#does this mean anything i feel like i'm in a fever dream | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

hotheadedhero · 8 days

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Like 'em Big

AN: I have so many stories to write but I had to do this. Blaming being sick, m'kay? Fever has got me bad and these meds got me loopy. Thinking we need some good, silly fun in our lives, right? Plus, now that I've watched Rise, I'm hungry for some big Raph appreciation. I know I ain't the only one

All characters are aged up

Raphael x Reader

Warnings: near peril, easily smitten, possible errors due to fever (what kind of fever is up for deliberation🥴)

Cutting right to the chase. You like big dudes. That doesn't necessarily mean muscles, either. You just love you a big man - someone with a bit of something-something to them. More to love, you know? Given your track record with the greater world, it shouldn't be all that much of a mystery. Cats? Get yourself a tiger that you can cuddle into. Jumpers? Comfort central, baby. Beds? If you can't spread eagle then you see no point. The old-age saying does declare that the bigger the better, so who are you to disagree? How true that is may be up for debate but it’s merely as simple as understanding what your preferences are.

However, this makes dating a difficult ballpark to play in. No matter how tall, jacked, or voluptuous someone is, it never feels like enough. Human biology and genetics can only go so far in the conceivably possible sense. You just want to be absolutely engulfed when you get a hug. Is that such a crime? Apparently, it is. Unfortunately, you also seem to come across the worst jerks when you attempt to date within this set of criteria. One might argue it's your karmic justice for being so superficial and picky but a woman has needs. Not those kinds of needs, either. Get your head out of the gutter.

All hope seems lost and after yet again, another failed date, you decide to call it in for the evening and make your way home. A fresh failure and another wonderful outfit gone to waste. By no means is it anything flashy but you put a lot of work into it: pencil skirt, turtle neck sweater, and a nice pair of boots to compliment the look. The whole shebang! All of that effort for nothing. This is the last time you spend three hours doing your hair and makeup. Block after block, your feet grow heavier with every step. What you would give to come across a mountain-like man you can climb who is also a kindred spirit. Perhaps this dream guy will forever be that - a dream. Men like that don't just fall out of the sky.

"Look out!!"

The sudden shout almost scares you into tripping over and you look behind yourself, wishing you hadn’t. Two very large, very dangerous-looking figures entangled in battle, those of which are approaching your helpless little self. You quickly duck as the giants hurdle over you. One falls on its side whilst the other claws and skids against the ground, regaining its balance. It shakes its head and locks onto you, a guttural snarl rumbling past its jowls. Such a creature is surely from the stuff of nightmares. An indescribable nightmare whose sights are set on you. The smart option would be running away but it's as though your shoes have melted into the pavement. Pawing into the tarmac, the beastly thing growls and lunges for you. Great. This is how you die: torn limb from limb by a demon dog. Well, assuming your clothes join you, at least you’ll look like a total babe in the afterlife.

"Oh no ya’ don't," the other one yells from behind the predator, grabbing it by its tail. “Pretty ladies are not food!”

With a mighty tug, he pulls it back and swings it as far away from you as possible. You release a shaky breath, legs trembling beneath you. That was far too close for comfort. The fight isn’t quite over, however. Just as it approaches him, the green goliath swivels on his feet, full 180, and whacks the creature's jaw with a closed fist. His speed alone has you in awe but the force is astounding, practically earth-shattering. It completely knocks the air around you and pushes you onto your backside.

When the dust clears, the first thing you see is your saviour panting, his spiky shell(?) pointed towards you. Just past him in the distance, you notice three more figures in blue, purple, and orange taking a closer look at the unconscious tyrant. You swear one of them pokes at it with a stick. Witnessing strange beings such as this isn't entirely new. Anyone who's watched Chateau Pretenche knows about the celebrity chef turning into a grotesque pigman. To describe it in one word? Horrifying. It's just whether people choose to believe it genuinely happened or if these bizarre entities exist. Being up close and personally observing it now puts your scepticism in check.

As the humanoid turtle calms, he turns to face you, recapturing your attention. A red mask sits over his eyes and there’s a noticeable snaggle tooth poking past his upper lip. Typically, the prerogative is keeping out of sight but it’s much too late for that. He gradually advances towards you. You watch him warily and he keeps his movements slow for that very reason. It wouldn’t be a shock if you were to try and make an escape. He wouldn’t blame you. Currently, all he wants to do is make sure you weren’t hurt during that fiasco provided you don’t suddenly come out of your bewilderment and run off. You have good reason to but he just saved you. Either that or he’s as ravenous as that beast and wants you all to himself. The irrational conclusion remains as such - irrational - when he descends to one knee and outstretches a hand. There’s an irrefutable kindness in his eyes; a caring nature that can’t be replicated in the face of savage brutes.

"You okay?" he asks.

You continue to gawk without a word but, bit by bit, you reach out for his offer. Your fingers lightly trace the centre of his palm before comfortably trusting the proposal. His hand engulfs yours completely and Raph hopes to mercy that you don’t realise how sweaty he’s getting. He can feel his heart beating like crazy. He wonders how much of that is the adrenaline from the fight and how much of it is being in the presence of such a beautiful gal. As he helps you to your feet, he rises to his own. Someone of his stature shouldn’t be capable of being this delicate but he is. It has you running through a loop and you unintentionally stare at the remarkable behemoth.

Quite pathetically, you nod, unable to verbally respond to his question. How can you? You are effectively starstruck. Once you gloss over the turtle-y features, all you see is the sheer size of him as he towers over you. Height, width, the magnitude of those arms! All of it is glorious. You can hear the universe asking, “You want a big man, huh? How about one who isn’t human?” to which you answer, “Who gives a damn?”. If the only way a man can be this big is not to be human, so be it.

Amidst a whisper, your mouth moves on its own, "You're beautiful."

"What?"

"Huh?" Blinking out of your trance, you realise what you’ve said and giggle sheepishly, "I mean, you're be... ba... booming! Totally awesome with the whole- uh... saving thing." Nailed it.

He blinks right back down at you. This is certainly a first. He can feel his face heating up and he withdraws his hand lest you endure the wrath of his bashfulness, opting to hold the back of his head. At this moment, he seems to look anywhere but you.

"Heh. Gee, thanks." His humility is adorable and you’re glad he doesn’t question your initial statement. He turns to you once more, regaining some composure. "You sure you're okay, though? That thing was pretty scary looking."

It’s clear that you haven’t sustained any physical injuries but even bearing witness to something so unsightly can have lasting effects on one's mind. His brows furrow gently in concern down at you and it occurs to you that there’s a soft heart under all of that shell and muscle. Bonus points. This makes you smile for the first time in front of him and Raphael is sure that the streetlights got brighter.

You laugh fondly, “Yeah, I’m okay. Thank you.” Twiddling your fingers, your lips purse up in his direction. “Is there any way I can repay you?”

He places his hands on his hips and chuckles cutely, “Just doing my duty, ma’am.”

He may be indulging in his alter ego - the Red Angel of Preventing Harm - but it’s not every day he gets paid thanks when he saves someone. It’s also not every day he gets to save such a pretty woman, either. You, however, can’t just leave it at that. There must be some way in which you can properly thank him. Ulterior motives include getting to know this already loveable lug better but shh. It feels like the odds are finally turning in your favour and you won’t let this slip away from your grasp. That’s when it hits you.

Muttering under your breath, you erratically search through the confines of your little handbag. You are certain that you had one in here somewhere. In the spare pocket maybe? Ah! Found it. Fumbling to take the lid off of your pen, you hold out your hand, gesturing for his. He slowly complies, to which you jot down a series of digits on his palm accompanied by your name and a tiny 'x'.

"Gimme a text sometime," is the last thing he hears before you disappear around a corner.

Oh? Oh. Ohhh. Wow. Getting your number is the last thing he expected. Did he get hit on the head during that scuffle or something? Was everything from the last few minutes a dream? He bores holes into the writing on his skin, scanning it over and over, scared that it’ll disappear if he so much as blinks. A dumb, wobbly smile not so gracefully decorates his lips as he trudges back to the turtle tank. He takes his seat but it’s obvious that he isn’t all there. Being so caught up in his rose-tinted bubble, he doesn’t register his brothers' voices. In an effort to gain his attention, Michelangelo jumps onto his shoulder, partly intrigued by what their leader is so absorbed by.

"Oh me gosh!” the young brother screams in shrill excitement, “Raph's in love!"

Careful not to smudge the neat ink, he’s quick to hide his hand against his chest. "That's crazy talk!”

Donatello sniffs the air and mockingly covers his nose. "The overwhelming manifestation of your nervous stink indicates otherwise, dear brother."

"I got a girl’s number!” he continues to defend, feeling his face go all kinds of red. “'Course, I'm nervous but that don’t mean I’m in love."

Lies and slander. It was practically love at first sight. He just doesn’t like the idea of his brothers knowing that. It’s easy pickings to be made fun of.

"Don't worry, Big Red. Lucky for you, you got a guy who knows all about the charm." Leonardo points both thumbs at himself as he falls back into his seat and props his legs up on the dashboard. "First, you just need to..."

The "helpful" advice drowns out as the large snapper opens and gazes at his palm again. He just can't comprehend how a gorgeous individual such as yourself could take one look at him and give him your number. It's puzzling but he supposes there’s a first for everything? That also doesn't mean he won't text you. The only thing getting in the way of that is fear. Raphael thinks he’d rather go toe-to-toe with that mutant dog again than have to face the risk of embarrassing himself. To anyone who knows him, it’s no surprise that he caves under pressure. No. He will do it! A chance like this is one in a million.

Oh boy. What could possibly go wrong?

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promptful · 2 years

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Oddly obscure Friends-to-Lovers prompts that I'll probably add to.

I'm uh, sorry? Requests are open, and please do not add to this list. I'm sure I have more somewhere in my brain, lol.

WARNINGS: Mention of drowning, mention of death, possible cursing. Alcohol.

SCENARIOS

1) We’re having a movie night, just like we’ve always done. Your thigh is touching mine, and my thoughts won’t stop wandering.

2) We both just got off work, and I’m walking you home just like any other night, you trip on an unfortunate pebble. Just before you hit the ground, I caught you with one arm around your waist.

3) Throughout our childhood, it was always you getting sick, never me. You nearly passed out next to me with fevers higher than imaginable, but I was fine. Now, I’m bedridden and you won’t stop freaking out.

4) This is your favorite song, and apparently there’s an option to sing a duet. Oh… you want me to sing? It’s a love song? We’ll be right next to each other? Oh. Okay.

5) You’re drunk, bent over a bar with a grin splayed on your lips. You’re clinging to me, and won’t let me fish your keys out of your pocket/bag, guess we’re taking my car.

6) I step outside to find a thank you note for helping you/picking you up/getting groceries for you, stuck to a plate of baked pie/cookies/cake. Oh my god, how can I make you bake more? …Why are your cheeks red?

7) My roommate/ex/family kicked me out into the rain. I have nobody else to call but you.

8) Your roommate/ex/family kicked you out, and it’s pouring outside. In my pajamas/loungewear, yet I ran to my car to pick you up.

9) This is the stupidest thing we’ve ever done, I tell you, but I don't have the heart to remove your fingers from my wrist.

10) You’ve always been a stoic nightmare who never smiles, laughs, or does anything remotely animated. But one night, you actually laughed and I think I felt my heart skip a beat.

11) There’s one bed, and I know we’ve shared beds for years, but your arm is around my hips, my back is against your chest, and your breath keeps brushing my neck.

12) I’m trying to hold you, and I can feel every little thing about you. Why did I agree to sleeping here with you again?

13) Ohmygod, I know I just said I love you, and I truly did mean it, but then your eyes flicker with something I’ve never seen, and maybe I don’t feel so bad anymore?

14) We’re arguing because of something stupid, and every single time I think it’s finally over, you scream, “But why do you care?!” And I respond with the only thing I can think of, “Because I love you!” @screnwriter lmao.

15) Saying I love you after I just nearly drowned shouldn’t be as hot as it is, but I can’t seem to stop staring at your lips. Whoops?

16) We’ve been friends since childhood, and I’ve accepted that we’re just not meant to be. I’ve moved on and encouraged you to follow your dreams. I didn’t know that your dream was me.

17) You and I’ve been friends since we were kids, and suddenly when I’m about to leave for vacation/college/moving, you let out that you can’t let me go without saying I love you.

18) All week, you’ve been on my mind, and I can’t make you go away. Finally, after suffering in silence for so long at the thought of your lips, your laugh, and your smile, I give in and ask you to come to my apartment.

19) What the hell are we doing in this closet? Why did you drag me in here? Why are you so close? Why do I want you to be closer?

20) “This is bad,” I whisper, with my hands wrapped around your hips, because I know that if you give in, I’m wrapped around your finger. “Maybe,” you whisper, leaning closer, “maybe this is a good kind of bad, hm?” and pull me into a kiss.

21) You need help tying the back of your dress/fixing your cufflinks, and my fingers keep scraping against your skin. How are you so warm? And how are you acting like I’m not right behind/in front of you?

22) We’re ice skating, just like we used to when we were kids, but then you slip. I break your fall by offering myself up for tribute, and suddenly, we’re a whole lot closer.

23) You offer to make me tea when I’m sick, and for some reason, I have the urge to kiss you. Deliriously, I ask if I can. We came to an agreement that I can kiss you after I stop sneezing.

24) I know you love rollercoasters, but I get so sick while riding them, and I’m not sure if I can stomach another one–oh, you’re holding my hand?

25) Every Sunday morning before work/church/school/a hobby, you come in for coffee. We chat a little bit each time, and I feel like we’re some sort of friends now. Today, I finally gained the courage to write my number on your cup.

26) Family vacations are a whole lot more awkward when you and I can’t stop staring at each other, and you know that they’re going to catch on if we don’t stop, right? But we don’t, and instead, it just gets worse.

27) You’re in a swimsuit. I don't know what to do but stand here and look awkward, because that’s more skin than I thought I’d ever see on you.

28) We’re roommates, and I walk in on you changing. You yelp. I yelp. I never forget what I saw, I’m sure you never forget what I walked in on. I think it’s time we have a chat about this.

29) Did you know that if you love someone enough, your heart can palpitate? I didn’t, well, not until you walked into the room.

30) It’s your birthday and everyone forgot. Everyone except me. We sit down at a nearby park/in your apartment/on the roof/in a tree, and I finally give you my present.

31) You just got rejected from a date/prom night, and I promise you, your crush is missing out on you. I don’t know how to convince you other than sit here, hold you, and pretend that I don’t wish you’d see what’s in front of you.

32) I never wanted to ruin what we had, but you’re making it so hard not to utter those three words.

33) I know you’re angry that I got hurt, but you’re patching up a cut on my face/chest, and you’re really close.

34) I invited you over after a rough night, the stench of cheap beer on both of our breaths. For some reason I can’t get my mind off of the way you laugh, or how you threw everything aside to come comfort me.

35) I’m trying to work up the courage to tell you how I feel, but everyone and everything seems to be against us doing this. Your friends, my friends, a random phone call from a telemarketer that I nearly cussed out. Okay, look, I love you.

36) Work has me exhausted, and I don’t want to think anymore, and I just can’t hold back from mumbling I love you into your hair. Uh, sorry.

37) We always snuggle, and this shouldn’t be any different, but I’m trying not to press my lips to yours because they’re right there and I don’t want to pass up another chance, but you take initiative and do it yourself. Oh.

38) Your SO doesn’t treat you right, and you know it, and I know it, and everyone else knows it. But I don’t know how to convince you without giving myself away. And of course when I try, it fails. Crap.

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ltbarnes · 5 months

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‘Tis the Damn Season

Stark U #6

Summary: It’s Christmas Eve, you’re too drunk, you’ve basically avoided Bucky and Steve for six months and the last person you’d want to meet at this party just happens to be yelling in your face. The panic attack is inevitable, really.

Pairing: college!Steve Rogers x reader, college!Bucky Barnes x reader, college!Sam Wilson x reader, college!Natasha Romanoff x reader

Word count: 7.8k

Warnings: so much angst, past SA, alcohol, talk about violence, Christmas celebrations, things finally start to happen, kissing :)

A/N: Happy holidays to anyone who celebrates and to those who don’t, I hope you have a good few days anyways <3 This is the first I’ve posted since July which is awful of me so sorry

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

You didn't see them all summer. The day after your last exam was over, you bolted back to your hometown and spent the entire summer selectively ignoring messages from Bucky and Natasha and Steve and Sam asking what you were doing and how your summer was going and maybe you could all meet up and go somewhere and—

It's December now, and every goddamn day since June you have been trying to figure out if what Bucky said to you when you were sick was a fever-induced hallucination or if he really, actually, said that he wanted you to take his last name someday. It made you panic, because the entire spring term you tried to convince yourself that your feelings towards them were batshit crazy and any inkling to them feeling the same was a delusional reach, grasping for crumbs that in reality were just friendly gestures. And then he says that.

"She's just practicing her future last name, Stevie."

So, yeah...things have been weird. Three months have passed since classes started and none of you want to mention what happened right before summer break. Actually, with each day passing you feel more like maybe it was just a hallucination or a very vivid dream, because both Bucky and Steve act like it never even happened. Bucky even had his mouth latched onto some blonde sophomore at a dumb, stupid frat party on Halloween. You went home right after and cried for two hours. But it's not hard to conclude that even if there was some spark or connection or anything beyond friendship with either of them before summer, it has died out completely.

The subject will probably never be broached. You're too scared of confrontation and definitely too scared of revealing unreciprocated feelings for that to happen. The slightly tense atmosphere in the loft is entirely your fault—your lack of communication with anyone in the group during the summer has made them a little confused, you guess. You mostly spend time in your room, giving excuses of studying and talking with parents on the phone and 'I'm just tired, sorry'.

Spending too much time with Natasha scares you too, because she reads you so well and you don't want her to know how hurt and unhappily in love you are. She'll try to do something about it and then Steve and Bucky will catch on and then you will end up rejected and labeled as crazy, because who the fuck falls in love with two people?

That doesn't mean you've managed to avoid her. Living in the same apartment as her definitely makes that hard, but just the fact that she won't let you makes it impossible. Last week she even broke into your room when you had it locked, because apparently she knows how to pick a lock open in under ten seconds. She absolutely knows something is off, but so far she hasn't brought it up.

Natasha is the sole reason why you're now standing in the backyard of some rich kid's house just off campus, surrounded by smoke from cheap cigarettes and fairy lights hung up between the trees and one too many shots of vodka in your blood. It's December utterly and thoroughly—there's snow on the ground but people still haven't accepted the fact that wearing their short dresses and tank tops without jackets does not work anymore. Ice drops hangs from the tree where you stand, listening to Natasha talk with a drunken girl looking for her phone.

It's fun, sure. Not the worst party you've been to and not the best either. You talked to the girl you've been sitting next to in History class earlier for almost twenty minutes. Got free vodka. It's Friday and you don't have any exams to study for. None of that makes you forget that things aren't the same.

"Nat. Nat." You poke her shoulder repeatedly, obnoxiously probably, until she glances over her shoulder with a slight glare.

"What is it?"

"I'm gonna get 'nother drink. Inside," you tell her, pointing with your thumb towards a hedge even though it was meant to be the door. Natasha seems to understand anyway.

"Okay. Don't wander off too long. And come back here right after."

"Yes, ma'am." You give her a half-assed salute before turning around, swaying slightly in your step. It's the uneven and slippery surface of the snow-covered ground, you tell yourself.

There's a lot of people here, is what you note as you push yourself through the seemingly endless crowds of the living room. You kind of hate that they haven't played a single song you like and if Steve was here he would agree, because he doesn't listen to any music made after the internet was born. Bucky would then make fun of Steve and you would laugh and everything would be right in the world. Instead you're pressed to kitchen drawers of a dark kitchen, cheap vodka mixed with soda running down your throat.

The kitchen is crowded too, but either way it's a respite from whatever the hell's going on in the living room. Jumping up and down and calling it dancing (you were doing the same the hour before). You're too drunk to be miserable about everything happening in your life this entire term and much too drunk to feel the absolute atrocious taste of your drink.

In half an hour you will probably throw up and tomorrow will be spent nursing a horrible hangover, but those consequences seem insignificant right now. You just keep thinking about the image of Bucky shoving his tongue down someone's throat that wasn't yours. It was heartbreaking. That he's not here is a good thing, because you'd either witness the same thing again or actually bring it up to him, and that's much worse. God knows it's only a matter of time before Steve does the same thing.

Someone pushes into you, forcing the liquid from your cup to spill from the confines of the red plastic onto your dress. It's black, so it doesn't really matter, but the alcohol still seeps through the fabric until it reaches your skin.

"Shit, fuck—"

Your hand tries to somehow dry your dress by fanning the fabric, which obviously doesn't help very much, and the paper towels placed on the counter in front of you escape your drunken mind completely.

Fresh air and icy winter winds are the only options, so you push through and stumble into people on your way outside. It takes a lot longer than it should. You can't really see much considering the dizziness and darkness inside, but somehow, magically, you are eventually dragging your way towards Natasha who stands in the same place as before.

"Nat. Natty—I spilled. Look."

The black dress with the now wet patch is lifted towards her by your hands, highlighted for her to see. You sway as you tell her.

"Jesus, you can barely stand straight," Natasha answers with a stabling hand to your shoulder, shaking her head to herself instead of focusing on the very urgent fact that you spilled on yourself.

Natasha turns to the girl she's talking to, saying something you can't bother to decipher, before stepping aside with a guiding arm around you.

"We gotta get you home before you embarrass yourself for real," she mumbles underneath her breath.

"I heard that," you whisper, a loud hiccup following. Whoops.

She rolls her eyes, fishing her phone up from her pocket.

"Who—who you writing? To?" you ask, slightly aware that your sentences lack correct structure but not really caring. As long as the message comes across, right?

"I'm texting Steve. I can't drive and you sure as hell can't."

Even in your state, panic instantly sets in over the mention of his name even though you live in the same goddamn apartment.

"Nooo. No Steve."

Your hand grasps for her phone. Nat pulls it away from your reach much quicker than you can comprehend.

"Yes Steve. You're a mess and he's the only one with the patience to take care of this level of drunk. I don't care that you're avoiding them for some stupid goddamn reason," she tells you.

"Nat," you whine. "He can't see me. I spilled!"

She just glares at you. "I swear to god, Y/n...nobody cares that you spilled your drink. I can't even see it."

"I'm so drunk!"

"Yeah, I know. Just—just stay here, okay? I'm going to get you some water so you can sober up by the time your precious Steve comes for us."

Natasha is heading inside before you can process her words. Waiting in place for a few minutes turns into an eternity in your mind. She should know better than to leave you unattended and then expect you to stay—really, it's her own fault. You will accept no blame if Nat gets mad at you for going inside again. It's cold and you need to go to the bathroom. Also, you're mad at her. Telling Steve to come get you? That's just...embarrassing.

Once again you're shouldering your way past people on about the same level of intoxication as you. There's a bad remix of a Christmas song playing loudly. Makes you wanna punch whoever's phone is connected to the speaker. The bathroom is so, so far away. It's something the architect of this house should've thought of before he put it at the very end of this long hallway you're currently making your way through, but clearly he didn't have you in mind.

"Fuck! Watch where you're going, asshole," some girl seethes at you as your shoulder nudges against hers. A nudge is an exaggeration—you brushed against it at most. She's probably an aggressive drunk, that's all.

You don't answer, instead fumbling for the door handle to what you believe might be the bathroom. Some couple is making out in here, the girl with her ass planted on the edge of the bathtub and the guy nearly devouring her face. Doesn't look very pleasant, if you're honest.

"Out. I need to pee."

Your hands find their way to their shoulders, ushering the lovesick pair out of the room without much protest from either of them. They're still making out as they walk out.

Despite your less than sober state, you manage to remember to lock the door after they leave. Some of the mascara that previously inhabited your lashes has moved down to rest under your eyes. You rub it away, smudging it slightly, but it just makes you look a little more like one of those cool girls you always see on campus. It will do.

You kind of want to throw up, but decide against it. That hasn't happened since you were a freshman, and you'd like to keep it that way. Staring at yourself in the mirror occupies your time in the bathroom instead, swaying slightly with your hands placed on the cold sink. If Steve saw you now he would be so disappointed. At least you imagine he would be—that fatherly look on his face as he tells you how you need to be more mindful with your alcohol consumption. Did you even watch who poured your drink? Never go anywhere alone at a party. Especially not a frat one. You know better than this, Y/n.

Steve's imaginary voice is interrupted by someone banging on the door, shouting for you to hurry the fuck up. It's been over ten minutes, but to you it just feels like three, and Natasha has been looking for you ever since she returned to the garden with a glass of water in her hand and no one to give it to. It's not her banging on the door, unfortunately, but instead a dickhead guy who has no patience. Can't a girl spend some time alone in the bathroom doing nothing anymore?

The guy glares at you as you push the door open, stumbling out into the crowded hallway while paying him no mind. It's dark save for the red LED-lights plastered on the walls, making it feel like a seedy dive bar instead of a seedy house. You don't see much.

"Hey! Hey, you—the girl with the black dress!"

Someone pushes their way past the people talking and making out and leaning against the walls, shoving through them as he searches for your attention. Of course, you don't really think it's you he's after. Half of the people at this party are wearing black dresses.

A clammy hand finds purchase on your shoulder, halting you in your less than gracious steps and turning you around with ease. Head tilted back, gaze running upwards until they settle on the face of a quite attractive guy. He doesn't look pretty happy to see you. You're not very happy to see him either.

The blood drains from your face, stealing away all that alcohol-induced heat within a second as his curly hair and green eyes look down at you with that same contempt he had when Sam dragged him away from the kitchen almost a year ago. You had hoped you never had to see him again. It was a naive thing to wish for.

"Y/n, right?" he asks bitterly. You don't answer, but he takes your silence as a yes. It was probably a rhetorical question anyway. His slightly crooked nose was perfectly straight the last time you saw him. His face is committed to your memory, burned in to taunt you on sleepless nights and everytime an unknown man walks a little too closely when you're out alone. "Your little boyfriend broke my fucking nose. You know that?"

Another rhetorical question. Definitely more threatening. Might be the tight grip he has on your arm too. Either way, his mere presence has apparently stripped away your ability to breathe normally. It feels like you've been running to the point of nausea, dark spots dancing before your eyes as he shakes you in attempt to get an answer.

"You ruined my fucking reputation. For what? I barely touched you. Such a sensitive fucking bitch, going around telling everyone that..." His voice trails off, ushering you into a quiet corner when he realizes people are staring. "Got nothing to say now, huh? Been so good at running your fucking mouth before, haven't you?"

"Let me go," you whisper, voice wavering. You don't sound assertive at all, instead weak and fearful. It's what you feel, as an upbeat, slightly bad cover rendition of "All I Want For Christmas" booms through the house. Girls shrieking in excitement over in the living room reaches your ears. You would have joined them if you weren't currently cornered by the guy who assaulted you in your own kitchen a year ago.

"No, we're going to fucking talk. What the fuck were you doing, going around saying shit like that about me to everyone?"

"I...I didn't..." Your lips part between words, breathing out shakily, trying to articulate sentences long enough to make sense. Why can't you speak? Why can't you even think?

"You didn't what?" he seethes. "You're such a fucking bitch, you know that? Acts all innocent and hides behind her friends. My nose is fucking crooked forever because of that fuckhead you sent after me."

Is it the alcohol that renders you this goddamn useless? There's just tears springing to your eyes, unable to say anything in defense of yourself. Can't even walk away.

He pushes you against the wall, knocking the breath out of you. To other people it probably looks like you're hooking up. At least that's what you hope they think, because otherwise you want to wonder why no one is intervening.

"Joshua, please let me go," you tell him again, even more pathetic this time. You're crying now, curled in on yourself in attempt to make yourself as small as possible.

"Fuck, you're so—"

"She told you to let her go."

The assertive, familiar tone booms through the hallway. It doesn't really, can probably only be heard by the people around you, but it feels like it when Steve's tall figure pushes through with hasty steps towards where you and Joshua stand, followed by a glaring Bucky with his jaw clenched so fucking tightly. A sob of relief is drawn from your lips, muffled by the back of your hand.

Joshua steps back instantly. Kind of funny to think that he's so scared of those two, and sad to think that he only respects a 'no' when it comes from men.

"Nice nose job," Bucky speaks up, pointing at his own nose as he stares at Joshua's crooked one, courtesy of the damn good punch he managed to land with his left fist all those months ago.

"Fuck you," Joshua growls, taking a step forward in attempt to appear more threatening or something. He doesn't really succeed—both Bucky and Steve towers over him in both length and build, unrelenting in their stance. As if they're stone walls keeping out the enemy.

Steve rolls his his eyes, shaking his head with a sigh. "Just get out of here. Don't go near her ever again, you hear me? Bucky's glad to fix your nose otherwise. Break it right back. Can't promise the result will be very good, though."

Bucky stands slightly behind Steve, raising an eyebrow in Joshua's direction that tells him there's not even a trace of a lie in the blonde giant's statement.

"You—fuck this." Joshua throws his hands in the air, aiming the most distasteful glare over his shoulder in your direction, before pushing past Steve and Bucky with a shove.

Your body instantly deflates, the tension melting off your limbs as you close your eyes and lean back against the wall. Gentle, firm hands instantly reach your cheeks, your arms, searching for any trace Joshua might have left behind on your body.

"Hey, hey. Y/n, are you okay? Did he touch you? Sweetheart, look at me."

Bucky's voice draws you out of the anxious, panicked state you slipped into, fluttering your eyelids open to see his worried frown and an equally worried Steve looming behind him. Wet cheeks and red-rimmed eyes greet them, pupils dilated from the alcohol.

"Y/n, are you hurt? How long have you two been talking?" Steve adds, looming over you in such a way that his large frame blocks out any of the colorful lights plastered on the walls.

They already know you're drunk—Natasha was the one to call them here to get you, after all. Maybe your silence and obvious intoxication makes it clear to them after a couple of seconds that an answer from you is a few minutes away, a few miles of distance from this foggy, packed house. Nothing more is said or requested from you. Instead your trembling form is led away and out into the biting cold by gentle hands belonging to your friends. Even your slight shock can't shield you from freezing your ass off as soon as you get out into the fresh air again, teeth beginning to chatter within the second step on tightly packed snow.

"What the—where the hell have you been? I swear to god, Y/n, I was gone for two minutes! I've been looking for you everywhere!" an angry Natasha yells, running perfectly towards the three of you down the slippery lawn to where Steve is currently helping you into the backseat of his car.

"Nat," Steve says, giving her a pleading look that silently tells her it's not the time for a scolding.

"What? I told her to stay put when I went to get her a glass of water and she just disappeared out of nowhere. Slippery motherfucker while drunk, I swear she'll be the death of me—"

"Nat," he repeats, sternly this time. In that tone only he masters, silencing even the most eager tongues with a single exhale. "She met Joshua. And she's not okay. So please, leave your yelling for tomorrow and get in the car."

Steve holds the passenger door open, gesturing for the seat beside Bucky. He's turning the key, letting the car warm up properly while he clutches the wheel tightly. Natasha's irritated frown turns into a concerned one, nodding silently before slipping inside. Steve closes the door shut behind her.

You lean your head against the frost-covered window, fogged up by your breath two inches away from it, and close your eyes. Steve leans over you, reaching for the belt and fastens it over your torso. You forgot. He never does.

It's no surprise, doesn't startle you despite your absentminded state, when his warm hand cups your cheek, turns your head to face him. Soft, blue gaze and ridiculously long lashes. It's nothing but contrasting against the clouds released from your mouths with each breath—warm, concerned...loving? Maybe.

"Are you okay?" he whispers, thumb rubbing over your cheek.

You nod. "Yes. I am now."

Bucky puts his foot on the gas, turns on the blinker, and pulls away from the curb, out onto the streets. It's nearly soundless. The usual rumble from wheels against road is cushioned by the snow.

"This was a mistake. Sorry, I can't—" Sam gags, moving his head out of the bathroom before returning his presence within a few seconds. "You're a real shitty guard, Nat. Why'd you let her drink this much?"

All four of your roommates are gathered in the bathroom, surrounding you as if you're a newly born lion cub in a zoo, while you puke your guts out into the toilet. Steve is kneeling on the floor beside you, a comforting hand rubbing your back, while Bucky sits a few feet away with a glass of water in hand, ready for whenever you need it.

"Fuck you. You weren't there—she was like a goddamn ghost, just slipping away everytime I blinked. Looked fucking everywhere for her. 'S not my fault," Nat answers, residing on the floor of the shower in lack of space.

"Not true," you murmur in answer, your voice echoing off the ceramic surrounding you.

You're pretty much done throwing up, it's just the exhaustion following that's keeping you slumped over on the bathroom tile. Your hand stretches out in Bucky's direction, reaching for the glass of water that's gulped down within a few seconds.

"Careful. Gonna get sick again if you do it this fast," Bucky says, unable to help himself from brushing away the stray drops of water running down your chin.

The gesture is nothing new from him. He did it when you were sick all those months ago too, and you haven't forgotten it at all. His thumb gently rubbing over your skin as if you're precious, something deserving of gentleness, is engraved into your mind. You're thankful for getting most of the alcohol out of your system, because you might not have remembered this moment in the morning if not. Fuck it if you forgot the way his pupils widen just slightly, as if he didn't mean to, as if he couldn't help himself.

"I'm fine," you whisper in answer, clearing your throat. "Got it all out."

"Good." Steve's hand moves up from your back to your head, stroking it for just a second before withdrawing his touch. "Let's get you to the couch."

"I don't wanna go to the couch. Wanna be in my bed." You're pouting. Maybe there is some trace of alcohol left in you.

"Steve and Buck will feel much less like creepy stalkers if they stare at you sleeping on the couch instead of hovering around your bedroom all night like a bunch of pervs," Natasha speaks up. A snort follows after, as if it was a joke and not a statement. Definitely tipsy too, despite unwilling to admit such a weakness.

Steve raises a reprimanding eyebrow Natasha's way, telling her to shut her mouth with just his gaze. She smirks in answer.

"Don't listen to her. A fucking liar," Bucky remarks, but there's still some form of amusement in his expression. He can't even deny the statement—he is going to watch over you. Doesn't really matter if it's in the living room or in your bedroom. "Now let's get you up. C'mon."

With a push from your arms against the cold tile, you're standing on two legs again. Steve is hovering his hand near your back, ready to support if the vodka decides to topple you over. But you're fine—just tired now.

For ten minutes it feels things are back to normal again. On the living room couch, nestled in between them, your head leaning on Steve's shoulder as a stupid Hallmark Christmas movie plays on the tv. Sam and Natasha are in their rooms sleeping, and for a few moments you forget why you kept your distance. Everything would have been good if this is how the night would end. If Steve didn't have to address the past six months.

"I've missed this. With us," Steve whispers as he strokes your shoulder absentmindedly, like it's second nature to him to have his hands on your skin. "You've been so distant lately. For months, Y/n."

The room instantly becomes tense enough to make you nauseous. A clearing of your throat, an attempt to sit up out of Steve's hold and away from this conversation that you'd much rather avoid is futile—it's instantly stopped by Bucky's hand on your chest that pushes you right back.

"No," he says sternly. "You're gonna sit right here, sweetheart, and tell us why you've barely let us see you since fall term started. 'Cause it's sure as fuck not something I take lightly. Why have you avoided us?"

You look away, shaking your head to yourself as you try to talk yourself down. You will not break. You will not confess a single thing. You are going to act like everything is fine and you are not currently freaking out being sandwiched between the only two men you would gladly be sandwiched between under different circumstances than this.

"What are you even talking about?" you answer meekly. It's clear as soon as the words come out of your mouth that no one is falling for your innocent act, not even sweet, naive Steve. Then again, you're doing a particularly bad job. "Both of you think I've been distant?"

"Cut the bullshit, Y/n. If we've done something wrong, just say so." Bucky bites his cheek, glancing down for just a second, but it's enough to let his vulnerability slip. He's hurt.

A wave of guilt instantly washes over your body, an unusual feeling. During all these months of avoiding any interaction with Bucky and Steve besides the necessary ones, you didn't think that they'd actually mind your absence that much. They might not be hopelessly in love with you like you are with them, but they're still your friends. Friends miss each other.

"Or if it's something personal, you can tell us, you know? Is it anxiety, or are you feeling generally low, or...?" Steve chips in, trying to drown out Bucky's accusatory tone.

"No, no...I'm not depressed, Steve. And none of you have done anything wrong, I promise," you say hastily, shutting down their concerns as quickly as possible while trying to buy yourself time to come up with an excuse. "I just...needed some alone time."

Bucky rolls his eyes, shaking his head. Sassy man. "Bullshit again. You've spent a bunch of time with Natasha. Sam, too. It's us you're avoiding." He points to himself and Steve with his hand. "It's been almost six months, Y/n. What the hell's your problem?" He pushes himself off the couch, standing up and blocking your view of the tv. It's as if his frustration is all contained while sitting down.

"Bucky," Steve scolds, glaring up at his friend. He's not appreciating the tone at all, that's for sure.

"There's no problem, Bucky," you tell him, shaking your head. Trying to dismiss this entire conversation before you reveal too much.

"No! Y/n, I'm going fucking crazy! This is the first time you've even let me touch you in half a year!" Bucky yells, a pleading tone in his voice that breaks your heart just a little. Because it's true. You have barely even hugged since June. You've barely talked for more than five minutes at a time.

"Don't yell at her, for god's sake, Bucky," Steve adds, his hands on your shoulders and ready to get up from the couch any second.

"What the hell's going on with you, huh?!" Bucky continues, ignoring Steve's statement. His eyes are solely focused on you, void of the usual softness. There's just anger. "Cause if you can't stand us, then tough fucking luck. I can have your fucking things moved out by tomorrow for all I care. Can move right into Walker's dorm. Bet he'd accept you with open fucking arms if you get to your knees and—“

The drop of your heart down to your stomach can almost be heard, an echoing, hollow sound. You're sure of it. Bucky shuts his mouth, as if he realizes what exactly was about to come out of it. What is not even a second of silence feels like a whole minute, before Steve shoots up from his seat beside you and grabs Bucky by the collar, rattling the whole room with the force in which he nearly tackles Bucky against the wall with. The tangy taste of iron starts to fill your mouth, your teeth biting down on your lip hard enough to draw blood. There's tears lingering in your eyes but you can't hold them back, not anymore.

"You don't fucking talk to her like that, you bast—"

"I love you! It’s ‘cause I fucking love you guys!” you yell, a pathetic sob marring the words. “So I’m fucking sorry that I’ve avoided you two but I’m trying to get over these goddamn—these feelings, but I can’t, okay! I can’t!”

The bitter delivery is punctuated by the sleeve of your sweater wiping away the tears furiously, cutting Steve off and drawing both of their wild eyes towards your figure now standing up, just a minute away from a complete breakdown. You don't even process the fact that Steve cursed. It would've been teased about endlessly in any other situation.

"I will go. I'll leave if that's what you want," you seethe with a voice so unsteady that it's almost unbearable to listen to. "But I don’t hate any of you. I don’t, and I get why you’re mad. But fuck you, Bucky. Fuck you for saying that.”

More tears fall. It's futile to wipe them away when they'll be replaced the second after. You want to say more, hit Bucky where it hurts, but you cannot get the goddamn words to form on your lips. Opening your mouth and closing it again, shaking your head, comes before hastily walking towards your room and locking yourself inside without giving them a chance to answer.

As soon as the door is slammed shut, your hand comes up to your mouth to muffle the sobs. Sinking down to the floor as if you’re in a movie, forehead resting against your knees. The rate of your heartbeats could be considered dangerously high, but you just blurted out a whole love confession for two of your roommates in the midst of a fight. How the hell could everything turn to shit so quickly? Half an hour ago all of you were joking around in the bathroom, and now you're not sure you have the courage to face any of them again.

It's a rash, impulsive decision fueled by anger and betrayal and shame, but you rush over to your closet and pull out an overnight bag that's soon filled to the brim with enough things to last you a few days. You're crying the entire time.

When you pass the living room again, Bucky isn't there anymore. But Steve is. Barely a glance his way is spared, with hasty steps heading towards the hallway. You remind yourself of a furious toddler when you angrily put on your jacket, stick your feet into your winter boots. The bag is slung over your shoulder, hand resting on the door handle.

"Don't go. Y/n, please don't leave."

Steve stands at the other side of the hallway, a broken down expression on his pretty face.

"Bucky went out of line, but he didn't mean it, I swear. He's just too prideful to admit it," he continues. You shake your head, biting down on your bottom lip. "Please, honey. It’s Christmas Eve. It won’t be the same if you’re not here tomorrow.”

"I just need some space," you whisper, brushing away a stray tear with the sleeve of your jacket. You’re so embarrassed and hurt that you can barely look him in the eye. "I can't be in the same apartment as him right now."

Steve sighs, looking about ready to just throw you over his shoulder to get you to stay. But he won't do that. That's not Steve. So instead he glances down to the floor, shaking his head to himself.

“Did you mean it?” he asks softly. “The thing about—you said you loved us. Did you mean it?”

It takes a few seconds before you nod tentatively, sniffling and keeping your gaze on a spot past Steve. He doesn’t say anything.

Steve gathers courage enough to walk up to where you stand by the door, grabbing your cheeks with his hands, thumb running over the tear-stained skin gently. For a few moments, he just looks at you. Loud thoughts running amok in that perfect head of his.

“Nothing I say right now will do my feelings any justice, so I’m gonna save any big speeches for tomorrow. But just…stay. It’s 2 am, it’s freezing out and you’re still drunk. I don’t want you out there on the streets alone. I need you to stay, even if it’s only for your own safety. Don’t have to talk to any of us if you don’t want to.”

His words makes you nod automatically. All it took was his hands on your skin and the flicker of hope his words ignite in your chest, and you conceded within a second. No hesitation left in that exhausted body of yours. He‘s not saying outright that your feelings are requited, but it doesn’t feel like a rejection either. He doesn’t seem disgusted by your confession, by the knowledge that you’re in love with both him and his best friend.

“Good girl. Let’s just—let’s get you to bed, okay?”Steve tells you, squeezing your shoulder gently. With your confirmation in form of another silent nod, he nestles the bag out of your grip and takes off the jacket from your torso.

The bed feels so soft and warm and comforting when you lie down. Steve tucks you in. It’s achingly sweet and you don’t really deserve it after avoiding him and Bucky like that for so long, but he looks out for you nonetheless.

“Steve,” you whisper, drawing his gaze up to meet yours. “I’m sorry. For being so distant.”

He shakes his head. “You have nothing to be sorry for. You were scared,” Steve answers. “Don’t worry about anything, okay? Get some sleep. You’ve had a tough night, Y/n.”

The softest of smiles grazes your lips, puppy eyes gazing up at Steve. Your wonderful, caring, perfect Steve.

“Are you alright? It must’ve been hard meeting Joshua again. And what Bucky said, it…it was far from okay.”

“I will be,” you whisper.

He nods, observes your face for a few seconds. Leans down to press a kiss to your forehead—what kind of college guy even does that? And then he leaves the room, turning the light off behind him.

You’re woken up by a red headed, crazy woman sitting on top of you over the sheets, shaking your shoulders.

“Wake up, fuckhead. You’re gonna open the presents I got you,” Natasha urges, grinning down at you as you blink your eyes open, groaning.

“Fuckhead?” you ask, a tired chuckle from your lips as Natasha climbs off the bed.

“Yes. Don’t like it, huh?” she teases. “C’mon. The guys are already waiting.”

With slow steps and a loud yawn, the slightest trace of a hangover plaguing your body, you drag yourself out into the living room. Around the ugly, little tree that Sam insisted on cutting down from the campus gardens last week (he almost got arrested by the security guards) the three boys sit. Your gaze falls to the floor, scratching the skin right above your lip nervously, once Bucky looks up at you. Can’t really read his expression, but you figure you’ll lay the fight aside for the day. It’s Christmas, after all.

“Merry Christmas, sweetheart,” Steve says, urging you to sit down next to him right there on the carpet. You offer a soft smile, and an even softer ‘Merry Christmas’ back. You’re still unsure about yesterday. Despite there being no rejection from either of them, the uncertainty is kind of killing you. A pit of anxiety rests in your stomach, an uneasy feeling corrupting every cell as you sit down on the floor next to Steve.

Not even ten minutes later, the living room is drowning in a sea of wrapping paper. Natasha went overboard with the gift shopping this year, it seems like, but her absent father is also some kind of Russian oligarch or something so she tends to use up as much of his money as she can. You’re not complaining.

The special edition of The Hobbit, signed by the director of the movie, that you managed to get on eBay and cost you a fucking fortune is received with a whispered ‘thank you’ from Bucky. He holds it in his hands tightly, staring down at the book without a word, and you don’t know if he’s happy for it. Maybe he’s not happy with anything touched by you at this moment. He hasn’t gotten you a gift, it seems like, or maybe he threw it in the trash and burned it yesterday.

Steve got you three books that he’d heard you say you wanted months ago, and a dainty silver necklace with a bee pendant hanging from it. “You know, uh, I usually call you ‘honey’ and I thought it was a little funny, maybe. But I can exchange it if you don’t like it. It’s no problem,” he had said, even though there were tears of gratitude in your eyes. Your arms were thrown around him a second later, hugging him tightly as you thanked him profusely for the most thoughtful gift.

Now you’re leaning your back against the couch, still on the floor, watching as Sam and Natasha are tinkering with his new Nintendo Switch that he got from her (overboard with the gifts, as previously mentioned). He’s so happy it almost makes you zoned out as you watch his childlike excitement. It’s nice to see the two of them so calm and sweet with each other too. Usually bickering and getting on each other’s nerves all the time otherwise.

“Y/n, can we talk?”

Your head tilts back, looking up at Bucky standing nervously in front of you, his hand rubbing the back of his neck. There’s a deep hesitation within you, a pride that wants to say no and remain in your angry state forever without confrontation. But it’s Bucky. You hate this animosity between the two of you, the tension. Despite being pissed off and hurt and afraid that he doesn’t want you, you can’t say no, so you nod and push yourself up to a stand.

Bucky closes the door to his room behind him gently, clearing his throat and looking at anything but you. A sigh comes out of his mouth, shaking his head, before he parts his lips to speak.

“I’m so sorry, Y/n. What I said was disgusting and unforgivable and so fucking out of line. You didn’t deserve that at all. So out of proportion to what I was mad at you for,” Bucky says, running the palm of his calloused hand over his face.

“It was,” you answer honestly. There’s no use in denying that what Bucky said was stupidly hurtful. He nods, looking away from your gaze.

“It made me angry thinking that you ignored me, because at first I didn’t know what I had done, you know? And then I thought for a few months that me and Steve had been too overbearing and that you tried to keep your distance because you thought we were annoying or something. But that’s not the case. I should’ve known better by now than to think that you would do anything to purposely hurt us.”

You gulp, nodding, looking down to the floor. “I’m sorry too,” you whisper. “I didn’t know that you guys thought I had something against you until last night. Obviously, you…you know now that’s not the case,” you tell him, embracing yourself with your arms. “But last night, Bucky, I…you hurt me. I know you were angry, but saying those kind of things isn’t okay.”

“I know that. God, I know, Y/n. I’m so sorry. It was fucking childish of me, retorting to saying that Jo—“ Bucky shakes his head, hands coming up to tug at the roots of his hair. “And it felt stupid giving you that present in front of everyone, so now you think I didn’t get you anything, too, and—“

“You got me a present?”

“Yes. Of course I did, Y/n. But I saw how much Natasha had bought and that necklace Steve gave you and my gift felt stupid in comparison to that. Just didn’t want to give it to you in front of everyone,” he says, a little awkwardly. A little boy giving his mother a drawing he made in kindergarten, he reminds you of.

“Bucky…that doesn’t matter. I don’t care what you have gotten me. I’ll like it no matter what if it’s from you.”

He shifts in his place, contemplating something, before picking up a sweater on his bed, revealing a wrapped present hidden underneath. Bucky took the gift from the pile without anyone noticing before, throwing it into his room so no one would see.

With a tentative hand, he reaches it out to you. Doesn’t watch as you unwrap it, instead biting on his thumbnail. You reprimand him for it, and the hand returns to his side.

“Is it a book?” You run your fingers over the cover, a hardcover with nothing on it. Blank.

“It’s a photo album. Shit, it’s stupid. I don’t know,” Bucky answers, looking about ready to snatch it back, but you open the first page up before he has a chance to.

A picture of you, Natasha, Sam and Steve on the first page. It was taken last year in November. You’re all running after one of Sam’s model planes, fall leaves singling down from the sky. It’s a beautiful picture.

“4 grown idiots running after a kid’s toy - November 12th, 2022”

“It’s just pics I’ve taken with my phone, so it’s nothing artsy or anything, but…uhm.” Bucky runs his hand through his short, brown hair.

You flip the page. You’re looking out through the kitchen window, the sun shining through and casting shadows over the room and your figure curled up on the chair.

“Angel in the sun - March 25th, 2023”

A soft chuckle is drawn from your lips, resisting the urge to run your finger over the photo, but you don’t want to smudge the blank paper. On the same page there’s another picture of you with your arms around Natasha’s shoulders, nearly wrestling her to the ground with the force of your hug. You look so happy.

Bucky looks nervous as you glance up from the photo album at him. “Know it’s not much, but…yeah.”

A loud huff of hair escapes Bucky as you throw your arms around him. It takes a second or two for him to hug you back, but he soon has his chin resting on top of your head, arms around your waist.

“I love it,” you whisper, holding onto him tightly enough to constrict his breathing.

“You do? I can take it back if you don’t like it.”

Your grip around him releases, arms coming down to your sides so you can take a step back and look him in the eyes. “This is everything, Bucky,” you say softly, feeling a lump in your throat that can turn into tears any second. “The fact that you took the time to make this for me is just…it’s the most thoughtful thing ever. And these pictures are so beautiful, Bucky, and just the thought of you sitting down and glueing them onto the page and writing captions and—“

His lips against yours. Oh god. Oh my god, Bucky has his lips pressed against yours. Gentle hands hold your jaw, his head leaning down to compensate for the height difference, and Bucky Barnes is kissing you with urgency and desperation.

The shock is enough to make you unable to return the kiss. He seems to take your surprise as rejection despite the fact that you literally yelled ‘I love you’ in his face last night. Bucky steps away and takes his hands off your skin, running his hand over his mouth, shaking his head.

“I’m so sorry, don’t know what the hell came over me, I—“

On your tiptoes, fingers grabbing his sweatshirt to pull him closer, and you nearly smash your lips against his to shut up any of that doubt he carries. It’s not a graceful or very romantic kiss, but by the sound akin to a very mild growl that comes from Bucky and his hands sliding down to your waist to pull you closer, you guess he likes it anyway.

It doesn’t last more than 20 seconds. A harsh knock on the door to Bucky’s room interrupts it, forcing you part from his lips and get down from your tiptoes again.

“What the hell are you doing in there? C’mon! I’ve made goddamn Christmas brunch!” Sam yells, drawing a soft chuckle from your lips as your forehead meets Bucky’s chest.

With a soft smile, nothing said, you back away from Bucky. Slipping out of his room and leaving him there all flustered and semi-hard from a 20 second make-out session. The first ever between you, though. He thinks it’s pretty understandable.

As Bucky follows you into the kitchen, sitting down at the table by Steve, he leans towards his best friend and whispers into his ear low enough to make anyone else unable to hear.

“I kissed her, Stevie,” Bucky says with a shit eating grin on his face. “I finally fucking kissed her.”

The blond man turns his head enough to look over at Bucky, the red flush of his cheeks and ears enough to tell anyone what’s been said.

“Are you serious?” Steve asks.

“I kissed her and she kissed me back, I swear. I gave her that photo album I’ve worked on for weeks. She said she loved it, Steve.”

“I guess it’s my turn then, isn’t it?” Steve answers, a shy smile on his lips as the two of them watch you sit down opposite of them at the table, glancing through the window out at the heavy snowfall. Natasha puts a newly toasted bagel on your plate.

“Go get our girl, Stevie.”

#stark u #marvel fanfiction #marvel fic #bucky barnes x reader #steve rogers x reader #bucky barnes angst #sam wilson x reader #natasha romanoff x reader

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straightplayshowdown · 4 months

Text

Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead: Rosencrantz and Guildenstern have been summoned to Elsinore by the king, Claudius. He and Queen Gertrude, wish for Rosencrantz and Guildenstern to glean what sudden sway of madness has affected Hamlet. The duo sets out to achieve their task, meeting a ragged troupe of players along the way. Brief glimpses of scenes from Hamlet show the trials and tribulations of the royals; our two heroes are largely left in a state of waiting. They pass the time playing games, posing questions, and tossing coins, until they gradually realize that their fates have been taken out of their own hands. They are merely characters in a larger story in which they have no say.

Hamlet: Hamlet is home to mourn the death of his father. He is disgusted by the marriage of his mother to his uncle, Claudius, who now has the throne. The ghost of his father reveals to Hamlet that Claudius poisoned him in the ear. Hamlet vows to avenge his father’s murder. Hamlet’s sanity begins to be questioned by all. He accidentally kills Polonius, thinking it was Cladius. Ophelia has gone mad with grief over the death of her father. Claudius suggests that Laertes duel with Hamlet. From there, the play ends in tragedy.

Propaganda under the cut!

Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead:

what if we were both minor characters in Hamlet forced to die over and over again in a timeloop and we were both guys 😳. basically one of the only modern straight plays i know and its just so good!!!!!!!! Rosencratz's death monolouge gets me everytime

This play is for people that love Shakespeare, but also love weird shit. It somehow offers really insightful commentary on stories and fate and purpose while also feeling like a fever dream.

an existential and brilliant deconstruction of hamlet

it’s good

Hamlet fanfic involving the game of questions and frequently not being on boats.

No, I'm tired sorry

waiting for godot meets hamlet. best of both worlds

A heartbreaking examination of the archetype “tragedy” — the knowledge that, essentially, the characters are doomed from the beginning, and cannot escape their fates, the inescapable feeling that they’re simply characters in a story. RAGAD treats the genre with comedy and makes two seemingly meaningless characters into an everyone’s favorite duo.

what if we were doomed by the narrative and flipped coins and licked feet and hid in barrels and hung out with a suspicious actor troupe who eventually turns against us and also we have to figure out what's up with hamlet because claudius told us to? and we were both boys? just kidding! ....unless?

I know the whole thing off by heard and I’ve never been in it. Does that count. Also it deserves to win because of what the awful awful film did to it.

Hamlet:

its hamlet. do i need to say anything more?

i mean. it just is the best play of all time. like it almost sucks that we peaked 400 years ago but it is the best play ever written and there's nothing you or i can do about that

it’s THE play

ghosts! revenge! madness! murder most foul! how could you possibly ask for more?

What a heartbreaking exploration of grief…

#rosencrantz and guildenstern are dead #hamlet #hamlet prince of denmark #round 3 #the straight play showdown #polls

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reareaotaku · 2 months

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what would miles do if you were sick???????????

HAHA! Oh wait- It's cute you think he'd care

"You're sick?"

You glare up at the male, annoyed. His uniform looked stupid on him- Well, that wasn't true, but he was annoying you so every thought of him was bad. "What does it look like, genius?"

"You look fine to me."

"Fine?" Thanks to your fever, you were paler/ lighter and your face flushed dark red/purple. Not to mention you, couldn't breathe out of your nose and your throat was drier than the savanna. "I feel like shit."

"Well, you don't look any different than usual."

"Wow, thanks Miles."

"Anything for you." He looked round your dorm room, which you thankfully had alone, because there was an uneven amount of girls- Pretty much making you a loner. Which is probably why you and Mies stuck together. "God, your room is like a hospital room."

"Thanks for noticing." You get out before coughing hard.

Miles stared at you as you had a cough attack. Possibly the most painful cough you've ever had. It was like they were coming from your chest with how rough they were.

"Well, don't die on me now, Y/n."

"Wouldn't plan on it." You lay down, covering yourself with your blanket; Thankfully snuggled up.

Miles watches you closely, still suspicious- Not believing you were truly sick. He frowns, disappointed, before he too lays on your bed across your legs. "What am I supposed to do?"

You yawn, closing your eyes, "Maybe if you were nicer this wouldn't be an issue."

You hear him scuff, but you ignore him, because you were tired. So very tired.

---

Miles groans, watching you drift off to peacefully slumber. What was he supposed to do now? The thought made him frown. You weren't his only friend [Not that he'd ever tell you you're his friend]- No, he had other people he could stand... Well, okay maybe not.

He couldn't depend on you forever... I mean he could, but that dream is for later. The last thing he needed was for you to know he likes you- or even worse, a crush. The thought made a shiver run down his spine.

He left your room, walking around the dormitory. God, he hated this school and everyone in it. Thankfully it was spring break, so most of the students were off with their families. The thought brought an ick to his stomach. Families. All he had was his sister... and you.

He liked that. He liked it being just you and him. It made you more connected with each other. But now, he was alone. What was he supposed to do? Sure, maybe he was coming off a little co-dependent, but he didn't care. You were perfect for each other, so it doesn't matter if he was toxic.

He looked up to the sky, his eyes scrunching when the glaring sun hit him. Maybe he should do something productive since you were sick. He laughed and shook his head. Yeah, no. He's not doing that. His mind went to a memory of when his mother would take care of him when he was sick and how much he loved being pampered.

Then a thought occurred to Miles. If he took care of you while you were sick, you would become dependent on him and realize how much you need and love him. It was genius and Miles wondered how he didn't think about it sooner. Now... How does one take care of a sick person?

---

You awoke not feeling much better than before you went to sleep. You groaned, rubbing your head before stretching out your hands. You clicked your tongue, sitting up. You looked towards the door when hearing it open.

"Miles."

He doesn't respond but sits at the chair next to your bed.

You smirk, "Couldn't find anything to do?"

"Would you rather me sit and watch you sleep?"

"Maybe. Who wouldn't like a cute guy at their bed side?"

"Oh, god, you must be running a bad fever and it's getting to your head, because you would never say that."

"What? No, I'm not reading any fevers. How can you read a fever?"

"Run, not read Y/n."

"Huh? Flavor? What about flavor?"

Miles rolls his eyes before groaning annoyed with you. He pulls up a bad, which you hadn't noticed before, and pulled out a pill bottle. He pops open the lid and hands you a pill.

"What's this?"

"Tylenol. To help with your fever."

"Oh, yeah, I could use that. But I don't have a drink-"

He pulls out a Sprite and hands it to you. "I was going to get an orange drink, but they're kind of bitter and I've heard Sprite is good for the throat."

"Aren't you a sweetheart?" You tease, making him grimace.

"You keep going and I won't give you this." He pulls a container out of his bag and hands it to you.

"Chicken noodle soup?"

"Yeah. My mom used to make it when me or my sister were sick. Doesn't mean I like you or anything." Miles huffs, looking away from you.

"Of course not."

#miles fairchild #yandere miles fairchild #yandere miles x reader #the turning #yandere miles fairchild x reader #miles x reader #miles fairchild x reader #yandere slasher x reader #yandere horror #yandere imagines #horror x reader #yandere x reader #yandere slasher

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flickering-nightfall · 9 months

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So, your Infinity Train crossover got me to watch the show, and... woah. Woah. I would love to know if you had any more ideas, blurbs, thoughts, anything about that crossover, because now I can't get enough of imagining the viciously murderous cat and accidentally-fratricidal robot on the train.

I'm glad you liked Infinity Train too! (and thank you!) More on the crossover... I gotta admit I haven't thought of much other than the initial "haha what if" idea. Maybe I can speculate though:

Spoilers ahead!

There were many hilarious and thoughtful takes on how Pebbles could possibly end up on the train, in the notes of the initial post. I joked that it'd just tear a hole through his structure, but there are more (and less) sane options than that.

Since we only see human passengers on the train, a lot of people would probably mistake Pebbles and Arti as denizens. Simon and Grace would probably not take to them having numbers well. I feel like they'd most likely think it was a trick, but it could shake up their perspective too.

Man humans look kind of similar to ancients maybe. That doesn't mean much to Arti - and I think humans look dissimilar enough from scavs to be spared by her wrath. But to Pebbles...

Also, iterators haven't communicated with another civilization-era sapient species in a quite a while probably. Some interesting stuff can come out of that.

How many migraines do you think Pebbles gets from trying to figure out what the hell is up with denizens? Or the train itself? I feel like he'd have an aneurysm if he had to interact with Alan Dracula. If he goes home and tries to tell the others what happened without any proof, they'd think he'd had a rot-induced fever dream.

Numbers are dependent on how close a passenger is to solving their problem. Arti, having already killed the scav chieftain, according to Rain World has hit the point of no return. So her body is completely wrapped up in numbers. But like Amelia, with enough time and determination it might be possible. The main problem is... Arti has to want to fix her problem first. The setup for her to do that is there. She's with Pebbles, so she has less of a reason to go off on a rampage unless she's being threatened. The lack of scavs wouldn't stop her from resorting to violence at this point, but the pure strangeness and unfamiliarity of her surroundings should at least baffle her into a different mental state.

I think in order to get an exit, Arti needs to make peace with herself. She must acknowledge what she has become, and to truly believe that she needs to change. It has little to do with the death of her children at that point. She needs to escape the self-perpetuating circle of violence.

Pebbles' number is much smaller (but still huge) because he's entrenched in rage and isolation and frustration on a massive timescale, but we see him eventually come to a resolution in Rivulet's campaign. How would the train define his problem though? It could be his anger at Moon and Suns, blaming them for his current state (even if Suns is partially at fault). It could be his tendency to close himself off, his refusal to talk to others or accept help. It could be his denial, believing he can handle and fix everything by himself. It could be his overall arrogance or ego. There's a lot of options there. Ultimately I think whatever brings him to think similarly to how he does in Rivulet's campaign would do the trick.

The sad thing is that Pebbles would probably be better off staying on the train too. I'm not sure if he'd be affected by the rot there, but he'd at least he could (literally) get out of his own head. And he has no choice but to touch grass interact with new people and situations. But to deny his exit would be to deny responsibility for what he's done. If he's really gotten better, that means he knows he can't run away anymore.

If Pebbles went to the train without Arti there's a chance he'd get killed or ghom'd two days into the trip. We are assuming his puppet is capable of walking for this AU, but also I do not think he knows how to walk. Good luck pink guy!

On the flipside. Pebbles could... probably take over the train even more than Amelia ever did, especially as a (bio)mechanical being himself. The only thing that could limit him are taboos maybe. Any iterator could do this, really. Lots of potential paths with that one.

Something something, One-One and iterators both solving people's big problems with varying amounts of success, and both engineering weird organisms...

...does a RW character that gets ghom'd return to the great cycle? Their soul gets devoured, or their life essence, it's not clear. I guess which one could determine what happens. But also they are in another universe where there is probably no cycle. Are ghoms a triple affirmative? Is crossdimensional travel? The latter wouldn't fit the "portable and generally applicable" part but still. This is a whole rabbit hole and a half, isn't it!

The train is dangerous and all, but that just makes Rain World characters a hilarious fit for it. Like this is just their daily life. Honestly I think their home world is more dangerous than the train, just in less wacky ways.

Lastly: I haven't even touched upon what introducing other characters could do for this narrative, or how they would react. So many possibilities!

If anyone wants to do more with this, please feel free!

#rw spoilers #dp spoilers #infinity train spoilers #text #ask #thetroupemaster #anon #rambles #long post

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almightygremlinblob · 5 months

Text

Promise Me This (Kaorijaku x Jin Itadori)

Writing this was…honestly a fever dream. I did NOT mean for Jin to be this unhinged, JESUS CHRIST. Kenjaku is reffered to with he/him pronouns (except for wife) but has fem!body parts cuz…well, Kaori. This is also under the HC that the Itadori family, while not exactly sorcerers, weren't completely oblivious to the world of curses. Anyways, no beta'd smexy-times under the cut, so minors or anybody not comfortable with that DNI pls.

Word Count: 2730-ish words of Kenjaku having the time of his life and Jin being a maniac

⚠️CONTENT WARNINGS⚠️

Soft Dom!Jin Itadori. Jin being just…absolutely UNG-FUCKING-HINGED in this, like, he dives face first off the deep end. Kenjaku being a complete slut and bottom for Jin (like, srsly, he is down HORRENDOUSLY BAD for his man), ft. his breeding kink and a little OOC. Multiple orgasms. Monsterfucking. Body horror cuz Kaorijaku. Squirting. Jin makes out with Kenjaku's brain mouth. Everything's consensual, tho and ends in kinda fluff? Would you consider that fluff? Does that make it worse? I don't know.

It was amusing the first few weeks, but Kenjaku's had enough of it; deciding he might as well rip the bandaid off.

"Why do you pretend, Jin?"

"Pretend what?"

Kenjaku huffed, humans could be so interesting (and infuriating), sometimes. Jin may have been grieving, but he wasn't an idiot, and Kenjaku knew this. Sensed it in how cautious he'd been when they first met, though…that didn't stop him from playing around with what he could get away with. Yet, still, ever since 'Kaori' came back, the both of them had settled into an awkward domestic bliss which was…quite intriguing. Actually, that was a lie. Kenjaku very much enjoyed it. Jin was fun to prod and play around with; watching the mix of confusion, horror and sometimes arousal from the other was just…

It was so much fun.

Though, during the time they were together, nothing too intimate ever happened. They'd cuddle, hug, sleep in the same bed together, take baths together, and he'd never miss how tenderly the other would touch his scars when he thought he was asleep - a strange development in the past month - but nothing more than that. Hell, Jin never once even kissed him all this time, despite the curse's relentless flirting - which was NOT something Kenjaku enjoyed.

Clearly he knew something was off, and yet…

"Kaori?" The water stopped running, and Jin put the last of the dishes onto the drying rack, before going over to his late wife and wrapping his arms around him. "I'm not pretending anything, silly."

"You know something's wrong with me."

"…yes."

"And yet you still play make believe with me?"

"I do."

"…" Kenjaku sighed. "Care to tell me why?"

"I told you…" Jin's lips trail over Kenjaku's neck, not kissing but…definitely teasing.

Oh, this was new!

The curse couldn't help but the smile that formed on his lips. Jin's touch was sending delightful shivers throughout his body, and it made Kenjaku almost ecstatic that he was finally initiating something. His next words though, practically had a growing heat start to pool in between his legs.

"I'm not pretending."

"I don't know what you are…" Jin sighs, and Kenjaku doesn't realize how he chases the touch of the other's lips on his neck; too drunk on the way his body was feeling. "And I've decided I don't care. You brought Kaori back to me…even if she's not…you're not…"

"You still brought her back, in some way." Kenjaku feels Jin's grip on him tighten, most probably out of frustration, but he enjoys it regardless. "And if you want to play good little housewife, I can give you that."

"You're an interesting one, Jin." Kenjaku laughs. "I think…think I'll keep you."

"Say, your name…your real name…what is it?"

"Ken…K-Kenjaku. I've-I-I've heard, ah…" Shit, he was stuttering. Kenjaku smirks, feeling a pleasant dizziness but takes a deep and shaky breath to recompose himself. "H-heard you arguing with your old man, you know…a-about a child. Did you want one?"

Jin's breath hitches. "Yes…with her. It was a shared dream of ours…"

"I-I can still do that for you."

Jin is silent for a while, thinking. He could still have a child with her…oh, but who was he kidding? No, no. This woman in front of him wasn't just her, was it? Jin's grip on Kenjaku loosens just a little. Just so he can look at the other - this…this thing wearing the corpse of his wife - properly. Jin smiles softly at the realization that…perhaps, he really was going insane.

Because it wasn't just about Kaori, anymore.

"Do you want one? Hm?" Jin's eyes pierce through Kenjaku, even though his smile is kind. The curse is caught completely off-guard by the intensity of his gaze, and it makes the heat pooling in between his legs only grow more. The pink haired man tilts his head, finding his lips and Kenjaku swears he stopped breathing for a good minute as Jin continued to gently kiss him. A strangled noise escapes Kenjaku's throat when he feels Jin's tongue slowly lap at his bottom lip. "With me?"

"I-I…" For the first time in a while, Kenjaku is speechless. He simply laughs, before kissing the other back. Shit, he didn't realize how ecstatic he'd been until he was feverishly exploring Jin's mouth with his tongue.

Before the both of them know it, they're naked in their shared bed, Jin passionately lapping at his wife's dripping folds. Kenjaku can't help the noises that come out of his mouth. "Y-yes! God, ye-"

A hand harshly grabs at his throat and squeezes hard. The curse sees Jin glare at him from between his legs, and it makes his cunt throb even more. "Be quiet. You'll get your turn."

Kenjaku can only whimper and whine when Jin continues to feverishly lick and taste him, dragging his tongue up from his folds up to his clit and occasionally sucking on the sensitive nub eagerly. The curse gasps for air when Jin releases his grip, dizzy and ecstatic, before whining when Jin inserts a finger. Another easily slips in, shortly after.

"I'm so happy…your body still remembers me, Kaori." Jin laughs quietly, and Kenjaku is chokes on a sob when Jin curls his fingers - fucking that wonderful spot inside him while scissoring him open. The pink haired man smiles softly as he glances at the curse above him, the look going completely unnoticed by said curse who was lost to the pleasure. Jin closes his eyes and begins to suck on his clit, fucking the curse with his mouth and fingers.

"A-aah, fuck-Jin!" Kenjaku practically mewls as he bucks his hips, gripping onto Jin's hair and grinding himself on his tongue and fingers. It only takes a few more moments until Kenjaku finds himself coming undone, entire body shaking as Jin rides him through his orgasm.

Kenjaku feels strangely empty, though not unsatisfied, when Jin pulls his fingers out, giving his clit one last tender kiss before getting up. It takes several breaths before the curse can speak again. "I-I…what abo-"

His words die in his throat when Jin hooks the other's legs around his hips, caging Kenjaku underneath him. The curse can feel Jin's cock, deliciously hard and leaking against his cunt, and what the other says next has Kenjaku's legs go weak.

"Your turn now, Kenjaku."

Jin says into his ear, low and hungry, but then stays silent and still for a while. The curse can tell he's thinking of something, and he can't help but feel intrigued. His arms find their way around his shoulders, not realizing how tenderly he strokes the others back.

"Tell me what's on your mind, Ji-…n…" Kenjaku's words die in his throat when he meets Jin's eyes. They're hungry, and it makes his cunt ache again. Only...he wasn't looking at his wife's eyes, he was looking somewhere a little higher.

"Stitches. Off."

His eyes go wide. "What?"

"It's where you are, isn't it? And I told you, it's your turn." Kenjaku goes still for a while, shocked, but then just starts giggling; giddy and elated. "You know…normal people can't see my kind. U-us curses, we're-"

"Take them off, Kenjaku."

Kenjaku smiles, and wordlessly does as he's told. Fluids leak from his head as he parts the cut to reveal the light pink flesh underneath. Jin finally sees the curse for the first time in months. The curse doesn't miss how soft his eyes become, and watches as he carefully traces his thumb over the curse's mouth. "There you are…"

"Ah, my bad. So I correct about you lot…"

Jin sinks himself into the other's cunt, hissing at how hard Kenjaku's walls suck him in - though with how wet the other was it was easier than expected to slip inside. The curse nearly comes undone again, then and there. He's never felt this full, before and it felt incredible. Jin's lips meet the curse's actual mouth and has Kenjaku drooling and whimpering underneath the pink haired man, overwhelmed as Jin's tongue explores him completely. When he pulls away from the kiss, Kenjaku starts laughing, and Jin gives him a worried look. "Are you…are you alright?"

"G-god, you're insane, Jin Itadori…"

Jin huffs, smiling softly but not denying it. "I'm gonna move now, okay?"

Jin starts slow, but his cock deliciously drags against every part of the curse's cunt. The pink haired man smirks, feeling Kenjaku's nails leaving dents on his back as he holds onto him. "A-aah…f-fuck, I…"

Jin laughs softly. "Is this your first time?"

"A-as a woman, yes…" Kenjaku can't stop his legs from trembling as they wrap tightly around Jin. "I've…c-courted many in all my bodies as a man, but this is…I-I've never…"

"I'll take that as a compliment, then, but…let me make it better for you." Jin huffs. He didn't miss the implications of…of body hopping that this monster was capable of, but…well, he didn't particularly care at this point. He puts two of his fingers in his wife's mouth. "Be good and suck on this for me, yeah?"

The mischievous look in his eye doesn't go unnoticed by the curse, but Kenjaku simply does as he's told. Jin rewards him with a kiss on his real mouth and adjusts him a little, before thrusting with a steady and brutal pace and making the curse see stars. Despite his whining, Kenjaku's cunt sucks his cock in hungrily as he's brutally fucked by the other.

The nails that rake against Jin's back and arms break the skin and only serve to spur him on. Kenjaku sobs when Jin pulls away from the kiss and removes his fingers from his mouth. The curse greedily sucks and marks the other's neck using his wife's mouth, all while begging him with his actual one. "Ngh! God, d-don't stop! Fuck, p-please, Jin-!!"

"C'mon, louder. Let me hear you."

"Y-yes, oh god, Jin-!!!"

Jin's hips still and he groans as he fills Kenjaku. He takes a few breaths before slowly starting to move again; fucking his cum deeper into the curse. The feeling of so much of it inside him has Kenjaku seeing stars, but what sends him into another orgasm was the realization that Jin was going to get him pregnant at this rate.

He was actually going to carry this man's child.

"O-ooh, fuuuck…" Kenjaku's body tenses, cunt squeezing him deliciously hard that it has Jin hissing again. He notices Kenjaku breathing deeply, his body twitching and limp, and gives him an apologetic smile. His hand gently strokes the pink flesh of the curse.

"You okay?"

"D-don't. Stop." Kenjaku manages to say in between breaths. Jin laughs softly, kissing him tenderly on his mouth and making the curse dizzy with delight.

"If you say so." Jin smirks, before hooking Kenjaku's legs over his shoulders. The curse screams something in a dialect Jin can't understand, but was clearly some kind of Japanese, when the human somehow reaches even deeper into him; tip kissing the entrance to his womb with every thrust and shaft deliciously rubbing against a spot inside him that has Kenjaku nearly blacking out. Jin was reaching every part of him, the deepest parts of him, and it was incredible. The human forces his tongue inside Kenjaku's mouth, and the curse's eyes roll back - body completely tense and overwhelmed - when Jin begins rubbing on his sensitive clit. This was all so much.

Kenjaku was going to lose his mind at this rate…

Not that he was complaining, though.

Jin's pace picks up, and Kenjaku feels him twitching inside. It doesn't take long until Jin spills inside him with a few messy thrusts, the curse mewling when he feels him spill right on his cervix. Though Jin doesn't stop rubbing on his clit, and this has the curse squirting his own fluids and making a mess of both their legs shortly after. Kenjaku whimpers when Jin flips him on his stomach, though doesn't make a move to stop him at all, Jin's hand finding its way around his neck once more. Bringing him close to his face, the curse's back arching beautifully underneath the human.

"A-ah, Jin…please, I want-" Kenjaku is cut off by Jin's lips on his mouth, sucking and kissing him tenderly.

"Shhh, shhh…I know, baby." Jin pulls out nice and slow, leaving just the tip before harshly thrusting it back in. "You like that, yeah?"

"Ngh…n-need...p-please!" Kenjaku's cunt is practically leaking with how wet he was. Jin fucks him slow and brutal, cock dragging along every part of his insides before being slammed back in.

"Thaat's it…good." Jin huffs into his ear, licking and biting his neck before pulling away. Kenjaku feels his heat leave his back as Jin repositions himself, placing his hands on Kenjaku's hips as the curse's head rests on the bed. "M'gonna move a bit faster now, yeah?"

Kenjaku just nods frantically and his moans turn into screams when Jin ruts into him like an animal in heat. The curse screaming in that dialect that Jin can't understand. Kenjaku's eyes roll back, mind going blank as his cunt greedily sucks and squeezes Jin's cock with every thrust. They both lose count of how many orgasms and hours go by, as Jin ruthlessly makes love to Kenjaku and his wife, with all the pent up feelings he has for them both.

All Kenjaku knew was that his mind was going blank. His legs felt like literal jelly and it's as if his body was being torn apart. He's never felt this close to breaking without actually dying before.

It was incredible.

"A-aaah, you're doing so fucking good, Kenjaku. Cum for me one more time, yeah?" Jin bites his lip, Kenjaku can feel him twitching and throbbing inside him again. "Almost there, baby. I'm so close…"

Kenjaku smiles, nearly delirious with pleasure, as the thought of carrying this man's children sends him over the edge, again. His legs trembling as he spills even more of his fluids onto the bed. "J-Jin, o-oh fuuck-!"

With one last, hard thrust, Jin stills inside him again - cock fully sheathed and throbbing as he gives Kenjaku another thick load. His cunt milks him deliciously, but he feels Jin filling him beyond what he can take - hot streams of cum dripping down his thighs. Kenjaku's almost sad that so much is going to waste.

Jin groans and nearly pulls out but Kenjaku quickly grabs his wrist.

"S-stay. Stay inside me…" Kenjaku barely manages to say, completely fucked out of his mind. Jin looks at him softly, carefully moving him without pulling out, so the both of them can lie down in a more comfortable position.

For a long while, their breathing was the only sound there was.

"Th-that was…" Kenjaku finally breaks the silence, but is unable to continue his sentence.

"Good?" Jin gently kisses the curse on the mouth, again.

"Nearly the best I've had in a while…" Kenjaku gulps, and looks at Jin cautiously - dare Jin say he almost looked nervous. "Th-the world I'm in…it isn't known for being the nicest, you know. You should leave me, while you can. It's safer for you. Curses, we aren-"

"No." Jin huffs. "I am not. Leaving you."

Kenjaku is silent for a while. "Why?"

"You brought Kaori back to me, in some way, even if she isn't…I mean, you aren't…" He gently strokes the curse and sighs. "But I'm not staying for just Kaori…you understand that, right?"

"I…I see." Kenjaku can't help the way his stomach flutters, or the warmth that blooms in his chest upon hearing that. It was irrational, and yet...

Jin takes a deep breath. He knew staying with the other was practically a death sentence for him. However, if he was to be honest with himself...he didn't really care anymore. Only...he worried for his child. "Just…look, I know I won't last long with you. So please promise me something. Promise me you'll continue to watch over my child even if I'm gone."

"And if I don't?"

Jin rolls his eyes, knowing the other was just messing with him. "Then I'll haunt you for the rest of your life."

"All the better to break it, then." Kenjaku laughs softly, and decides - for once in his life - to do something stupid for reasons outside his plan. Jin makes a confused look as he feels something almost constricting him, but then Kenjaku plants his mouth on Jin's and seals that silent vow with a kiss. The feeling is gone as soon as it came. "But…you have my word, Itadori Jin."

WRITING THIS WAS WOWZERS MAN. 😬Also, "watching over" isn't necessarily the same as "taking care of". But, anyways, if you like my work, consider donating! Edit: WTF WHY DOES THIS HAVE 75 NOTES??? NOBODY LOOK AT THIS WHAT

#jjk fanfic #jujutsu kaisen fanfic #jin itadori #itadori jin #jujutsu kaisen kenjaku #jjk kenjaku #kenjaku #kenjaku jjk #kenjaku smut #kenjin #kenny cursing in ancient japanese is so canon #nobody look at me JESUS CHRIST #WHAT DID I WRITE???

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vala-dreams · 1 year

Text

Daniel Masters AU

So this is brought to you by a fever dream at 6 in the morning. In this au, one Vlad Plasmius partakes in the noble and completely not illegal act of cradle robbing. And by cradle robbing I mean kidnapping toddler Danny because he is a batty old ghost with a family obsession and no morals. (I've decided to change his obsession from maddie to family. No I don't take criticism)

Vlad kidnaps Danny with the intention of turning him into a halfa too.......the only problem is that the portal he's trying to make isn't functional. yet. So in the meanwhile he's gotta juggle making the portal and taking care of Danny in his Wisconsin manor.

This leads to many shenanigans, sleepless and tired Vlad who has no idea how to take care of children + one baby Danny = c h a o s

A year passes by and finally, the portal is up and working and the big moment finally comes. Vlad places Danny as gently as he can, into the portal and turns it on.

Except he doesn't.

He can't

Because all he can see as his index finger hovers over the button are cold linoleum tiles of a hospital. Harsh florescence of lights overhead. Faces of people he doesn't know, covered by surgical masks. All he can hear are the squeaking of stretcher wheels, the beeping of monitors, muffled voices he cannot understand.

All he can feel is fire.

....

The next thing he knows, little Daniel is in his arms again.

His feet are lead, unmoving. His arms are steel, wrapped securely around Daniel's still slumbering form. And that's how they stay all afternoon, in front of the empty portal.

Thats fine. In the end, he cannot do it. That's fine. Daniel doesn't have to be a halfa to be his son. Little badger was his the moment he was born. Jack would never be a factor. Maddie would never be a factor. They wouldn't even be in the equation.

(And isn't that exactly what they deserve? They left him. They left him to burn and they never looked back they laughed as fire licked at his heels they left him they left him they lef-)

-------------------------------------------------

They never figured out what happened to their Danny. Years and years of missing posters and sleepless nights and tears and research– it was like he never existed.

The only clue to what might've happened to their boy was a single splatter of ectoplasm on the floor

They would find their son. Or they would die trying.

-------------------------------------------------

One fine sunday night, one Daniel Masters stumbles into a secret basement in his house.

........................................................................................................................................................

There's gonna be updates on this cayse I'm sleep deprived rn and it's not as well written as I wish it could be.

This started out as crack and kinda got serious and I'd like ro establish that Vlad isn't going to be a "good" character. He is narcissistic, self serving, controlling and deliberately keeps things from Danny. He basically just ignores the fact that he stole Danny and tries to convince himself that Danny is his. His ghostly nature only makes it worse.

However, he does genuinely love Danny. Not when he first kidnapped him, at that time he only cared about hurting jack and maddie and fulfilling his family obsession. But over the course of the year he spends with Danny, he starts to care for him. Their relationship will eventually be fixed. It'll probably never be okay but Vlad will do anything it takes for him to not hurt Danny anymore. He will find a way to be better. And even if no amount of apologies will make up for what he did, he will still apologize.

The Fentons aren't going to be good either. They have very fixed views on ghosts and it's only increased due to the cradle robbing. They are even more ruthless and cold. They throw themselves into their research even more. Danny is absolutely terrified of them. And they're completely convinced that Danny stole their kid. (Will elaborate later) But they too will learn eventually.

Jazz grows up with her parents constantly working on their ghost research and projects, and she doesn't really believe in it. She grows up with the faint memory of a brother she doesn't know. And even though he parents love her, she wishes that they could let go.

Sam and Tucker will be explored in later posts

@little-pondhead I did a thing

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miinatozakiii · 9 months

Text

light

son chaeyoung x fem!reader ; fluff

summary: your best friend never fails to make you feel better, seems like she's more than just a best "friend" now.

wc: 1k

♫⋆｡♪ ₊˚♬ : light by wave to earth

a/n: for @needyforchaeyoung since they're always so sweet in my asks, comments, and reblogs :-]

“bad day?” chaeyoung questions. seems like it was from the way your shoulders dropped down, and the evident frown on your face.

without responding, you invite yourself into your best friends room, laying down on the ground. chaeyoung feels bad but she can’t help but snicker, she walks over to sit down next to you.

chaeyoung runs a hand through your hair and smiles at you.

“you wanna talk about it?” and it seems like you don't from the way you sit there silently for a moment. chaeyoung's gaze softens on you.

“can you play something for me?” you mumble softly. your best friend hums and reaches over for the navy-blue guitar next to her nightstand, the one you had gotten her when you were first years.

you remember the smile on chaeyoung's face that day, how she hugged you and kissed your cheek–it's what made you realize that you might like girls–and that you might've had a crush on chaeyoung.

after a year that "might've" turned into a "definitely."

chaeyoung slithers her hand up the guitar and starts to turn at the knobs that tune it, strumming an open chord before tweaking the pegs again. you sit up and lean against chaeyoung's shoulder, watching her pluck at the strings, then play a tune she knows you adore.

it's a slow, small tune, something from a song she had introduced to you. your best friend's music taste was something that was so unique, you even made fun of her for some of the tracks that would play on shuffle. you reminisce a bit.

"what the hell is playing?" you asked, a laugh slipping from your lips as the strangest melody that seemed like a fever dream put into instrumentals had filled the room. chaeyoung just pushed you, and you fell onto the bed dramatically as you laughed.

"what do you mean what the hell is playing? it's nice!" chaeyoung says, you watch as her face turns pink. she rolls her eyes and lays down on the bed next to you, and you two turn at the same time to make eye contact, laughing immediately.

your eyes drill into chaeyoungs with a warm fond feeling, chaeyoung is almost flustered, but the music really ruins how soft the moment is. her hand reaches for her pocket and she blindly double taps something that changes the song playing on her speaker, it's slower and warmer–you like it.

the soft instrumentals light up the room, and it's such a mesmerizing sound, and the lyrics made your heart skip a beat.

you, always wanted to see the moonlight,

and i, i just wanted to see your smile.

the voice of the vocalist was so soft and light, his tone was lovely.

"chaeng," you ask, and your best friend looks at you with a new feeling in her eyes, pupils dilated a bit. it takes a moment for her to respond as she gazes at you, but you don't even notice.

"what is it?"

"this song is good, i like it."

"yeah." chaeyoung manages to mutter, i think i'm starting to like you too, she thinks.

the two of you seem to reminisce at the same time about the same memory, though you can't read each others minds.

you relax into the crook of her neck a bit more, and chaeyoung's heart starts to race a bit. she looks over at how you stare at her short, bony fingers as they pluck and strum the comforting tune; you seem so content, it makes chaeyoung smile.

"my dad is being annoying again." you say suddenly. "we had an argument."

"oh," chaeyoung responds, "i'm sorry to hear." she adds, not saying anything more because she can tell that she doesn't have too just from the tone of your voice.

"i feel better now that i'm with you, chaeng."

chaeyoung's stomach does a somersault.

"that's good," she says, her voice so quiet that if it hadn't been so silent no one could've heard her.

it's silent for a moment–well, other than the low hum from her guitar–but it's comforting and you're so content. there's no place you'd rather be right now or ever other than by chaeyoung.

"thank you," you start, "for being here."

"i'm just a house away." she murmurs, "you're always welcome."

"god chaeyoung, i love you so much–you don't even know."

it takes you and chaeyoung by surprise by how genuine it sounds. chaeyoung turns to face you and you're already staring at her, her grip on the guitar loosens from how dangerously close you are.

the way you look into her eyes has her feeling weak. your eyes are so desperate, it's like they're begging for chaeyoung to do something about the stupid space in between your lips. your eyes are so alluring, they're like a hook with some worm on it and chaeyoung is the fish that's about to get reeled in. her eyes are stuck on yours, and she wants to dart them away from your face because she's terrified of what her heart wants her to do.

seems like her heart took over for a bit, seems like her brain gave up in that moment.

your lips come into contact and the only thing you can think about is how soft chaeyoung's lips feel on yours. her lips and yours fit like puzzle pieces; fireworks seem to go off when you kiss back, shoulders relaxing.

the kiss is so quick, but so long at the same time. the moment seems to have lasted for ever and when you two pull away your faces are so red it immediately kills all the tension and nervousness that had been present seconds ago.

you two laugh, hearts racing and cheeks burning.

"can we do that again?" chaeyoung asks quietly, pushing her guitar away.

"please." you breathe out, then you immediately pull her closer, arms around her neck. it feels like every problem that had been present was solved just from the feeling of her lips on yours.

"i've been wanting to do that for a while," chaeyoung says in between kisses, and she's smiling so hard she doesn't know how she's able to kiss you back.

"me too." you giggle against her lips, "i feel much better."

#twice x reader #kpop x reader #twice imagines #chaeyoung x reader #son chaeyoung #twice chaeyoung #twice fluff

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lilacthebooklover · 3 months

Text

part of the reason why i find nightmare time episodes so interesting is because in half of them, i'm not even sure who the writers want me to root for.

take honey queen, for example. linda's the focus of it and we see her emotions, motivations & family, so it's expected that she would be the "hero" of the episode. but she isn't. the episode consists of her doing horrible things to zoey, zoey doing horrible things to her, and it gradually escalating to the point of kidnapping and murder. it's due to linda that zoey dies. and she gets what she wants, what the whole episode has been about her vying to achieve, but we as viewers don't feel satisfied, because how can all that's happened possibly be worth such a tiny, temporary, meaningless title? linda's father seems to be proud of her, which is what she's been hoping to gain and added an extra element of sympathy for her character. but in the end, he sacrifices her to an eldritch being because she "the hungriest". honey queen is tragic and comedic and messed up and chaotic and there are The Horrors and nobody is distinctly good.

and that stays the same in every nightmare time episode. so many of these characters wouldn't care a bit if they killed someone, as long as they were able to survive. but that's just hatchetfield. a strange community of selfish people with no clear morals, because that's all they know and that's all they can be if they want to survive. they have a magic child fighting ring, they have evil weed birds, they have clones in the technical department, they have an asexual axe murderer in the woods, they have a wealthy doting mother who's been alive for centuries, they have a 1986 foxbody mustang possessed by a dead psychiatrist, so on and so forth.

the whole hatchetfield universe is so surreal: this is a place where people go missing every day, where gruesome murders are dismissed unless it threatens their football team losing to the clivesdale chemists, where a character can do the most horrendous things or seem absolutely irredeemable, only for the narrative to put them through so much that the audience ends up loving them.

each character is so complex and unique (i could write an essay about literally any of them if i tried to- and yet that includes peanuts the hatchetfield pocket squirrel). none of them are meant to be all good, and none of them are meant to be all bad. they're realistic to their environment and screwed over by their universe and they all have their own lives to focus on.

the vast majority of the antagonistic characters are very beloved in this fandom, because this is hatchetfield, where the most horrifying things are normalised in-universe, so they begin to be for us, too. we don't think it's as awful when we see zoey's body hanging from the rafters, or watch boy jeri be killed by his own son, or see eldritch beings hunt people down, since that's all seen as far more normal in this world. besides that, people like to have flawed characters, it's good to have little fictional freaks committing atrocities since it means the episodes are completely unpredictable.

every volume of nightmare time is a rollercoaster or a fever dream, because they'll take the most unexpected characters and the most random concepts ever and throw them into a completely absurd plot. so many modern pieces of media follow a specific genre or structure, but the hatchetfield universe does whatever the hell it wants, and it's so investing to see. there aren't any limits here, and each episode is a separate timeline, so the creators can go wild and do literally anything with this town. it's like a treasured collection of cracky aus that have been written and performed astonishingly beautifully.

anyway, this is your sign to go check out nightmare time and @blinkysrewatchparty! it will be entirely worth it, i promise <3

#nightmare time propaganda #LOOK IT'S SO UNHINGED I NEED MORE PEOPLE TO RAMBLE ABOUT IT WITH ME #nightmare time #nightmare time 2 #exposing myself #i still have over half of the episodes to watch #i've seen lots of snippets from tumblr of what happens in each #(e.g. tom makes love to a car #ted & tinky's whole thing #paul 23 and emdroid)#but the only ones i've watched to completion are #honey queen #abstinence camp #daddy nmt #and #hey melissa #they were all phenomenal though & i'm very much looking forward to finding time to watch the rest of the series!#watcher world seems especially up my alley :)#nightmare time starkid #starkid #starkid productions #hatchetfield universe #hrhhghhff it's so insane <3 #linda monroe #zoey chambers #team starkid #hatchetfield #hatchetverse #i'm pretty sure the only 2 characters the fandom genuinely despises are pamela & melissa #the rest are our blorbos <33

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pilferingapples · 3 months

Text

started re-watching LM 2K with some friends who also make terrible life choices

went in honestly thinking , Hey! maybe I am forgetting things! Maybe it's not as bad as I remember it being!

well 1.5 hours into this 8 hour fever dream and I can say. I was forgetting things all right! quite a lot of things! but whoo boy I owe Past Me an apology, this is bad and every new Thing I Had Blocked Out Of My Mind makes it worse

Thoughts, While I Have Them:

why does it start literally on fire

I'll give John Malkovert this: he does seem disturbingly horny for the idea of inherent traits and inborn social hierarchy. Beeblevert didn't really seem to know what to do with his phrenology displays; Malkovert whispers to them lovingly at night and probably licks them. This guy feels about eugenics like Grantaire feels about Enjolras. This guy is messed up.

( ...filmmakers know that when they've got someone with lots of human skull measurements and phrenology and Types of Human displays, they're saying that character is into eugenics, right? I'm not saying it's a bad move, it can be very accurate and telling ,but like. They get what that's doing there, right? RIGHT???)

The dialogue...is bad.... it's so bad...

"yellow is the color of happiness"

this timeline is a shambles. Fantine doesn't have Cosette until after Tholomyes is gone, and then apparently holds out for YEARS in Paris, since Cosette is if anything a little older than her book age when Fantine meets the Ts; meanwhile Valjean doesn't get out of prison until AFTER Fantine has moved to M-sur-M. Which of course means there's no factory for her to work at!

...but then after Valjean (very intentionally) steals from Petit Gervais, we cut to Fantine working in the factory. The Nettle Cloth factory . Which means Fantine was doing SOMETHING before Valjean showed up to Disrupt the industry with his Tech Breakthrough but like. What. If she was doing something else then why doesn't she go do that some more after she's fired? Because she very much doesn't, she goes right to attempting sex work...badly

like trying it with Javert first Badly

and then he threatens to arrest her but doesn't?? who is this man, what kind of Javert is he ffs . Letting a Poor go unarrested? Seriously this doesn't even scan with his characterization in this series

Instead he starts stalking Fantine and giving her Helpful Hints. He comes in right after she has a client?? and tells her to go to the circus??

She goes and finds the dentist and tries to get him to pull TEN of her teeth bc for no reason he's giving 4 francs a tooth instead of 20 for the fronts. The dentist is the only character in this show with sense and says NO THAT'S TOO MANY TEETH, and he just cuts her hair instead And listen we've got another Fantine with Mostly Straight Brown Hair , it's not even that long, and I'm sorry but there's NO WAY that's worth more than teeth, why do adaptations keep doing this

also why do they keep making Fantine so passive, so dependent on people telling her what to do? She makes bad choices sometimes--often even!-- but she Makes Decisions and fast, she goes all in without any pushing, that is a defining part of Fantine's character! but everything she does here gotta be because someone told her she Should

another one where Javert inexplicably goes to M sur M to see Cosette. Why? What possible reason for this?? he almost seems like he has a weird crush on Fantine rather than JVJ but that's. That's incoherent, for this character. even in this series!!

I've written so much and haven't even gotten to Valjean officiating a wedding for, apparently, a famous former sex worker in the town ? this is mentioned once and I don't think it'll ever be relevant again

1.5 hours in, Points For: a very cute little donkey, Petit Gervais having his Marmot, some very nice architecture, Baptistine existing

Unpoints for: everyone's bafflingly inconsistent characterization, the absolute mess of a timeline, Myriel still living in the palace but letting homeless people sleep on the floor?? , lots of very pointless Walking Around Time , Thenardier Sex , why do directors think I want to see them get it on, Please Stop

#LM 2K #LM 2000 #no analysis just reaction

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deathonthe · 2 months

Text

ferrari parked outside | 1633

pairing: charles/max

rating: explicit

word count: ~5000

tags: established relationship, slightly non-linear narrative, under-negotiated kink, somnophilia, riding

summary:

Max is an embarrassing amount of gin and tonics into the night when Lando shouts very loudly into his ear. “Does Charles pay for everything for you?” “What?” Max shouts back. “I mean like– Seems like he’s always paying for you, mate,” Lando says. Holds both hands up in the air and dubiously glances to the side. “Not that I’m judging or anything.” “He doesn’t pay for everything,” Max lamely insists.

director's cut:

the following are my notes and thoughts during the writing of this fic. they should in no way influence the way you've interpreted it! but feel free to read it to gain some extra insight into my pea-sized brain

ok. one thing u should know about me is that i will constantly push the max verstappen babygirl agenda no matter what. sugar baby max is pretty adjacent to that

i spent an awful about of time deciding the opening scene, between first scene (B) and the following directly after (A), idk how many times i swapped the two. i was afraid if i started off with B, it would kinda give a tacky record scratch effect when u reach A. but starting with A made the progression into B seem unnatural and too abrupt so. in the end i went with B, then A because the fic gradually loses its seriousness and matches the kinda light humour it progresses into

the line "I want chocolates and those bread rolls they bake fresh." took me a god awful amount of time to write. at first i wanted max to specify a monte carlo cafe to make it seem more genuine but all the reviews for cafes in monaco were in french! which i suppose i should've expected. in the end i went with that even though i'm not completely happy with it

another thing u should know about it is that i care about character voice and characterisation above all else. i try my best to emulate how these people sound. i always sift through so much interview material while writing a fic to try and get the drivers' voice tones and linguistic quirks and body language as accurately and naturally as possible. and too be honest, i don't think i did that very well in this fic. i think i could have imitated it better

a little bit of french, of course. they live in monaco, charles speaks french. max doesn't speak enough, so not quite as much french as other fics (for example, for esteban and lance, i would generally write about half of their dialogue in french if they were only speaking to each other in a scene. it feels more authentic as esteban and lance communicate in french when they are talking to each other in real life)

i designated charles three terms of endearment: baby, cheri and mon cher

nothing made me happier than when it became canon that max calls charles 'charlie' in real life, because i was gonna scrap it from the fic because i thought it sounded ooc

to be clear, i never intended to give charles a daddy kink in this fic. you can assume he doesn't have one. neither does max

the running joke is that this is actually a proposal fic and not a sugar baby one

in the lando scene, when max cuts him off before he can finish his sentence, lando is about to say: "and charles also paid for martjin to dj at this red bull party for u." i wasn't sure if the implication was very strong, though

in actuality, max cuts off lando with a "fuck off" and lando says later "why the fuck would i be, charles isn't my fucking boyfriend" but i thought that was too many fucks and ended up taking all but one of them out

i know charles doesn't drive a red laferrari

the other running joke in this fic is obviously charles is not ever watching the whale documentary seriously. he was instead always thinking or focused on something else in his head

the ice cream scene came to me in a fever dream

charles can't actually procure the cheesecake factory, he's about $125 million in net worth. the cheesecake factory is over $1 billion

i am not a fan (i.e., i am actually just a hater) of when max is depicted like an aggressive, overly possessive, hyper-masculine suave, dom caricature from an e l james erotica novel and when charles is just delegated the softer, more feminine counterpart automatically. so. u see me subverting that expectation a lot

i had a lot of fun writing victoria's part where she cooks both charles and max within 100 words

did you know this fic is exactly 14 pages on google docs? i thought that was pretty cool

if i had to sum up this fic in three words: chekov's schrodinger's proposal

thanks for staying 'til the end!

#max verstappen #charles leclerc #lestappen #mv1 #mv33 #cl16 #3316 #1633 #f1 fanfic #i call it a director's cut but really it's just me yapping #my fic #f1 #formula one #formula 1

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juletheghoul · 2 years

Text

The Date

AN: It's wild to me, that whenever I have a writers block - the cure is inevitably to write a pussy-drunk Francisco Morales. This is a sequel to The Party, couldn't leave these two without another meeting. I'm trying to reintegrate myself onto tumblr and to continue to work on my many projects - quick thank you to my girl @wheresarizona for beta-ing this fever dream and for generally being supportive and amazing. Hope you enjoy xox.

Pairing; Frankie Morales x f!reader

Warnings; piv sex (wrap it up), swearing, dirty talk, Frankie eats pussy like the champion he is, let me know if I missed anything.

Word count; 2k

reblogs are appreciated

Masterlist

----

It had been months since your interlude at the party Maureen had dragged you to, months since you’d let the gorgeous, married man fuck you in the back of his truck, and if you were honest with yourself - you never actually thought he’d follow through and call you. But he did.

He’d called.

It had happened a few months later, after a particularly rough day, and had you not brought your phone into the bathroom with you while you ran your bath, you might have missed it. It rang loudly as you shut off the water, your annoyed sigh melding with the sweet-smelling steam in the air at the thought that your overeager coworker might be calling you after hours.

The sigh turned into a gasp at the flash of his name across your screen, and that roller coaster feeling in your gut froze you in place; it almost made you miss the call.

“Hello?” Your voice echoed through the small room, accompanied by the steady drip of water into the warm bath.

“Hey-” His voice sent a shiver down your spine, the sound of it in your ear bringing your thoughts back to his truck with crystalline clarity.

“Hi-” You repeated the greeting, now with a smile on your face. “I’ll be honest - I never actually thought you’d call.” Your hand toyed with the towel on the counter.

“I didn’t actually think you’d answer.” He laughed, the sound rich and warm and so welcome. “I thought you might have forgotten about me, figured you’d deleted my number.”

“Does this call mean that you’re single?” The phone was cradled between your shoulder and your ear in order to begin disrobing - the bath water wouldn’t stay hot for long.

“Yes, finalized everything a couple of weeks ago.” You could hear keys jingling, and your thoughts brought you back to the truck again, the steam on the windows and the bruise you’d worn on your thigh for days. “Think you’d maybe want to grab dinner with me or something?” His tone suggested that those same memories followed him as well, and you couldn’t help but laugh.

“Yes, or something.” He laughed now, too, “How about Friday?” You shucked off your sweats as you spoke, eager to submerge yourself into an epsom salt oasis.

“Definitely works for me. Send me your address, and I’ll pick you up. Can’t wait to see you again. Have a great night.” And with that, the day suddenly didn’t seem so bad.

It had been a long time since he’d gone out on a first date, a long time since he’d been excited about the prospect of one, but here he was - nervously rubbing at his denim-clad thighs as he walked up to her front door. He’d been nervous about the whole thing as he knocked softly, worrying briefly that maybe he’d misunderstood the meaning of the outing. Maybe she hadn’t been flirting with him over the phone - maybe she didn’t want to date a recently divorced man.

It all went out the window when she opened the door, her pupils dilating that same way as their first encounter, her pretty lips stretched into a gorgeous smile.

“You’re on time.” She breathed it out, moving aside for him to come in, and he followed.

“I was eager, you look amazing -” He frowned suddenly, annoyed with himself. “I should have gotten you flowers-” He tapped at his pockets as though he might tap them into existence.

“Oh-” she laughed, the sound tinkling in his ears, “don’t worry about that I wasn’t expecting any.” She waved away his concern, the movement of her dress drawing his eye.

“I still should have, I’ll make it up on the second date.” The same tinkling as she checked a mirror hanging in her foyer.

“Haven’t even left for our first date and already planning the second?” She smiled at him shyly, the air between them charged.

“Oh yes, I’m not done with you yet.” He looked her up and down, bold and unashamed.

–

He looked just as handsome as you remembered; tall and strong with those lovely brown eyes and that gorgeous dimple. His hair had grown out a bit, curling over the tops of his ears and your fingers itched to reach out and thread through them.

You never made it to the restaurant, you never even made it to your bed.

His tongue was insistent, tasting every inch of your mouth as he devoured you while his hands held you tightly against him. First at your shoulders, slipping between the straps of your dress and your heated skin to expose every inch he could. Then to your waist, pulling you close to his body, solid muscle tense under your hands.

They moved further down, bunching up the bottom of your dress so he could reach under and grab greedy handfuls of your ass, feeding a groan directly into your mouth once he made contact. His kiss moved to your neck, open-mouthed at your pulse point.

“Lay back.” He pulled your earlobe between his teeth softly, sending a shiver down your spine and making you throb. He guided you to your sofa, the hungry look on his face driving a hot spike of arousal into your belly. He pooled the dress up, curling his fingers around the waistband of your panties, and you lifted your hips to help him with a smile. “Been thinking about this since the truck.” He licked his lips as he pushed your thighs up and apart, his gaze making you drip.

He dove in like a man lost in the desert, dove in like you were a freshwater spring, groaning into your skin with his nose pressed against your mound in his need to taste every inch of your pert little clit. The itch to run your fingers through his curls was sated with a pant, the soft strands slipping through your fingers as your nails scratched reverently at his scalp in the soft glow of your quiet living room.

He held your thighs apart with heavy hands, keeping you spread open and pulsing for his mouth, his tongue dipping down to swirl deliciously around the rim of your opening before slipping it in as deep as he could. Desperate, it seemed to taste the very heart of you. He moaned into it, shameless in his enjoyment, before pulling away to adjust himself on the couch. Strings of your arousal tying him to you for a brief moment, the image of which would be burned into your memory to treasure forever.

“God, baby, you taste so fucking good.” He bit at the meat of your thigh, kissing the lips of your sex as though it were your mouth. It was so fucking erotic, his pussy-drunk expression, hypnotized and starving for it.

“Don’t tease me, Frankie-“ He dove back in with gusto, wide licks to your clit, and it was almost unfair how quickly he pushed you towards the edge, your stomach clenching the closer you got to nirvana. “Frankie baby, oh god, I’m gonna come-“ his hand moved quickly, and with two thick fingers, he speared into your aching heat. His tongue kept up that perfect rhythm, and after a handful of petting strokes from his fingers - euphoria exploded, radiating out through your veins.

He groaned to feel you clench around his fingers, his tongue never faltering, the breadth of his shoulders keeping your legs open to his assault.

He was softly kissing your mound when your soul re-entered your body, worshiping at the mouth of your sex.

“Come up here.” You grabbed at the collar of his shirt, eager to feel him inside again, and for a moment, he resisted.

“I wanna keep eating your pussy.” He palmed your cunt for a moment before he let you pull him toward you. “Can I?” He slotted his hips between yours on your narrow couch, his face shiny with your slick.

“As amazing as that sounds, I want you to fuck me, need you to stretch me open with your big dick like you did before.” You undid his shirt as you kissed him, licking into his mouth to taste yourself.

“Fuck,” he groaned, his hands hurriedly undoing his pants to pull his cock out, a loud sigh leaving your lips at the sight of him blushing red and sticky with precome. “Spread open for me, gorgeous.” He leaned back for a moment, his cock grasped in his hand - brow furrowed as he fed it into you achingly slow.

Sweat beaded in your hairline, it coated his chest where you managed to get his shirt open - your gaze moving from the hollow of his throat down to where you were joined - mesmerized at the image of him coating himself in you with every thrust.

It felt too good to speak - neither of you were able to articulate a word, the only sounds were sharp breaths and pants, the wet plunge of him into your hungry little cunt. He added more force, and it pulled an involuntary moan from somewhere in your throat.

“I’m close, your tight little pussy is going to make me come.” He sped up a little, and it was much too soon.

“Wait - wait, baby, not yet.” You wrapped your legs around him, holding him tight to you, and he stopped for a moment - his eyes almost unfocused with lust. “Don’t come yet, I want you to fuck me longer.” You kissed his neck, holding him still, and he pressed his forehead to yours, a gorgeous sigh rewarding your words.

“Fuck, you’re going to kill me, baby - don’t move - I’m so fucking close.” He closed his eyes, holding himself stock still, and you had to fight the urge not to clench around him. Instead, you slid your hands under his open shirt to caress the skin of his back, careful not to jostle him. He took a few steadying breaths before he opened his eyes to look at you, a soft smile on his face. “I’m really glad I called.” He placed kisses around your collarbones like a necklace, pulling your dress down along with the cups of your bra.

“I’m really glad you did too - oh - that feels really good, Frankie.” Your fingers slid up to hold onto his curls as he took one nipple into his mouth, then the other. His mouth was just as relentless with the sensitive buds as it was between your legs - pulling wave after wave of slick to drip out around him, and before long, he was rocking in and out again.

“I can’t hold still, you feel too good.” He breathed the words into your chest, kissing a path up from your breast to your lips, and then his tongue was in your mouth; he was stealing the breath right out of your lungs.

His shallow rocking soon became a heavy thrust, his hips pistoning harder than before, and with every press, your mind blanks. Cock-dumb. Euphoria. Heaven.

He reached for your hand blindly, and with what could only be described as desperation, he stuck your fingers into his mouth, moistening them before guiding them down to your clit. There weren’t any words needed, there weren’t any words left in your brain or in your mouth, and it was only a few practised swirls before you were clenching around him with a pained gasp.

“Fuck-“ his voice was guttural, “There it is, fuck baby, I’m gonna come, can I come inside you? Please?” His hips stuttered, and your cunt fluttered from the aftershocks of your orgasm, fluttered at the thought of being filled, and now he was almost whimpering in your ear, and when you breathed out yes Frankie, inside, he seized.

His hand on your hip squeezed as he ground his come deep inside, replacing that bruise from the first time, and you couldn’t help but smile at the thought of feeling it tomorrow.

He breathed deep, face buried in the crook of your neck, and for a moment, there was only peaceful shared breath.

“I haven’t come like that in years.” He was shaky when he pulled up a bit to look at you, his flushed smile almost nervous.

“Me either.” You smiled back, pushing his sweat-damp hair away from his face before pulling him in for a kiss. “Let’s make it a goal.” He laughed, nerves dissipating one moment at a time.

“I would be happy to.”

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