#like winter months must have been absolute hell
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Winter
#art#digital art#my art#fanart#fe3h#fire emblem 3 houses#fire emblem#fire emblem three houses#fire emblem fanart#dimitri alexandre blaiddyd#feh dimitri#fe3h dimitri#dimitri fire emblem#blue lions#azure moon#fuck you artblock#thinking about what dimitri was doong during the t years makes me really sad#like we seriously don’t talk about heo thsi man was completely on his own wandering arounf fodlan with like no food or shelter#like winter months must have been absolute hell
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SNOW ANGEL
i'll angel in the snow until i'm worthy ❄️
🌨️ but if it kills me i tried
if it kills me ⛸️
pairing: ex!ellie x reader
synopsis: ellie shows up at your door in the dead of winter, years after your break up.
warnings: su!cide attempt, alluding to alcohol addiction, no comfort and no happy ending.
authors note: this is short! i’m on my period rn and i am honestly so devastated for absolutely no reason so i decided to write about it. loosely (completely) based on my very sad experience with an ex. if any of you beautiful people need someone to talk to i am always here. i’m always an option.
you’re everywhere. at the bottom of the bottle, at the bottom of the glass. ellie couldn’t shake you. not even in the winter under the warmth of other girls. that’s why she was knocking at your door tonight. for the first time in months.
well not really. she’s always almost about to knock. almost did last week until she heard you laughing with friends. almost two weeks ago until she heard your drunkenly stumbling around, kissing some girl. always almost, almost always.
but tonight she couldn’t help herself. knuckles burning from the cold outside, she knocks three times. it takes you ten seconds to anwser. she counted while drawing shapes in the snow on your porch railing.
“ellie?” you barely breathe. too much floods your mind at once. a kiss on your neck, flowers on the first date, her smile. her laugh, god you hadn’t heard that in forever.
“come in, you must be freezing.”
do you offer her soup or tea? or maybe the warmth of your heart? the remains of your love laying flat on your bathroom floor? that night, the knife. the pills, the whiskey.
who tries to kill themself with their mother’s switchblade?
“i’ll take the tea thank you.” she blows into her cupped palms, shivering. she looks awful but not drunk. just battling a thought. probably the one telling her to get the hell out of there.
“how’ve you been?” you ask. you’re trying to be polite but it’s fucked to act like you don’t have eyes. even after all these years, she’s still torn. guilt ripping at her from the inside.
“i’ve been pretty good, got a job fixing cars. taking some classes downtown.” she shrugs, looking down at her feet anxiously. she leans onto her left leg, twisting the right in the air slightly.
you sigh. something close to but not quite relief washing over your body. at least she’s busy? you can’t look at her. everytime you see her face you want to break into a slew of tears. hold her, hit her, blame her, apologize. why’d you invite her in again?
“i don’t think i ever said um…” she starts. the tea is screaming on the stovetop. “wait, hold that thought.” you flash a small smile and rush to grab it. she wishes you wouldn’t have. would she have the courage to finish what she was saying when you came back?
the anwser is no. you returned to an empty space in your front entrance. cold air flush from the door. all you want to do is throw the cup at the wall and watch it break into a million pieces. maybe it’ll help the anger. maybe it will mend the tears in your heart. maybe it’ll ease your own guilt, your own ache.
you didn’t understand. she was so happy that week before. you were going to a dinosaur exhibit for her birthday that friday. she was visiting joel’s grave everyday. she was drawing so many pictures of you and the house. you saw her ring shopping online.
what could you have done? how could you have known? could you have known?
#ellie williams x reader#ellie williams#ellie williams x you#ellie williams x y/n#ellie williams imagine#ellie williams x female reader#ellie williams drabble#ellie williams tlou#ellie williams au#modern au#tlou au#angst with a sad ending#ellie the last of us#ellie x fem reader#wlw fanfic#lesbian#tlou fanfiction#abbysvictim#beforeimdeceased#・❥・ bun’s sweet ellie
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waaaaoug I am back in your inbox w tiefling idea
So idk if it canonically snows or gets cold in elturel/the gate but I’m gonna pretend it does and ask if you think they have any cute traditions for the winter months?
(If you wanna involve Christmas/the holidays that’s cool but ik not everyone celebrates and half the planet doesn’t even get cold in December lmao)
so!!! in d&d lore, baldur's gate would probably celebrate a winter holiday during midwinter which is the 5 days between the months of hammer and alturiak. for the most part there isn't like a constant holiday during this time but a lot of religions have something going on. info from here.
on that note, i just wrote based off of the idea that the city spends the 5 nights celebrating and basically people of all religions do their own thing with how they celebrate. hopefully that makes sense!
i had a lot of fun with this!!! hope you like it and ty!! <3
Dammon, Rolan, & Zevlor - Holiday Traditions
How the tiefling boys celebrate the winter holidays
Dammon:
Dammon loves the Midwinter festivities and has fond memories of attending them with his family back in Elturel. He hasn’t really gotten to enjoy them properly since he was young, with work and what not keeping him busy – as well as the whole descending into the hells thing.
When he sets up in Baldur’s Gate, he makes a promise to himself that he is going to set aside time to enjoy the celebrations. After everything he’s been through, he’s learned to take time to smell the roses, to really enjoy life. The work will still be there in the morning.
He decorates the outside of the forge with a couple decorations. Nothing fancy, and certainly nothing so in the way that it could cause an accident – I mean he is walking around with molten metal every day. Can’t exactly have paper frill and tinsel everywhere unless he wants to start a fire.
Even though it’s cold out, he still wears his normal ensemble, except now with a slightly thicker scarf. It’s homemade and has snowflakes on it, given to him by someone very special. His infernal blood runs warmer than most and being around the open fires of the forge make anything heavier unbearable.
Dammon actually loves the weather during this time. Maybe it’s because he thought he would never get to see it again, but he thoroughly enjoys the snow. At night he watches it fall through his bedroom window and during the day he’s even been known to stop and throw an odd snowball at one of the tiefling kids should they run through his neck of the city.
As the celebrations start throughout Baldur’s Gate he’ll wander around the streets, watching as different religious groups do their own traditions. But he never really sticks to one spot. For him, part of the allure of this time of year is how beautifully diverse the city becomes. He’s not religious himself so it’s more fun to take in the sights than to join in.
But at the end of each night, he’ll make his way to the closest tavern to enjoy a spiced ale. He’ll sit and listen to the sound of the rowdy patrons singing their motley assortment of Midwinter songs until his drink is gone. Then he’ll head home appreciating the silence of the snowfall.
Rolan:
Bah humbug. That is all.
But in all seriousness, Rolan hates the cold weather. Snow and ice and slush make his warm skin crawl. He avoids going outside as much as possible, using the portals between the tower and Sorcerous Sundries more often than not. On the odd days when he absolutely must go outside, he is bundled up from horns to tail. And he complains the entire time.
Cal and Lia are a bit better than Rolan, but not by much. This is the one thing the siblings all agree on: fuck the cold.
As for Midwinter celebrations, he doesn’t particularly participate in anything himself. Back in Elturel, this time of year was harder for him. The colder weather meant working harder to ensure the family stayed warm and taking care of everyone when they got sick. So most years they didn’t do anything special to celebrate.
The first Midwinter they spend in Baldur’s Gate, though, he puts on a show. Sorcerous Sundries is decorated from top to bottom with festive décor and the tower lights up at night with an enchantment that makes it seem like the stars hand from the observation deck.
Each night of Midwinter, he ends the evening with a show from atop the tower using both magical lights and fireworks to light up the sky. It can be seen from the entire city, even the docks of the lower district.
In subsequent years, he doesn’t go as crazy with the decorating as he did that first year, but everyone in the Gate has come to expect the light shows. Long after Rolan is gone, the new owners of Ramazith’s Tower take on the responsibility of putting on the display – it's become that important to the Baldurian people.
When asked why he went so wild that year with the decorations he gives some flimsy excuse. He was trying to stake a claim as the new master wizard in the city, or he wanted people to see how much grander the city would be without Lorroakan. But those closest to him know the real reason. He wanted to give Lia and Cal their first real Midwinter celebration now that he had the means to.
Zevlor:
Now, Zevlor doesn’t hate the cold, per se, but he could do without it. Even back in Elturel he was not severely fond of the winter weather – if it were up to him, his uniform would include a nice, fluffy scarf and plush mittens instead of steel plates and leather straps.
But he does actually like the snow, in theory. It’s beautiful and it reminds him of change. How fall turns to winter and then back to spring once more. Then it touches his infernally hot skin and remembers why he keeps the barrack’s fire going 24/7 this time of year.
Back in Elturel, he used to love the Midwinter holiday. As a commander in the Hellriders, he was often asked to attend celebrations on behalf of the organization, making appearances to appease the different religious groups in the city. He loved going from celebration to celebration and seeing the joy it brought people.
He spent a lot of time doing charity work too, especially because during the five days of Midwinter, there typically was not much to do to protect the city. Helping others was his favorite part of the holiday.
The first year in Baldur’s Gate, he almost misses Midwinter entirely. When he finds himself in the Open Hand Temple those first few months, he can't even conceive of having something to celebrate. So, he does the one thing that brings him peace, helping those around him. He assists the temple priests with setting out food and necessities for those in the city still struggling in wake of the Absolute and offers his meager aid in constructing housing across the city.
Every year he continues to celebrate by helping those he can.
He holds a dinner at the temple every year, a feast for those who cannot afford to feed themselves, so that the people of the Gate can make merry regardless of their religious affiliations. He collects donations for the city’s homeless population and even works with local businesses to gather supplies to hand out to those entering the city for the first time with nothing.
He isn’t being heralded in the city as the commander he once was, but being able to help the people who need him is good too. In fact, it’s even better.
#bg3#bg3 dammon#bg3 rolan#bg3 zevlor#rolan#dammon#zevlor#baldur's gate 3#my writing#requests/suggestions#cakeboxie
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I heard news about a snowstorm in Ukraine that caused several deaths, and I was so worried for you. Are you okay, Morgan? Is your family safe? Are things calming down there? I keep checking for news that announces the end of this war, and it's disheartening to see that it never arrives. I can't imagine what it must be like to live through this. Is there anything we can do for you? Do you need somewhere to take refuge outside the country? Is the money you receive from your job sufficient for you and your family to live comfortably? I always check the updates you post, and it's admirable that these horrible events haven't changed the golden heart you have, you are a wonderful person and you don't deserve any of what is happening, I hate that I can't do anything to stop it this war, but whatever I can do for you I will.
please be safe, please keep fighting.
Another ask: Hey, I hope you're just busy but please give us some sign that you're okay, please. I'm worried
Another ask: Katrin, you are okay??
Another ask: You okay??
Another ask: How are you going?? Is everything already? Please asnwer 😭
----------------------------
Hi! Thank you all, you wonderful anons (and my lovely first anon, I'll respond to your questions further down in this reply). I'm so touched that you've been thinking about me! There was indeed a serious snowstorm that caused some deaths, but I'm fine: honestly, I'm such a hopeless stay-at-home introvert that I usually leave only for short trips to the shop and to feed pigeons & stray cats. So I meet most storms safely tucked in my bed))
It's all right now, though everything is still covered in snow. If there is snow where you are, too, and you see miserable pigeons or other birds around, please feed them if possible! They rely on us entirely during winters. Some grain would be ideal.
I was hoping to make a monthly post, but my tight work schedule + migraines ruined these plans, so I decided to give up on it. Russians haven't attacked my city again yet after that the most massive attack by drones. I'm pretty sure it is coming, though, especially on holidays. They tried to tun our last New Year into hell on purpose by sending missiles during the day, killing people, and then sending drones at night. I worry that this year might be even worse, but I've been teaching myself to live in the present and enjoy peace while I still have it, so I manage to keep my fears at bay.
First anon, thank you so much for your kindness! I have places where I could go and stay beyond Ukraine, but for the next year at the least, I intend to keep holding on because I can't leave without my family (and the bigger half of my family is not allowed to leave legally yet). If Russian attacks get completely unbearable, I might go to Poland to my relatives for a month or two just to unwind and to repair my sanity a bit.
As for the money, I'm doing more or less okay, and people who keep supporting me on Patreon help me to stay afloat. I have some debts, but they are under control - I owe the bank $300, which is 1/3 of my monthly salary, so I'm capable of paying it back little by little. The situation is not ideal, but nothing to worry about.
Like many Ukrainians at the moment, I feel burned out regarding the war. There are many amazing, kind people in this world, and our soldiers are absolute heroes who deserve all respect in the world, but those with power to make decisions like money way too much. It's an unfortunate fact that has been making people all over the world suffer generations after generations. Many US, European, and Chinese companies continue to help Russia manufacture its missiles and other things they use to kill us. The help Ukraine gets is enough to let us survive but not enough to let us win. Those who can make money on it eagerly grab the chance, including some members of our own government. I'd like to be optimistic, but I really don't see a scenario that would end with justice. It's very difficult to accept the fact that terrorists and murderers won't be punished - on the contrary, many of them will continue to live in luxury, unable to imagine what an explosion even sounds like, until the day they die. But like I said before, it is what it is. The world is full of bitter examples like this.
Thank you for being with me and supporting me, reading my stories and sending your asks. I hope to end this month with posting two chapters for my two stories. My second job comes to an end December 15, and hopefully, I'll get a chance to really dive into writing after this!
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✶
introducing my south asian lesbian, the ranger, elora c. bhargava.
👮🏾🌲🛻🇮🇳
@castleaudios
i despise the tumblr’s resolution as much as everyone else and it’s only been a few months being on this app. if you want a higher resolution, be sure to click on the photos. why does it look so much better on mobile fml
this is the mysterious she. as stated in the pictures above, you’ll notice she has a winter and summer uniform. but sunglasses in winter? um, why? elora is autistic (like me) and, thus, when it snows in glenwood, it snows clean pure, blaring white. sun reflecting off snow hurts the living shit out of my eyes with how radiant it is and causes overstimulation. i absolutely hate it, hence why i added the sunglasses.
personal adornments are any item not expressly incorporated in the official uniform. this includes but is not restricted to tattoos, jewelry, fingernail polish, and body piercings(s). individuals choosing to accept a uniform position are mandated to minimize personal adornments. rings and studs associated with facial piercings must not unreasonably distract from the general appearance or professionalism of the uniform. disproportionate numbers, images, large size, dangling, and bright, contrasting colors are prohibited. only gold and silver are accepted and must be coordinated, so i added one little gold nose stud to her look.
elora is swole, SWOLE. she is incredibly athletic and has an undying passion for bouldering. she’s been a boulderer since late sophomore year of high school and has never stopped since. honestly, the palm of her hands are fucked to hell with how many times she’s done it, but at least her grip is stronger (she would say). she gave diane a heart attack during a patrol when she clambered up a tree to retrieve a mom who got stuck in it after she climbed to take a picture for the gram. the coparenting guardians wanted to take their son out on a nice afternoon hike, but it ended with disaster. the mom gave elora her number afterward, but the dad was not impressed (i have to draw this). fun fact: she has been urged by coaches and peers to perform in the olympics, but prefers it as a hobby with the exception of competing in a fundraiser event. i like to think she'd be quite involved in her community.
her facial expressions are nearly always stony and hard. she always makes a mental note to soften her expression, especially when she finds lost kids in the park during search parties. another cute little detail, elora carries sweets for those missing kids for when they're eventually found. she makes homemade (handmade?) chocolate or fruit candies of woodland creatures. the fruit candies are specifically made for allergy-prone kids and she’ll only give the candies to them with a parent(s) consent who are usually there after the search concludes.
pretty much everyone in the department knows of elora escapades with claire and everyone secretly roots for the two she is teased about it to no end just as much. it's highly recommended unrecommended.
there you have it.
✶ taglist form
#castle audios claire#castle audios ranger#castleaudios ranger#castleaudios claire greene#castleaudios claire#castleaudios
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《Hellfire》
The Prologue
Synopsis of series: Yn gets married off to the head of the Kamisato Clan. Yn's family, Inazuma's wealthiest tycoons, were nearly on the brink of bankruptcy so they arranged a marriage with one of Inazuma's most powerful politicians to maintain their power. Would Yn be a sacrificed pawn in a bigger game or would she turn the tables?
Tw: yn's dad, sexism, slight abuse :D
A jug of angst and a pinch of fluff ☁️✨️
Overhearing the conversation of my parents, I felt abandoned.
But...I'm not truly useless, am I?
- - ┈┈∘┈˃̶༒˂̶┈∘┈┈ - -
3 years ago:
"No, Yn, your older brother will be the next heir of the company." Father sounded colder than the tip of Dragonspine, does he really despise me that much?
"Why him?"
"He has a use here; he is a born leader, worthy of the title as CEO of Tanaka Group and as our clan head."
"What about me? Are you deeming me useless?!"
- - ┈┈∘┈˃̶༒˂̶┈∘┈┈ - -
6 years ago:
"Father, can I go for sword-fighting class? It looks fun-"
"You are a lady, you are not meant to do such things. Sigh I will send you for ballet classes instead, would you be happy with that?"
"Why must I do things that you deem ladylike or refined? My brother can pursue his tertiary studies overseas in Sumeru. What about me? Our family has more than enough money to let me study as well. I have been confined within the walls of this estate for all my life! I-"
A burning sensation spread across my cheek.
"Gasps HOW DARE YOU-"
"YOU IMPUDENT CHILD! YOU HAVE NO RESPECT FOR YOUR ELDERS! YOU ARE UTTERLY USELESS, MY CHILD, USELESS, GET THAT IN YOUR HEAD! ALL YOU WILL EVER BE USEFUL FOR IS TO GET MARRIED!"
"I-"
"YOU DARE NOT SAY ANYTHING ABOUT THIS! GO TO YOUR ROOM THIS INSTANT!"
I stormed to my room and curled up in a corner, tears flooded my eyes. This was the first time father ever treated me like this since the passing of mother. I miss her so much...
- - ┈┈∘┈˃̶༒˂̶┈∘┈┈ - -
3 years ago:
"You will get married to a suitor of my choice whether you like it or not, Yn."
"I oppose the idea of my marriage!"
"You. Will. Get. Married. Now, in the meantime, you can go and practice ballet, you have a recital in a few weeks."
Same old, same old. There is no stopping father's will. My brother wouldn't dare object him even though he has the power to do so. What am I here for? To be a human punching bag? Why bother crying, it's useless anyways.
- - ┈┈∘┈˃̶༒˂̶┈∘┈┈ - -
What happened to mother was horrible, she didn't deserve such a gruesome end. When I was walking in the hallway a few days after mother's death, some of the maids were gossiping about mother's death, one of them said they witnessed it. Father brutally murdered mother with the help of my brother. I felt absolutely disgusted at the thought of it. Why would they murder her in cold blood? I didn't have the slightest clue.
And the woman that father married. Eulgh, her perfume is terribly pungent, she is like a demon that crawled out of the deepest, darkest pits of hell. Her face, ever so cakey with makeup, how she dresses isn't far from a brothel owner.
At least father has found someone he can call his equal.
They are going to marry me off to the head of the Kamisato Clan, Kamisato Ayato within a month, right after my 18th birthday. What impeccable timing, father.
It's almost the end of winter, still a bit chilly though. I gazed out of my frosted window. Snow was coating the tiled roofs of Inazuma City, I've never been out there before, mainly my imagination and novels shaped my perception of the world outside.
The world is such a cruel and evil place with people willing to get their hands dirty in order to achieve their wants and needs. They manipulate to get what they want, free things come with strings attached, there is no one you can trust. Yet, the world is beautiful and serene, like having a lover to rely on, maybe a soulmate whom you have been begging the stars for, a person to be with for an eternity, a romantic walk on the beach, the wonderful scenery one can't imagine...I'm far too familiar with the art of manipulation but I cant imagine myself being - in love with someone. Well, not like its my choice anyway. Sigh However am I going to get out of this hellhole of a place?
#genshin#genshin impact#genshin headcanons#genshin fanfic#genshin impact wallpaper#ayato kamisato fanart#ayato fluff#ayato imagines#ayato x you#kamisato ayato#ayato x y/n#ayato fanart#ayato x reader#genshin wallpaper#ayato headcanons#ayato
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Restless Sleep
Liam turned to look at him. Their eyes locked, breaths quiet. Faces betraying nothing. Slotted streetlight crept over the two of them through the blinds. Two out of six out of eighteen out of twenty-four that god, for whatever reason, seemed to fucking despise.
in which Bryce tries to rationalize the present situation, just a little bit
give it up for these guys for having the absolute worst time ever.
(ao3 link in source)
God must hate him. It was the only explanation Bryce had for any of this.
Someone—or several someones, given his luck—had looked down at the earth from their cushy little seat in whatever stupid heaved they came from to find a prime someone to fuck with, and, for whatever reason, he’d just so happened to fit the bill. He checked all the boxes of someone deserving of a vacation straight to the strangest hell imaginable, and so off he’d went. Nevermind the obligations he’d been ripped away from: work shifts, mounting bills, bottles waiting to be emptied. No, no, no, just let all that pile up. Go live out some pointless nightmare, then come back to whole new problems instead. That’s what they’d decided for him, not giving a shit as to what he’d wanted. He was just lucky he’d been able to work with what he was left with afterward.
Now, the brush with being fired wasn’t fun, to say the least, and neither was the lack of voicemails from anyone outside work waiting for him after he’d dropped off the face of the earth for several days. He’d spent plenty of the following nights watching the shadows on his ceiling instead of sleeping, unable to shake the feeling that he’d wake up somewhere else. But he’d weathered it out. He cleaned his apartment. Went back to work. Started talking to his neighbours more, and called his family for the first time in a while (if only just to hear their voices again). He’d even nabbed himself a managerial position after health problems forced the last guy to step down. He’d pushed away enough of the anger and confusion and dread that he’d been left with to finally get his life in a position he was ok enough with. Happy with sometimes, even! And then god remembered.
And now there was. This.
Now, Bryce had never been religious. He’d never put enough thought into it to really care, honestly. His last real experience with religion had been several years ago, at the funeral of an aunt he really hadn’t known well, crowded into the worn pews of the stuffy, summer-hot church it’d been hosted in, alongside a mess of family and family-friends, zoning in and out as the pastor spoke. He couldn’t really remember exactly what he’d said. Something about gifts from god. Or warnings, maybe. Reasons a higher power would hate you that he’d pointed ignored.
Presently, though, he sighed, blinking up into the din once again. The blanket was both too hot and too cold, and the laptop’s fan filled the little apartment with a soft whirring as it charged. He wasn’t sure if Texty needed to sleep like he and Liam did, given that they didn’t seem to need food or water either, but he sure as hell wasn’t gonna ask, having made the very deliberate choice that he did not care. Speaking of which.
Bryce rolled over, the bed creaking, until he found himself staring out at the apartment at large, Liam laying on the floor between the bed and the table. After shoving him off towards the shower the scattered man had sorely needed, Bryce had dug up the old quilt he used on colder winter nights and laid it out on the floor, along with a little rolled-up towel in place of the spare pillow he didn’t own. Once Liam had stepped out, seeming somewhere between slightly more at ease and just fucking spent, they’d turned in with hardly another word. Neither had slept, though. Even in the low light, Bryce could see Liam staring up at the ceiling, face blank, eyes elsewhere, arms folded over the blanket, grasping it tight. The towel, as not a pillow as it was, had flattened underneath him.
For months Bryce had written the plane off as a nightmare brought on by one too many drinks. He still felt that way somewhere, deep down, despite the days he’d definitely missed and the half-stranger currently having an existential crisis on his floor. It was way better that way, after all. Just some nonsense his brain made up to scare him: no sunny fields, no giant pools, no living textboxes or abstract prophets or disembodied voices with enough powers and regardlessness for life to certainly fit the sound of god, nobody dead, nobody he knew and understood, nothing he’d never be able to understand, nobody he needed to worry about after the fact—no, none of it should’ve been real, none of it could’ve been real, and yet—
Liam turned to look at him. Their eyes locked, breaths quiet. Faces betraying nothing. Slotted streetlight crept over the two of them through the blinds. Two out of six out of eighteen out of twenty-four that god seemed to fucking despise.
On the way to New York, Liam had given him a clearer (read: comprehensible) explanation of what had happened after Bryce’s elimination. Of Scenty (Amelia, Amelia, fuck—) throwing the challenge to send him home, Airy disappearing when he was so, so close to home, the system of shifts, the plug, the shed, the realization that Liam was literally dead to the world. The world, except, of course, for Bryce.
Liam broke away first, turning, after a moment, onto his other side and shuffling in an attempt to force the towel into a comfortable position. Engrossed in the impossible task, he didn’t even notice Bryce’s own shifting, nor his brief consideration, or even the tossing of the pillow itself until it smacked Liam square in the back. By the time he turned to grab it, Bryce had already rolled over to face the wall. He heard Liam breathe in, pause, then, in a tired whisper,
“Thanks”
before the apartment fell silent once more. Bryce pressed his cheek into the crook of his arm, staring out, trying not to think too much about any of it.
Who cared if god hated them, anyway.
#local man meets god and is not impressed#hfjone#hfjone liam#hfjone bryce#hfjone backpack#hfjone soda bottle#writin and ravin
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reveal your watch and rewatch drama list
(Thank you @braceletofteeth 👏👏)
currently watching
Vincenzo- it's,,, it's a show for sure. Joking, I joke. I like it a lot, not gonna lie. BUT I'm lost? But I'm not? I don't know...
The Devil Judge- this has been on my currently watching for about,,, 3 months 💀 I keep starting and stopping it. I just started it again 💀
Under the Skin- cool?? as fuck?? It was on pause for a little so I could finish another show BUT Shen Yi is one funky little artist
Ghost Doctor- I've discovered a new love for Medical dramas. I've kinda put it on pause? Don't really know why... also love Rain but that's a different story
Mysterious Class- does this count??? I mean so far there's 8 episodes and they're all about 20 minutes so... It is. Anyway it's like a... self-made?? show?? from Treasure.
Cherry Blossoms After Winter- it's,,, it's such a change from these other shows that it threw me off...this is a cute ass show though 😩
rewatch
Semantic Error- I get so unexplainably happy when I watch this. ALSO Romantic Devil is a good ass song
Cherry Magic- everytime I watch this a part of me gets a little happier 🌸💕
The Sleuth of the Ming Dynasty- a wonderful show. A beautiful show. A show worth every single second of watch time. I fucking live and breathe this show. Why don't I talk about it more 🥲
Beyond Evil- an absolute must. no explanation needed
Strangers from Hell- I'm determined to suck my sister into the void that is this show. And it's working,,, it helps that she adores Lee Dong Wook.
My Love Mix-Up- 👹 I love this show 👹 it's always the fucking Japanese shows that unlock some kind of emotion in me. Whether it's positive or negative all depends. Also,, I've seen some Aoki slander?? And I'm ready to fight 👊
Our Flag Means Death- again,, determined to make my sister watch this with me. and she is. I've also rewatched on my own like,,, 4 or 5 times 🦶
watchlist
It's,,, it's a little concerning how long this list should be
Winter Begonia- originally I clicked on it because Tan Jian Ci was in it. BUT THEN,,, I saw the trailer and some photos and holy shit??? It's so beautiful??? my god??
Kill Heel- I'm gay, next question. Kidding! Kidding! Mostly. I've actually been waiting for this to come out for a while and since it's finally coming out... I'm excited.
Antique- Kim Jae Wook~ I've seen a surprising amount of stuff about this so... I'm watching it... Soon hopefully 👉👈
Killing Eve- I'm not sure if it's that I have a huge crush on Sandra Oh or the determination of villaneve supporters that caught my attention
What Did You Eat Yesterday- I'm extremely pissed that I can't find somewhere to watch this. I've checked Netflix where it 👏SAID 👏IT 👏SHOULD 👏BE 👏 I'm just jakdlflh
Psychopath Diary- ... I've watched the first episode and then just... Stopped 💀 I need to find a way to get my head into watching it fully
Seo Bok- I'm so violently ready to sit down and watch this. I need to find time. "I need to find time," they say as they have plenty of time
Alice in Borderland- am I excited to watch this or absolutely terrified? I'll never know 💕
Ocean Likes Me- 👹HOLLAND👹 Also, what??? is with??? k-dramas and chefs???? There's so many lately 👊💀
The Killer's Shopping List- I don't know 💀 the name was funny to me
Coffee Prince- Gong Yoo and Kim Jae Wook in the same show? SIGN ME THE FUCK UP
I'm gonna stop here cause this list is long as fuck–
Tagging @loveforseo @hanjuwonsupporter I'm sorry I don't know who to tag 💀
#my watchlist really is long as fuck#i have a notes file in my phone because I startes to forget certain shows 💀#do i need to tag all the shows 💀#I'll tag the ones I've watched#beyond evil#strangers from hell#hell is other people#semantic error#cherry magic! thirty years of virginity can make you a wizard?!#the sleuth of the ming dynasty#vanishing my first love#my love mix up#our flag means death#kdrama#jdrama
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#MusicMonday Review - August 2023
#MusicMonday is the hashtag I've been using for quite a while to share music recommendations from up-and-coming artists. Always fresh, and always different, trying to look for trends before they become one. You can check July's review for more music.
Life is hard, and music can be an escape, regardless of genre. Have a listen to what reality brings to this month's bands, with a word from the artists themselves. 🎧
Great Wide Nothing – Blind Eye To A Burning House
The hourglass is running out
Against complacency and doubt
Infernos close that must be doused
Don't turn a blind eye to this burning house
The time is now, the time is now.
Our journey begins with a Prog Punk band from Atlanta, GA, who knows it's not only a question of your understanding, but your empathy too. No circumventing this, you just can't walk away:
"It’s primarily about climate change and what I feel is the ongoing failure of those in power to take adequate action.
It’s especially aimed at figures like Joe Biden and others in the Democratic Party here in the US who have - particularly in recent years - frequently made promises to address climate change in order to win elections, but failed to deliver or outright broken them once in office.
It’s a challenge to folks like that who have the capability to enact large scale change but choose not to. It’s a demand for integrity and seriousness in the face of the threat of ecological collapse."
DULL – The Problem
Signs of depression
I wanna cancel everything
I’m up to absolutely no good
I’m up to absolutely nothing If I get to choose
Lack of D-vitamin like a modern caveman
Mood is beyond bad, you won’t catch me smiling
I know what I want, I know exactly what I need
Bon voyage, I see you in the tropics
In certain seasons of the year, living in Stockholm, Sweden leads to not getting enough sunlight. This Indie Punk band knows exactly what it means to be sleep deprived like a zombie, waking up just to get back to sleep:
"The song is basically about the very long, cold and dark winter season here in Sweden. And how it can affect people (mostly in a bad way). So I guess that’s the story of the track!"
The Ferocious Few – Only Time Can Tell
Drifting right through these memories of you
And in my dreams tearing at the seams
And in my mind found a soul that was kind
In my heart we'll never be apart
Time can tell
If this is heaven or it's hell
Time can tell
I've been underneath your spell
And get a grip
And just your heart just slip
Into this place I'll see you
This Luxembourg based band gets us on the road searching for a home, lifted to a world that's not our own with its Punk influenced Americana Rock:
"Only time can tell is about questioning choices in life and being in love not knowing what the next step is. It kind of has to do with me moving to Luxembourg and finding a home, here in a foreign land. 😁"
Berkeley – Suits
The days just started and you fade away
No thrills you’ll find, you’re smile don’t shine
Anymore, cause it’s too late, if I’m to stay
Take off your shoes, put on your suits
Enjoying the peace and tranquillity of the bay at Geelong, Victoria, Australia with a dose of cool Indie Rock can make you wonder if suiting up will get you far enough:
"When I wrote the song it came from a place of almost being forced by exterior forces into a 9-5 job, where I'd have to buckle up and out on my suit. Suits is the way to just live life freely and avoid the 9-5."
Dead Anyway – Life Is Brutal
One knock for no.
Two knocks for yes.
Zero knocks is no f's given.
No sudden smell of lilacs here.
Just a light that’s too light,
noise that’s too noise
and people who are
too people
One last stop takes us to Gloucestershire, UK for some soundscapes of electronica with dark lyricism inspired from losing someone truly close. Life can be brutal when you're suddenly on your own:
"The album the track was written for is a collection we were writing as Kate’s Mum, Daphne came to the end of her time with us. We put the collection together from a few months before and a few months after her death. Daphne was Kate’s best friend and guiding light and lyrically it’s Kate’s reflection on not just the grief suffered at the death of a loved one but also about your view of the world in the aftermath."
Listen to them and much more on the complete Playlist:
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Anthony's Stupid Daily Blog (552): Wed 20th Sep 2023
As soon as I woke up I dashed to the bathroom to slap on my sun lotion and head to the pool to soak in the glorious 28 degree rays. There weren’t any sun loungers left by the pool but there was another secluded area past the restaurant that had a few laid out which was perfect because now I could sit and relax not having the experience ruined by screaming kids. I lay on the deckchair alternating between reading my book and listening to music all afternoon and it was absolute bliss. This felt like a reward to myself for all the fucking hours I’ve spent brainlessly pushing carts from one end of a cunting warehouse to the other end of a cunting warehouse then riding home in the rain on my piece of suit motorbike and taking shelter under two blankets in my piece of shit house. While poolside I started reading the latest book in my Edgar Award winning novel challenge The Last Child by John Hart. As part of this challenge I’ve already read one of Hart’s other novels Down River which didn’t exactly rock my boat but this one seems good so far. It’s about a boy named Johnny who’s sister went missing a year prior who witnesses a man getting shot in the woods and in his dying breath the man tells Johnny he knows where his sister is. I went into the restaurant and had myself a nice breakfast of eggs, toast and mushrooms. I’m not sure if the deal I booked with the travel agents is all inclusive but there’s no one asking for I’d or room numbers at the buffet area so I’m not going to investigate any further. If it turns out that I wasn’t all inclusive and that I’ve actually been stealing food from this place…I’m sure I’ll get over it…it might take years of therapy but I’m sure I’ll get over it…actually I’ve just this second realized I’m over it now. See this holiday must really be good for stress relief because normally I’d worry for years about stuff like that! Although I was sitting in the sun for about five hours total when I came to my room I didn’t have the slightest hint of a tan but I did have little pink patches scattered all over my milky white body. It looked like someone had tried to cook a turkey with a hairdryer. Ah well, I’m not here for a tan I’m here to not be cold. I love not being cold. It’s my third favourite thing in the world after not being hungry and not listening to Sam Smith. One day down, three and a half more to go (my coach on Sunday doesn’t arrive until 17:30 so I can spent most of the day sunbathing) and I already feel so god Damn relaxed and it’s made the last few months of putting up with the shitty weather feel so worth it. I’m definitely going to start making these sunny poolside holidays a regular thing. I might start booking one for the end of autumn, end of winter and the end of spring every year so that at least after suffering through three months of shitty weather at a time I’ll have a reason to keep powering through because I know this little paradise in the Canary Islands will be waiting for me at the end. The only disappointing thing about this place (other than the fact that I don’t live here) is that there don’t seem to be any homeless people. When I go abroad I like it when there’s a big homeless problem because it makes me feel a hell of a lot richer but now I just feel like ordinary scum.
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Watch a ton of shit last week because didn't feel good.
The Girl With All The Gifts
One of the best "go in blind" recommendations in a long, long time.
It came from a short story named Iphigenia In Aulis later turned into a full novel. Ray Bradbury system if I've ever seen one.
It seemed like everyone was doing fungus zombies after the 2008 PLANET EARTH episode on zombie ants. Last of Us is better, but this is still good even if the ending sucks.
Studio 666
I had to turn it off. You dudes are musicians, not actors. The ego of trying to do this was a bit too much for me to handle.
Outlast s01
I absolutely despised this shit. There were no clearly defined rules of interacting with other teams. Turns out, completely randomly, you're allowed to go into someone's camp and destroy their shit right in front of them and the other person had to sit back and watch you. Even though I pirated it, I want to sue Netflix for how bullshit this was.
All Things Must Pass
It's a very cool documentary and extremely thought provoking. Also, I don't feel sorry for these fucking shitheads. It's plainly clear they should've got into the business of producing alongside distributing, had not been so greedy, but whatever.
The greedy businessman bullshit like stopping the sell of singles to force people to buy albums, pushing CDs because larger profit margin, not realizing what the fuck an mp3 was, and endless expansion (debt) because "muh growth."
I'm not super down for live music because I generally don't like it, but I'm not going to ignore how important live music is and a space for live music. I just love how these greedy fucks were directly responsible for napster and later itunes and then spotify and now back to napster.
STATION ELEVEN
The theme of art and humanity transcending time, place, and generations.
The use of color to help the viewer understand where in time they were: before, during, after.
The perfection and blend of a clockwork and puzzle plot with a braided narrative. I was, quite literally, losing my mind the final two episodes.
I want to pinpoint the brilliant and wonderful winter solstice episode exploring the concept of 9 months after lockdown when all these women were giving birth at the same time.
I could write about this endlessly.
The only bad thing I will say is that it dragged at times, but I feel like that is me being too ignorant of Shakespeare's work to be realizing analogies / the adaptation from same.
SWARM.
I'm not privy enough with Beyonce lore fully understand it, but it's still really, really good. The Billie Eilish episode was just utterly insane.
I almost turned it off so many times in the first two episodes because of how uncomfortable it made me feel and how creepy it seemed. I'm glad I kept at it and fought through my cringe. I wish I had someone to tell me the soft spoiler of "she's a butch lesbian and Marissa is her foster sister." It would have helped to put into context what erroneously seemed to be incredibly weird and creepy scenes otherwise.
Blood Quantum
The sweet justice of American fracking ruining Native American's water supply causing all the Americans who drink it to turn into zombies while Native Americans remain immune. There's so many layers to that. Hell, that sounds like real life right now.
Blending that with the newfound Native American power of fuck the white man v. no lets help them a la Xavier v. Magneto split.
It was a great idea and concept, but those unique parts were not leaned into hard enough while dumb shit zombie fight sequences we've seen a million times took center stage instead.
Run Lola Run
I haven't seen this since 8th grade. It's a short and sweet movie that gives another great take on the Chaos Theory. The soundtrack is phenomenally good. Not minimalist, but still 90s german techno af.
Doom Patrol
I saw the DC logo on the opener and almost turned it off. "No no no I heard Brendan Fraser is in it give it a shot." Kept watching, opening sequences talking about "You're sick of comic book heroes we know! So we made comic book heroes who are SCREW UPS!" And I thought… Misfits? Misfits was great…
15 minutes later: It's just more comic book hero bullshit. Fuck that.
The Miseducation of Cameron Post
I can't relate to this at all other than to endlessly bang my head against the wall and again point out how fucking incongruent these religious fuckers are and what they do to people. I kept thinking back over and over to Dead Poets Society.
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Crash Pad
Fandom: MCU Captain America/Avengers
Summary: You’re just minding your own business when the Winter Soldier crashes into your life. Literally.
Quick facts: Romance – established past Steve Rogers/Bucky Barnes leading into Steve Rogers/Bucky Barnes/Reader – Nondescript Reader
Warnings: Fluff, slight mention of blood
Words: 7801
A/N: I started writing this a few months ago and almost finished when my life got fairly shook up. Still, I’m quite proud of being able to eke out an ending. For anybody who only cares about this story, feel free to skip this note, but for anybody following my other stuff: writing is going to be slow for the time being. My mom died and things are pretty topsy-turvy right now. Writing is still a comfort, but head to hands isn’t working the same right now. Thanks for your patience; I hope this is a pleasant read for you in the mean time <3
~
You’re getting ready for bed and have just turned off the living room light when you hear a clatter on the fire escape. You haven’t gotten over to shut the window yet and you wince at the thought of maybe coming face to face with a giant rat, or a raccoon, although you haven’t yet seen a raccoon and you’re pretty sure they don’t live in the city but it would probably be better than a rat the size of a raccoon–
What you get is much, much worse as a fully grown man falls through the curtains, knocks over a side table and potted plant, and crashes onto your living room floor with a wheezed (but emphatic), “God damn it!”
You freeze, unsure of whether to run or yell or maybe both. However the man flounders on the floor, unable to otherwise move much as he holds his side and– is that blood on your floor?
“Are you okay?” you ask despite everything.
He yanks his head back to look at you and grimaces. “Fuck, I–” He tries to get up, slips in what you are almost positive is blood, and slumps over with a little sigh and a handful of muttered curses that might be in another language. “I am really sorry about this,” he says lowly, like he's embarrassed to be bleeding out in a stranger’s living room. Then he shifts a little more and moonlight gleams on his arm. His very…shiny…completely metal arm, and you find a whole new way to be concerned.
You should have known the reasonable rent was a goddamn trap.
You take a few steps back, barely avoid hitting the counter, and flick the light back on without taking your eyes away from the man on your floor. He squints at the brightness and shows you a face that is, both fortunately and unfortunately, familiar. Fortunately because Captain America and the Avengers somehow got him pardoned for potential war crimes and treason even without him being present for any of that circus of a trial. Unfortunately because…war crimes. And treason. And that is definitely blood.
“I’m sorry,” he blurts out and looks a little woozy. “There were sheets– I thought the building was empty.”
“The sheeting is for the building right next to us,” you say and sigh. “I’m going to guess you are not in favor of me calling an ambulance?”
He just blinks at you a few times. Maybe he is secretly a raccoon.
“Please don’t,” he says, some life returning to his eyes, and he looks you up and down. The rubber duck pajamas must put him at ease because, while he is still tensely holding his midsection, his shoulders relax a little. “I’m so–”
“Sorry, yes, I know.” You point at the bathroom. “I’m going to get the first aid kit and hopefully I won’t have to explain to the coroner’s office why Captain America’s boo bled out on my floor.”
You’re just opening up the cupboard that hopefully contains at least some band-aids when he calls out, “What the hell is a ‘boo?’”
~
Two old t-shirts, one and a half rolls of dusty gauze, and his own homemade stitch kit later, the man is finally all patched up. “How are you not passing out from blood loss?” you ask, eyeing the mess on the nice hardwood that has definitely just lost you your deposit. But there’s no corpse to deal with, so at least things aren’t as bad as they could be.
“I’m built pretty hardy.” He sits up a little more and groans. Before you can beg him not to split his side again, he extends his hand. “James Barnes. But you can call me Bucky.”
You shake his hand (gently) and tell him your name. “Do you let everybody call you Bucky, or just the people whose floor you bleed all over?” Something moving catches your eye and you sigh at the sight of your inexpensive (but still nice) curtains blowing slightly, showing off their new stains. “Floor and drapes…”
“I’ll clean it,” he says. “I can get blood out of anything.” He winces. “I…that sounds worse than it is.”
“I imagine getting blood out of anything is a good skill for an international spy-assassin to have,” you say.
Bucky scowls. And, you think, blushes a little, though how he has enough blood to do that you don’t know. You look at the spot again. It looks big to you but maybe you’re making a fuss over nothing. No, wait, there’s still dried blood on your floor. You’re allowed a fuss. “So you know who I am.”
“Your boy made it hard to miss,” you say.
He grumbles to himself, then says, “He’s always such a drama queen. I didn’t need to be pardoned.”
“Really,” you say and look at the bloodied handkerchief wrapped around a bullet he dug out of himself. “Looks like at least one other person disagrees with you.”
“This was Steve’s fight, not mine.” He huffs. “Story of my goddamn lif–”
He suddenly falls back and you reach out instinctively to catch him. He recovers quickly, wild-eyed and stiff and you scoot back just in case. He takes a few deep breaths and seems to force himself calm. It doesn’t look very effective and you’re honestly starting to worry. “You really–”
“I did not faint,” he snaps and maybe he has more blood than you thought, or maybe absolutely all of it has come to collect in his face.
“I was going to say you really need a hospital,” you say. “But yeah, you did.”
He grumbles under his breath and then, as if predicting your protests, stands up quickly enough to waver. Serves him right, you think, but when he scowls at you, you wonder if maybe he’s psychic too. “Try not to pass out on your way home,” you say, because if he wants to leave there’s really nothing you can do to stop him.
“Funny,” he says. He clears his throat and adds, much more sincerely, “Thanks.”
For the t-shirts, for the first aid kit, for not calling the cops, for not calling the Avengers so Captain America can hone in on him like a cartoon hound, for not bitching about the floor too much– the list is many and varied and so you give him a simple nod and hope you can get even a little bit of sleep tonight because work tomorrow is going to be hell without it.
He goes back to the window and before you can point out you have a perfectly good door, Bucky slips out onto the fire escape again. You shrug to yourself and go over to firmly flip the lock. You’ve done your part– in the event he slips and hits his head, someone else can be the good Samaritan. You’re going to bed and tomorrow this is going to feel like a weird dream, if there is even a single good deity in existence.
~
You’re not sure if it’s proof of or a mark against the existence of said single good deity when Bucky shows back up in your fire escape the next evening and taps politely against your open window before he lets himself back in, scooting your new plant just an inch out of the way.
“I have a door,” is the first thing that comes out of your mouth.
“Your hallway’s too well lit,” he says, much more hale and hearty and obviously not suffering major blood loss. His hair even looks like he just got out of the shower, all soft and shiny and bouncing a bit as he twists his upper body to start pulling stuff out of a backpack hanging off one shoulder. “I got stuff to clean the floor, and a replacement first aid kit. You outta keep it better stocked, so I got you one of the good ones.”
“O…kay,” you say, for lack of anything better. There’s a hysterical laugh building up in the back of your throat as the Winter Soldier brings out some rags and a cleaning solution for your bloodstained hardwood floor, but you cough it out and say, “Thanks,” when the formerly-feared international assassin looks at you like you’re crazy before he gets on his hands and knees and starts scrubbing.
It’s not fair no one would believe you. You’re not quite sure this isn’t an elaborate daydream, but then, you like to think you’d imagine something more fun than this. You clear your throat. “Would you like something to drink?”
“No thanks,” he grunts, glaring at the floor and rubbing at the stain like it has offended him personally. It’s a little worrisome when he goes at it hard enough to maybe rub a hole right through the floor– you’d rather deal with the stain– but there’s a hard edge to his eyes that make you think maybe it’s a good idea for him to work it out in a productive, non-violent way. And if it turns violent, hopefully he has some home repair skills to make up for it.
You busy yourself with making tea, using the nice pot and the nice cups you never get to break out, and by the time it’s almost done steeping Bucky isn’t rubbing quite so hard and, in fact, seems to have made the stain do a disappearing act.
“Nice,” you say. “You want some tea? I made plenty.”
He lifts his head and tilts it as he squints at you, like he’s still not sure of you. But he shrugs, says, “Sure,” and stands up, rolling his shoulders. He looks down at the floor and nods appreciatively before coming to sit on the other side of the counter. “It’s almost gone; just a little bit more and it’ll be like I was never here.”
That last part could have been a decent joke, but he said it so seriously you just clear your throat. “Thanks,” you say and start pouring. “My landlord is going to have to find some other excuse to try and keep my security deposit.”
Bucky snorts but otherwise makes no noise. At first it’s nice, if a bit awkward, as you don’t really feel the need to fill the silence, but it becomes clear by the way Bucky glares at the plant sitting in front of him on the counter that something is eating at him. You’re not sure whether or not to pry, but it seems polite to at least ask, “Are you okay?”
“Fine,” he grunts and leans even lower to the surface of the counter.
You stare at him. “I appreciate what you did, but you didn’t have to come back,” you say gently, because a pissed-off former-assassin isn’t really a problem you want to have on your hands. “I’m not awful enough to actually expect you to clean up your own blood the day after you nearly bled to death.”
“What?” He blinks and then scowls and shakes his head. “No, it’s not that; it’s…” He picks up his cup and downs all of it, despite the fact that it was still steaming. Tentatively you pour him another cup, to which he says, “thanks,” before loading it with sugar again. “It’s good,” he says and this time he sips it.
“It’s one of my favorites. Very soothing,” you say. “Normally.”
Bucky rolls his eyes. “I wish anything was soothing. You know Steve almost ran into a goddamn minefield today?”
You didn’t know that, you don’t think anything the Avengers do is any of your business, really, and where does one even find a minefield in New York City– you don’t say any of that, but you apparently don’t need to, because Bucky is off like a shot saying more words than you’d have thought possible for him. All of it is ranting about what a reckless dumbass Captain America is, and a Brooklyn accent increasingly comes through, egged into existence by sheer aggravation. You sit and listen, transfixed not so much by the details (they’re too fleeting and sparse) but by how annoyed Bucky is with Captain Amer- with “Steve goddamn pain in the ass Rogers” and you’re never going to be able to see him again without snickering.
Bucky sighs heavily and rests his chin on the table. He looks very tired, all of a sudden. Maybe a relaxing tea and enthusiastic rant wasn’t the best combination. Then again, he also looks less tense, so perhaps it’s fine. “Why don’t you stop for the night and go get some sleep,” you say and take away his cup. “You can finish up tomorrow.”
He squints at you, squints back at the floor (that you honestly can’t tell is any different from the rest), and looks back at you. “You don’t mind?”
“Not at all,” you say and stack the cups. “When you come back refreshed you can tell me why Steve Rogers can never walk past that animal shelter without ducking his head in shame.”
Bucky’s smile is lopsided and he shakes his head. “Maybe,” he admits and hops off the chair. “I’ll just…leave the stuff here then, if that’s okay?”
You nod and he quickly picks up and puts the supplies in the empty bottom space of your side table. He goes for the window.
“I have a-!”
And he’s gone. You roll your eyes. If Steve Rogers really is as much of an asshole as Bucky says he is, then those two deserve each other.
~
For all that the Captain America mythos has been debunked for you, you’re still brought up short when you suddenly encounter Steve Rogers the next night.
On your fire escape.
He knocks his head against the railing in his scramble to simultaneously get up and face you, curses, and lifts his hands defensively. “I can explain.”
You rub your face with both hands. They definitely deserve each other. “I doubt that,” you mutter and sigh heavily. Thank goodness there haven’t been any actual fires; you don’t know how you’d get out with all these buff superheroes hanging around outside your window. “Have you lost something?”
Captain America looks at the ground for a moment, and then flashes you a smile. “…Yes?”
God, he is a smartass. “Do you want to come inside or do you want to risk some Nosy Nancy from the building across the street seeing a big shadow and calling the cops?”
That would never happen, but he slips inside almost immediately and then there he is, in all his uniformed, shield-holding glory. It’s too weird to think about, and you step back to give him (and you) space while you close the curtains. “Thank you,” he says politely and looks around. “Your apartment is lovely; it’s very…green.”
You’re not sure why he hesitates, until you see him looking at your yellowing majesty palm. “He’s coming back,” you say and go to adjust the plant for lack of anything else your nervous hands can do. “Would you like something to drink?”
“No thank you,” he says and stands with his feet shoulder wide and his hands clasped down in front of him. It is perhaps the least comforting thing he can do and for one ridiculous moment you wish Bucky was here to be in between you. You wish the Winter Soldier was here. To protect you. From Captain America.
You clear your throat. “So,” you say and grab yourself something. “Do you lurk outside everyone’s apartment at some point, or am I just special?”
For all his military posturing, Captain America squirms like a schoolboy. “I swear I wasn’t– okay, I guess I was but not intentionally? I was…looking. For something.”
“Something you dropped?” you ask him.
“A person,” he says, staring elsewhere. For a moment you have a paranoid thought he’s staring at the space where Bucky had fallen in that night, but no, he’s just looking at the window. At least you remembered to change the curtains.
“Pretty sure you can see one of those without squinting into the grates,” you say.
“He might have passed through on his way somewhere else,” Captain America says. “Have you seen a man outside?”
“Other than you?” you ask. He blushes even harder than Bucky does– and think of the devil, you have a moment where you’re not sure what you should say, but quickly come to realize that whatever is going on between the two of them, you do not want to get stuck in the middle.
You’re prepared to lie your ass off, but he apparently takes your response as a rebuke. “I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to make you feel unsafe.”
“It’s fine,” you say. Despite his previous answer, you lean into the fridge to get him a bottle of water. “I’m pretty sure Captain America isn’t going to murder me. And if you decided you wanted to, well, there’s nothing I could really do about it.”
He chokes on the drink he’s just taken. You instinctively lean in so you can slam his back but after a couple of hits he covers his mouth and waves you off. “Sorry, sorry,” he says and grabs a nearby dishcloth to wipe up what he just spit on the counter. “That was just…really dark.”
“I guess it’s a good thing I’m not the one lurking on fire escapes,” you say.
He rolls his eyes. The nerve. You laugh and he actually grins. Asshole. His smile softens though and he says, “I’m really–”
“Sorry,” you finish for him.
“Am I that predictable already?”
You shrug. You want to tell him it’s because he and Bucky seem very much alike in that respect. You want to but…you don’t. Whatever Bucky’s problem is, he seems to want to deal with it himself, and it’s not your place to get in between them and start snitching. “You seem the type. Don’t worry about it so much. You…look pretty worried. I’m not going to hold it against you.”
“Thank you.” His lips turn into a sad sort-of smile and he takes a slower drink. “I guess I am pretty worried. This man I’m looking for, he’s…important to me, and he’s been through a lot, and I just want to know he’s okay.”
You stare at him. He looks down. And looks down. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to babble like that,” he says and glances at you with a strained smile. “I don’t normally do that.”
“Hm.” You stare at him for several seconds and notice he is blinking an awful lot. “You look exhausted.”
“I’m a little tired,” he says, quietly, and some of the posturing seeps out of him and he lets himself slump a little more. He suddenly shakes his head and sits up straight again. “Thanks again for…” He looks around and settles for shaking his water bottle.
You hold back a laugh. “Sure. I uh…do you need me to call you a cab?”
He shakes his head firmly and, to his credit, he’s pretty excellent at pretending to be okay. You almost believe him. “I can get home all right.”
“Well, please make sure you do. I can think of a lot of people who’d be sad to think of you collapsing on the way home because you wore yourself down to the bone,” you say. “And from how you seem to worry about your friend, I bet you can think of at least one.”
He blinks, like he’s surprised, but a smile curls onto his face, warm and true. “Good night,” he says, and because you’re so nice, you don’t stop him when he goes back out the window. At this point, it’s beginning to feel like a lost cause.
~
“What did you say to him?”
“I know you don’t like the door,” you say, not even turning away from the plant you’re watering. Any time you put down the canister you forget where you left off and you are not going to kill these plants by overwatering. Not again. “But maybe you could at least tap on the window when you decide you’re going to enter my apartment.”
“Why do you leave your window open?” Bucky huffs. You can hear him sit at the counter behind you. “You know what kind of creeps can take advantage of that?”
You finish watering the last plant and turn to stare at him. “I’m starting to get an idea.”
Bucky scowls. “I’m not a creep,” he mutters.
“Polite society encourages doorways instead of windows,” you say. “It’s okay. Captain America, apparently, is also a creep.”
Bucky sits up straighter. “What did he say?”
“Not much,” you say. “He was squatting on the fire escape like he could make you spontaneously materialize. I invited him in for an explanation and after a little while he went on his way.”
“After a little while,” Bucky repeats and squints at you suspiciously.
You shrug. “He likes to vent to complete strangers, apparently. But I didn’t tell him anything about you, it doesn’t seem fair to tell you anything about him. If you want to know, I get the feeling you can go ask him.”
Bucky rolls his eyes but he stands up and stretches. “You said I bled on the drapes?”
“I already scrubbed that out, if you can finish the floor,” you say and go for the tea pot. “Do you like green tea?”
“As long as you do it right,” he says and starts scrubbing again. “I hate it all bitter.”
You go for the good matcha and start preparing it while he works out his frustrations on your floor. You glance at him a couple of times but he seems fully focused on his task, until you finish the tea and call him back to the bar.
“Steve Rogers is a pain in the ass and don’t let anyone tell you different,” he grumbles, but it’s soft and there’s a troubled look on his face as he takes his cup.
“Do you miss him?” you ask and blow gently across your drink.
Bucky shifts uncomfortably. Just as you're about to apologize for overstepping, though, he speaks. “It’s hard to go back when you’ve done the shit I have, you know?”
No. You have absolutely no idea what it’s like to live as a free man after decades of literal objectification and being used as a murder weapon for fascists. But it doesn’t seem very helpful to say that, so instead you say, gently, “I can’t even imagine.”
Bucky bobs his head and takes another sip of his drink. You’re delighted he seems to be drinking it fairly quickly, but also a little dismayed because a good matcha latte takes a decent amount of work and it’ll take a little time if he wants another cup. “I want to go back but I can’t yet. I wish he wouldn’t be so goddamn stubborn about it is all. Just because he thinks I didn’t do anything wrong doesn’t make it true.”
You nod, like any of this makes any goddamn sense to you. But maybe– maybe it doesn’t have to. Maybe Bucky’s saying all this because you’re an outside entity with no personal stake in, or knowledge of, what counts as treason, or what’s needed to lack culpability, or what it means to be an absent friend.
He rambles, a little bit, and though about half the words are proper nouns you don’t recognize, you nod along, and when he finishes his latte you make him another one, and when he leaves, you don’t mention the door. Even though you want to.
~
You’ve actually forgotten how nice it is to have someone come through the door. Case in point–
“Um, I hope this is all right,” Steve Rogers, dressed in casual civilian fare and holding a small pot of flowers, says as you can do nothing but stare at him. “I just wanted to stop by and thank you again for being so understanding. May I…come in?”
That snaps you out of your funk and you quickly stand aside. “Of course; sorry, I just…wasn’t expecting you.”
“I was just going to leave the plant with a note if you weren't here, but I’m glad you were,” Captain Rogers says and walks in, and sets the pot down on the counter.
You walk over to the fridge. “Would you like something to–” As you turn to finish the question you see him glance furtively at the window. Ah, of course. He looks down guiltily and you can’t help but roll your eyes and laugh. Well, he did come through the correct entrance and brought some pretty flowers. “All right, you did knock on the door this time; go sniff around the fire escape all you want.”
“I’m just checking something I forgot,” he says quickly and goes to the window. He’s only outside long enough for you to brew some tea and he comes back in just as you’re pouring his cup. It isn’t until he’s about to take a sip, however, that he says, “Oh– I know it looks bad, but Bucky– sorry, James Barnes– I swear he isn’t dangerous.”
“I know. I saw some of the trial stuff,” you lie. Well, you did see some of it, but it wasn’t until you heard Bucky mutter “Martha Stewart was right,” while fussing at some of the blood on his shirt that you felt safer. Strange as it is to think.
Steve relaxes his shoulders like some of the weight is off of them. “You have no idea how good that is to hear. You wouldn’t believe some of the things people say to me. I can’t really punch people anymore because I’m so much stronger now but it’s so tempting sometimes. At least when it’s online I can mime punching them.”
His annoyed tone allows you to laugh a little. “Maybe imagine the block button is a punch in the face?” you suggest.
He grins. “My friend Clint suggested printing out the most irritating comments and taping them to a punching bag. It didn’t really work but the thought was nice. The block button as a punch to the face though…”
The guy doesn’t really need more violence in his life, but he genuinely seems pleased with the idea, so you let it be. And when he starts ranting in detail about some of the comments he gets about Bucky, you make a new pot of tea– chamomile. For the both of you.
~
You don’t know how the flowers are dead already– it seems like Steve just brought them and they were so pretty you immediately looked up care instructions and followed them to the letter. Or so you thought. But now, only days later, you have a pot of dirt and withered petals.
And Bucky sulking at your counter.
“I told him I was fine,” he says petulantly.
You sigh and bring the pot over to the sink and think about what to do. “Did you tell him in person?”
“In a letter. He knew it was from me.”
The soil looks nice, so you’ll dig out the remains and try to plant some replacement seeds. Maybe that was the problem– maybe the flowers were sick or something. “Well reading and seeing are two different things.”
“He knows I cover him in fights.”
You slowly look at Bucky. His oh-so intelligent response is to bristle like a cat and go, “What?”
You roll your eyes. “He’s desperate to see you, knows you’re near when he’s fighting, and you wonder why he’s “so goddamn reckless?’”
Bucky just glares. Yeah, these two morons absolutely deserve each other.
You hope Bucky figures it out sooner rather than later.
~
He doesn’t, but he keeps coming by, as does Steve, and you resign yourself to hosting two pining idiots who keep dancing around each other.
Bucky drinks anything you give him without complaint. However he drinks the lattes and almost anything green tea a little quicker, though he tries to hide his cup from you when he does. Whether he’s ashamed of going through them so fast or embarrassed you don’t know, but you start to give him bigger cups, and that seems to help.
The first time you give Steve a cup of apple pie spice, he gives you a severe glare– which he then completely undermines by liking the blend immensely.
“I swore the next person who offered me apple pie would get popped,” Steve says, an amusing mixture of half-bluster and half-shame as he sips from the classic teacup you hope not to regret handing him.
“Lucky for me it’s not actually apple pie,” you say. “Do people really make that joke?”
The eyeroll Steve gives that is 200% sass. “You have no idea,” he says, deadly serious, “–how funny people think they are.”
~
This becomes…oddly normal. Listening to Steve talk about anything that’s on his mind, giving Bucky new tea blends just to see how he reacts to them; your apartment is no longer just you and a bunch of greenery that seems to wilt more often than not. Everything seems warmer, and better– even your plants seem healthier. (For that, though, you suspect Bucky is giving them a special mixture of something after you catch a glance of him messing with one of the pots. You want to ask him what he’s doing, but you don’t want to admit that he’s better at taking care of them than you are.)
It’s so normal, that you feel the silence only after the first few nights without a visit. They don’t visit every night, but they visit often enough that you know they’re off somewhere even without them telling you. For a couple of weeks you try to pretend the quiet doesn’t bother you, but you check the fire escape twice every night, and then once more before you go to bed.
~
The next time you see Bucky is during one of these checks. There was no tapping, no noise to otherwise alert you, he’s just suddenly back, sitting next to the window, hunched over in black clothes nearly blending into the darkness and staring out at nothing in the night.
“What’s wrong?” you ask and crawl out to kneel next to him. “Are you hurt again?”
“No,” he mutters and continues to glare at some imaginary point in the distance. “Steve was, though.”
It’s a little harder to swallow. “Is he going to be okay?”
“Yeah,” Bucky mumbles and buries his mouth further against his arms. “He’s fine, strutting around the hospital like a- like a- …” He huffs and sits back to wave his arms before he curls back in on himself. “But it was close, and he’s an asshole.”
“Mm,” you say. “Chamomile mint?”
He sighs heavily but he gets to his feet and starts to enter, only to stop and hold open the curtains for you.
“Thank you sir,” you say with only a hint of sarcasm and go on ahead to get the tea started. Bucky snorts but doesn’t say anything and you use the time the water needs to heat up to take care of some of your plants.
“Stop it.”
The snap comes so fast from Bucky you immediately stop what you’re doing. He doesn’t look as angry as he sounded, but he’s frowning pretty hard. “You're overwatering that one; jade plants are succulents. You don’t need to drown it.”
You look at the plant and set the watering can down. “Oh.” You knew that. You think. You’re just nervous. “Did you see him? In the hospital?”
“Briefly. I didn’t talk to him; just made sure he was all right,” Bucky says. “And he is. I wouldn’t leave him if he wasn’t.”
That does assuage some of your concerns. Steve is nice. You want him to be okay. And Bucky is– also nice, but god, they’re both so fucking frustrating. “You couldn’t have just–”
“Don’t start with–”
“I’m just saying–”
“And I’m telling you not to say–”
“I pay the rent for all that you sublet my fire escape; I’ll say what I want,” you manage to finish to Bucky’s consternation. You lift your head proudly and he frowns to one side. And then he…smirks. You’re not sure you like that.
“Crappiest space in the city,” he says and sits up. “You could at least get a chair.”
You roll your eyes and dole out the tea, fixing it the way Bucky likes. No sugar for this one, but plenty of honey. “If I ever have to leave for an actual fire, I’ll be in enough trouble trying to get around you.”
“Nah. I’d carry you out,” Bucky says and lifts his cup in a silent ‘cheers.’ He takes a sip and the sigh sounds content, so you assume you did it right. For a few moments a comfortable silence settles between the two of you as you sip warm drinks surrounded by greenery (that is mostly green) and life goes on in faint sounds outside the confines of your home.
Bucky sets his empty cup down with a sigh. “Do you think, if I show up to throttle him, that he’ll actually start watching his own fucking back?”
You give that some serious thought. “Will you give him time to moon at you first?”
Bucky sighs with disgust and flumps back onto the counter. “This is stupid. This all feels so stupid.”
You open your mouth because you do have a lot of opinions about honest communication and using innocent civilian apartments to dance around each other, but Bucky shoots you a glare to let you know that a, he knows, and b, he doesn’t appreciate it. You roll your eyes and go back to drinking your tea. It is a very good blend, and you’re not going to let it go unappreciated because two early 20th century boys can’t get their shit together.
Not that you’re complaining, really– you’re starting to feel like less of a disaster by comparison. Or maybe letting two strange men into your apartment makes you just as bad by default. You rub the bridge of your nose. Yeah, no one is getting out of this looking sane. You feel like that should bother you more than it does, but it’s just a fleeting thought before you go back to worrying about Steve and pouring Bucky’s cup back to full.
~
The next night when someone knocks on your door, you’re only mildly surprised to see Steve on the other side. And most of that surprise is because you can see fading bruises on his face, and also because he is holding a fairly big potted plant with tall green and yellow-edged leaves.
“Hi,” he says and lifts the pot slightly. “I got you a present.”
“Uh, wow; thanks?” you say and quickly step back to let him in, momentarily forgetting he can probably carry it around with ease. Steve places the plant on the floor near the end of your couch, where it actually looks fairly nice. He gestures at it proudly. “It’s a snake plant. The man at the nursery said it’s very hard to kill.”
“You’re not funny,” you say but you look at it appreciatively. It is nice, and you could do with ‘hard to kill’. Speaking of– “Should you be up? You look like you should be in a hospital.”
He shrugs and his face goes neutral. “I’m healing well enough that there’s nothing a hospital could do for me. And I felt so…restless.”
You nod. “Want some tea?”
“Please. I really like what you make,” he says and immediately takes a seat at the counter. Oddly enough, it’s not the one Bucky always takes. You don’t realize you squint at the space for too long until Steve looks curious and asks, “Is everything okay?”
You squint at the countertop. “Yeah, just…trying to figure out if that’s a stain or a spot.”
Thankfully there is a spot of spilled something and you quickly grab a towel and wipe it away. You think it’s a pretty good save, but Steve looks at you with a raised brow, like he’s figured something out. You freeze. “What?” What are you going to say? How is he going to react? What will you–
“Was that a coffee ring?”
You blink a few times, and then roll your eyes as your chest practically deflates. He smiles and winks. “I can’t believe you.”
“I am a layered human being who can drink many things,” you say defensively. “And if you want coffee you’ll have to ask another time. I’m not giving you anything with caffeine in it when you look like you got hit by a truck.”
“Train,” he corrects absently. “It barely clipped me.”
You sigh and go for the sleepy blend. One of you is going to have to bow out of this conversation due to exhaustion and at this point you don’t care if it’s you. However it might truly come in handy as Steve keeps looking out the window and shaking his foot. You set the cup in front of him and before you can ask what’s wrong, he takes the cup in both hands and blurts out, “I think I saw him.”
You look at the window and squint. “Seriously?”
“Not here.” Steve rolls his eyes. Like you’re the crazy one. He blows gently across the surface of the liquid and says, “Though it’s strange you’d think I saw Bucky out of your window.”
“Isn't that why you started showing up here in the first place? I distinctly remember someone with a big red, white, and blue shield lurking on my fire escape.”
“Oh, right,” he admits sheepishly, hunched over his cup. His eyes glimmer with mischief as he looks up at you through long lashes and asks, “Did I ever apologize to you for that?”
You’re brought up short by the amount of boyish charm this giant walking wall of muscle manages to pack into that look and you have to find your tongue to say, “I– y-yeah…”
Steve chuckles to himself and you give yourself a mental slap on the face. “Troll,” you mutter and sip from your mug. The liquid is piping hot and burns your tongue, giving you an excuse to grimace when Steve flashes you a beautiful smile.
~
You’re in trouble.
Not physically, not immediately, and perhaps someone on the outside might say you’re being dramatic about it, but they wouldn’t know shit about the situation. They wouldn’t know about how your hands felt as they slid over Steve’s when he handed you a new small pot of flowers; they wouldn’t know about the feeling of serenity that settled over you when Bucky abandoned some of his oh so careful control and rested his head on your shoulder for four long seconds; they wouldn’t know how it feels like you’re missing something until someone shows up at your door or taps at your window.
You’re falling in love with two people who have always been, and still are, desperately in love with each other.
Isn’t that just your luck.
~
In the end, Bucky takes your advice more to heart than you ever expected he would– you and Steve are quietly enjoying each others’ company, with you standing in the kitchen and Steve sitting at the counter as per usual, when the curtains move dramatically for Bucky to slip in, which makes Steve whirl around, and your hands jerk so hard from all the sudden surprise that your cup slips out and crashes to the floor.
“Shi-” You forget to watch your step and immediately catch a jagged shard that embeds itself right under the ball of your foot. “Ow, fuck!”
Your name is said in different voices but very similar tones of alarm and you suddenly find yourself gathered into Bucky’s arms, bridal style, and he carries you over to the couch. “Wh-” You swallow at the close proximity to Bucky’s chest and the way he holds you so effortlessly but so securely. “I’m fine; it’s just a little–”
Bucky sits down on the couch and doesn’t move you, which means you are basically sitting cross-wise in his lap. This is not something you need after your recent revelation, and it doesn’t get any easier when Steve comes back with the heavy duty first aid kit Bucky got you and gingerly takes your foot to examine the injury. His sympathetic look towards you gives you the warning you need to brace yourself before he pulls the shard out. It doesn’t hurt too terribly and he’s almost tender as he cleans your foot.
“Look at us, matching blood and all,” Bucky says lightly.
“It’s my floor I’ll bleed on it if I want,” you grumble, but you’re too distracted by how focused Steve is on fixing you up. “You…seem to be taking this well.”
“I knew he had been here since the first time I came,” Steve admits as he rolls the gauze around your foot. “There was a bloodstain on your floor still.”
“Seriously?” You had thought Bucky was being overdramatic about the supposed stain and humored him, but it…makes sense. Why else would he come back the next night. Why else would Steve continue to come by. And because Steve had kept coming, Bucky had kept coming, and…they won’t need to come back anymore, will they? They now have what they’ve wanted. Each other.
Someone says your name and you force yourself back to neutral as much as you possibly can. Steve looks curious though and Bucky says, “What’s with that look?”
“There’s no look,” you say. “And if there is, it’s only because you two have devised the weirdest meet-cute ever– decades after you actually met.”
“Hm.” Bucky continues to stare at you, but doesn’t say anything else.
~
They come back. And they both use the door.
You don’t know what you’re more shocked by– that Bucky and Steve, having come back to each other, are still coming around to you, or that Bucky is actually walking through the designated threshold. You don’t have a lot of time to think about it though because the place is…a mess.
“What happened here?” Steve asks as Bucky’s shoulders go up to his ears and he looks around the place like he’s going to find something unpleasant.
“It’s not that bad,” you say and glance around. You’ve cleaned out a few of the pots already and stacked them away in the closet, but some of the plants are still…slightly alive, for a little while. A couple are even doing fairly well– one of which being the snake plant Steve got you.
“What happened to the jungle?” Bucky asks, looking around shrewdly. You don’t like the sound of that. It feels so…probing, and raises your hackles. Why should he care?
“I wasn’t keeping them alive for very long.” You flick a yellowing leaf and keep your tone light. “I just got tired of it. What are…what are you doing here?”
You don’t look at Steve, but he clears his throat and his tone is similar to Bucky’s when he asks, “Is now a bad time?”
“For what?” You square your shoulders and face them. Like an adult. Like an adult who had two other adults just sort of crash into their life one day and start sharing space until such time as the two window-crashers decided they…didn’t need to come around anymore. “I’m happy you both found each other. You didn’t have to come back.”
Steve looks…well, he looks hurt. You don’t know any other way to describe it; it doesn’t show in his face so much as in his eyes, in the feeling you get watching the line of his shoulders lower. But before he can say anything, before you can explain yourself, Bucky speaks up.
“It isn’t like that,” he says.
You look down. It’s easier than looking at a man who feels rejected, and a man who has you completely pegged.
“What?” Steve asks.
“It’s okay,” you say, in perhaps the biggest bald-faced lie you’ve ever told.
“That’s not– no,” Bucky insists and lifts your chin. His fingers are warm and gentle and linger too long.
You pull back from his touch before you can embarrass yourself further. “You guys were literally circling each other.”
“Please.” Bucky rolls his eyes. “I don’t need to keep coming back here to be near Steve. I know where he lives.”
“And I leave my window unlocked,” Steve says. He aims a cheeky grin at Bucky and adds, “Guess I should have left it open though.”
“Shut up,” Bucky tells him but looks at you and says, “Point is: we weren't using you.”
Steve blinks. “Oh– no, of course not!”
“It’s all right,” you say, trying as hard as you can to assuage their discomfort even though you can’t put much into it. Even though you did very much want this meeting to happen, somehow you don’t feel very ‘all right.’
“No,” Bucky says and takes your hand in his. The flesh hand, which he runs up to the middle of your forearm. His touch is gentle and light, even when he grips. You can break away, but you don’t– you let him pull you in, close and closer, until there’s barely any room between you.
Steve crowds from the side and puts one arm behind Bucky, and one arm behind you. “If you only think we’re here because of each other, then it’s not all right,” he says softly.
“I know it isn’t– I know you weren't ‘using’ m–” You swallow hard. “And I know it’s not–”
They both swoop in for a kiss– for a kiss with you. Somehow they avoid bumping heads and the lip-lip-lip contact is barely there, with Steve at the corner and Bucky barely catching one side of your upper lip, but they're both there for a glorious moment that leaves you stunned.
“Oh…” you say, dumbly. You try to fight it, but a smile pulls at your lips. “Oh.”
“That good already, huh?” Steve asks quietly, slowly forming a small smile of his own.
You let out a little sigh that is immediately undermined by an uncontrollable laugh that swells from a bubble of relief at the base of your throat. “Bucky’s right, you are insufferable,” you say but you reach out to sweep your fingers in a gentle touch down Steve’s cheek and under his chin.
“You get used to it,” Bucky says.
You think about that. Even with how you’ve been, entertaining these two rotating planets over the last however many weeks or months, this would be an entirely new normal.
You think you can’t wait to get used to it.
#steve rogers x bucky barnes x reader#captain america fanfic#reader insert#stucky x reader#mcu reader insert
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Another request for the Christmas drabbles! Wanda, baking cookies, stressed
Winter and Christmas Drabbles
You stared.
And stared.
And stared a bit harder until your eyelid started to twitch and Wanda touched your cheek with a look of genuine concern.
"Did your brain just break?"
When a deep, slow breath did nothing to bring you a coherent response, you offered a tight smile before rushing into the kitchen to inspect the contents of your cabinets.
Dried cranberries. Candied orange peel. Candied ginger. Peanut butter chips. Andes mints. Cinnamon chips. Semi-sweet chocolate chips. What the hell do Avengers eat?
Wanda followed at a more sedate pace, catching the jar of molasses with a wisp of red just as it slid off the shelf.
"Should I not have accepted?" she asked, trying to catch your eye. "I just thought it might be nice to see them again, and to introduce you, but I can -"
Not wanting to draw her into your stress spiral, you turned quickly, dropping a bag of chocolate chips in the process that froze two inches above the floor.
"No, no! I'm glad you accepted. If it's important to you, it's important to me," you said, leaning to kiss her cheek when she came closer. "Just, um..."
You gestured at the small mountain of ingredients on the counter with a flustered sigh.
"What kind of cookies do I need to be making?"
"You're not a caterer," Wanda said with a smile, smoothing her fingers over the stressed creases in your forehead. "I just told them we'd bring cookies because I know you don't like arriving anywhere empty handed. And..."
"And?" She was holding your face between her hands now, her expression growing more solemn.
"And you make the best cookies in the world."
"I sure hope you didn't tell them that." You groaned when she started to smile again, pulling away from her to resume your chaotic cabinet raid. "Wanda! What if they don't like them? Do you even know what their favorite cookies are? Do any of them have allergies or ingredients they hate?"
"You make cookies for parties all the time, and you've never stressed over it this much."
"Yeah, but this isn't just some party with friends or people I work with, it's..."
Wanda was shuffling you back from the counter, insistent hands on your hips. You turned in her grip with an unimpressed frown, but it melted in the face of yet another sweet smile. She was annoyingly good at that.
"Meeting them is like... meeting your family for the first time," you tried to explain. "Except they're also famous and could kill me with toothpick. So these aren't just cookies, and they're not even just holiday cookies. They're first impression cookies."
"No, they're not."
"What do you mean? Have they been breaking in to watch me sleep or something?"
She rolled her eyes at you. But that wasn't a no.
"What I mean is we've been together for four months. Do you really think I haven't talked to them about you?"
You shrugged self-consciously.
"I texted Clint about my beautiful new neighbor after the second time we spoke. And I texted Natasha for advice on how to ask you out. I called Steve as soon as I got home from our first date because I was so excited. I talk to them about you at least five times a week if not every day."
It was a little embarrassing to realize how much they must already know about you, but it made you smile anyway. What a little creep. You loved her so much.
"So no, this will not be your first impression. They already know you, and they already love you because I love you. And they have never seen me happier."
Your heart gave a flutter, and you hugged her tighter than was probably comfortable, hoping she could feel all the affection rushing through you because you didn't quite trust yourself to speak.
"But the love will absolutely turn to hate if you don't make rugelach," she mumbled into your shoulder, pinching you when you laughed.
"Oh, sure. Anything else they would hate me for not making?"
"Depends on how many batches you're going to make."
"Mmm... four?"
And by now she knew better than to try and talk you down, so she just shook her head fondly.
"Gingerbread, chocolate cherry, and snickerdoodle?"
"You got it."
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youtube & use lube
part 7 of my netflix and chill collection!
summary: You can’t believe this is Jungkook’s preferred sick day treatment; YouTube, cuddles, and an ugly amount of lube.
warnings: smut in the forms of nipple play, handjobs, spit kink, face riding, unprotected, flavored warming lube, riding, praise kink, soft femdom, missionary bc his eyes are pretty, tit sucking, more jk has an impreg kink, oh and this is all subby kook
rating: mature (18+)
miscellaneous: domesticity baby!! fluff, soft scenes /.\, jk is sick:((, doyeon is A Doctor, yn sees an opportunity and she grabs it, surprise ending <3
word count: 8.7k
notes: finally…. 7 parts later and we get ~✨💓sub kook💓✨~ this was honestly my fave to write I think because I was obSESSEDDD with his softness and yn leading hehe /.\ also yeah we time jumped 6 months bc uhmmm 😎 story progression also here’s [ THE KOOK U SHOULD IMAGINE FOR THIS 😡 ] also if see a typo ummm no u didn't .
let me know what u think! a simple ask goes a long way <3
Despite what past experiences may dictate, Jungkook’s body is actually quite resilient. It’s due in part to his obnoxiously healthy lifestyle; avocado breakfasts, gym rat tendencies, and a normal person’s circadian rhythm (you could never relate). He lives the life health professionals can only dream of writing down in their notes, so careful of his well-being that it’s almost annoying. Of all the habits you help him break, the rituals he sometimes forgets, his health is never one and it’s actually one he ropes you into quite often. The ladder accident last summer had truly been an odd occurrence, and for a while after, you doubt anything else will ever happen to him.
And then winter comes.
Now, Jungkook, with all his superior bodily systems and strict lifestyle, is still not immune to the common cold. So when he comes down with a stuffy nose, a saggy frame, you’re not too surprised. It’s right after New Year’s, which you had spent it at one of Taehyung’s classic overcrowded parties this year, shivering on a rooftop as he kissed you silly under the fireworks, so one of you was bound to get sick. And you were sick for Halloween, so it’s only the universe’s way of leveling the playing field when he gets sick after New Years.
What does surprise you is when he doesn’t bounce back right away. Usually, Jungkook’s high caliber immune system has him in tip top shape about two days later. But this time around, it takes a while. In fact, it takes longer than usual, and you don’t realize until you’re coming over on a Friday night, met with an unusual silence at the Jeon household.
As you slowly grew accustomed to your life out of school, you and Jungkook accepted that you didn’t really have time to be glued to each other’s hips at all hours of the day. It was only natural that sometimes you had too much work, were too tired, or were just not in the mood to visit each other. That was fine, and you’ve come to quite appreciate this new routine, because it only made your heart flutter faster than before when you did see him next. You don’t have to see each other everyday, and that was fine; it was part of growing up together (and growing old together, your sappy heart says).
But today, this separation ends up being your downfall. Jungkook first showed signs of a cold on Monday, and now it was Friday and you hadn’t heard from him in two days. You’re beginning to suspect he’s come down with something severe— maybe that strain of the flu that he forgot to get vaccinated for this year —or even worse, dead.
Luckily, Jungkook isn’t dead, just sadly slumped across the end of his bed, nose a bright red and hair a tangled mess. “Oh no,” you frown, but there’s not an ounce of distress in your voice, because boy, was he cute.
He groans at the sight of you. “Don’t look at me,” he whimpers, hands fisting the sheets. “I’m ugly.”
You bite down on a smile, hang your bag on the hook behind his bedroom door. He’s barely making an effort to stay on the bed, clinging to the side with such powerless hands. “Absolutely hideous,” you play along, arms wrapping around his middle. Registering your touch, your support, he immediately releases what little grip he had and almost sends the two of you tumbling to the ground. “My poor baby,” you croon, manhandling him back into the comfort of his sheets.
Perhaps the reason you believed Jungkook was so immune was because, well, he never let you see him sick.
He was picky about his presentation to the world, always wanting to show his best side. And well, you were in that world. Hell, you were probably the main person he wanted to show off for (not to toot your own horn), so he avidly avoided showing you his unpleasant sides. Even in college, when you had been practically stuck to his side, he had always made a big deal of pushing you away when he was sick, calling off dates and hiding away at his house.
You sort of knew why. Namjoon had told you once that Jungkook when drunk was the equivalent of a needy, whiny baby. You could attest to that because wine drunk Jungkook and vodka drunk Jungkook were quite the experiences to haul home. And apparently Jungkook when sick was more or less the same. He was all doe eyes and pouty lips, magnified by his weakened appearance. He was adorable.
He’s wearing a lot of layers, but it’s still winter so you don’t think too much of it. Dark long sleeve sweatshirt, the front tucked into some cute brown and black checkered pants. You see it as just some casual at home attire until you reach for his covers, hand brushing his hair from his face, only to find it ice cold.
“Oh, you’re freezing, honey,” you frown, for real this time. Jungkook whimpers, snuggles into the sheets you pull up to his chin. He dozes off soon after, pouty lips chapped to hell and back. You reach for your chapstick, deciding to get one good use of it on your own lips before contaminating it with Jungkook’s sick germs. Even in his sleep he’s a good boy, rolling his lips together after you’ve applied it on him.
With Jungkook knocked out, you pad back downstairs and into his kitchen. You can more or less infer that he’s come down with something a little more intense than a cold. His skin was cold, and his nose was runny, but, oddly enough, he wasn’t sweating. You decide to consult a professional.
“The little gremlin is sick?” Doyeon repeats, a comforting buzz in your ear as you get to work making Jungkook your famous Get Better Soon Soup, idly waiting for the water to boil over. You confirm. Doyeon, legend that she was, accidentally sat an entire physiology class one semester (and passed), so this is the closest you’ll get to a doctor friend. “Hm,” she says, “what’re his symptoms?”
You press your phone between your ear and shoulder, clattering around Jungkook’s kitchen for ingredients. “Runny nose and colder than your ass that one time you passed out in the snow,” you supply. “Oh, but not sweating.”
Doyeon hums over the line, tells you to give her a second, and disappears. “WebMD is saying fever, but you said he’s not sweating?” You confirm again. “Throw him in front of the heater and make him sweat then. He has to burn it out somehow.”
“I can’t do that,” you sigh, pausing when you hear some vague sound from around the house. It’s not Jungkook, so you return to your call. Anyway, Jungkook’s house is, like, perfect. Always warm when need be and always cold as well. You don’t even think he knows what a space heater is. “He’s sick sick. Like, can barely hold himself up sick.”
She scoffs. “And I care why?” You huff, go to scold her for their weird rivalry, but then she’s moving on. “Babe, just give him some pain relief and call it a day.”
“Fine,” you mumble. “Wait, can you look something else up for me?”
Anyway, Jungkook probably has a fever, except it’s weird because he’s not sweating it out. He wakes up about an hour later, but this time he’s more self aware. He eats his soup and takes the medicine you offer him. Afterwards, he can’t go back to sleep so he huffily asks for his iPad and begins watching some weirdly specific YouTube videos you don’t think you’ve ever seen him watch before.
You have absolutely no idea what he’s watching, some niche videos of guys in Singapore turning random forest areas into underwater pools? You don’t know. Jungkook seems interested, though, for all of ten minutes until he falls asleep again.
He’s still cold, poor baby, nose like an ice cube that just won’t melt. You find a heating pad you left over in his closet and place it on his chest. Your thought process is that if his heart, the source of all energy, was warm, then certainly the rest of him will warm up soon enough. Yeah, you missed the last three seasons of Grey’s Anatomy; you were a little rusty.
So with Jungkook fast asleep and nothing else to do, you assume the age-old, patriarchal task of cleaning around the house.
His house was usually neat and tidy, mostly as a result of Jungkook’s virgo manifestations, but even those varied. His living room tended to be spotless, but his personal office was a different story. But with him having been out of it this past week, the entire house is littered in tiny garbage that would make Normal Jungkook burst a blood vessel.
There’s a pile of Reese’s wrappers in the downstairs bathroom, on the sink next to his toothbrush. The sight makes you sad, because your poor boy must have been struggling if he was eating candy in the bathroom, where he… uses the bathroom. And then that thought makes you even sadder, thinking back to all the times he was sick and alone, fending for himself out of his weird embarrassment of showing normal body functions.
You had thought he was cute when you first arrived— he still was —but he was also so weak and frail, bulky muscles rendered useless by whatever bacteria was attacking his body, making him sleepy and in pain for god knows how long. With a resolute nod, you sweep all the wrappers into the trash and decide to do your very best at helping Jungkook get through this sickness and bounce back better than ever.
Before leaving his bathroom, you ransack his cabinets, deciding he probably keeps most of his antibiotics here. It’s a spot you never really snoop around, because Jungkook always keeps a fully stocked basket in his closet filled with your typical necessities— from conditioner to pads to nail polish remover, he kept it all. And furthermore, you always tended to use his upstairs bathroom anyway, so that’s where your toothbrush and the like were kept. There was really no need for you to ever look through the downstairs bathroom’s cabinet. So the downstairs bathroom cabinet is practically the other side of the world to you, a culture shock so strong it has you plopping down in front of it to thoroughly sift through.
He’s got a disgusting amount of hair products, none of which you actually think you’ve ever seen him use, and a maniacal amount of tooth stuff. Now, you were quite possibly the biggest proponent for dental care, but this was ridiculous. Four packs of floss on reserve, and about three cases of those dental picks. A whole family pack of toothbrushes and one of those cute little cases for his retainer you’ve seen a few times.
So overwhelmed with his ungodly stash of dental hygiene utilities, you almost miss the pretty pink tube hidden in the very back corner.
You’re thinking it’s some makeup primer you left before that he mistook for moisturizer, probably dumped it with all his other things, only to find out you are very, very wrong.
Sensation Warming Lubricant: NOW! in strawberry flavor
You blink.
Lubricant? Jungkook was using lubricant? Strawberry, sensation warming lubricant?!
Somewhere in your mind you had convinced yourself that Jungkook was a simple man, a lotion at his bedside drawer type of man. He had you for the last one and half year, and you two fucked like rabbits, so you hardly doubt he was jacking it alone these days. And even if he was, why on earth was he so specific about the type of lube he uses?
You turn the bottle around, eyes scanning for an expiration date or something of the like, only to find that the copyright symbol was under this current year. The year that had just started, like, two weeks ago.
Oh, so this was new.
You turn it over, eyes scanning over the warnings like it’ll tell you something about your boyfriend you don’t know yet, some other hidden secret that he’s maybe held from you. Granted, owning lube isn’t really a big deal, but the fact he’s got it so hidden away (not really, it was casually sitting beside his sunscreen) was definitely something to zero in on.
Strawberry flavored, you read again, warming, stimulating, edible? Forget his weirdly extensive floss collection, you had stumbled upon something amazing in here, the goddamn Hope Diamond among snooping girlfriend finds. You’ll confront him about this later, you decide, when he’s back to normal and not whiningly calling your name from upstairs. You pocket it for now, tucking it into your cardigan pockets for said later interrogation, and bound up the stairs to him again.
He’s sitting up in bed like a very angry and confused toddler, brows furrowed sharply like he’s mad. Actually, he just can’t see, the light from the hallway blinding him, so you shut the door and flick on his bedside lamp for him instead. “Hi, honey,” you coo, sitting down on the edge beside him. He’s still waking up, leaning a little too heavily into your palm when you cup his face. “How’re you feeling?”
“Terrible,” he rasps out, but he’s definitely looking better than before. You don’t know if you imagine it, but there’s this slowly accumulating sweat that forms along the base of his neck. “Please don’t leave again,” he says softly, droopy eyes glassy.
Something shoots straight to your heart— an arrow from Cupid himself! —that makes you stroke his cheek tenderly until his eyelids are fluttering shut again. “I won’t,” you promise, feeling around for his iPad. He doesn’t seem like he’ll fall back asleep, sitting up with more strength than he had that morning.
You end up climbing behind him, let him be the little spoon you know he secretly craves to be, as he watches his weird YouTube videos again. His body is so warm against yours, but his skin is still so cold. If what Doyeon had said was true, it’s no wonder he’s kept the same sickness all week. The rhythmic sound of machetes hacking at the earth and water trickling through bamboo pipes grows on you, makes you fall into a sense of comfort behind him, arms tracing circles over his chest.
It’s a mindless habit, one you actually do a lot. Most of the time, it’s when he’s at his desk and stressed out, your masseuse hands making an appearance to soothe the muscles in his neck and chest from being hunched over for so long. Even now, your fingers unconsciously press into the fabric over his pecks, tickle up his sternum until he’s melting against you.
It takes one quiet whimper from him to let you know exactly how he’s feeling. “Everything alright?” you inquire, halting your movements over his chest. Jungkook nods shakily, head lolling forward. The nape of his neck calls to you, whispers for a kiss that you tenderly bestow upon it. It makes Jungkook jolt, another pretty sound leaving his lips at the press of your warm lips against his sensitive neck.
“No more,” he mumbles, rolls his head around until it’s resting against your shoulder, giving you a clear view down his chest. You slide your hands back up from where they’d gone stiff just around his ribs, let them palm over his pecs. Jungkook’s hips buck, a minuscule movement you almost miss.
His heart thunders like the inside of a horse race track beneath your palm, breath picking up just from the simple motion of your hands on his chest. It’s on the fourth circle around his pecs that you feel your pinky briefly catch on something. “Poor thing,” you sigh, running the pad of your pointer finger over the hardened nipple that peaks beneath his sweatshirt. “Is this what was bothering you?”
A shaky exhale in response, hands tightly clutching at his iPad and beloved YouTube video genre. “N-No,” he denies, but you chance a peak at his face, where his lips are bitten a rosy pink color, its slightly muted sister rushing down his cheeks, over his neck.
You press the lightest of kisses to the side of his neck, and he shivers. “Need me to take care of you?” you purr, trail your hands down his chest towards where the hem of his sweater sits. You run your finger over it twice, before moving to slip your hand beneath. Your fingers brush along his abs, contracted tightly at your touch, and slowly make their way back up his chest.
Fingers find his pebbled nipples, a gasp escaping his lips. “Does this feel good?” you ask softly, pinching the swollen nubs between your fingers. Jungkook groans, body arching just the slightest as you rub his nipples, tug and twist them until he’s a whining mess. “Need you to tell me, honey,” you encourage, lips ghosting over his neck.
The second kiss has him flinching as well, head rapidly turning the other way as you slowly kiss over his neck. “___, please,” he pants, knuckles pale on the sides of the iPad. You're afraid it’ll snap, if not from his grip then from the way he pushes at it, like he’s breaking a wooden board over his knee. It’s still on YouTube, playing another video from the same collection, volume competing with Jungkook’s tiny sounds.
Pressing your lips to his neck, you kiss along it slowly, reveling in the lovely noises that Jungkook produces the more you rub his nipples, lower body squirming animatedly before you. Your kisses grow wet for a short period, suck purple blossoms across his skin until Jungkook is quivering like a leaf. “E-Enough,” he begs, voice a wobbly mess that is so light and airy.
You grin, giving his rockhard nipples one last flick before sliding your hands down his chest, over his stomach to toy with the elastic of his pants. He inhales sharply, iPad nearly snapped in half mid video. Ready to play with him some more (and slightly afraid for the future of his tablet), you reach out a hand to move it away, set it off to the side.
But Jungkook doesn’t release it. In fact, he clings to the damn piece of tech tighter than before. “Hmm?” you murmur, bottom lip brushing against his neck once more. “Not letting go, sweetheart?”
He shakes his head, soft crown of curls bouncing from the movement. “Can’t, can’t,” he shivers. His knees shift back and forth, move between being casually spread and flush together. Like he’s hiding something, using the iPad and the videos on screen as cover. You tug at his wrist and Jungkook shakes his head again.
You change tactics, hand sliding around his wrist instead. The other travels up, up, up, comes curling around the base of his neck. Jungkook whimpers, tilts his head back for you cutely at the first brush of your fingers against his Adam’s apple. “Thought you were my good boy?” you ask, eyes zeroed in on the tremble of his lower lip.
Jungkook exhales shakily, a rather torn expression crossing his features. “I am,” he insists, fingers still tight “I am your good boy.”
You smile, stroking the front of his neck softly as you lean down to press a kiss against his cheek. “You are, aren’t you?” He whimpers. “Then let go, honey,” you murmur, hand on his wrist giving another experimental tug. Still, his grip remains solid. “Jungkook,” you snap, “let go.”
“Y-You’ll laugh,” he cries, yet his grip slowly weakens. It’s with a swift tug that the iPad tumbles to his side, presses against his hip, and shows you the raging hard-on that stirs beneath the front of his cotton pants. Pressed nearly beside your ear, Jungkook shivers.
Ever so slowly, your hands return to their place around his waist. “Why would I laugh, sweetheart?” you mumble, marveling at the way his cock twitches and jumps beneath his pants before you can even touch it. His shirt is hiked up just above his abs, your hands tenderly stroking over the skin beneath his navel, but it’s got Jungkook writhing. “Hips up for me,” you instruct.
He shakes even when he pushes himself up, knees wobbling as you slip your hands beneath his waistband and tug them down his thighs. Afterwards, his legs flop forward flatly, spread out with his beautiful swollen cock on display against his hip.
You trap it at the base and Jungkook mewls, hands fisting the sheets now that his beloved iPad has been snatched away. It’s still playing his videos, interrupting his saccharine moans with corny ads every few minutes. A hand snaps up to join, opposite of yours, until your fingers are entwined around his dick. How romantic, you think, discreetly rolling your hips back against the mattress. “Gonna help me make you cum?” you ask instead, give him a light squeeze that makes him jolt.
“Uh huh,” he responds, feathery.
You reward him with a kiss to his cheek, reaching up to brush away the hair that’s begun sticking to his forehead. In the very back of your head you recognize this as being good for his fever, but the rest of you is more concerned with the pretty pout on his lips. “Hold tight for me,” you smile, releasing his cock to press your finger against the very tip of his cock where a pearly drop of precum has begun forming. “So pretty, Jungkookie,” you praise, teasing the length of your finger over the slit on his head. It has that juicy droplet coating your finger, gliding seamlessly over and over again.
The simple touch makes him buck, has him blindly wrapping an arm around your bent knee that was pressed to his side this whole time. He squeezes around you rather weakly, the majority of his strength going to holding his cock tightly like you’d instructed. He’s such a good boy for you, trying his absolute best, even when you’re very obviously overwhelming him.
You roll the flat side of your finger over him, his mushroom tip slowly growing more and more slick as he produces more precum. It’s shiny, fits perfectly between your clasped fingers when you squeeze around his head. Jungkook’s breath turns labored.
He’s always so well kept down there, skin so smooth and free of hairs, and you know he does it because he wants to impress you. “So pretty, baby,” you hum, acknowledging his efforts. Your praise makes Jungkook moan, suddenly fucking up into his hand. It’s accidental, because he hisses at the drag of his dry palm around his relatively dry dick immediately.
“Hurts, hurts,” he whimpers prettily, lower lip caught between his teeth.
You frown, slide your wet fingers down the base of his cock until they’re wrapping around his and Jungkook’s little gasps even out. “I’m sorry, baby, you gotta be patie—“
Something presses against your hip, something distinctly hard that you had hastily picked up from his bathroom cabinet earlier, and a whole new door opens before your eyes. “Hold still for me,” you tell him quickly as you release your grip around his cock. Jungkook wails at the separation, but you’re more concerned with wrestling the tube out of your pocket with one hand. It’s heavy in your palm, turning over until that big fat label on front comes into view again.
Jungkook explodes at the sight. “Wh— Where did you find that?” he stammers, cheeks ablaze. “I-I don’t know where that came fro—“
You ignore him, hold the bottle of lubricant over his stomach as you uncap it, a gooey pink substance spilling over into your hands the moment the lid pops off. Jungkook is still rambling away about the origins of the bottle, as if you care. You set the bottle on his tummy, the cold plastic makes him shiver. But you know what’s not cold? The warming lube in your hands that only takes three rubs of your palms to activate.
You latch down like a crazed animal around his cock. With both your hands fighting to grip at his cock, you’re pressed closer against Jungkook, lips against the shell of his ear.
The initial touch makes him sob, back arching and legs kicking at the sheets piled at the foot of the bed as your slick hands track the lube over his dick. “No!” he cries, hands wildly reaching out to grab whatever he can as you slowly get to work pulling him off. “I-I can’t, __, I can’t.”
“You can,” you coo, watching the translucent pink substance coat his cock, join his sticky precum.
Maybe you get overexcited in your efforts, forget Jungkook is the way he is right now because he was still a little weak from his fever, but you go crazy on stroking his cock. One hand lingers around the base, squeezing and rolling over his balls, palm pressing against the hardened sac and squeezing there too. The other focuses at the tip, does most of the actual stroking over his cock. His head is leaking precum now, every stroke and squeeze making him shudder and push out another drop, until it’s mixing with the lube to form a sticky sweet substance that you wanna lick at so bad.
So you do.
You release one hand to curiously bring it up to your face, turning it over and around as you examine the stickiness on your fingers, the fat drop that unintentionally drips onto the front of Jungkook’s sweatshirt. He sobs at the sight of your lips around your fingers, squirms and bucks into the hand still on his cock until he’s embarrassingly coming. “I’m sorry,” he wails, hands fisting the sheets, fucking into your hand like a virgin. “I didn’t— I didn’t mean to.”
You draw your hand away, watching in slow motion the cum that just spurted from his cock come dribbling down the slowly softening length now. “Oh, sweetheart,” you croon, hands on his tummy. The bottle of lube slips to the side, meets the still playing iPad at his hip. It’s sticky and gross to touch him like this, especially when you know Jungkook hates being unnecessarily dirty, but you can’t stop yourself from softly caressing him, soothe him after such a hard-hitting orgasm.
Honestly you had thought he would hold up a little more, let you get in a few more strokes, but he must’ve been more sensitive than you thought. “I’m sorry,” he cries again, head lolling to the side to meet your gaze with watery eyes.
You tilt his head to the side, angle him just right for you to bestow your first kiss of the night against his little pout. Jungkook hiccups, melts against you as you slowly guide him through the kiss. He’s sloppy and shy, moves nothing like your normal Jungkook, and that fact alone has you slipping your tongue past his lips. He doesn’t fight back, just lets you play with him and sighs all delicately against your mouth.
There’s something about this, his soft and submissive attitude, that has you pulling away to look at him. Big brown eyes, glassed over with unshed tears, and plush lips that call your name. And yet.
“Open,” you murmur, hypnotized by the way that tiny mouth moves.
“Huh?” Jungkook flushes, but he’s so good, he’s your good boy, and does so anyway. Lower lip quivers as he parts his lips, stuttering exhales creeping through as you purse your lips, let the saliva collect on your mouth, before rudely spitting into his. He flinches, whimpers softly, and swallows. He looks at you with these expectant eyes, like he wants to hear how much of a good boy he is, so you do exactly that.
You brush his bangs away lovingly. “Aren’t you just so good for me,” you purr, revel in the way his eyes flutter shut at your touch, like you could never hurt him, and you won’t.
As sweet as the moment is, there’s a raging fire in your core begging to be stroked, and your hyperfixation on Jungkook’s mouth lets you know there’s only one way to chase the feeling. “Up,” you tell Jungkook, who whimpers sadly when you finally escape from behind him.
But you don’t get too far, settling beside him on the bed until you’re looking at the damage you’ve caused from the front. His skin is sticky in some places, pink sheen of the lube decorating him from your incessant touching. Pants around his thighs, shirt against his chest. His face is flushed, all the way down to his chest and up to his ears, so rosy and pink all for you. He shies away under your gaze, drops his head to his chin bashfully.
You grin, shuffle forward to turn those pretty eyes back towards you. “Messy little thing,” you tease, slotting your mouths together again. Jungkook moans this time, lazily kissing you back. His lips move in slow motion, trembling hands reaching for your face to cup, your name falling from his lips when you pull away slightly. “Need you to help me out now,” you murmur, hand on his jaw. “Can you do that, honey?” Jungkook nods hurriedly, eyes foggy and on your mouth. “Lay back.”
He does so, rushes to lay against the pillows until he’s flat on his back. You get to work on your clothes, shed your cardigan and languidly tug your top over your head in the way you know makes your breasts bounce. Beneath you, Jungkook whines at the sight. “You too,” you remind him, wiggling out of your jeans. At your instruction, he begins fumbling with his clothes, pants and underwear haphazardly thrown over the edge of the bed.
By the time you’re naked, you’re met with a rather amusing sight.
In his haste to take his clothing off, Jungkook seems to have gotten himself tangled in his long sleeves, shirt awkwardly bunched up around his wrists and twisted over some. You chuckle. “Help please,” he asks so politely, shaking his arms back and forth above his head. But you’re genuinely confused as to what he did, because one of the sleeves wraps around the other, pins the bulk of the fabric to his skin, and then the other wraps around that. A mess you don’t bother dissecting, simply climbing over him. He complains, of course, soft huffs you wave off.
“Don’t need them anyway,” you shrug, can’t help the lovesick look you send him when you brush his hair away for the umpteenth time. Jungkook leans into the touch sweetly, rosy cheek pressed against your palm. “Lemme see your pretty little tongue,” you order, pussy clenching when he does as told and rolls his tongue out for you, tip pressed against his bottom lip. “Good boy.”
A soft whimper, and then you’re shuffling over him, pretty doe eyes watching with amazement when you finally hover over his face. “For me?” he asks so softly, so sweetly.
It’s a question you’ve heard him utter countless times before in similar settings, always with a cocky grin and mean eyes, ready to send you to hell and back with his tongue or his cock. But it’s different now, big shiny eyes looking at you like you’re the greatest thing to ever happen in his life, so pliant and demure beneath your touch like he lived to serve you.
“All for you,” you assure him, get comfortable, and slowly lower your pussy over his face. His eyes flutter shut immediately, pink tongue ready for you by the time your dripping cunt nears his face.
You can’t help the moan that tears itself from your throat, a soft cry as he begins lapping against your folds. He’s so tender, so careful. It drives you crazy. Hands above his head squirming as you slowly grind your pussy over his face, more mindful than usual because he was so delicate tonight, like a baby bird that shivers with the simplest touch.
His tongue is smooth, circles around your clit. He nudges your bundle of nerves back and forth a few times, sends an initial wave of tingles down your spine, before taking it between puckered lips. His slurps it into his mouth, where it’s so hot and wet, it makes your grind stutter. “Oh,” you pant, reaching down to tangle your fingers in his hair. “P-Perfect,” you mumble.
The praise makes his features twist up cutely, mouth desperate to get more out of you. “You like that?” you gasp, holding his head still as he runs his tongue along your folds. Jungkook nods, eyes glazed over as he messily begins eating you out. “Like when I tell you you’re a good boy, Jungkookie?”
He lets out a broken whine, the vibrations shooting up your spine and making you shiver. Tongue pressed in at your entrance, prods gently like it’s his first time (it’s not) and he’s gauging your reactions. “Oh baby,” you shudder, fingers tightening in his curls.
He looks like an angel beneath you like this, halo of curls artfully splayed across the sheets, arms knotted above his head. Big pretty eyes that make you want to lay down and be his bitch instead, their power just so strong even when he’s whining and whimpering against your pussy like this. His tongue dips into your cunt, makes you buck against him by accident. “I’m sorry, angel,” you breathe, so caught up in your thoughts that the name just slips. It makes Jungkook’s cheeks flush a pretty pink, arms tug at their makeshift restraints. But his brain is scattered, torn between releasing himself, eating you out, and being shy.
He settles soon enough, ends up just sticking his tongue out flat for you to grind against, using the grip in his curls to drag your pussy over his face. His scalp feels warm, sweat clinging to his hairline. He sighs endearingly against you, and it’s that final puff of warm air against your folds that has you coming, cum dripping over his lips and chin sinfully.
When you finish, you quickly get off of him, lay down beside him. Jungkook is panting softly, tongue peeking out to taste the cum that splattered against the corner of his lips. “You were so good for me,” you praise, idly dragging your finger across his skin, collecting your cum on the tip.
Jungkook looks at you with a heavy gaze, knotted wrists slowly returning to rest over his abdomen. “Can you… Can you call me that again?” he asks hesitantly, so shy and polite.
“Hm?” you ask. “Angel?” His lips part, an awfully aroused look crossing his features. You smile, press your cum loaded finger against his lips and he opens, sucks around your finger and moans. “My pretty little angel,” you purr, slowly thrusting your finger in and out of his mouth. Before you can stop yourself, you’re leaning over to kiss him again, swallowing his cries in your desperate need to taste yourself on his tongue. Jungkook is more active this time around, daringly challenging your tongue with his before ultimately giving up, languidly following the pace you set for the kiss. You pull off with a pop, leave him dazed and trailing after your mouth cutely.
You pat his cheek once, offer him a tender smile, before moving to get up and clean up. Jungkook whines at your departure, and it’s only once you’ve sat up that you realize why.
Half hard cock at his hip, fattening slowly but surely. Instantly, it’s like the post-orgasm fatigue is yanked away, pussy throbbing at the sight of your angel and his cock, swelling from eating you out and kissing. He was too good to be true.
“Oh, you poor thing,” you sigh dramatically, shifting onto your knees at his hip to look at him. Something pokes your leg; it’s the stupid iPad playing his dorky YouTube videos that you click off and chuck to the other side of the bed. You had had enough of that by now.
He’s not at full mast yet, and he’s not getting there quick enough for your liking. So you take matters into your own hands. (Besides, what was stopping you tonight? Certainly not this soft, pliant Jungkook.)
Kneeling between his legs, you reach for the forgotten bottle of lube, squirt a fat glob into your hands, then decide that isn’t enough and squirt it directly onto your chest. Jungkook watches with wide eyes, lower lip caught between his teeth. “What— What’re you doing?” he stammers, can’t even sit up with his hands held together. “__, y-you don’t have—“
Squeezing your breasts together, you slip his cock between the crevice, watch as his angry head comes out on the other side so easily, so slippery. Oh, this was gonna be post-work, shower-time, spank bank material for months.
Jungkook sobs, loud and unfiltered at the sight, expression torn as he watches you slowly work your tightened breasts down his quickly hardening member. “T-Too much, too much,” he cries, squirming and bucking beneath you. “I-I’ll come—”
“Don’t,” you snap, stilling your moments to flick your eyes back to him. His head is rolled back, jaw strained, but when he manages to lift it up and look down at you, there’s tears that streak his cute face, trails that glisten when the lowlight of the lamp hits him just right. “Don’t fucking come yet, Jungkook.”
He sniffles weakly, more tears spilling from his eyes. “But I— it feels,” he blubbers, knotted hands reaching down for the base of his cock. You slap it away. “___, please,” he wails, face flushed from all his conflicting emotions.
Ignoring his cries, you get back to work, moving your upper body to and fro to simulate the thrusting motion he is too weak to do himself. He whimpers pitifully, more tears leaving his eyes when you lean down and spit on the head of his cock when it emerges next, make it join the rest of the ungodly fluids painting your chest. Honestly, you’re certain it’s that damned strawberry flavored, sensation warming, edible lube that makes this experience so enjoyable, so mind-blowing.
Jungkook seems to agree, stuttering out a messy whine. “Feels weird,” he snivels, only to be cut off when you release him from in between your tits. Immediately, he begins lamenting the loss.
Slowly, you ease him back in. You’re beginning to understand the intensity of that damned warming lube, because with each glide of his cock between your breasts, it’s like a tingle of nerves sparks within you, insides folding in on themselves as they channel all their energy to that one area of hastily spread lube. It feels so good and wet and messy, Jungkook’s whiny sniffles only fueling the experience. His cock twitches dangerously, and you flash him a glare. “Jungkook,” you warn.
“I’m sorry,” he weeps, thrashing back and forth as if that makes it any easier. “I just— I want,” he chokes, hips bucking into the suction you’ve created between your boobs. Tentatively, you stick your tongue out, let his tip brush against it on the next thrust. Jungkook curses, a feral groan escaping his lips. “Wanna fuck,” he seethes, “now.”
It’s but a slight peek into his regular personality, his normal mannerisms. But something about it now annoys you. In fact, it pisses you off, seeing him be so complacent and sweet just to try and overthrow you at the last second. And it’s with this same train of thought that you release him, climb over him like a crazed sex demon, and press your hand to his throat.
“You're supposed to be good,” you spit, scowl turned on him and it immediately has Jungkook drawing back with his tail tucked, falling into line as he should. “You’re supposed to be my angel tonight, remember?”
Jungkook nods, big round eyes looking at you like you’re insane, but the cock that presses against your ass tells you that he likes it. “I-I’m sorry,” he stutters, shrinking back into the mattress. Sticky hands around his throat, probably make him warm and tingly, but all you can think about is those pretty eyes. Sensing your wavering emotions, he takes advantage by tilting his chin forward for you cutely, pink lips trembling as he silently asks for a kiss.
You release him.
“Stupid angel,” you huff, mouth against his. “Gonna make me mad if you don’t act right,” you remind him, pushing his sweaty curls away from his face. He whimpers against your mouth, let’s you play with his hair as you calm down. He’s a blushing mess beneath you, every inch of him flushed and warm and sweaty.
You shift back and are met with his still rock hard member against your ass. You touch him appreciatively, reaching back to stroke him with a half-assed grip. It makes him moan nonetheless, pulling away from your lips to mewl against your shoulder. “Wanna fuck?” you hum, curling your hand over the tip like he likes, watching his head roll back against his pillow at the sensation. Jungkook groans, doesn’t seem to hear you now. You try again. “Wanna fuck my pussy, baby?”
“Yes,” he gasps this time, jolts when you press the tip of your finger against the slit on his head, plug his cock from releasing any more precum. “Please, please,” he begs, the hands on his chest straining against the shirt he still hasn’t managed to shake off.
One last kiss is delivered to him, a chaste one against his pout that makes him whine. “Whatever you want,” you purr, line him up.
Your hands are still sticky with the lube and so is his cock. Everything is sticky; his cock, you folds, your tits, his neck. It’s a big sticky, slippery mess, but you can’t even be annoyed because everything feels so good. Your tits tingle from whatever they put in that damn lube, nipples rock hard and extra swollen today, like if you don’t touch them you’ll die. You sink back into Jungkook’s throbbing cock, and the second his cock spreads the lube along your walls, you’re jolting because it just feels so damn good.
You can’t believe this is Jungkook’s preferred sick day treatment; YouTube, cuddles, and an ugly amount of lube.
His cock pushes past your folds, fits snugly inside of you just like it belongs. It still feels like the first time, feels like your first day where he was so perfect and sweet. Part of you wonders what would have become of you two if he had reacted like this that day, soft and whiny, when you first prepositioned him. Maybe the sexual aspect of your relationship would be entirely different today, maybe you’d be one the always leading.
But… you’re not sure if you’d want that. Leading is fun— hell, you’re certain this moment will be what you get engraved on your tombstone —but you were a pillow princess at heart with occasional dominant tendencies. You drool over this moment now, but if he asks for this again tomorrow you might actually bend over and die. It was a lot of work, keeping the energy going, and you find yourself having this newfound sense of respect for Jungkook as his cock slips past your folds.
Anyway, when you sit on his cock, fingers teasingly tightening around his throat, Jungkook’s eyes are weirdly focused on your tits. He’s been doing that a lot lately, losing his mind by just staring at your tits. On some occasions he puts them in his mouth, gets possessed by some titty loving monster and sucks on them until you’re trembling. It’s fine because it’s quite frankly a huge ego boost, but something him now makes you want to pick at him for it.
“They’re yours to taste, angel,” you hum, slowly rolling your hips over his fat cock. Jungkook whimpers, softly ruts up into your heat the next time you press down. “Tell me what you want,” you exhale, a breathy moan.
He doesn’t say anything, just drops his mouth open for you with a trembling lower lip. Tongue peeks out, eyes glazed over in his lust, looking every bit like those hentai ads he hates so much. But you fulfill his wishes, help him sit up until he’s flush against your chest. His awkwardly bound hands get squished in the middle, and he says, “m-my hands...”
“I’ve got you,” you soothe, undo his self-made restraints and toss them to the side. Immediately, he’s wrapping his arms around you, pulling you flush against him to latch his lips around your breasts. “S-Slow down,” you whine, hands on his biceps as he sucks your tit into his mouth, twirls his tongue around your nipple. He’s good with his tongue even when he’s sick.
He pulls off with a pop, ragged breathing only making you more sensitive as it fans over the thin layer of saliva he leaves on your tits. “Tastes like strawberries,” he groans wondrously, head against your chest. You use the lull to get back to fucking yourself on him, but Jungkook’s got other plans. He rolls the two of you over, pins you beneath him with his hot and sweaty body. “I’m sorry,” he moans as he begins jackhammering his thrusts into you.
Your back arches, legs thrown around his waist as the sudden change of events. “Fffuck,” you heave, “harder, angel— gotta fuck like you mean it.”
Jungkook shudders, hands looped around the small of your back. His cock rams into you over and over, each glide of it against the walls of your pussy making you unravel in his arms. His lips latch around your other boob, suck and suck like he’s expecting something to come out.
That’s when it hits you.
“N-Nothing there,” you tell him, arms wrapped around his shoulders. His lashes are wet, eyes pinching tighter at your reminder. He pulls away almost to protest, but then you’re guiding him up to your face, hot breath mingling with yours. “Nothing there because you haven’t given me a baby yet,” you murmur darkly, watch the emotions flood his features as you tap into that taboo kink of his.
He chokes, grinds his cock into you and holds it there. “I-I didn’t,” he sniffs, “we never— you never said,” he whines, “...you wanted one.”
You cup his face in his hands, feel slightly mean for the pride you get from his tear stricken appearance. “I do,” you purr, lazily kissing him. “Want one if it’s from you. Don’t you?” He nods like an antsy puppy, quivering against you as he slowly and shallowly ruts into you. “Don’t you wanna see me like that, angel?” you egg on, hands looping behind his neck, idly playing with stray waves and curls. “Tummy so big and swollen because you did something bad, because you couldn’t pull out.”
Jungkook sobs, pulls you impossibly closer until the head of his cock is missing your cervix repeatedly. One of your legs is pressed nearly to your chest, hip tight from the force in which he holds you. “I-I want,” he agrees, more tears spilling down his cheeks.
You smirk evilly, kissing the corner of his mouth gently as he slowly picks up the pace of his thrusts. “Then fuck me hard, Jungkookie,” you demand, “fuck me full of your cum.”
Jungkook nods with a sniffle against your shoulder, fingers tightening against your skin as he slowly but surely begins nailing you into the mattress. He’s a good boy, always, because he does exactly what you tell him to. Uses those bulky muscles to hold you down, makes it impossible for you to move as he pistons his hips, cock sheathing itself inside your cunt.
Every drag makes you unconsciously clench, the raw feeling consuming your thoughts. His cock is so big and wet today, certainly due to that stupid lube from beneath his cabinet. Your entire pussy feels like it’s on ecstasy, stupidly geeked up by that lube, and you’re sure Jungkook’s cock feels the same. It makes the glide so much better, so much easier, each ram of his cock feeling so easy. “Oh, fuck,” you whimper, nails digging down his spine. Jungkook is a sobbing, sniffling mess against the crook of your neck, absolute gibberish falling from his lips.
But you’re no better, tongue seemingly set on a chaotic rampage to validate every single one of his fantasies. “Gonna fuck me while I’m pregnant?” you pant against his ear, fingers tugging at his hair. He doesn’t offer more than a strained cry, thrusts momentarily falling out of rhythm. “You would like that, huh? Fucking me when you’re not supposed to. You’re so bad, Kook-ah,” you gasp, eyes rolling to the back of your head. “Only pretend to be an angel but really you’re just a dirty, little pervert.”
He wails loudly, slams his hips so hard into you that it makes you sob as well. “N-No,” he blubbers, tears against your skin. “I’m good— I’m a good boy,” he stresses, fingers bruising their prints into your skin.
He presses so close, cock practically making your stomach bulge, but neither of you see. “Dirty angel,” you spit, yank his hair back roughly until he’s forced to look at you with that watery gaze. “So horny you’re willing to get me pregnant.”
Jungkook cries out, snaps his cock into you like he’s trying to break you in half. “No,” he heaves, tears dripping down his cheeks and onto yours. “I-I-I’d do it right,” he defends weakly, hips losing their demonic pace as his orgasm sneaks up on him. “Ma— Marry first… then, b— ba— bab—“
You swallow his words with your lips, kiss him like you’re on the verge of death in a desperate attempt to hide your tears from him. They paint your cheeks in stark strokes, trail down your skin and make everything blurry, but so does your orgasm.
You come first, heart and body trembling at his unexpectedly sweet words, as you become a whimpering, teary mess beneath him. Jungkook follows, cries out your name one last time as he busts inside of you.
Sticky and gross, he falls onto the pillow beside you. Poor baby is so tired, curls covering half of his face, but lips cutely puckered against the pillow. He’s sweaty as hell though, which you now vaguely remember was your original goal with all of this so you count this as a success.
You think he’s fallen asleep, sitting up slowly and reaching for that t-shirt that bound him together earlier to clean up. He shudders when you run it against his skin, obviously still overwhelmed. You shift around the bed in search of today’s MVP. “Where’s the lube?” you mutter to yourself.
Jungkook groans. “YouTube?” he asks, voice dry as all hell.
“No, honey, the lube we used,” you respond, running your hands over the sheets for any signs of the pink bottle.
“Want YouTube,” he mumbles, lets you swaddle him up in the blanket again. You roll your eyes and reach for the forgotten iPad that had long since tumbled to the floor. When it turns on, that same video from before is on pause so you don’t bother changing it as you hand it back to Jungkook. “Nice,” he murmurs, “underground water slide.”
You snort. “Weirdo.” He glares cutely, eyes barely open at this point. “Watch your YouTube.”
“Use your lube,” he sasses back softly, nonsensically, and then rather anticlimactically passes out.
There’s something soft in your chest, something so big and overwhelming, that has you bending over his sleeping figure, mouth brushing against his. “Hurry and get better, angel,” you whisper, wish on it with all your heart.
To no one’s surprise, you get sick two days later. Doyeon laughs and laughs for hours about it, tells you that’s what you get for using sex as medicine. But Jungkook’s back to normal, which means he stays over and coddles you to death.
“Hurry and get better,” he says, spoon feeding you your famous Get Better Soon Soup that you passed on to him. “I have a question to ask you.”
There’s a little black box in his downstairs bathroom cabinet that you swear you’ve never seen, but Jungkook knows you’re lying.
It fits perfectly.
epilogue
She scoffs. “And I care why?” You huff, go to scold her for their weird rivalry, but then she’s moving on. “Babe, just give him some pain relief and call it a day.”
“Fine,” you mumble. “Wait, can you look something else up for me?”
Copyright © 2020, 1kook on tumblr. absolutely NO reposts allowed.
#bangtanhq#networkbangtan#goldenclosetnet#jungkook smut#jeon jungkook smut#jjk smut#jungkook x reader#jeon jungkook#jjk♡#jungkook x reader smut#bts smut#mine
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could i have luffy, chocolate modern day 1 or day 5 (i think thats the all i want for christmas is you if it isnt then its the day with all i want for christmas is you hhhh) afab male identifying reader hhhhh if you can
Hi baby!! of course!! Day 5 for you and Luffy! 💖 I hope you enjoy and have a wonderful holiday season!! 💖🎄
Peppermint
Monkey D. Luffy x M! Reader (afab)
Day 5: NSFW - All I Want For Christmas Is You
tw: nsfw. canon au. M! Reader (afab). Vag. Oral. Usage of DF powers.
wc: 1K
Baking cookies doesn’t feel the same without Luffy around you. He has been gone for quite some time now, and since the holiday season has just started you wait patiently for him to come back home…
“Where in the sea are you, Luffy? I miss you…” you ask yourself while decorating the faces of freshly baked gingerbread men. “It’s already the 23rd of December…”.
You look into your windows. It started snowing a while ago, and the sun is setting behind the huge mountains of your island. You can’t help but sigh when the “All I want for Christmas” song starts playing on the den den mushi radio.
Cause I just want you here tonight
Holding on to me so tight
What more can I do?
Oh, baby, all I want for Christmas is you. You, baby…
Missing your lovely gum gum sunshine is not easy, everything around turns dark when he isn’t around. He is the light, the sun that keeps you warm during long winters.
And you start singing along to the melody, shouting the lyrics, dancing all around the living room because you remember your baby’s words… “dream, dream big!” and that’s exactly what you are doing, dreaming about him dancing with you.
Oh, I don't want a lot for Christmas
This is all I'm asking for
I just wanna see my baby standing right outside my door 🎵
Sudden knocks pull you out of the show you were giving to your cat. “(Name)!!! IS THAT THE SMELL OF COOKIES???!” Luffy’s voice resonates from outside the door. “WHAT?” you widen your eyes, you can’t be dreaming, the knocks on the door can’t be your imagination…
You run to open the door, discovering you were indeed imagining his voice. There’s nobody there, Luffy is not waiting for you at your doorstep. He isn’t there. A single tear runs throw your cheeks, how can someone be so naive and stupid?...
“Luffy..." you sigh.
“What? Mhpf, I lofve thifs cookiefs”
You slowly turn around; you must be losing your mind at this point. But there he is, the gum gum boy, sitting over your breakfast nook stuffing his mouth out of cookies with crumbles all around. “L-Luffy” you mumble once again, how the hell is he inside?.
“Yo! I entered through your back windows” he says, pointing to the open window. “LUFFY WHAT THE HELL?” you shout and run towards him, melting into a beautiful, warm, and needy hug. “(Name)!” he chimes, hugging you back so tightly with stretching arms. You look up at him with puppy eyes, placing your chin over his chest and trembling lips. “Y-you came back”. “Uhum, I promised you I’ll come back for Christmas. Here I am. Don’t cry, you know how much I hate crybabies” he says, brushing your hair back with his fingers. You sniffle and stop your tears; he is right, there’s absolutely no reason to cry. He is here, hugging you right now.
“Come here, boy” Luffy tells you, lifting you up and sitting you next to him. You notice he has become more muscular than the last time. Luffy has grown up since his last battle, there is no doubt about it. “I missed you…” he says, coming closer to kiss your lips. “I did too…” you whisper before sealing lips into a desperate kiss that tastes like gingerbread.
“Bed. Bed now” he says, muffled by your pecks. And as he says so, you two jump off the table and run to your bedroom. It has always been like this with Luffy. After so many months without each other’s bodies none of you wants to wait a single minute. You need him as much as he does need you.
And all you wanted for Christmas was him.
A trace of winter clothes gets scattered from the kitchen to your room. His orange coat, that you suspect is Nami’s, is hanging from the doorknob. But the straw-hat safely placed on your head.
You flop into the bed, and Luffy is already over you, fighting against your clothes to let you free from them. “This… shit…” he grunts, struggling with your pajama shirt. “Luffy… let me help y…”. Too late, he has ripped the fabric away. And he does the same with his red shirt.
He bends forward to kiss you again, taking the hat off and placing it carefully over the side table. He kisses and softly bites your skin, tracing a path from your neck to your belly. Luffy is needy, more than ever. “I love your smell” he says, kissing your hip bones. His fingers already traveling inside your boxers.
“Wet” he mumbles, tasting your arousal taking his index to his mouth. And you know exactly what that means. Luffy is so good with the tongue, and he will devour you as he is eating his beloved meat. And of course he does, your sex is the gourmet meal he’s been waiting since the last time he saw you. The banquet is your body, and he is gonna have a party with it.
Your legs rest over Luffy’s shoulders as he indulges in your taste, your eyes get white from the pleasure, and you grab a handful of his black hair. Moaning his name, so happy he is here.
Luffy ads fingers, and smiles looking at your face. Needy for more, so much more. “Luffy?” you whine. “Hum?” he asks, fixing your eyes on yours. “I love you”. “Me too, handsome” and as he says so, Luffy crawls back up, licking your skin from your core to your chest.
“Please” he begs, pumping his dick over your stomach. “Yes… please do it” you moan because you need him inside. The gum gum boy smirks, aligning his member to your entrance, softly pushing himself inside. He rests his body weight over his forearms at each side of your face, as he moves in and out of you. You feel a warming sensation invading your insides and you just know he is using his gear second, because he knows how much you like it. Your toes curl, and his do too. Fingers interlocked; foreheads pressed. Panting and breathing in each other’s mouths. A climax after climax, losing yourselves into pure love and lust, in a so needy release…
“(Name), is there anything you want for Christmas?” Luffy asks, playing with your hair as you rest on his chest.
“You… All I want for Christmas is you” 💖~
#monkey d luffy#monkey d. luffy#luffy x reader#luffy x y/n#chocolate and peppermint event#luffy x you#luffy op#luffytaro#luffy wano#luffy headcanons#op luffy#mugiwara no luffy#luffydmonkey#luffy#one piece fanfiction#one piece x you#one piece x y/n#one piece x reader#one piece#one piece x oc#one piece fanfic#one piece scenario#sashi ya#chocolatepeppermintevent
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A Little Childish
Corpse Husband x Reader (Female)
Warnings: Swearing
Genre: FLUFF
Summary: Corpse and Y/N go to visit Y/N’s parents for New Year’s. Corpse was promised good food, good company and A LOT of snow. Needless to say, the place didn’t disappoint - quite the contrary actually, it exceeded any and all expectations he had.
Requested by @waterflowersposts Hi there! Sorry for how long it took for this fic to be written :( I hope the final result makes up for the long wait! I also thought it would be appropriate to post it during the holiday season, so I hope you don’t mind. Hope you enjoy the read and I’m looking forward to hearing your feedback and any more requests you may have. Stay safe! Happy Holidays! Love, Vy ❤
I watch as Corpse is basically floating from one room into another in our shared apartment as he’s throwing random articles of clothing in his open suitcase. I have already packed my bags, knowing full well what the appropriate attire is for where we’re going.
I look away from my laptop when Corpse comes in for maybe the sixtieth time today, this time carrying a white tee causing me to chuckle. “Corpse, I know it’s very trademark for you, but the only way you’ll be wearing that when we get there is under a sweater for some extra warmth. I’m not looking forward to having my boyfriend freeze in my parent’s house.”
He smiles, looking at the shirt in his hands, and shakes his head, “Fine, guess I’ll do without it for a week or two.” He throws it in our room, not even bothering to check where it’ll land before he comes to sit down next to me on the couch, “Keep in mind, you have set my expectations pretty high up there. If I am not waist deep in snow the second we step off the plane, I’ll be disappointed.”
I give him a side glance, a smirk playing on my lips. Must say, taking on challenges you know you’re gonna win is the ultimate high-and-mighty feeling. “Honey, you’ve got a big snowstorm coming.”
* * *
All throughout our trip - I’m talking the drive to the airport AND the flight over - I have kept my eyes glued to Corpse, observing as his eyes sparkled more and more with each foot we got closer to our destination. He has told me the most snow he has seen was less than an inch and I immediately felt it was my duty to change that by introducing him to the magic of Canada - my home. My parents own a getaway cottage in the mountains of Calgary where we used to go every holiday season. My earliest memory is playing in the thigh-deep snow with my older sister and crying whenever our parents had to drag us back inside.
The West Coast of the US was a rather odd surrounding for me, having grown up surrounded by snowy mountains, experiencing Christmas with no snow whatsoever was a true let down and underwhelming feeling. Since Corpse and I started dating about a month after Christmas time last year this will be our first time spending the holidays together and Corpse was more than enthusiastic to visit Canada when I mentioned how much I enjoyed my winters there. We couldn’t go for Christmas, but we’ll be there for New Year’s Eve and the first two weeks of 2021 and I am really excited. I have been dying to see my family that has actually expanded since the last time I visited - my sister has had yet another baby, making her and her husband parents of three very energetic toddlers. The six year old twins - Ashley and Alex - and the three year old Andrew. Or, as I like to call them: The 3 As.
I have warned Corpse about them like seven times despite the fact that he’s already familiar with their energy, convincing him that if that’s more than he can handle we’ve still got time to cancel the trip. He didn’t bat an eye though, each time telling me not to worry and focus my attention on reliving the moments I’ve missed so greatly instead of making sure he was having a good time.
“If you’re there...“ he said, “I’ll sure as hell be having a good time.“
One step out of the airport and he’s already mesmerized. His eyes are shiny reflecting the glow of the snow all around. It’s gonna be funny to see his reaction when he witnesses the real deal - the snow in the mountains. This compared to that is a pathetic excuse.
“I know it’s not waist-high, but that’s because they shovel it and melt it.“ He is looking around, not paying much mind to my words. The utter amazement and disbelief on his face just makes me want to wrap my arms around him and kiss him. He’s simply adorable! I see fragments of the child in him swimming up to the surface in the form of temptation - temptation every kid feels when they see snow: Dive in and lose track of time. “Wait till we get to the cottage.“
This manages to catch his attention, “You weren’t kidding.“
I laugh at my precious kiddy boyfriend. “Whoa there, Corpsie. If your mind is already blown, I’m worried about how you’ll react to the real deal.“
I have a feeling I know exactly how he’ll react cause I react similarly - I set the child in me free. After all, no parent can tell you to stop playing and go inside when you are a 23-year-old.
* * *
Walking up to the cottage from the cable-car station has to be the first time I’ve breathed with my lungs’ full capacity in the last five years. The sharp cold air screams ‘home’ to me like nothing else ever did. I am still surprised as to how my sister prefers summer. My family jokes I’m a winter wolf in disguise and I think they’re right. I do like to roll around in the snow much like a wolf. No judgement! Having a few extra years added to my age doesn’t change everything.
“Oh. My. Fucking. God.“ If I could take a shot every time Corpse has repeated this phrase I’d be dead due to liver failure. He is absolutely stunned. And I’m pretty sure he hasn’t blinked at all. Who am I to talk - I haven’t either. These mountains keep getting prettier and prettier, I swear. Taking my eyes off them would be a crime.
“Told you. I wish we made a bet, I could’ve made some easy money.“ I tease him, gently bumping my elbow against his as we walk up the trail.
“I’m glad I didn’t propose such a thing. That would’ve been fucking stupid of me.“ Judging by the tone of his voice, he is not really present in this conversation, so I decide not to let it go on any longer.
Not that I could’ve done differently, seeing as how barely three seconds latter I see three smiling faces coming at me at max speed.
Oh boy.
“Auntie Y/N!“ Ashley and Alex arrive first of course, wrapping their arms tightly around my waist. Little Andrew stumbles his way to me as quickly as a three year old possibly could.
Without wasting a second, I put my bags down and crouch so I can hug them properly. “Hi my babies! I haven’t seen you in so long.” Their hugging strength surprises me and warms my heart at the same time. The twins pull away, leaving room for the little duckling in a jacket two times his size and weight. “Hi Andrew! I nice to meet you! I’m auntie Y/N. Mommy and daddy have told you about me, haven’t they? If not I’ll kick their asses.”
“Y/N, I swear, I’ll tell Amy you’re teaching her kids swears at a very early age.“ Corpse says teasingly, stealing the attention from all four of us.
“She curses like a sailor, these kids probably know more swear words than I do.“ Ash and Alex run straight out of my grasp and to Corpse, proceeding to hug him around the waist as they did with me. They met Corpse when my sister and her husband Finn visited me back in the summer. They immediately fell in love with him. I specifically remember Alex telling me I have a ‘really cool boyfriend‘ and he only uses the word ‘cool‘ when he really likes something or someone. Corpse was honorably declared cool by Alex and that still warms my heart till this day.
“Hi guys, long time no see!“ He too crouches down to hug the little demons that immediately cling to him like koalas.
I scoop up the bundle of clothes with a face and stand up, balancing him on my hip. “Let’s attempt to get inside, shall we?” With my unoccupied arm I grab the handle of my suitcase.
Corpse nods and follows my lead, picking up the bags he also left in the snow. Ash and Alex bolt it back to the house while we struggle to follow, lowkey embarrassed by the pace we’re walking with.
Andrew struggles against me, reaching out towards Corpse. I look at them both apologetically. “You’ll meet Corpse when we get inside, darling. Chill out.”
“Y/N!“ My sister’s voice steals my attention. She emerges from the house, followed by the twins, a huge smile on her face. Her eyes land on Andrew who has calmed down is now resting his head on my shoulder sleepily, “Oh I’m so sorry about them, Y/N. I didn’t know they would charge at you the second you stepped foot on the property.“
Amy motions for me to give her her son but I hand her my suitcase instead. When she takes it I use my now freed arm to hug her as tightly as I possibly can with one arm and while balancing a baby on my chest. “It’s ok! I couldn’t have dreamed of a better welcoming.” I release, giving her a big smile.
She loses interest in me and goes to hug Corpse, taking a bag from him as well before giving him a hug. “Oh my God, Corpse, it feels like it’s been forever. I’m so glad to see you.”
“Happy to see you too, Amy.“ My sister has never liked a single guy I’ve dated. EVER. Corpse is the only one she warmed up to and that’s a huge deal to me. Corpse’s happiness when I told him that was something I’d pay to have filmed just so I can watch it every time I’m feeling down.
“Let’s get you both inside, you must be freez-“ She cuts herself off, rolling her eyes at me, “Of course, you’re not.“
I laugh and blow her a kiss as we keep carrying onward.
“Um, guys?“ Corpse’s voice makes me pause and turn around. He’s still standing in the same spot, looking- unsettled, I guess you could call it.
“What’s wrong?“ I walk over to him, taking his hand in mine.
His hand automatically gives mine a reassuring squeeze, “Nothing really, it’s just that...I’m meeting your parents for the first time and-...What if they don’t like me?”
I open my mouth to go off and start stating the obvious that they indeed won’t like him. They will LOVE him. It’s impossible not to love this man! But my sister beats me to it when it comes to stating the facts.
“Look, Corpse, they already love you. Heck, sometimes I feel like they have known Finn and you longer than they have known Y/N and I! They speak so highly of you and haven’t even met you - that should tell you more than enough about how they see you.“ She waves her hand towards the cottage, “Now walk in there and blow them away.“
Honestly, I’m glad Amy beat me to it. I couldn’t have said it better myself.
And just like that, hand in hand, Andrew still in my other arm, we walk in.
* * *
Corpse is officially the main attraction, stealing the spotlight from Amy, Finn and I - something the three of us are incredibly thankful for. Amy was right with every word she said - my parents are absolutely in love with Corpse. Luckily for Finn and Amy, the 3 As are all over him as well. Especially Andrew. The second someone sets him down he just waddles his way over to Corpse who picks him up and settles him in his lap while he answers my parents’ questions.
When the kids were finally talked into taking a nap, Corpse and I snuck out to have a little walk in the snow and, of course, take some pictures. I made it my personal goal to make as many artsy and aesthetic photos of him as possible. His favorite - a hand only pic of him holding a snowball - was my idea and I think I have never felt prouder of myself.
“I am definitely posting this one.“ He says, turning the phone so I can see the screen. I give it a quick glance, thinking he’s talking about the hand pic but do a double take when I realize it’s a picture of me that he has taken without my knowledge.
I actually look rather decent, so I give him a green light in the form of a big thumbs up, “As long as you post the hand one too.”
“Hey, Y/N!“ We look back at the house which isn’t far from where we are right now. Amy is hugging the jacket tightly around herself as she approaches us with fast steps. “You know where we haven’t been in like forever?“
I raise an eyebrow and shake my head as I rack through my brain trying to dig up what she’s referring to. It could literally be any place on this mountain!
“Hello! The Waterless Lake? Ring any bells?“
Oh...it sure does.
Brief explanation: it is a huge circular dip in the ground which fills with water when the snow melts and becomes a lake but empties by the time winter comes back around. That being said, when the snow is still not melted, it’s an absolute wonderland to play in. I suddenly remember all the barrel-rolling Amy and I did there as kids and feel really nostalgic.
“Oh God, yes! I miss that place!“ I say, snapping out of my reminiscing trance. “Let’s go while it’s still light enough.”
“Finn is making dinner right now, or trying to at least.“ She rolls her eyes, turning to Corpse, “But it’d be our pleasure if you tagged along, Corpse.“
Corpse shakes his head, “I’ll politely decline. You ladies can reminisce and chat in peace, while I’ll be helping Finn in the kitchen.” He gives me a quick peck on the lips before excusing himself, “Have fun!”
“You too!“ We call back to him in unison.
Amy gives me an amazed, wide-eyed look, “He can cook?”
I shrug my shoulders nonchalantly, smirking, “Oh, you have no idea.”
She laughs, linking arms with me as we begin walking our way to the Waterless Lake. The place probably has a different name or no name at all, but we named it that as kids and never told our parents where it was. It’s our spot, and it is very surprising Amy offered Corpse to accompany us there.
“Sis, you are very lucky. I hope you know that.“ She tightens the hold on my arm with hers, pulling us closer together.
“I tell myself that every time I look at him, Aims. I am fully aware.“ I say dreamily, recalling all the times I’ve spent with Corpse. Almost one full year and I could never imagine that year, nor the upcoming ones, without him.
* * *
Upon returning, we’re met with the most wholesome scene I have ever seen - Corpse and Finn are making snowmen with the 3 As. It seems like they’ve been at it for a while, considering there is an army of snowmen of different designs, shapes and sizes all at different spots throughout the perimeter of the clearing in front of the house.
“Oh dear Lord.“ Amy mumbles, “I had a feeling this would happen.“
The five snowman-builders don’t even acknowledge our presence when we approach them. Ashley and Alex are running around with Finn, looking for sticks to use as the snowmen’s limbs while Corpse is helping Andrew gather as much snow as possible for the body.
I don’t realize there’s a huge smile on my face up until the point I’m trying to say something. Nothing comes out, though. My words are being muffled by all the overwhelming emotions that have taken over - collapsing my senses.
With a roll of her eyes, my sister opens the front door, taking a step into the house. The second the door opens, however, I get a whiff of the delicious smell coming from inside. Best guess, and probably the right one - this is Corpse’s doing.
If I wasn’t already hungry, I sure as hell am now and I’m in no mood to be in that delicious food’s proximity without attacking it.
“Come on, guys! Dinner time! Get your butts inside!“ I call out to them from the doorway.
Corpse turns to look at me with the sneakiest smirk I have ever seen. He narrows his eyes at me, “You have done the very thing you despise!”
It takes me approximately three seconds to connect the dots and scrunch up my face, picking up all the snow I can an forming it in a snow ball, throwing it at Corpse. Growing up doing this exact thing has given me great aim, therefore I hit Corpse square in the chest.
“Oh you’re so in for it now.“ He laughs, picking up snow to form his own snowball.
“Snowball fight!“ Ashley yells, ditching the sticks to make a snowball for herself.
“Oh no...“ I poke my head in the hallway just as a snowball hits my upper arm, “Aims, I need your help!“
Before Amy can respond, I run to take cover behind the nearest snowman that, luckily for me happens to be one of the larger ones. I hear Amy call out my name when she exits the house, followed by a surprised yelp from her when three snowballs hit her. “You are all dead!”
While she is fighting blood and fire (well, water really), I am making ammunition for us both to use. I’m on my eleventh snowball when snow showers me from above as though it has fallen from a tree branch.
“Hiding, I see.“ I am still in shock, hair and upper body covered in snow, when I hear Corpse’s taunting voice.
My vengeance instinct kicks in having me grab two snowballs and turn to throw them at him. To my dismay, he’s faster then me and doesn’t allow me to even get my arm at an angle where I could throw properly. Instead, he turns me back around and picks me up with ease, one arm wrapped around my waist, another grabbing two of my prepared snowballs from the ground.
“Let’s show them who the bosses are.“ I see him wink at me from the corner of my eye and it takes me little to no time to catch onto what he’s insinuating.
In short, with joined forces, we took out the opposite team in no time - like a true couple 😉
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