yeah. Thanks.”

Their eyes slowly shifted back to me, hesitant and nervous – finally displaying the reaction I – we – had anticipated when we walked into their store. “I, uh… I’m Greg.” Their knuckles tapped their forehead, and I cocked my head, briefly pulled from my spiral by confusion. “Sorry – I’m a Navy man. I don’t salute like you grunts.” Their cocky grin returned, and I rolled my eyes.

“Greg, huh?” I tested, examining the person before me. “… Interesting.”

They laughed, and I scowled, unimpressed by their amusement at my lack of knowledge. “Hey now, don’t look so mad about it all. Lighten up, huh? What about you? What’s your name?”

I paused, then shrugged. “I… Guess I don’t know. I thought I was Bucky. But…” I trailed off and frowned at the claw-scuffed floorboards in frustration. “I guess I’m not.”

They shrugged, resting a forearm on their knee. “You could be. Someone might be. Mars has always been around, after all. Maybe you’ve always been around. Maybe you’re the first one, or something.”

My eyes glazed over as I considered this, contemplating myself and the two voices still murmuring quietly at the back of my mind. “… No,” I murmured, shaking my head. “No, I don’t think I am.”

They watched me for a moment, head cocked thoughtfully. “So… What would you like me to call you?”

I paused, looking down, assessing the vibranium of my arm.

I’m not Bucky.

But I’m not… Not him.

We’re a part of each other.

I’ve been here through it all. I’m…

“… Winter,” I murmured, fingers curling in on themselves tightly. “I… I guess you can call me Winter.”

They smiled softly, offering me a hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Winter.”

We sat on the floor for almost an hour, and they told me everything they knew about being like they – like we – were.

They’d known for a few years now. Mars had passed the voices off as their own overactive imagination until they became too loud, too conscious, to ignore. Greg had waved their hand and skimmed over the research they’d done, but eventually, they’d found out about plurality. They read more, and tried to communicate with one another. And, over time, it had gotten easier. The voices had gotten clearer, the barriers between them weakening. Mars became able to share their body more efficiently. They learned to live together. To help and support and love each other. They found peace, even if it was unconventional.

And Greg told me about himself. ‘He, not they,’ he’d informed me. A Navy man, as he’d said. With his own memories and history and a life, before all this. Nobody knew where those memories came from – he didn’t think he’d been a walking, talking, whole-other-person that had suddenly been suctioned into someone else’s brain or anything. No, he knew those things hadn’t happened in the most traditional sense – but he remembered them vividly, and wasn’t that all that mattered really?

I’d hummed my agreement, barely understanding. It all seemed so… Incredulous, really. But he was proof – and so was I, I supposed.

He told me about the life he’d lived – sailing the world over, summoning winds to hasten their ship and aid them in battle. A weather worker. I’d listened, enraptured, to his tales of great victories and devastating losses fought on the oceanic arena. He’d told me about incredible, terrifying storms, about lightning strikes and thunderclaps so loud it made your bones quake. And he’d – haltingly, hesitantly, and with an amount of effort he complained at having to use for such a ‘simple’ trick – made a snowflake form in his palm, glistening and perfect. It had melted quickly, leaving only a trace of water on his skin as proof it had ever existed at all, and he sighed heavily.

“I used to be one of the best weather workers in the Navy. But it’s not a thing here, and this body hasn’t as much magical energy as my own. Mars supported me, though – they let me practice whenever I want. It’s good to be able to do some things again, even if it still isn’t much.”

I could only blink, mesmerised, before moving my eyes to his face.

I was fascinated.

You’re smitten!

My cheeks heated, and I scoffed aloud, shaking my head fiercely. “I- No. No.”

Greg tipped his chin up in amusement, that broad, mischievous grin making an appearance once more. “What?”

Another shake of the head, and I gestured at my temple vaguely. “Two has things to say. He often does,” I added, snorting fondly.

“Tell me about him,” Greg offered, shifting to lean back against the front of the counter – moving nearer to me in the process, and making my skin prickle alarmingly.

I coughed and cleared my throat, pushing away any thoughts of the legs stretched out in front of him and so very close…

“He-” My voice cracked, and I coughed again as Two cackled, rubbing the back of my neck before trying once more. “He’s… Two. Buck nicknamed me ‘One’, and him ‘Two’. He’s probably the most different of us. Buck and I are quite similar, but Two is… Sweet,” I finished, smiling softly as I pictured the note he’d left for Buck, stuck to the underside of the table. “Yeah… He’s sweet. Likes dogs,” I added, looking down at the head resting in my lap while Zeus snored loudly, my fingers trailing along the soft edge of an ear. “I… Think it might have been him, when we got Zeus. It doesn’t feel very Buck, when I think back, but I never thought…” I frowned a little, but Greg shot me a reassuring smile.

“Yeah – that’s very much a thing we experienced, too. Knowing something wasn’t quite right with a memory, but not being able to explain what was wrong with it…” He shook his head, then shrugged. “But I think you might be right. It was then that Mars started to wonder if you were like us. It’s funny that you say you and Buck are so similar, though… It was meeting you that confirmed our theory.” His grin widened, and he winked, making a humiliating flush spread up my throat.

I looked away, and bit my lip softly as my gaze found the window, noticing, for the first time, the darkness settling beyond. “It’s getting late… We should go.”

Greg followed my eye, frowning. “Huh… When did that happen?” He snorted once and got to his feet with a grunt, extending a hand to me, his frown deepening when I hesitated. “I won’t bite. Not unless you ask nicely,” he added, winking.

With a snort of my own, I slid my hand into his, and he didn’t wince when vibranium met flesh. He was gentle as he pulled me upright, Zeus’ head sliding from my lap with a disgruntled whine. “I should, uh… This one needs to be walked, I think.” We looked down in unison at the tired dog, and I swallowed. “I mean, I don’t want him up half the night. Figure getting him nice and tuckered out now will mean that he rests easier, and-”

“You can go, Winter. You never have to explain yourself,” he interrupted softly. “You can come and go as you please.”

Swallowing, I nodded, picking up the leash and making a soft clicking sound to rouse the dog drained by sprinting around the store and shoving his nose in everything he could find. “I… You… I guess you could come. If you want,” I added quickly, wincing. “It’s not a threat or anything.”

He stared at me for a moment before his face split into a grin, finding the amusement in my voice. “Ha,” he deadpanned, shaking his head. “I’m glad you feel able to joke about these things.” Dropping into a squat, he smoothed a hand over Zeus’ head. “… I’d love to come. That sounds nice.”

I felt my cheeks heat once more, and I half turned, then paused. “How do you… Do you need to… Get Mars’ permission, or anything? I don’t know how this works…”

His smile softened, fond and affectionate, as he rose once more. “It works however it works. But they’re good; they haven’t exactly gone, they’re just not… The most here. You know?”

I nodded. The words didn’t make sense, really, but they fit together in a way that I could understand. Not the most here.

Yeah… That seems… Right.

Here, but… Not here.

I nodded to myself, humming a quiet agreement, and wrapped the leash tighter around my hand. His eyebrow raised, and I paused. “… What?”

“You shouldn’t do that,” he replied, inclining his head at the nylon cord. With the leash?”

He held up his right hand, and I winced at the sight of their ring finger, crooked and misaligned. “Who did this to you?”

He laughed, low and comforting, and shook his head. “Nobody. This is why you don’t wrap a leash around your hand… A dog much like Zeus broke ours when we made the same mistake, despite knowing better. Had wires through our finger, but it still didn’t set right.” His grin turned ghoulish, and he winked. “You’re not the only ghost story.”

I chortled, shaking my head fondly. “Yeah, I’m sure people around the world shake in their boots at the thought of you.”

He gasped, clutching a hand to his chest theatrically. “Are you saying I’m not haunting? How rude of you.” He shook his head back, then smirked once more. “I’m hauntingly beautiful, and you know it.”

I couldn’t help myself – my eyes flicked the length of him, and I blushed deeply, rubbing the back of my neck. He chuckled, clasping a hand on my shoulder affectionately. “Come on, Snowflake. Let’s get this dog out.”

We walked for longer than I anticipated, and by the time I checked my watch, peering through the darkness, it was nine-thirty and Zeus was plodding along beside us, unused to such tireless exercise. Greg and I had walked the streets aimlessly, talking about anything and everything that came to mind. He told me about the other people I might meet in time – Chiyo, excitable and joyful and passionate about life; Mae, a fascinating array of colour with a consciousness and a penchant for quotes; Micky, a gay artist with a tortured past and a lingering suspicion of plurality. I was fascinated with the rich lives and histories they all had; it took Greg pointing out that our own collection was just as rich and history-laden for me to blink in surprise and hum my agreement.

When he offered to walk us home, I blushed and acquiesced, feeling uncharacteristically caught off guard by the charm of his smile.

I opened the door with a strong sense of déjà vu, recalling that only a few hours ago these two bodies stood in the same spot, though with different inhabitants at the wheel.

I hope it ends nicer this time.

We hesitated in what was quickly becoming a familiar dance, Zeus trotting past us into the apartment to lap eagerly at his water bowl, tail lashing with contentment. I smiled to myself, feeling Two’s joy radiate throughout my mind.

I love him so much.

My chuckle came unbidden, fond and pleased, and Greg cocked his head with a curious grin. “Two’s delighted at having a dog,” I explained, only feeling somewhat awkward about talking about the voice in my head. “He loves him.”

“I’m glad.” Greg grinned wider, glancing briefly at the hound now lay sprawled across the floor, eyes already closed. “Dogs are excellent. Though I must confess… I’m more of a cat person.”

I arched an eyebrow, snorting, and shook my head teasingly. “We could have been so good together…”

He smirked, and I felt my cheeks colour, my own playful joke backfiring into embarrassment at his seemingly boundless confidence, his gaze on mine lapsing into a comfortable silence. “I should, uh…” He gestured over his shoulder as he spoke, smile fading, and I frowned.

“You can– We- Coffee,” I blurted, face flaming, thoroughly unused to feeling so unsure and off-balance.

I’m practiced in fear and intimidation. Not… Whatever this is.

Love? Two teased, and I scowled.

Infatuation at best, I replied curtly, and he giggled.

Winter and Greg, sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G…

Leave the poor boy alone, Buck interjected lightly, the amusement in his voice evident. He’s never had a crush before.

“It’s not a crush!” I hissed back, embarrassment making my hackles rise – quickly transforming into shame as Greg’s eyebrows rose, and I realised I’d spoke aloud.

“Headmates bullying you?” he asked evenly, no hint of a reaction on his face, and chuckling softly when I nodded in response. “Yeah, they’ll do that. It’s all in love though, I’m sure.”

“Hm, it’s not a love I want,” I quipped back, light and joking, and he laughed.

“So… Coffee?”

The silences between us grew longer as evening faded into night, the city around us becoming hushed and sleepy. My head rested against the back of the sofa, unaccustomed to being responsible for prolonged body control, and Greg offered me a soft smile. “Tired?”

I nodded and yawned, fighting to keep my eyes open, gaze flicking to my nest beneath the table longingly. “Getting there…”

His cheek met the beaten-up material as his own head leant back, watching me with a gentle mahogany gaze. “Guess I should go, huh?”

“I didn’t ask you to,” I pointed out, sleepiness lowering my guard and making me bold. “I’d… I’d like it if you stayed. On the sofa,” I added quickly, the flames returning to my skin at the fumble, and he chuckled.

“Think you’re gonna try the bed?” he pressed softly, his own eyes passing over my makeshift nest with a frown, and I scowled lightly.

“I’m not supposed to,” I replied, the words coming automatically, and the furrow between his brows deepened.

“Why not?”

“Dogs don’t deserve beds.”

My voice was soft, but they sounded deafening in the hush, and Greg’s expression flickered as he processed the declaration. After a moment, he gestured over my shoulder. “I think Zeus would disagree.”

Following his gaze, I found the mastiff draped across my bed, snoring happily, his tail beating the bed in random, dream-driven bouts of enthusiasm, and I smiled affectionately. “I suppose he would…” I acquiesced, then sighed heavily. “Fine… I’ll give it a go. But I-” I interrupted myself with a clear of my throat to fight the rapidly forming lump, then tried again. “I…I might have bad dreams. I don’t want to disturb you.”

“I can sleep through anything, and I’m happy to help if needed,” he replied firmly, jaw set with grim determination. “I’m here for you, Snowflake.”

I felt my heart flutter just a little at the nickname, the hairs on my arm standing on end as I nodded once, murmuring my consent.

The softness of the bed beneath my body lulled me quickly into a deep sleep, the gentle snores of the sailor on the sofa acting as a surprisingly comforting backing track. Everything was quiet and peaceful on the surface.

“Don’t touch me!”

“Stop, please- Please, I didn’t mean to, I won’t ask any more questions, please!”

Inhuman screams

Blood

Iron

Bruises Blood

Screams Screams Screams

Silence.

I woke with a start, fist flying out instinctively and leaping to my feet at the sound of flesh on vibranium, snarling. My fingers curled in the neck of a shirt, pinning my attacker to the ground, straddling their waist as my hand drew back to provide another blow.

“Winter- Hey, Snowflake? Take it easy, it’s just me.”

The soft voice gave me pause, muscles relaxing infinitesimally. “… Greg?”

His pants broke the silence, and I blinked, scrambling back as he grunted at loss of pressure. “That’s me.” There was the sound of powdered glass on nail and a match flared to life, casting his face in a ghoulish glow. The resemblance to a jack-o-lantern as he grinned was uncanny, and I bit back a snort despite myself. “So… What did I do wrong now?” he teased, winking, and I winced, drawing my knees up to my chest.

“I’m sorry…” I murmured, wincing. “Are you okay?”

He waved off my apology, striking another match. “I’ve had worse. Navy boy, remember?” He moved closer, head cocked with concern. “Are you okay?” I shrugged once, and he hummed. “Candles?”

“Top drawer, by the refrigerator,” I murmured flatly, staring blankly at the ground. The flickering light faded as he moved away, and I began to shiver, my adrenaline fading. The room flared to life as he lit a tall candle, placing it on the table and returning to sit before me with a sympathetic smile, a blanket in his hands. It passed carefully around my shoulders, tucked beneath my chin as I relaxed a little. “Thank you,” I whispered, eyes low and shy.

He grinned, head cocking. “Two?”

Blinking in surprise, I nodded, pulling the blanket tighter, shielding myself. “I guess so.”

“Or, you know, something else, if you have a name,” he added, shrugging a little. “… Win had a bad dream, huh?”

I nodded, wincing, a low shudder working its way down my spine at the memories, fingers automatically hunting for the faded scars at my throat. “Bad… Yes.”

“You can tell me about it, if you’d like,” he offered, voice soft and comforting, and raised his hands soothingly when my head jerked in a violent shake. “Okay, okay – you don’t have to. That’s okay, too.” Humming, he glanced around. “Is there anything I can do?”

Shrugging, I reached out as Zeus approached, resting his heavy head comfortingly on my shoulder. The strong beat of his heart against me was soothing, and I found myself breathing in time, pacing myself with every other palpable ba-bump.

In, ba-bump, ba-bump – out, ba-bump, ba-bump.

“Dogs are wonderful creatures.”

The soft voice startled me, and I glanced up, one arm around my dog’s neck to burrow into him. Their face was the same, but different, somehow – an intangible quality that I couldn’t put my finger on.

Do we do that, too?

I guess so?

They do always seem to know when we’re not the same person…

“Mars?” I clarified quietly, and they smiled.

“The one and only! … Yeah, I see the irony,” they snorted, shaking their head. “Yeah. … You okay?” I shrugged a little, and they inched closer, arms extending. “Would you like a hug?”

I paused before leaning into the embrace, the feeling of arms around me making me freeze briefly before relaxing into them, letting their body support mine as I quivered.

It was nice, after a moment. “I’ve never been hugged before,” I found myself admitting, fingers curling into their overshirt to cling tight.

Please don’t stop.

They shifted backward, resting against the edge of the bed and pulling me with them, adjusting the blanket to keep me covered. “That’s it, little one. I’ve got you. You’re okay.”

I breathed in deeply, memorising their scent, the moment, the feeling of them holding me close and a big head finding my thigh with a heavy huff of effort.

“… Темнота,” I murmured eventually, resting my head on their shoulder. They hummed curiously, and I blushed. “It’s Russian.”

“What does it mean?”

“‘Darkness’,” I replied, grinning a little despite the remnants of terror still flickering through my body. “‘cause of my dark soul.”

They snorted, running their fingers through my hair soothingly. “Mhm. Prince of Darkness, for sure.” I let out a soft giggle, nestling in closer against them, the arm around my body holding me tighter. “You can get some more sleep, if you like. I’ll look after you – promise.”

My hesitation was only minute before I nodded, eyes drifting closed readily, comforted by their embrace. “I’ll try,” I murmured. “I don’t know if… If I…”

The words trailed off into a soft snore as I succumbed to unconsciousness, fingers still wrapped in the cotton of their shirt.

[vesearlee]

──── 𝑻𝒂𝒄𝒉𝒚𝒄𝒂𝒓𝒅𝒊𝒂

To see the well-versed, experienced cardiac surgeon in such a state of distress was a sight you were not keen to experience again, and even at the cost of your shared secret, you would do anything to soothe him and bring him down from the adrenaline high.

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 ── Zayne x Scrub Nurse!F!Reader 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓 ── 2.1k 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒 ── Smut, fluff, pet names, secret relationship, power imbalance, innappropriate use of an on-call room, Greyson is so sick of Zayne's shit ➺ Wall, public, desperate sex, creampie, praise, uniform, size kink 𝐁𝐄𝐓𝐀 ── @smutconnoisseur (my absolute saviour, thank you for buckling in with my utterly insane rambles) 𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐒 ── Keep It Down by Migrant Motel 𝐀𝐎𝟑 ── HERE 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 ── My first smut I have written in a year, oi vey.

𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐒 ── Medical Edition Bingo (@fandom-free-bingo) ⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄ Playful Growls • O5 ── MASTERLIST ── Gingerbread Bingo (@fandom-free-bingo) ⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄ Finally Kissing Them • G3 ── MASTERLIST ⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄ "Please." • B4 ⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄ Hospital AU • I5 ⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄ Desperate Kiss • O4 ── MASTERLIST ⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄ Public Sex • I5 ── MASTERLIST ── Any Fandom AU Bingo (@anyfandomaubingo) ⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄ Hospital AU • I3 ── MASTERLIST ── Under The Sea Bingo (@seasonaldelightsbingo) ⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄ nuzzling their partner's neck like a cat • G4 ── MASTERLIST

─── 𝒁𝒂𝒚𝒏𝒆 𝑴𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕 ───

The atmosphere was tense — not unlike any other time within the bustling halls of the surgery floor, but this time, the air was thick with apprehension, a dash of uncertainty for what laid behind the double doors of the operating room. 

As though you could feel the gaze of those above in the observation window, you shivered from nerves beneath the countless layers you wore. The shirt you wore was form fitting, as all scrub wear was, but it felt somehow even tighter, closing in around your throat even with the deep-necked collar. 

In front of you were the immovable and ever-focused figures of your superiors. Both were skilled surgeons and almost indistinguishable while gowned in endless layers, but one stood out in particular — he was straight-backed and intently homed in on the chest cavity of his patient while his deft fingers moved with purpose, going from scalpel to scissors, to thread and needles. The occasional, clear command of: “Suction,” came every few seconds to every minute. 

“Doctor,” a voice spoke, clear and kind in tone. 

“We’re almost finished–” Snip.

Footsteps shuffled around you as a few team members re-emerged in new places to better accommodate the final stages of surgery. This singular procedure had been in the pipeline for months, and naturally, they called upon the most skilled surgeon to undertake it, the chief of surgery himself, Zayne. 

Few knew of the intimate relationship between the chief surgeon of Akso hospital and his dedicated scrub nurse — a secret you desperately hoped to maintain.

Time seemed to melt away in a haze of stolen glances and lingering touches, your history together blurring into an intoxicating mix of professional respect and burning desire. A shiver ran down your spine as Zayne declared the surgery complete, his commanding voice sending a familiar heat through your core. 

He stepped back from the patient, his scrubs marked with evidence of his skilled work — crimson streaks and surgical fluids that somehow made him look even more imposing, more powerful.

“Sir,” you said quietly, outstretching your hands to meet him halfway. Your own gloved hands carefully pulled the soiled gloves from his hands to reveal the scrub cuffs of his shirt.

Zayne strode silently toward the sliding, pressurized door leading to the preparation room. A large metal basin gleamed under the harsh downlights. You watched with concern as he gripped its edge, his wrists shaking from strain. 

The door slid shut with an ominous, loud click, leaving you alone with him in the preparation room. 

Your heart raced as you stepped closer, closing the distance between you both. The fingers on your outstretched hand trembled slightly as you reached for the ties of his surgical gown, and the fabric rustled beneath your touch as you slowly undid the knots at his upper back, then lower, each movement deliberate and charged with tension. 

The scrub gown fell away from his broad shoulders, and your breath caught at your proximity to him while you helped him shrug it off. 

With quick, almost desperate movements, you discarded both his soiled gown and your own into the waste bin, the sudden lack of barriers between you making the air feel electric.

The metal of the basin began to creak under his grip, and his shoulders heaved slightly. “Zayne?” you whispered, resting a hand on the back of his bicep. “Are you all right?”

It happened in a whirl — one moment you were standing beside the trembling figure of your lover, and then, the next moment your feet scrambled to keep you upright against the sudden tug of Zayne’s hand gripping your elbow. “Wait, wait, Zay– What’s wrong?” The question sounded sharp to your ears, and he only huffed in reply. 

His footsteps echoed harshly in the eerily deserted corridor outside of the surgery suite, and the sight seemed to bring his mind back into focus. “Come with me.” 

“Where?” you rushed, still jogging to keep up with his long strides. The determined pull of his brow and set line of his lips stirred something deep within you, but you shoved that thought down with extreme force — you were at work, you scolded silently. “They– Won’t they need you back–?”

“No, Greyson will handle it.” His pace increased, as did the rustle of his slacks. The sound caught your attention, but before you could glance down to make sure he wasn’t leaving the OR suite with contaminated clothes, fingers gripped your chin and forced your face upwards. 

You gulped, the flush of heat that coursed through you had nothing to do with nerves or exertion within the operating room. Deep, hazel eyes bore into your own, and his mouth opened around a few words that made your stomach swoop. “I need you.” 

The outline of his face grew blurry, and you blinked. “I– Uh, okay, um–”

“Now.” 

The force of his pull made a squeak of surprise slip past your tight lips, and you were tugged toward the closest on-call room. “But we’re at work–!”

“I don’t care,” Zayne grit out through clenched teeth. The door slammed open, and you rushed inside, him following right behind you. You noticed his grip was still trembling, the twitch of his arm far more noticeable now that his shirt left nothing to your imagination. 

“But– Oh, shit, Zayne!” Your feet were lifted from the ground, and your hands carded through his hair to ground yourself. The sheer volume of your shout made a sense of fear tear through your middle; being caught in such a compromising situation with your superior would spell disaster. “Wait, wait, baby,” you begged, panting against his lips, but he was not deterred. 

While one hand gripped the swell of your ass to keep you in the air, the other moved towards your neck. “No,” Zayne grunted, tilting your head back with his thumb beneath your chin. His lips trailed from your jaw to your collarbone and back up again. “The only way that I will wait,” he continued, his voice lowering into a husked rasp. “Is if you were to tell me you didn’t want this.” 

“No, no I do, please–” The hand pushing your head back vanished, and you lowered your chin to capture his lips with yours — to tease him even further, you nibbled on his bottom lip and grinned as he groaned low in his throat, a silent curse escaping in a sigh. 

“Be quiet for me then, darling.” 

You giggled and shifted in his grip to help pull down the scrub pants you wore, and they fell to your ankles with ease. The sheer strength needed to make such a move made you swoon, a rush of light headedness forcing you to gasp for air. “How can you–?”

“I need you,” Zayne repeated in a low growl. “I need this—need to feel you.” 

The pressure of his hand on your ass increased, and you felt the flutter of fabric against the back of your thigh, followed by the quiet clink of his belt. “Zayne, please,” you breathed, staring at him through half-lidded eyes. Fabric rustled as the waistband of his slacks shifted and fell to his hips. 

"I know," he whispered. His fingers traced along your clothed cunt, drawing a soft gasp from your lips. A knowing smirk curved his mouth as he felt your arousal. "I can feel how much you want this, already so wet for me, my darling girl, hm? Who knew you were so eager." 

The sudden sound of muffled footsteps made you both freeze, your attention now front and center on the fact you were currently half-way up the wall of an on-call room, legs wrapped around Zayne’s tense middle while he teased your clit with the pads of his fingers. Shocks of pleasure shot up your spine as he circled your clit with precision, and his other hand hastily closed your parted mouth. “Shh, keep quiet, darling. You don’t want them to know how well you take it, do you?”

“Shut up and kiss me,” you hissed, the words muffled by his palm. 

Zayne chuckled and stepped closer, the tip of his cock pressing against your clit. “Easy, darling,” he cooed, finally moving his hand away from your mouth. "Open up for me, sweetheart," Zayne murmured, his breath warm against your ear. "Let yourself feel everything–” The push of his cock made your eyes squeeze shut. “Yes, just like that, perfect."

A hitched whine caught in your throat as the pressure grew. “Ha– Oh, my god.” Your forehead fell to his shoulder, and your hands moved from his hair to his broad shoulders. “Don’t– Don’t you dare stop–”

“I don’t plan to, but you have to let me in, baby,” Zayne rasped, his breath hot over the shell of your ear. “You can do it—be a good girl for me.”

Shuddering with the onslaught of sensation, you took a deep breath. The gentle coaxes and praise from Zayne made it easier to breathe, and after several, slow inhales, you nodded slightly. “M’kay.”

A soft brush of Zayne’s lips against your temples made you smile dazedly, and you moaned softly as you felt him withdraw, then gasped at the delicious pressure as he pushed back in. “You must’a been all pent up,” you breathed. 

“You have no idea,” he grunted, and then you felt his resolve snap. 

The pitch of your moans increased as Zayne lost himself in you, the slide of the plaster wall while the force of his thrusts kept moving you up the wall behind you pulled at your shirt and exposed your lower stomach — the feeling of his own shirt against the strip of bare skin only made the intensity of your pleasure burn hotter. “Za– Ohmygod, you feel–”

“How you can be so tight, baby,” he growled, his forehead now resting against your sternum. “I can’t last– Fuck, I can’t.” 

The outward curse made you gasp, your heart raced to keep up with the rush of pleasure he gave you. “Give it to me, please—I need it, Zayne, ohgod–”

“You’ll have it.” 

Your scrub shirt rustled and you squeaked as you were pulled back down the wall, now eye to eye with him. “I want to watch you, see how pretty my darling is when she loses herself over my cock.”

“Don’t–” 

“Don’t what?” The few strands of hair that brushed against the very top of his glasses now stuck to his forehead. “I cannot help but be greedy for what’s mine.”

“Oh– Zayne, Zayne,” you chanted, the sudden burn all consuming as the coil in your stomach grew unbearably taut. “Please, ‘m so close, please!”

The sounds and mewls of pleasure that fell from your parted lips were silenced by his own, a kiss that was all teeth and tongue — the feeling of being consumed from the inside out by him blurred your vision around the edges with its intensity. 

“Give it to me, baby. Give it all to me, come on,” he coaxed, voice rough against your lips, and his harsh pants for air only added to the litany of sensations. “Come apart for me, that’s it–”

“Zayne!”

Waves of pleasure crashed over you as your senses overloaded — blood rushed in your ears, your thighs trembled uncontrollably against his sides, and your toes curled in your shoes. Your fingers desperately sought anchor; one hand gripped his broad shoulder while the other tangled in his hair, pulling him closer as ecstasy consumed you completely.

“Fuck, oh god, fuck,” Zayne groaned deeply, his hips stuttering to a stop as your walls clenched around him. “I’m going to–” His words cut off with a guttural moan as he came, flooding you with warmth that triggered another wave of pleasure through your oversensitive body. Each subtle movement of his cock inside you drew out more delicious aftershocks.

“Please,” you hoarsely begged, putting your arms around his shoulders to pull him closer. He moaned in reply and tucked his face into your neck, all while rocking in place to ride out what pleasure was left. 

The room filled with your shared breaths and soft moans as you squeezed around him deliberately, making him press even closer. “You're quite unprofessional,” he rumbled against your neck, his smile evident in his voice. “And such a troublemaker too.”

You let out a wicked laugh, ignorant of the footsteps outside in the corridor, and squeezed around him deliberately, delighting in the strangled gasp that escaped his throat. “Oh, that's rich coming from the one who just had to have me against a wall at work. So much for being professional, Doctor.”

“Hush.” ​​His hands slid from your hips to your waist as he let out a breathless chuckle. "If I were you, I would be more careful with that mouth of yours, darling. We still have half a shift to get through." The warning in his voice held a playful edge that made you shiver with anticipation for when he would drive you home.

[sarahowritesostucky]

📖"Merry & Bright"

Part 4 - Package Deal

Rated: Explicit

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Bucky Barnes

Tags: a/b/o, omega Bucky, alpha Steve, kids/domestic, fingering, anal sex, knotting, multiple orgasms, Voicing, claiming bites, D/s elements, mentions of PTSD, mentions of depression, postpartum, body insecurity, breastfeeding, mpreg, pet names

Word Count: ~7000 (I'm sorry, okay?!😫)

Summary: Steve and Bucky make love for the first time since the birth of their son.

(Or: a prime example of how even my sincere attempts at g-rated domestic kid fics devolve into 6000+ words of smut 🤦🏻‍♀️)

[“You want to know what it looks like?” Steve growls, pulling back with a filthy-wet sound and a voice that’s furious and rough-edged and determined. “It looks like the cunt of the omega who gave me my children. Looks like the cunt I wanna spend the rest of my life fucking, stuffing full of my cock, my cum, my knot … my tongue.”]

(Wait! I haven't read part 1, 2, 3 yet!)

Steve appears in the doorway to their bedroom after putting the girls to bed. “ ‘And the children were nestled all snug in their beds’ ,” he recites, making Bucky chuckle softly.

“ 'blah blah, something about a long winter’s nap' .” (Which doesn’t sound bad at all to him right about now.) “That took a while," he says, stifling a yawn against the top of Gabe’s head. “They didn’t get their hands on any sugarplums at that party, did they?”

Steve shakes his head. “Naw. Crackers and juice.”

“Juice has sugar.”

“They’re fine. Reading got ‘em down.”

“We still on Stuart Little?”

“Becs begged for an extra chapter,” Steve confirms, smiling from where he’s leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed, eyes full of affection as he watches Bucky feeding their son. “Did you have a nice time tonight, babe?”

Bucky winces first and lies second, so of course his ever-perceptive husband raises an eyebrow and waits him out for the truth. Bucky recounts the encounter with Karen and the other moms. “They wear me out,” he says, letting his eyes slip closed and his head dig back into the pillow that he’s got propped against the headboard. “Even when I promise myself I’m just gonna eat the food and not engage, somehow they draw me in. They have that knack.” 

“Eh. They’re just a bunch’a cotton-headed ninny muggins.”

Bucky snorts. “Yeah well I’m not too far off from ‘em.” He feels Gabe slowing down and trails his fingers through the boy’s wispy hair. “Here I thought it was last week instead of this week. Seven full calendar days off track.”

“Babe, it happens.”

“Hm. No it doesn’t. But you’re sweet for saying so.” He smiles self-deprecatingly. “Neurologist said I’ve got too much white matter, now.”

“Yeah, and he also said it isn’t getting any worse. Lots’a people have brain injuries and manage to live perfectly fine lives.”

Bucky doesn’t miss how Steve substitutes the word ‘fine’ for ‘normal’, and his lips twist wryly. “I know. It’s just, all this time I’ve been blaming it on pregnancy brain, but that'd be wearing off by now.” He groans with his eyes still closed. “Swiss cheese for brains, Stevie, I swear.”

Steve makes a sad tut of disapproval from the doorway. Bucky stubbornly doesn’t open his eyes, but he can hear the soft sounds of Steve padding across the room, then the bed dipping by his side as he slides in next to him. “You’re doing great, Sweetheart,” he encourages.

Despite how much Bucky disagrees with that assessment, he can still hear all the love and warmth in Steve’s voice, can tell that his husband sincerely means it when he leans in and kisses his ear, lips and breath lingering at the craggy, mutilated top. It’s one of the ways that Steve has always silently said ‘I love you’ to Bucky when he knows the omega is in a bad mood, and it somehow manages to worm its way past his churlishness each and every time. “Thanks, Babe,” he mutters.

Steve wiggles in to sit beside him, hip to hip, mindful of Bucky and the baby and not upsetting Gabe’s feeding time. “... Did something else happen today? You seem, I dunno, burdened.”

“I am. I mean I’m just fucking tired, but yeah.”

His hand appears on top of Bucky's thigh. “Tell me?”

Bucky sighs. “Just my emotions goin’ haywire. Hormones. I went jogging and cried in the park.”

“Baby,” 

Steve never likes to hear that Bucky’s unhappy, which is the main reason why Bucky avoids mentioning it. He’s got a therapist for that shit, after all. “Eh, it was brief. I got over it. But then I realized the play was tonight and I had to scramble to get the girls' costumes together; and right before that, I had to do battle with this snotty little beta at the pharmacy just to try and get my prescription filled, so that didn’t help.”

“What?”

Bucky ruefully recounts the incident with his birth control medication and the new FDA regulations, and Steve starts to rumble angrily in his chest before the story is halfway through. Bucky opens his eyes to see his Alpha looking all indignant on his behalf. His lips quirk. “Easy there, Big guy.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Steve growls. “I didn’t know there was any kind of legislation like that being considered.”

Steve’s unhappy scent is making Gabe start to pull away, and Bucky rubs the infant’s back. “Calm down. You’re making him squirm.” Steve grumbles but tries to obey, and Bucky relaxes when he feels Gabe go searching for another latch. “I dunno Steve. Things are changing, and I see the signs and it just scares the crap outta me.” 

“What do you mean, ‘changing’?”

“Just ... the little things," he mumbles, knowing that there's a chapter in his book called that, and that Steve probably remembers it, too. Bucky shrugs, avoiding Steve's concerned stare. "A couple of years ago, people weren’t talking so much about church. Now everybody’s back to talking about gender roles all the time.”

“People are allowed to have religion, Buck.”

“It’s not just that. It’s people’s attitudes changing, their whole approach. It scares me. People didn’t used to always be talking about what was ‘decent’ or what was ‘allowed’ on this platform or that. Purity culture, moral absolutism; those things were on the decline, ya know? People didn’t criticize working mothers as much. Omegas didn’t wear their collars in public like it's some sort of fashion statement. 'Tradwives' weren’t trending on TikTok. … Abortion was protected.”

“It’s still protected,” Steve argues. 

“Here it is,” Bucky says peevishly, because they both know about each and every issue that’s been kicked back to the states in recent years. “It’s how fast everybody forgets. Now those bumper stickers are coming back in vogue again, Jesus fish lapel pins. Hell, it’s even normal to launch a friendly chat with a chipper little ‘where do you fellowship?’ They’re banning books all the time—”

“In schools, not public libraries,” Steve interrupts, then hurriedly adds, “I’m not defending it, Buck. I’m just saying there’s a difference.”

“There’s a difference until there’s not a difference,” he snaps. Then, after a beat of fraught silence between them, he whispers, “Please tell me it’s not happening again, Steve.”

“Hey.” Steve shifts beside him, putting an arm behind his back to pull him closer against his side. He kisses the top of his head. “No, Buck. We’ve got intelligence agencies to fight against that, now. That’s what Shield is for. It’s what I do. You’ve gotta know I’d never let you or the girls—the kids,” he hurriedly amends, not yet used to “the girls” no longer being an apt descriptor of their children, “get drawn into a situation like that again. I’d never let it happen, baby, never. You know we have an exit plan if things get bad.”

Bucky nods, swallowing thickly at the mere thought of it. “Yeah,” he whispers against Gabe’s head. He knows that Steve only put that plan together to help assuage Bucky’s lingering fears, his anxiety that never quite goes away completely. “Yeah. We can get out. We have a plan.” He’s whispering it to himself, vaguely recognizes the beginning feelings of a spiral, how his pulse is faster than it should be, audible in his ears, with dread pooling low in his gut like spoiled food.

He whimpers and pushes his nose against Gabe’s hair to soothe himself, inhaling the new baby smell that he still has. “We have a private jet,” he whispers, reminding himself, trying not to let his thoughts flash back to the memory of the retreating rear window of his mom’s car at a border crossing, his sisters’ faces pressed against the glass as they leave him behind in a country where he's not safe anymore …

“Untrackable Quinjet, fly to Canada,” he murmurs, trying to focus on five things that he can see, smell, feel, taste and hear … about Gabe, his son, his—

“Baby,” Steve is mourning by his side. He grips Bucky’s shoulder and gives him a comforting squeeze, which pulls Bucky’s vision back into focus from the panic attack he’d been about to fall into. Steve seems unaware of it. He’s still just cuddling him and talking platitudes in a low voice. “That’s not happening, okay? Things are fine, I promise you.”

Bucky nods, even though he can’t help but to worry, “Then why are people giving up their rights again?” he asks. “You know they’re expanding the Fertility Care Act.”

“I know. But that doesn’t take anyone’s rights away.”

“You know how I feel about it.”

“I know. I know babe. ‘Incentiv—”

“Incentivization is the first step to coercion!” Bucky finishes for him. “Yes. They’re prioritizing citizens who can have kids over ones who can't. How is that fair?!” 

Steve lowers his head. “It’s not.”

“And passing all these restrictive laws? Requiring my Alpha to cosign on my birth control? How can they do that?”

Steve sighs. “We’re still a democracy,” he says sadly. “People still have the right to vote for the policies they want, even if they’re not the same things that you and I want. We’re a self-determining society, babe. If they get enough support for it, enough votes … People still get to make these decisions.”

Bucky grunts. “Well they're making the wrong ones.”

Steve hums in agreement, giving him another squeeze. “Hey now, don’t think about that stuff. Relax with me tonight, that’s what I want.”

“Hmph.”

“You’re gonna turn the milk sour, you keep worrying like that,” he teases. “C’mere, grumpy.” He dips in and nuzzles against Bucky’s face to try and get a small smile out of him. It kind of works, and Steve hums happily when he feels him soften. “How’s Little man?” he asks, kissing Bucky’s temple and looking down at their son.

“Pretty sure he’s eating in his sleep,” Bucky murmurs. “And I’m about to be too.” 

“Mm. But you’re not eating.” 

“You know what I mean, dummy.”

Steve leans in and noses at his neck, scenting him affectionately. “You smell so good, momma. Smell like home, like mate.” Bucky makes a grumbling sound of complaint at the “momma” and Steve snickers and kisses him in apology. He cups his hand behind Bucky’s flesh one, intimately joining him in cradling their infant son’s head against Bucky’s chest. “Lookit that,” he purrs, and it’s not all innocence to his tone, as he stares at where Gabe is suckling. “I love to see you like this,” he murmurs. “Seeing you feeding him, giving him what he needs. Using that part of yourself for this.”

Bucky groans and lets his eyes fall closed again in mortification. “Steeve.” He feels Steve’s thumb start swiping back and forth on the back of his hand that's cupping Gabe's head.

“Shh. It’s true, momma.” Steve starts peppering kisses against the top of his shoulder as he watches Gabe nursing and Bucky blushing. He speaks softly between the kisses, murmuring intimate words of love against Bucky’s skin: “Love it. Love you. You don’t know what it does to me, to see you with him like this. Watching you takin’ care of him. Knowing that your gorgeous body can do this, can nourish him. The baby you made for me, my son.” His voice is rumbling again by the time he finishes, possessive, and he laces their fingers together and ducks in close to start mouthing at Bucky’s bonding glands—something which he knows turns Bucky on to no end, goddamn him. 

Bucky groans and whines. “Are you serious right now?” Steve’s laugh puffs out against his skin, warm and affectionate, and Bucky drops his head to try and hide the smile he can’t keep off his own face. “Damn you, Rogers.”

“Language, momma Rogers,” Steve purrs, which only serves to make the heat in Bucky’s face worse. “Let me put him down,” he murmurs, kissing Bucky’s neck one last time before moving forward to take Gabe. Bucky hands him over with a tired hum, letting his eyes slip closed again while Steve is gone. 

He’s surprised when he drifts off to sleep and the next thing he’s aware of is Steve crawling back into the bed with him. “Mmhh, I fell asleep.”

“I can see that.”

“He go down okay?”

“Yep.” Steve pulls him into his arms and lies down with him, kissing his forehead. “You make me so happy, Buck,” he whispers. He trails kisses down his face until he reaches his lips, then presses gentle pecks there until he’s able to coax his way inside for more. He makes out with him lazily, humming in pleasure as Bucky softens and starts to respond to it. He lets one hand roam his body, trailing up and down the omega’s side, then squeezing his waist. “You tired?” he whispers.

Bucky smirks with his eyes closed. “M’ always tired.”

Steve hums in agreement and kisses him some more. “He slept through the night last night.”

“Yeah. Don’t jinx it. Maybe we’ll get lucky again.”

“Want to fool around?” Steve murmurs, already kissing along his jaw towards his neck again. His big hands roam Bucky’s body, caressing his waist and circling behind to grab at his ass. “I miss you.”

Bucky sighs in pleasure, nodding. “I’m fucking tired,” he murmurs—very pointedly not a ‘no’—then shivers when Steve rolls over to cover him with his body, pressing one firm, thick thigh up between his legs. Bucky groans tiredly. “Ohh, Honey.”

“I’ll do all the work,” Steve promises, whispering the words against his neck in a conspiratorial way that makes Bucky chuckle. Steve kisses his bonding gland again. “Mmm, promise. You can just lie here and feel good.”

“Or fall asleep,” Bucky mutters, though as Steve presses his thigh down and rolls his hips, the odds of that happening significantly diminish. Bucky smiles with his eyes still closed and digs his skull back into the pillow, shivering full-body as he feels his dick waking up. “Mm, Stevie. Yeah. Make me feel good?”

“Course,” Steve whispers, before sealing his mouth over the sensitive tissue of Bucky’s bond scar. He hums in pleasure as he sucks hard, coaxing the gland underneath to swell and grow closer to the skin with arousal. He fits his teeth to the shape of it, biting in a quick, sharp nip that makes Bucky gasp. 

“Oh! Steve …”

“You remember what the doctor said,” he teases, scraping his teeth over the spit-wet skin. “Hm? ‘Bout the ways Alpha can help you feel good?”

“Ohh, mm hm.” Bucky’s O.B. and his therapist have told them that stimulation of the glands can help relieve some of the effects of postpartum depression—including regular sex and penetrating bites from a bondmate. They've tried the latter but not the former, but Steve has been more than keen on the idea of helping his omega in both ways.

“What do you say, baby?” he asks, licking and kissing all over his bond scar. “Hm? It's all healed up from last time. Can I?”

Bucky whimpers, weak from the rush of arousal that always comes at hearing Steve ask for this. “Nnn,” he whines uselessly, rolling his body up against the alpha’s bulk. “Ssteve,” he slurs, “Nnn, don’t.”

“Aw, why not?” he coos lazily, still mouthing at that spot. “It’ll feel good, I promise.” He moves up to whisper in Bucky’s ear: “I know how hard it makes you cum when I time it just right.”

Bucky moans pitifully. He tries to remember what his reason for protesting it is, but it’s hard. “It’s almost—oh! mmm—s’almost Thanksgiving. W-we, um … T-tony’s parties, n’ the Turkey Trot …”

Steve lets his teeth drag over the glands again. “Fuck the Turkey Trot. So what? I love seeing you fresh with my mark. And this way everyone else will too. They’ll see it and they’ll know you’re mine. Know I was probably fucking you while I did it, claimin’ you all over again.” His voice is rough and gravelly by the end, full of heat and possession. “You got any idea how much I like that?”

“Hnhh,” Bucky breathes, unable to argue against that reasoning. “Okay.”

“Good boy,” Steve purrs, eliciting another pathetic whine from his mate. Bucky can practically feel Steve’s satisfied grin as he continues to nuzzle into the crook of his neck, mouth never leaving his bonding glands for long. “Smell so fuckin’ good, momma,” he groans, and this time rather than protest the endearment, Bucky keens at the way Steve says it: like Bucky being the mother of his children is the sexiest, most wonderful thing imaginable. Steve keeps kissing a path down his neck and shoulder, over his collarbone and chest, stopping when he reaches the level of his pecs and sealing his mouth to a nipple—the same place where their baby was nursing not even ten minutes ago. 

Bucky shivers in sensitivity and blushes like a madman, his hands flying up to tangle in Steve’s hair. “Nnh, Steve, wait, oh …”

Steve groans and rubs his cheek against his chest, the drag of his facial hair and his hot breath making Bucky’s nipples harden into tight nubs. He brings a hand up to cup one swollen pec and mouths openly at the other, groaning as he stares greedily.  “Fuck, baby, look at you.”

“Steve,” Bucky pants. “Nnn,”

“Mm mn, no. Hush. Just let me play with ‘em.”

Bucky continues to whine about it, but a hardening dick and a leaking asshole don’t lie, and Steve knows him too well to let him get away with such shallow evasion at this point in their marriage.

He settles in for the long feast, humming and grunting in pleasure between kisses and sucks to Bucky’s chest, alternating sides and squeezing whatever he isn’t mouthing over at the moment. “God, baby,” he says between one kiss and the next. “Wish you’d stay like this. Love your body like this. So soft, just for me.”

“Fuck, Steve.”

“Mmhm. Could keep you like this forever. All needy and sensitive.” He traps Bucky’s nipple between his lips and sucks, hard, and Bucky feels that tingly sensation and knows what’s going to happen a second before it does. His hands fly to Steve’s head and he cries out, but there’s no time for him to warn his husband before his body lets out a tiny spurt of breastmilk. Steve only pauses for a second, his mouth still on him, and then he groans loudly against Bucky’s chest. He sucks again, huffing in enjoyment, then lifts up and meets Bucky’s gaze with lust-blown eyes. “Oh honey,” he whispers, sounding devastated. “I almost forgot how sweet you are.”

Bucky’s brain is kind of short circuiting at the sheen on Steve’s lips, wet from his very own breast milk. “Shit,” he exhales shakily. “Alpha.”

Steve growls and drops back down to suck on him some more. Bucky can only lie there and take it, his head tossing on the pillow and hands gripping Steve’s hair as the alpha makes a playground of his chest. Bucky whines and complains, but truth be told there’s something small and squirmy inside of him that secretly loves it when his husband indulges in his body this way. It makes him feel wanted and beautiful, reminds him that Steve loves every part of him, even when Bucky himself doesn’t. “Leave—aah—leave some for the baby,” he eventually manages to say, laughing between pleasured groans and gasps. 

Steve pulls off and comes up to kiss him, tongue swiping past Bucky’s lips and leaving the taste of himself behind. Bucky’s breathing shakily by the time they part, and Steve’s eyes flit over his face. “You okay?” he asks, so sincere in his care for Bucky that it makes Bucky want to give him everything. 

“Yes Alpha,” he whispers, reaching up with his flesh hand and cupping Steve’s jaw with it. “I just love you stupid-much, is all.”

“Stupid much?”

“Mm, yeah, it’s pretty stupid.”

Steve surges down to kiss him thoroughly once more “See?” he teases, knocking their foreheads together. “All that moping didn’t curdle the milk after all.” Bucky huffs and swats at him, and Steve grins and rolls away. “Hang on one sec.” He gets up to undress, and by the time he’s crawling back into bed naked, Bucky’s kicked off his pajama pants as well. Steve slides right back into the cradle of his hips. Between their bellies, his cock is hard, but he makes no move to address it, focused on his mate instead. “What do you want tonight?” he asks gently, tracing Bucky's face on one side and then the other. “Hm? We can do anything you want. Whatever makes you feel good.” 

Bucky softens, in love. That’s how it’s been these past four months: Steve being careful, trying so hard to respect any boundaries, to let Bucky take the lead as they find their way back to intimacy as husbands. Problem is, most days Bucky doesn’t know what he wants. He swallows thickly and rasps out a quiet, “I just wanna feel you.”

Steve hums. He tucks the recently-shortened strands of Bucky’s hair aside, eyes flicking from one ruined ear to the other, amazing Bucky with how his gaze never waivers with any hint of distaste at the mutilated flesh. It’s just love he sees in him. “I think that can be arranged.”

He kisses him, long and languid and indulgent, the kind of kiss that takes its time and never really escalates, more intimate than it has any right to be. By the time he’s kissing down Bucky’s body to put his mouth on his prick, Bucky’s a leaking, mewling mess. 

“Ssteve,” he slurs as he watches his husband’s blond head of hair dip down between his legs and feels his mouth engulf him in sudden, overwhelming warmth. “Oh God.” Bucky’s eyes slip shut and he digs his skull back into the pillow, exhaling through clenched teeth at how good it feels. Steve hums from around his mouthful and Bucky hurriedly grasps at his hair. “Nnn, don’t,” he hisses, trying to calm down even as his hips are shoving up at Steve’s face. “Don’t hum like that, Jesus Christ.”

Steve laughs and pulls off to look up at him. He kisses Bucky’s cockhead and winks. “Sorry. I was just enjoying myself.” Keeping eye contact, he suckles and laves over just the head of Bucky’s dick, then uses his hold at the base to tap it against the flat of his tongue several times. 

“Fuck.” Bucky pants and screws his eyes shut. “It’s been too long. I can’t hold it.”

“Who says you need to hold it?” Steve kisses his hipbone. “Cum as many times as you want to, Sweetheart. As many times as you need.”

Bucky groans. “That sounds like a challenge.”

“Maybe it is.” He goes back to Bucky’s cock, pushing hard at one of his thighs to force him to widen his legs even further. “There we go, good boy. Keep ‘em spread.” 

Bucky peeks down at Steve and sees him staring at … everything. 

Oh. … Oh.

He swallows nervously. It’s been over four months now, and he’s had the go-ahead from the doctor since all the way back at his six-week checkup, but Bucky’s still been self-conscious. They've resumed some recreational activities, but Steve still hasn’t asked to have sex yet. Bucky’s pretty sure he’s waiting for him to initiate. “H-how’s it looking down there?” he asks, trying to insert levity into his tone and failing pretty spectacularly. “Everything … everything good?” 

“Mmm.” Steve caresses his balls, pushing them up and out of the way, feasibly so that he can stare at his perineum and further back to his weeping, clenching hole. “It’s winking at me,” he says, making Bucky’s face go red hot.

“You know what I mean,” he huffs, knocking his heel against Steve’s back halfheartedly. “How’s it … how’s it look?”

Steve hums and pretends to consider it very seriously, moving in even closer. “Looks perfect,” he says, a touch more arousal in his voice this time. And he’s so close now that Bucky can feel the heat of his breath against his skin. Steve’s finger touches just behind his balls and glides all the way back along his taint, up and down, tracing the line of where Bucky knows the stitches were. “All healed up,” he murmurs, sounding pleased. “Pretty and pink.”

Bucky snorts and makes a face. “Yeah, right. Don’t worry Steve, I’ve read all the reality check articles.”

“The what?”

“Stuff on the internet for new mothers. On how wrecked you are after giving birth. They say it’s especially rough on male O’s, and I’ve popped two of these things out, so.” He grimaces. “I think they have like, lasers or something that they can use to try and fix it, or at least make it look nicer.”

“What?” Steve sounds shocked. “Babe. What are you talking about?”

Bucky huffs, not wanting Steve’s false platitudes. “I’m just trying to be realistic, okay?” He squirms impatiently and refuses to look down at the alpha between his legs. “So? Does it look like … ya know, very messed up?” 

Steve’s tensing shoulders and his low growl are the only warnings Bucky gets before his husband’s mouth is sealing itself straight over his taint and sucking ferociously, the accompanying rumble of his growl only intensifying the feeling.

Bucky yelps. “Holy fuck!” His body jolts in place, trying to bow off the bed, but Steve holds him still with strong arms wrapped around his thighs. “Sh-hit,” he gasps, “Steve!”

“You want to know what it looks like?” Steve growls, pulling back with a filthy-wet sound and a voice that’s furious and rough-edged and determined. “It looks like the cunt of the omega who gave me my children. Looks like the cunt I wanna spend the rest of my life fucking, stuffing full of my cock, my cum, my knot … my tongue.” He surges back in, taking turns between tongue-fucking his hole and sucking on his rim as brutally as he can, making loud grunts and groans in the process that are very clearly meant to drive a point home. “Mmph, mmm, hhmph!” 

Bucky gasps and keens, overwrought by Steve’s words just as much as he is by the feeling of his mouth. He doesn’t even consciously think about it as he grabs his cock and starts jerking off, Steve groaning loudly against his ass when he realizes what Bucky’s doing. It only takes another minute of that before he’s coming, riding Steve’s face as his cock pulses in his hand and wets up his belly in spurts of clear omega cum. 

“Oh God, oh, ohh …” His breath hitches in broken moans as he rides the orgasm out. Then the pleasure wanes and he slowly comes back down to earth, panting and dazed, blinking up at nothing but the blank plaster of their bedroom ceiling …

Until Steve reappears in his field of vision, having climbed back up to lie over him once again. Bucky welcomes the press of his alpha’s heavy body on top of him, accepts the slick-tinged flavor of Steve’s tongue when he slots their mouths together and shoves inside, demanding and harsh. “That was number one,” he says, when he’s pulled back and is looking down at Bucky with a satisfied expression. “How many more you gonna give me tonight?”

Internally, Bucky curses. He curses, dies a little bit, and falls deeper in love all at the same time. Meanwhile, externally, he regains his breath and meets Steve’s hungry stare. “I’ve got a feeling you’re gonna wear me out more than the baby,” he says, aiming for a wry drawl but only achieving something that sounds breathless and wrecked instead. He sees Steve’s eyes darken the way they do whenever he’s issued a challenge, and knows he’s in for a hell of a night. “What’re you thinking?” he whispers.

“I’m thinking: I want to see that again, and again,” Steve rasps, voice gone to gravel. “Thinking I want to watch you lose control like that all the goddamn time. For the rest of my life.”

Bucky flushes. “Steve …”

“I’m thinking: that I want to make you feel good in every possible way there is to feel good.” His lips ghost over Bucky’s as he murmurs, “So that you know. Because you clearly don’t—”

“Steve …”

“And so that you never feel like you need to ask me a question about what you ‘look like’ ever again. Not on any part of your beautiful body.”

Bucky groans and tries to turn his face away, But Steve catches him and guides him back with a gentle hand on his cheek. “Uh uh, Sweetheart. You listen to me. I want to make love to you. Until you can’t take it anymore, until you go soft and weak and cryin’ with it.” His hands start wandering over the peaks and valleys of Bucky’s body, caressing his skin. One hand moulds itself to the side of his neck, fingers playing over the texture of his bondmark, while the other glides down, pausing to stop and tweak a nipple, squeeze his waist, grab the fleshy curve of a hip. Very purposefully, he slides his hand to settle into place over his lower belly, hushing him when he feels him start to tense up. “Shh sh sh. It’s okay. It’s okay.”

“Steve, I’m … it’s —”

“Shhh.” He nudges their noses together, chiding and affectionate all at once, because he knows which parts of his body Bucky is most self-conscious of. But he doesn’t move his hand from the territory it’s claimed. “I know,” he whispers. “I know how you feel. But that’s all wrong, baby. And I want to show you.” He kisses him again, only this time it’s tender, almost achingly so. He relents and pulls back. “That’s all, Honey. I just want to make you feel new things, good things. I want to show you. I need to show you.” 

“Show me what?” Bucky whispers, but then Steve stares down at him in that dark and private way that he deeply, intimately recognizes, and he regrets having asked. Bucky trembles and closes his eyes. “Steve, please. You don’t have to …” 

“Look at me,” Steve murmurs. He rests their foreheads together. “I just want you to understand, baby. That when I touch you here,"—his fingers curl possessively into the too-soft flesh of Bucky’s stomach—“I feel something so profound, so far beyond just love or arousal … that I don’t even know what to say to you. You understand? It hurts. I don’t have words for it.” He looks at him imploringly. “You couldn’t be more beautiful than you are to me right now.”

Bucky’s heart beats faster at the intimate confession. He tries to suck his stomach in, tries to tense his abdominals and make himself firm, but Steve tuts at him and pinches the side of his neck, right over his swollen glands. Bucky gasps, eyes shooting back up from where he’d been starting to look down between their bodies at Steve’s hand on him. “I wasn’t.”

“Look at me,” Steve says, and this time it’s in his Voice, the sound of it sending an instant shot of arousal down Bucky’s spine and into his core. His eyes must show it, too, because Steve smiles and purrs deep in his chest. “Yeah,” he encourages, still in the Voice that he so rarely uses with Bucky. “That’s right. Look up here at Alpha. Do as you’re told.”

Bucky licks his lips, aware that his cock is rapidly hardening again. “Steve,” he breathes shakily. “I —”

“Pull your knees up,” he murmurs, and Bucky obeys without a second thought. “Good boy.”

A chirp erupts from Bucky’s throat, unbidden, and he colors in surprise at the sound. “Alpha,” he says, because it’s the only word he can think to say.

Steve smiles and strokes over his bond mark with the roughened pad of a thumb. “Does it feel nice? Want more?”

Bucky nods, blinking, the effects of Steve’s Voice still singing in his veins like a drug. “Yeah.” 

They hardly ever engage in Voiceplay. It’s something Bucky enjoys with his husband, but he’s had bad experiences with other alphas in the past; times when men who weren't Steve assaulted him with what should only ever be used as a tool of lovemaking. Steve knows this, and so he usually avoids Voicing with Bucky unless he knows that the circumstances are just right.

The circumstances are just right. 

Bucky whimpers and reaches down impulsively to cover Steve’s hand where it rests on his belly, but not to pull it away. “Alpha,” he chirps again, fingers curling over Steve’s larger ones.

“This okay?” Steve checks, his eyes scanning his face for even a hint of discomfort. 

But he finds none, and Bucky nods his head in fast approval. “Yeah, yes.”

It’s still achingly vulnerable, having Steve touching this soft, imperfect part of him; but it’s intimate, too, and Bucky wants more of that. He wants Steve to make love to him this way, an Alpha with his omega—capital A, lowercase o.

“S’been so long,” he breathes, his voice hitching as his emotions finally catch up with him. Ridiculously, he starts to feel tearful. He’s missed having this with his mate so much. “So long, Stevie.”

“Baby,” Steve coos. “Don’t cry.”

Bucky sniffles shyly and tucks his face into Steve’s neck, feeling stupid. “Can’t help it,” he mumbles.

Steve’s fingers massage his bond mark and he kisses his temple soothingly. The hand that was on his stomach snakes around, dipping underneath his lower back and tugging them even closer together. “You gonna let me?” he asks. “Gonna let Alpha make you cum again and again?”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah? Gonna let me give you another bite, make it a good one? Mark you up again for everybody to see?”

Bucky whines and nods, drawing his knees up, wrapping his legs around Steve’s hips and tilting his pelvis to make himself available to his mate. “Please,” he begs. “Please, yes, Steve. I want it, please.”

Steve rumbles deep in his chest and slots their mouths together in a brief, aggressive kiss, then pulls back swiftly and manhandles him onto his belly, pulling him up by the hips into presenting. Bucky cries out in surprise but goes willingly, widening his knees on the bed and pushing his ass back into Steve’s groping hands. “Good boy,” Steve praises, Voice dipping down into that register that’s low and rumbly and lets Bucky know that his Alpha is very pleased with him.

Bucky grunts and wiggles happily until Steve’s hand appears at the back of his neck and pushes down: a wordless, forceful ‘Stay’ that makes him shiver and whine with impatience. “Nnnh.”

The hand flattens at his nape and slowly drags down the length of his spine, appreciative and greedy. “Aw, Sweetheart,” Steve breathes, hips rocking forward. “You’re perfect. Absolutely perfect, y’hear me?” He curses quietly as he digs his fingers into the fat of Bucky’s hips, watches his cock dragging through the wet valley of his ass. “Jesus wept, Honey. Lookit you. Wet dream come to fucking life, I swear.”

Steve only curses this much when he’s incredibly turned on, and the knowledge that it’s his doing has Bucky slicking up even worse than before. He whines and scrubs his face against the bedding as he feels his hole pulse and leak, the slick tickling as it trails down his taint and balls. “Steve,” he pleads, relieved when Steve grabs his hips and continues to take control.

“Shh, s’okay, you’re okay. I’m gonna give you what you need. Gonna take it slow.” His fingers appear at his backside, slipping through all the slick, wetting them up in him. He starts to press in with one finger. “Real slow,” he murmurs. He fucks him on just that one finger, for far longer than he would normally do, taking his time in Bucky’s body, in relearning this touch with him. Bucky makes a miserable noise against the bedsheets and Steve hums, pleased. “Yeah? How’s that feel, Sweetheart?”

Bucky whines and nods, his cheek dragging on the sheets. He feels Steve curling over him, his chest pressing up against his back and then the finger sliding deeper. Bucky moans as it grazes over his prostate. “Oh, God.”

“Uh huh.” Steve’s breath hits right at his ear. He plants his left forearm alongside Bucky’s, holding himself up as he fingers him. Right next to Bucky’s face, their pinky fingers hook together, flesh over metal. Steve kisses the shell of his ear and whispers, “Bucky, honey. You’re so swollen inside, I can feel it.” He strokes his finger, curling gently over that spot that makes Bucky’s vision go blotchy. “I want you to cum like this first,” he whispers. “On my hand a couple’a times. Right on Alpha’s fingers. Okay?”

Bucky sobs and nods. “Yeah,” he breathes. “Steve, please.” He can feel the orgasm coalescing already, the pleasure of Steve’s finger pulling him closer on every pass. “Please, please.”

“Shhh. Remember: slow,” he reminds him, and Bucky’s guts twist up in further delicious arousal and frustration. Steve doesn’t try to edge him, though. He lets him have it, working him up to it steadily, not rushing, kissing his neck again and again as he fucks him on one finger and then two.

That added fullness is what makes Bucky unravel, his body pulsing as he gasps and suddenly falls into his second orgasm.

Steve talks him through it, never stopping the whispered encouragements against his ear: “There we go. That’s it, baby, that’s it. So good.”

Bucky collapses to his stomach, and Steve follows him down, gently nudging his knees inside of Bucky’s to make a space for himself. Bucky complies, boneless from his climax. “Stevie,” he slurs. 

“Right here, baby.” He presses up all along his back, covering him with warmth. “I’m right here.” His hands slide up Bucky’s arms and cover his hands at either side of his head. Bucky moans quietly as Steve laces their fingers together and gives a squeeze. “Hey, gorgeous.” He rolls his hips, cock slotting into place. “You’re so wet.”

“Y-yeah.”

Steve rocks leisurely against him and Bucky hums at how slick it is, enjoying the intimacy of rubbing together full-body. He lets his eyes slip closed as he soaks it all in: Steve’s heavy weight, his scent, the scratch of his beard and the heat of his breath in the crook of Bucky’s neck. He wishes they could stay like this forever.

“You feel so good,” he whispers. “I love you.”

“Love you too, Sweetheart.” Steve drags his lips over the sensitive skin of his bondmark. “Can I fuck you, baby?” he asks softly. “You want that, hm? Want Alpha inside of you?”

Bucky is glad that Steve can’t see his face, because his eyes are wet from pleasured, overly-emotional tears, and this way he doesn’t have to bother being embarrassed over what a sap this pregnancy has turned him into. He nods and scrubs his cheek against the bedcovers. “Yeah,” he rasps. “Yeah, Steve. Please.”

Steve hums and kisses him once more, before he reaches down and lines his cock up, dragging the head wetly across his rim a few times with increasing pressure, until it catches. Bucky tenses, because it’s been so long since they’ve done this, and because the last event of real significance that involved his asshole had been childbirth, but Steve soothes him with a sucking kiss to his bondmark. “Relax,” he murmurs, pushing in at the same time and making Bucky gasp softly. “Shh, there you go. See?” 

“Ohh.” Bucky’s eyelids flutter as he’s slowly filled. “Steve.”

“Uh huh.” Steve’s hips kiss his ass as he sinks home all the way. “Juust like that,” he purrs, grinding against him and staying deep inside. “S’it feel nice?”

“Uh huh,” Bucky breathes, lips parted and eyes closed, brow furrowed at how full he is. “Yeah, Stevie … oh …” 

Steve chuckles and kisses his shoulder. “You feel amazing,” he whispers, before he experiments with moving a little more. He keeps pulsing his hips, rocking languidly, gradually building up to a slow pace.

He fucks him gently then, not pulling back to get on his knees or gain any kind of leverage. Instead he stays close, deep; plastered to his back and dragging his cock against his sensitive insides over and over so perfectly. When it pulls a tortured moan from Bucky's throat, Steve encourages him with soft, sucking kisses against his glands. “S’okay.”

“God, Steve.”

“Uh huh. Juust like that. I remember how you like it. Alpha's got you, baby.” Steve sounds like he’s getting close, too, voice laboured as he grunts against Bucky’s neck. “You gonna, ugh, gonna cum again, mamma?”

Bucky whines and nods. “This time,” he begs. “Please, please. Do it.”

The two of them share a bond, and that’s probably the main reason why Steve’s able to tell what he means.

He doesn’t disappoint, either, fucking him smoothly right into another orgasm and timing it perfectly. As soon as Bucky’s body goes rigid and his breath stutters in his throat, Steve’s biting down hard over his bondmark, breaking the skin and piercing the swollen glands beneath. Bucky sobs and comes harder and longer than he has in a long time, crying from how impossibly good it feels.

It’s compounded by the sudden groan that Steve lets out and the rapid inflation of his knot, as the bite sets him off as well: “Nngh!”

While Steve is stuck inside him and lost to his own pleasure, Bucky’s able to rock himself to one more, toe-curlingly delicious orgasm before he finally lets himself go boneless on the bed, fully sated. He knows when Steve is done coming, because the alpha becomes more attentive again, his hands running over Bucky like he’s checking him for injuries sustained. If Bucky hadn’t just come four times, he might've been able to spare a chuckle over it. “Hey,” he says instead. “M’fine, babe.”

“Yeah?” Steve sounds pleased. He gives his hips a lazy roll against Bucky’s ass and nuzzles his freshly-bitten bondmark, groaning at the pheromones that hit him. He licks a big, fat swipe over it with his tongue, groaning and making Bucky hiss. “Mmm," he murmurs. "You’re bleeding."

“Duh.” 

Steve growls. “Be nice to your Alpha,” he Voices, and  Bucky shivers pleasantly. Steve notices the reaction and gloats. “Hmm. Maybe we should start biting more often.”

“How often?” Bucky’s halfway through a yawn as he says it, and he feels Steve shrug against his back. 

“Once a month?”

He chokes. “Steve!”

“What?” Steve’s snickering. “I like a well-scarred bondmark. S’romantic.” 

“It’s fucking primeval is what it is, you caveman.” Bucky scolds, rolling his eyes. He clenches down purposefully hard on Steve’s knot, smiling at the surprised—Hngnn!—he gets for it. “We already do it on our anniversary every year.”

“And sometimes on Valentine’s,” Steve supplies.

“Exactly. Any more than that and people’ll think we have a fetish.”

“Well, maybe we do,” he purrs, kissing the bite. “And it is what the medical professionals are recommending, after all.”

“Ha, yeah.” 

“... You’re really okay though?” Steve checks. “None of that bothered you? The Voicing, or the—”

“Shh. No. I loved it.” Bucky lets his eyes fall closed. He can still feel his pulse thrumming beneath his skin, bringing the delicious ache and throb of his glands to the forefront. “Every part of it,” he sighs.

Steve laces their fingers together. “Good. ‘Cause I take doctor's orders very seriously, you know.” He rumbles deep in his chest and gives a dirty grind against their tie. “We gotta keep you healthy, Buck. Gotta make sure you’re properly … stimulated.” 

“You suck so bad,” Bucky groans. “Your permission to know my medical information is rescinded.”

“Aw, don’t be that way. I can dick you down again in like, an hour, if you want? Probably. Two hours, tops.”

Bucky yawns, humming as he pretends to consider it. “Tempting offer, but how ‘bout you cuddle me ‘till I pass out, instead?” he says, because he really does think the other night was a fluke, and that he’s destined to be awakened by a baby monitor within the next few hours. Steve wraps his strong arms around him and pulls them to lie on their sides. They spoon like that and enjoy the closeness while they wait for Steve’s knot to go down. Bucky gets goosebumps when Steve starts caressing lazily up and down his side. “Mm, that’s nice.”

“Mmhm.” Steve slots his fingers into the trigger points for the prosthetic. “Let’s take this off,” he whispers, kissing the shell of his ear. 

It’s Bucky’s fucked up ear—a place where he’s usually squirmy and uncomfortable about Steve touching, let alone kissing, but right now it doesn’t bother him at all. Too many endorphins surging through his system, he supposes.

“Okay,” he agrees, since he doesn’t really love sleeping with the arm on anyway (he’s got this paranoia that one day he’ll sleep-punch Steve in the middle of a nightmare or something), and then lies there and listens to the sounds that the arm makes as it’s triggered to disengage from his body. He can’t actually feel anything other than some vague, mechanical movements deep in the arm’s very internal workings. It doesn’t hurt. And then it comes off, a sudden release of weight and tension that Bucky hadn’t even realized was there. He moans quietly at the feeling. “Nnh. Thanks Stevie.”

“You’re welcome.” Steve sets the arm out of the way and resumes his gentle stroking and caressing along Bucky's side, venturing up higher to where the anchor site for the arm begins, implanted permanently into his body.

Bucky can sense his husband looking down at it, can feel the pads of his fingers exploring thoughtfully over the texture of scars and metal edging. He sighs, feeling wistful. “Do you ever wonder what it would’ve been like, if we’d met before?”

Behind him, Steve stills. He’s quiet for a long moment, and just when Bucky thinks he’s not going to answer at all, his caressing starts back up again and he hooks his chin over Bucky’s shoulder. “Sometimes, in a general way," he admits. "But then ... it wouldn't be the you I fell in love with, would it? We wouldn’t be us.” He worms his other arm under his waist and hugs them closer together. “Maybe we’d have less nightmares between the two of us, less therapy,"

Bucky snorts.

"But I wouldn’t choose anything but this. Nothing would be the same if we hadn't met the way we did, y'know? You probably would’ve stayed in college, focused on your career, maybe put off kids too long. I wouldn't have joined Shield, Peggy wouldn't have moved away.” He kisses the ruined edge of Bucky’s ear again, so tender and slow that Bucky knows he’s doing it intentionally. “Just think: Becca wouldn’t exist. And we wouldn’t have Sarah or Gabe, 'cause you and I never would’ve met.”

“We might’ve.”

“Mm, doubtful.” 

Bucky grumbles, displeased at that hypothetical, and Steve hugs him and coos in agreement, “Shh. I know, I know. That would be awful. I’m just saying: you can’t trade the good for the bad. It’s a package deal. And you know what? I’m happy with my package.” He seals his mouth to the fresh bite wound and gives a powerful suck, popping off with a wet sound and a pleased growl. “Very very happy with my package.”

Bucky’s too gooey and in love and fucked out to get the delivery just right, but he at least manages to wiggle his butt against their tie and mutter out a tired but saucy little, “Mmm, yeah. I like your package, too.”

Masterlist

If you liked what you read and feel so inclined, please consider dropping a tip in the Kofi🍵 cup!

This has been a fill for:

Steve Rogers Bingo @steverogersbingo

Card: SB3088 (Stark Contrast)

Square B4: PTSD 

Bad Things Happen Bingo @badthingshappenbingo

Card: sarah-writes-stucky

Square B2: Brain damage

Marvel Smash Bingo @marvel-smash-bingo

Card: sarah-writes-stucky

Square O4: "I like to see you like this"

AFG Kink Bingo @anyfandomgoesbingo

Card: sarah-writes-stucky

Square FREE SPACE: lactation kink

MCU Kink Bingo @mcukinkbingo

Card: sarahyellow

Square FREE SPACE: breastfeeding kink

Sebastian Stan Bingo @sebastianstanbingo

Card: sarahowritesostucky

Square B3: Claiming Marks

@nekoannie-chan I saw you queue fics so I thought I'd apply 😊

[bucktommybingo]

WELCOME TO BUCKTOMMY BINGO !

General Guidelines: 

Standard bingo rules apply: five in a row (vertically, horizontally, diagonally) to ‘win’. If one wants to fill in the entire card, or all three, feel free to do so, this is just for fun!

ALL types of creations count as fills - fic, art, gifs, etc.

disclaimer: there will be no acceptance of AI works. Do not tag this blog in any AI. This is an AI hate space.

You can use one prompt per creation OR try and wedge an entire line into one creation if you’re an overachiever (affectionate). If you score a full card by the end please make a master post for bragging rights!!

New works or WIPs that you've been looking for an excuse to finish accepted but nothing already posted / incomplete on AO3.

Tag this account to be reblogged: @bucktommybingo

Other hashtags to include: #bucktommybingo #bucktommy bingo

PLEASE make sure to tag correctly for works containing any of the major warnings on AO3 (graphic violence, character death, rape/ non-con, underage)

This is for fun and to encourage this Very Cool fandom 😘 No pressure to finish a whole card but that would be super awesome if you’re feeling it!

There are three different bingo cards so everyone can have the choice in what they want to do, if you don't want to do NSFW works, then the first card works just fine! If you want to do ONLY NSFW works than the smut card is just for you. If you've been looking for an excuse to delve more into the darker side of things, the darkfic card is for you.

This bucktommy bingo is run by a proshipper, hence the darkfic card, and there will be no censorship done here. there's no moderation. I'm only here to reblog people's works and encourage people to participate.

AO3 Collection here

Start Date: November 23rd

End Date (completed bingo cards/ masterlists should be posted by this day): March 6th, 2025 (aka the end of hiatus).

Text list of prompts under the read more.

HAVE FUN 🥳

1ST CARD:

BUCK 1.0

ROOMMATES

GAY BARS

MPREG

TOMMY'S HOUSE

CHEATING

AGE GAP

HURT COMFORT

ROAD TRIP

FIRST FIGHT

NEAR DEATH

A/B/O (omegaverse)

FREE SPACE (anything you want!)

JEALOUSY

OUTSIDER POV

FUTURE FIC

SPORTS

DIFFERENT JOBS

SOULMATES

ILLNESS

EXES

SOLDIER TOMMY

FAKE DATING

COLLEGE AU

MUAY THAI

SMUT CARD:

PUPPY PLAY

RING CUTTER

BREEDING KINK

PISS KINK

FIRST TIME

PRAISE KINK

EDGING

RIMMING

DADDY KINK

DIRTY TALK

BAREBACK

BDSM

FREE SPACE (whatever you want!)

COLLAR

ONE NIGHT STAND

PHONE SEX

SUBSPACE

CHOKING

SEX TOY

PWP (porn with plot/porn without plot)

ARMPIT LOVE

COCKWARMING

PUBLIC SEX

THREESOME

SOMNO

DARKFIC CARD

DUBCON

MONSTERFUCKING

SELF HARM

TORTURE

CHILD ABUSE

STALKING

GROOMING

HURT NO COMFORT

MOB/GANG

RESTRAINTS

BLOOD PLAY

DRUGGED

FREE SPACE (anything you want!)

STOCKHOLM SYNDROME

UNDERAGE

BETRAYAL

CAME BACK WRONG

PRISON

MCD (major character death)

POSSESSION

MURDER

ABDUCTION

SUICIDE

FORCED TO WATCH

NONCON

[mcytblrsource]

YEARLY MCYTBLR RECAP: 2024 EDITION

MCYTblr is a very large space if you see any missing events, exchange, or something else please send us an ask!

JANUARY

EVENTS:

FitPac Week Hermitcraft Rare Pair Week Wormman Week Dream SMP Sixteenth Day Event MCYT T4T Week SpiderBit Week Treebark Title Swap MCYT Fanfiction Appreciation Week MCYT Physical Disability Week

ZINES AND MAPs:

Flamekeeper Zine Limited Life MAP Tribute to Jellie MAP

FEBRUARY

EVENTS:

MCYT Build Month Etoiles Week Fitpac Valentine's Drabble Fest Dream SMP Sixteenth Day Event: Love Month Techza Week MCYT Yuri Week - Valentines Vylenix Week

GIFT EXCHANGES: (Based off of the beginning of posting period)

QSMP Secret Valentine QSMP Valentine's Gift Exchange MCYT Valentines MCYT Dead Dove Kink Meme Driving After Dark 2

ZINES AND MAPs:

Empires Rainbow Zine Convex Matryoshka MAP

MARCH

EVENTS:

QSMP Month Dream SMP Eras Event SMPLIVE Bingo Shubble Support Day QSMP Language Day Decked Out 2 Writing Challenge Week MCYT Aro Week Skizzleman Week SpiderBit Week Vitalasubzam Week Grumbo Week Dream SMP Sixteenth Day Event: Themes Month MCYT Underdogs Event

GIFT EXCHANGES:

MCYT Recursive Dream SMP Rarepair Big Bang

ZINES AND MAPs:

Isla y Ovos Zine

APRIL

EVENTS:

Mumscarian Week The Bright Side of Life Series MCYT-Fem Slash Treebark Week Katecinda Week Dream SMP Sixteenth Day Event: Angst Month

GIFT EXCHANGES:

MCYT Horror Gift Exchange

ZINES AND MAPs:

Hermitzine 8.5: April Fools edition The Minecraft Speedrunning Tarot Project Hermits Zine: Geminitay Edition Desert Duo Tongues and Teeth MAP

MAY

EVENTS:

Hermit-A-Day May HideDuo Kiss Week Dream SMP Sixteenth Day Event: Duos Month! Fish Donna Week Hermitcraft Guess The Author QSMP AU Week

GIFT EXCHANGES:

MCYT Drabble Exchange

ZINES AND MAPs:

Hermit Coloring Book Mianite Zine

JUNE

EVENTS:

MCYT Omegaverse Month Voices For The Blade MCYT Trans Week Scarian Summer Smooch Fest MCYT Subversion Week Niki Nihachu Summer Dream SMP Sixteenth Day Event: Pre-Canon Month

GIFT EXCHANGES:

MCYT Multilingual Big Bang

ZINES AND MAPs:

Boatem Village Zine Trafficzine Edition 5 Flowers in the Desert: A Desert Duo Zine

JULY

EVENTS:

MCYT Co-Create Event Gem Pearl Week MCYT Aspec Week Hot Scarian Summer RedScape Week Dream SMP Sixteenth Day Event: Post-Canon Month fWhimmy Week HideDuo Week MCYTblr Fandom Crossover/AU event

GIFT EXCHANGES:

MCYTBLR AU Fest MCYT Fic Fight Driving After Dark 3 QSMP Big Bang

ZINES AND MAPs:

Petals of a Rose - Hideduo Zine Fairytales from the SMP: Volume II

AUGUST

EVENTS:

MCYT Musical Bingo Event QSMP Month(s) Hypnotizd ship week Skizz Week 2 FelPac week Dream SMP Sixteenth Day Event: Crack Month

GIFT EXCHANGES:

MCYT Summer of Yuri MCYT RPF KinkMeme

ZINES AND MAPs:

Chronicles: a QSMP Egg Zine MCYT Sapphic Zine Empiropedia Hotguy Comics Zine Hermitzine 9: H is for Hermitcraft Bread Hermitcraft MAP

SEPTEMBER

EVENTS:

MCYT Non-POV Event Your Cubito, Your Culture Event Dream SMP Sixteenth Day Event: Places Month Sausage September

GIFT EXCHANGES:

MCYTblr Fluff Gift Exchange MCYT Jukebox Bonanza Event

ZINES AND MAPs:

Hermitcraft Season 9 Zine The Hermit Arcana The QSMP Story- Animation Collab

OCTOBER

EVENTS:

MCYT Aro Week 2 Weekly Hermitober + Life Series Spiderbit/Guapoduo Fluff or Fright Scarian Autumn Smooch Fest fWhimmy Week QSMP Halloween Fanworks Event Hideduo Trick or Treat Week ImpSkizztober GTWScartober2024 Rats SMPtober Hermittober Team Ranchers Week Weekly Hermittober Pisstober MCYT Femslash: Vampires VS Werewolves Dream SMP Sixteenth Day Event: Limbo Month 7 Holy Nights of Jeremy

GIFT EXCHANGES:

MCYT Horror Gift Exchange 2 MCYT Yaoi Exchange MCYT Trick-Or-Treat MCYT Halloween Gift Exchange

NOVEMBER

EVENTS:

DoubleHearted-vember Sixteenth Day Event: Memory Month MCYT Fan Fundraiser: Art Showcase

GIFT EXCHANGES:

MCYT Prompt Exchange

ZINES AND MAPs:

The Reason is You Zine [SpiderBit]

DECEMBER

EVENTS:

QPR Kersuma Week Dream SMP Sixteenth Day Event: Festive Month Bedrock Bros Prompt Months MCYT Christmas Prompt List Shadowrot Week Fuga4 Week Zedaph Week Felps Weekend Event MCYT Advent Solstice Social Collaborative Fanwork Event

GIFT EXCHANGES:

MCYTblr Holiday Exchange Rivals Duo Holiday Gift Exchange MCSR Mini Gift Exchange MCSR Winter Big Bang MCYT Playwriting Festival

ZINES AND MAPs:

Treebark Zine Coloring with Hermits The Heart of the Ouroboros - LifeSteal Zine Views of Hermitcraft 2025 Calendar Moonrot-Pearleo Zine Hermit Heartthrobs 2025 Calendar Morning Star Zine Double-Hearted : DDVAU Holiday Zine

[bluegiragi]

I hate to ask this cause it feels stupid but I dont wanna do a bunch of research on whatever the recent cod mw fandom discourse is,

but I saw the reblog of someone accusing you of supporting people who write sexualized pedophilia and that really is personally my only """"moral"""" with nsfw shit, (I'm a patreon subscriber and ig I just wanna know where my money's going) is THAT true?

i used to follow an artist who, 5-6 months ago made racist art featuring gaz and soap in a slave context, which I didn't like, retweet or interact with in any way. they also made under-age art of ghost soap, which I also didn't interact with . people on twitter called me out yesterday, for retweeting (months before this incident) other art they'd made as evidence I stood by/encouraged/was an avid fan of all these tropes. The art I retweeted wasn't either of these previous examples of art, but one where ghost and soap were sleeping in a bed together, as adults, peacefully. I can't emphasise enough that I have not interacted with this artist at all, for over six months. The callout in question has framed me as a close friend of theirs when, in truth, our total timeline of interactions could probably be counted on one hand, and I haven't interacted with her in so long that I genuinely forgot I was still following her.

The crux of all is this is that I did not unfollow + block this artist earlier on when the racist art was posted months ago, and then I retweeted a fic tagged with "non-con" (ghost gets soap off in a context where he can't really properly consent, they're in front of a crowd of strangers and they have to fuck, but both parties are into each other) written by a friend as I wanted to support their writing.

The pedophile claims are because I retweeted a fandom bingo post that defended loli-con without reading all the squares properly, and then immediately un-retweeted it when I properly read it. All in all, the post was on my account for maybe a few minutes.

The zoophile claims are because people say i support someone who wrote zoophilic fic and called people slurs, and I genuinely don't know who they're talking about there.

The anti-asian racism claims come from the original accusers in the callout thread thinking that I made Horangi's eyes in the monster!AU sensitive as a way of making fun of Asian eyes. The real reason is because he's a cat hybrid in that AU and cats are sensitive to light.

I tried addressing all this in a casual way earlier on in a misguided attempt to sort things out more 'civilly', and responded to an ask talking about my "support" for the artist who drew the slave Gaz art by saying the fanart in question was tone deaf and in poor taste. It wasn't enough for some people, so I'm happy to say it clearly- yes, it was racist, and the reason why I didn't want to be more aggressive is because I didn't want to extend all this mess by throwing this artist directly to the wolves - I genuinely believed them at the time when they said that wasn't that their intention, and think they should've deleted the post at the time, but not unfollowing was a decision that I made. I know now upon reflection that it was naive of me, unwarranted and frankly irresponsible to take a stranger at face value and believe they had good intentions, when the act of not deleting the post in question was evidence of a lack in remorse. In the moment, I'd thought back to my own personal experience with a friend of mine who used an asian slur in my company, who later sincerely apologised and legitimately cleaned up his act after I gave him a second chance. It informed my choice to not unfollow at the time, but there's a difference between someone you know irl for months and a stranger on the internet you've interacted with a few times. I shouldn't have coddled them in my response, and I'm sorry for not treating it with the severity it deserved. It was callous, and stupid, and indicative of internal biases that I ever thought it was a light enough offence to "see through", and I deeply deeply apologise. I promise from the bottom of my heart to do better.

That's everything so far. I didn't unfollow an artist when I absolutely should've, which i'll always strongly regret. I also retweeted a properly-tagged fic on my clearly 18+ nsfw account. I've undone both of those actions now. I hope this can be the end of it.