#people are fucking stupid and i don’t like the holiday season
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i’m so fucking angry about so many things
#people are fucking stupid and i don’t like the holiday season#i don’t want to see people who fucking suck and don’t care about me or my family any other time of the year#we’re not friends we’re not on good terms why do we have to put up with this shit just because we’re ‘family’#you’re a fucking dick leave me and my moms alone#ramblings of a henry
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*ੈ🌩️‧₊˚— through the storm, there’s always you + katsuki bakugou.
૮˶ᵕ ༝ᵕ˶ა synopsis — the one in which katsuki bakugou hates the winter, until you bring him a gift that changes his mind for the better.
⭑ warnings — please read + mdni ! characters aged up, fluff, strangers to lovers, mentions of injury, mentions of hospitals, pregnancy & birth ( non - descriptive ), winter babies, wholesome family content, not beta read ! - fem!reader, pro-hero!bakugou.
⭑ words — 1.8K.
⭑ notes — hi !!! merry christmas if you celebrate and happy holidays to those who don’t !! i hope you’re all keeping well and safe. here’s a little drabble for your troubles since i’m working on something longer that’ll hopefully be out in the new year !! so this isn’t beta read and i hope you enjoy !! mwah - m.list ✩
katsuki had always hated the weather around christmas time.
as a kid it meant being stuffed into itchy, scratchy sweaters that matched with stupid deku’s and being forced into what seemed like hours of pointless christmas card photo shoots tucked in next to the green haired, green eyed wimp. it meant mitsuki dragging him out of the comfort of his all night sheets early on December 25th to swap presents— her loud, irritating voice booming out Christmas carols with the words sung wrong as his pops set up a hearty breakfast and plucked wrapping paper from between the spikes of a young bakugou’s blonde hair.
back then, mitsuki would pull the cruel joke of putting coal in the younger’s stocking for a laugh and in response katsuki would hide all of her hurts to make it look like she had none.
in middle school, katsuki spent most of his winter break running over school choices— learning the curriculum inside and out so that he could get into U.A. friends, family gatherings, festive…none of them mattered to him as much as his aspirations did, but he still helped masaru decorate the house and put up the tree— lit the fire because he didn’t run as hot as other people during the colder season. he hardly saw his friends, his posse, his entourage, whatever they were. they didn’t understand what it was like to work for something, to want to succeed…to make sacrifices. these were people katsuki didn’t need.
when christmas roll around at UA, katsuki felt like he was really part of something for the first time. his friends, kirishima and kaminari especially, begged him to cook the dinner— getting permission from aizawa after school to buy the ingredients, clinging onto his arms to keep him warm while asking him what went in what, affectionately pissing him off.
there’d been a gift exchange too, and he’d tried to brush it off when his group of little misfits had presented him with a few exclusive allmight merchandise that hadn’t been collectible since he was a kid. ‘thanks,’ he’d mumbled, brushing an arm over his eyes in away that covered up the tears brewing in them. ‘idiots.’ aside from the celebrations and the small twinkle of happiness being surrounded by his classmates brought him— winter still sucked for bakugou. he’d discovered his quirk didn’t quite work the same, that he’d need to train a hundred times harder to be just as efficient as his peers during the flu season if he were to succeed and become a top hero like he’d promised himself as a kid. his hero costume required form fitting sleeves and a collar up to his neck that made him think back to that time where that villain had almost ended his life and he wasn’t quite strong enough to escape its reach.
bakugou fucking hated the winter because of it.
the Christmas season starts to become even more intolerable once katsuki breaks onto the scene as rookie pro hero dynamight. he gets stuck with all the bullshit patrols like the Black Friday sales and Christmas eve last minute rushes for gifts because he’s not quite high enough on the ranks for the ‘real’ work yet. it’s fine, the blonde tells himself, anythin’ to get higher up in the ranks. spreading the holiday spirit isn’t exactly his forte but the singles without families to go home to for the festives seemingly love spotting the desirable and explosive hero stalking the city streets, and it does wonders for his reputation too.
after bakugou’s first year as a rookie, do things pick up. he gets his first villain attack on december 24th, a simple robbery that he gets to handle all on his own— the prick’s quirk is fast moving, strong and nearly wipes the blonde out in one clear shot, sending him flying into the nearest building while other rookies evacuate the scene.
“m-mister…uh, dynamight? a-are you okay?”
your voice had been soft, your face the first thing he had scene when his vision realigned. blood trickled down the roundness if your cheeks, features aglow from the fires his quirk had set to your building— your humble little tailoring shop that he’d noticed was usually buzzing with customers on patrol. “i uh— you hit your head pretty hard sir a-and there’s a villain outside— i don’t think you can fight it like this—“ you’d tried to explain in a hurry, the situation now obvious as bakugou’s head lay in your lap.
groaning, he’d wanted to pull away from you get back up and take the damn villain down but before he could even move it’s quirk had sent another blast in the direction of your precious shop. one minute, bakugou’s life is flashing before his eyes and the next an invisible shield flies up in front of you both, protecting you from whatever impact had been coming. “‘m goin’ back out there,” bakugou told you sternly, gathering himself back up. there was no way a civilian should be doing his job, he should be protecting you, not the other way around. “stay fuckin’ put, till i get back. then we’re goin’ to a hospital.”
turns out, you were great at following orders, by the time bakugou had taken out the perpetrator— you were more than willing to go with him to the hospital to get your injuries checked out. he stayed with you the entire time, he owed it to you at least. you’d saved his life, and sacrificed your shop but uttered not a word of complaint in response. and in the winter days that followed the incident, he visited and brought flowers and sat with you— learning about you, learning to love you right into the new year.
bakugou’s spirits towards winter and Christmas had certainly changed since then. well into his thirties with achy joints, silvering hair and a stomach that’s a little less toned than it used to be— dynamight sits perched on the highest of buildings, a com mic pressed into his slightly muted ear. “ai’ght fuckers, let’s get this over with. the wife’s given me only a couple hours b’fore she can’t hold on any longer.” he grunts to his fellow heroes, ready to take down their annual Christmas robbery.
it couldn’t have come at a worse time, katsuki promising you that he wouldn’t be working on the holiday for the sake of your kids— who needed their father just one day out of the year. you’d wrapped him up extra tight, a homemade scarf you’d worked on in the last few months slipped softly around his neck as you scolded him for taking up over time when he should have been with you, with his family.
“you got it kacchan,” izuku chuckles from his end of the line— positioned some ways away, his eyes also on the target. “operation kacchan’s home for Christmas is a go.”
“agreed. i do not like it when mrs.bakugou is angry.” todoroki chimes in plainly, also accompanying the childhood duo on their mission.
“then keep yer eyes on the fuckin’ target— the sooner we can get my ass home t’what really matters this Christmas!” the blonde scolds his long time friends, rolling eyes eyes fondly as he sets his eyes on the target who‘d ripped him away from his family.
“daddy! you’re late!”
katsuki’s oldest just barely looks up from her phone— a gift from last year— as he rushes into the hospital waiting room still decked out in his ashy hero gear. kayako bakugou still accepts the kiss to her forehead from her father and the ruffle to her blonde curls once he’s close enough. she has his hair, the colour of his eyes but the shape of her features are undoubtedly yours— the perfect blend of two people completely and utterly in love.
his vermilion gaze shoots to his son, kuzki— a quiet little boy who’s not quite like the rest of the bakugou bunch but equally as loving and as precious to dynamight himself. “sorry ya guys have to be here on Christmas Day, s’late too,” the man pinches his kid’s cheek, kazuki squirming happily, albeit a bit sleepy. “we can open presents later, after i see momma.”
“s’okay papa! nana mitsuki got us candy!” he squeals, the eldest bakugou hiding her nose in her magazine at her mention.
“ma!”
“what?” she huffs back, nodding her head towards the door. “you don’t have time to have a go at me, katsuki. your wife is waiting for you.”
both of the bakugou kids get a smooch on their foreheads, and mitsuki the middle finger ( discreetly and in his head because he won’t risk getting his ass kicked by his own mother in front of his offspring ). he stalks his way into your private hospital room, keeping his clunky steps unusually quiet as he spots you resting in your bed.
“you’re lucky, she just fed and was about to go down for a nap, but it seems like she was waiting for a certain someone.” you coo but you’re not looking at your husband, instead at the tiny bundle of joy wriggling about in her swaddle, laying in your arms.
the elder blonde approaches the two of you, curling an arm immediately— soothed by your warmth which sends the chill of winter straight out of him. “she?” bakugou questions, too tentatively for a man with such a misshapen and rough exterior. you pass the little baby girl off to him, letting him take in the scent of baby powder and fresh linen. “god, she’s pretty. just like her momma, huh?”
“think that’s all you, kats, you know these bakugou genes wait for no one,” you breathe your words out in exhaustion, but a smile stays strong in your face like the blistering winds outside. “thirteen hours of labour and she still couldn’t wait for daddy.”
“‘m sorry i couldn’t be there, stupid fuckin’—“ the baby stirs in his hold, growing fussy as if she already knows the signature forbidden word of the bakugou household. “stupid freakin’ deku held us up at the mission ‘n i tried my best t’get here..” bakugou loses his words, staring at his his newborn princess with so much love in the world— she’s tiny in his arms, gargling sleepily as he bounces her, standing to walk the room with his new little girl and showing her the snowfall.
the three of you are entranced by the first glimmer of the crystalline weather— the room swimming with a contrasting warmth that katsuki can bear to stand because it’s not a frosted winter. it’s a perfect love. his own oasis away from the cold. “s’okay kats, she just wanted to be the best christmas gift you could have asked for,” you murmur. “our perfect little christmas gift.”
katsuki bakugou hums in agreement, watching eyes the colour of your own but the shape of his flutter with tiredness for the first time being out in the new world. and now with his little treasure, his darling daughter and absolute labour of love— katsuki bakugou is able to state his reason for finally finding appreciation for winter after all this time.
“merry christmas, princess.” he says to her wistfully. “and to you too, m’love.”
“merry christmas, kats.” you whisper back, your voice to him like a call through the storm.
#bakugou x reader#bakugou x you#bakugou fluff#bakugou imagines#bakugou fanfic#bakugou fic#bakugou drabbles#bakugo x reader#katsuki bakugou x you#bakugo x you#katsuki bakugou x reader#bnha fluff#bnha x reader#bnha imagines#katsuki bakugou imagine#bakugo fluff#bakugo imagines#mha x reader#tteokdoroki#✧ ₊˚੭ — writing#mha fluff
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Tinsel, Gold and Dragons
(modern au!)
pairings: rhaenyra targaryen x fem! reader, past rhaenyra x alicent
tw: kissing, alicent bashing, alcohol consumption, talk about hooking up, hatred of the holiday season??
description: You were wondering how the hell this family had so many attractive people. Rhaenyra’s brain was currently not computing, she was pretty sure this was called bisexual panic but it had never really happened to her in real life before.
a/n: hiii hope you enjoy this little fic i randomly wrote last night. i've been kind of missing just writing stuff that isn't requests so hopefully this is still ok haha. ALSO i'm 100% an alicent defender, she's the loml so just remember that a lot of this is from rhaenyra's pov and not my own thoughts about her character. anyways hope you enjoy this and happy holidays <3 (might write a part 2 at some point but who knows?)
Rhaenyra Targaryen never liked the holiday season. After her mother died things just got worse and the boring parties she was always subjected to only got more boring. The welcome reprieve of baking gingerbread in the kitchen with her mom was gone in seconds and now holidays just reminded her of everything she had lost.
This year’s party was going to be the worst one by a long shot. Rhaenyra had to deal with Alicent fucking Hightower - oh sorry Targaryen now… that was something she still hadn’t accepted. I mean how do you even cope when your best friend suddenly starts fucking your dad in secret, gets pregnant, marries him and then proceeds to act like she’s Virgin fucking Mary?
The answer is with a lot of scotch, stupid hookups and long hours studying. She was desperate to get her law degree so she could finally do something and it also meant she could start working at her uncle’s law firm.
Currently though she was stuck in her father’s house whilst her new toddler half-brother threw temper tantrums and broke anything in his vicinity.
It was Christmas Eve and Viserys had nearly decided to cancel the annual Christmas party, in favor of “family bonding” but Alicent had somehow convinced him to keep it on. Rhaenyra did not want to think about what she had done to convince him. She nearly gagged at the mere idea of it.
Smoothing out the material of the dark red dress with a slightly higher slit than what would be considered appropriate, Rhaenyra let out an audible sound of satisfaction. She looked fucking hot. Plus Alicent would freak when she saw it, perfect.
Once upon a time Alicent Hightower had been her best friend, and probably something more but now… all that Rhaenyra could muster up for her is a cold chill of utter hate and rage.
Rhaenyra was thrown out of her thoughts when her phone called out the familiar ringtone that belonged to her uncle.
“Daemon… you do know that people can text now don’t you?”
“Haha, you can call me old all you want but you might regret it when I don’t tell you how I’m about to save you tonight.”
“Please tell me you found a way to make them all die fiery deaths.”
“Nothing as dramatic as that but I assure you it’s still the perfect escape.”
“Are you going to leave me in suspense while I endure this torture or…”
“Fine, you spoiled princess. We’re having a little party at the firm and since you’re coming to work here soon…”
“You didn’t.”
“But I did.”
“Fuck off. You mean I can actually leave this party.”
“I’m surprised you haven’t already.”
“You’re my savior.”
“Knight in shining armor and all that. Just remember to get me a good present this year.”
“When do I ever disappoint you?”
“There is also another surprise waiting for you when you get here.”
“Daemon… what have you done?”
“Nothing. There’s just someone I think you should meet.”
“Oh God, maybe I won’t go.”
“You know you’re too desperate not to, plus she’s your age so you won’t have to deal with boring old men like me.”
“She’s a she?”
Rhaenyra perked up, she hadn’t had a date in a while and ever since Alicent she hadn’t even tried to step her foot back into that pool. A string of meaningless hookups with men had done nothing to quell the heartbreak side of the whole situation. This would probably be good for her.
“Yes. So I guess that means you’re coming?”
“Obviously.”
“Should I send a car over?”
“Don’t bother, I’ll just drive Syrax.” Syrax was a birthday present from Daemon, a beautiful and subtly gold car that drove like a dream.
“Ok, see you soon Nyra.”
“Bye, Uncle.”
Rhaenyra sped through the streets of King’s Landing in the comfortable leather seat of her car. The bright Christmas lights that adorned the shops made a bright smile appear on her face. She may hate the holidays but at least the lights and food were incredible.
She arrived at the tall building that held Caraxes, Daemon’s law firm and named after his first dog but no one needed to know that. She gave her name to the security guard before parking the car in one of the empty spaces.
Her red dress fluttered in the cold breeze as she waited for the elevator to open. The firm was located on the 60th floor, the penthouse. Rhaenyra always loved being up high so the height was never a problem. What was annoying was how long it took her to actually get up there.
When the elevator doors finally opened at the correct floor, loud Christmas music echoed through the floor and she could clearly hear cheers coming from the area close to Daemon’s office.
Since the secretary was nowhere to be seen, Rhaenyra walked the now familiar route towards her uncle’s office. Weaving through a variety of cubicles she found a large Christmas tree and a small bar had been set up outside her uncle’s office.
“NYRA!” A loud voice that corresponded to her uncle slurred out and his tall frame ambled towards her. Within moments she was suddenly caught in a warm embrace and she returned the hug with her smaller arms wrapping around his torso.
“When did you have time to get this drunk, uncle?” Rhaenyra asked when they finally parted.
“Oh you think this is drunk, darling. Don’t you remember me at that New Year’s-”
“Andddd I’m going to stop you right there. I still get trauma flashbacks.”
“I must say, you look absolutely stunning Nyra. I’m sure our dear Alicent flipped when she saw you.”
“You should have seen her face when I told her I was going to unfortunately not attend her party.” Rhaenyra and Daemon shared a laugh before Daemon spotted someone in the crowd and a smirk appeared on his face.
“Y/N! I have someone you should meet.”
Rhaenyra followed Daemon’s line of sight and found the most beautiful woman she had probably ever seen. You were wearing a dark blue floor length dress which was held up with spaghetti straps. A pashmina scarf looped around your elbows and you had a smile on your face as you approached the two of them.
“You summoned me?” You asked when you finished weaving through the sea of people.
“Well yes, I wanted you to meet my niece. Rhaenyra this is Y/N, our newest and most promising associate.”
“Pleasure to meet you.” You said as you offered a hand to the stunning silver haired woman. You were wondering how the hell this family had so many attractive people. Rhaenyra’s brain was currently not computing, she was pretty sure this was called bisexual panic but it had never really happened to her in real life before.
“I-uh, nice to meet you too.” Rhaenyra stuttered out as she took Y/N’s hand and shook it.
“Well I’ll leave you two to it.” Daemon said with a conspiring tone in his voice before he disappeared into the crowd.
“So… Daemon’s been singing your merits all over the office for a while now so I think I have an unfair advantage here.”
“Oh God, what has he been saying?” Rhaenyra groaned out as she dramatically swept a hand over her hair.
“Nothing bad, I promise. You’re getting your law degree at The Citadel, right?”
“Yup.”
“How’s that? I was debating going there for a while but ended up going to Oxford instead.”
“It's hell but worth it, I hope.”
“I totally get that, Oxford was like medieval torture but I’m happy it landed me in this place.” You said as you swept a hand in the direction of the office space.
“Wait, how old are you?” Rhaenyra suddenly asked before her face contorted in embarrassment. “Shit, that was rude, sorry.”
“Ha don’t worry, I get that all the time. I’m 25.”
“24.” Rhaenyra offered back in solidarity.
“We’re basically the same age then.” You said with a wink before you took a sip of the amber liquid in the glass tumbler.
“Probably why Daemon shoved us in this little corner together.”
“I’m for one glad to be stuck in this little corner with you.” You said as you smirked in Rhaenyra’s direction. A light blush started to dust Rhaenyra’s cheeks.
“I’m glad too, but I’m desperate for a drink. This week has been hell.”
“You don’t like the holidays either?”
“Hate them.”
“We have something else in common after all.”
You spent the rest of the party sitting next to Rhaenyra in Daemon’s office. You drank sparingly, not wanting to be drunk since Rhaenyra needed to drive back and you didn’t want to act like a fool in front of her.
Rhaenyra felt like this was the first time in years that she felt truly happy. It was nice just to talk and gossip and be free to actually be herself. With Alicent it felt like she was walking on eggshells before the incident and now it was near impossible to be in the same room alone with her. But with Y/N…
At first, Rhaenyra went into this wanting just to have a quick hookup but those hours spent talking or maybe it was the alcohol that got to her head but she decided she deserved something better. She deserved someone better.
“Do you need a ride home?” Rhaenyra asked when people started to mill out of the party. Y/N turned to her in surprise before a gentle smile lit up her face.
“It wouldn’t be any trouble?”
“Not at all, but don’t think this is some kind of selfless act - maybe I just want to spend more time with you.”
“Well, we just have to indulge in your selfish desires don’t we?” You said with a twinkle in your eyes and a laugh on your tongue.
“You have no idea the scope of my selfish desires.”
“I would like to find out…”
Rhaenyra basically dragged you down to her car after that little remark. As she drove through the streets of King’s Landing, you took a leap of blind faith (or maybe love) by gripping the hand that lay between the two of you. Rhaenyra instantly threaded her fingers through yours and you spied a small smile making its way to her face.
Once she pulled up in front of your apartment building Rhaenyra bit her lip and turned to look at you - still completely in awe of how pretty you are.
“We arrived.”
“That we did.”
“Well…”
“Well… do you uh-”
“Do I what?” Rhaenyra said as she wiggled her eyebrows.
“Rhae… I- do you want to come up?”
“Only if we can have a date tomorrow.”
“It’s Christmas Day.”
“I’ll think of something.”
“Hmm… deal.” You said as a giddy smile graced your lips. Suddenly the feeling of soft lips meeting against yours startled you out of your reverie and you jumped to thread your fingers through her silky hair.
“You are so beautiful.” Rhaenyra mumbled against your lips before slipping her tongue to delicately stroke yours. It seemed impossible that your smile could widen even more but it did.
“Mmm, says you. You fucking goddess.” You said when you both finally pulled away. Panting and grinning like idiots.
“This is certainly turning out to be a very merry Christmas.”
“Ho ho ho.”
rhaenyra is an bisexual icon just like her uncle and we love her for it !!
#rhaenyra targaryen#rhaenyra#rhaenyra x reader#rhaenyra is a bisexual icon.#rhaenyra targaryen x reader#rhaenyra x fem!reader#alicent hightower#daemon targaryen#hotd#house of the dragon#game of thrones#hotd x reader#hotd modern au#modern au#house of the dragon x reader#got#syrax#caraxes#viserys targaryen
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‘Tis the Damn Season
Stark U #6
Summary: It’s Christmas Eve, you’re too drunk, you’ve basically avoided Bucky and Steve for six months and the last person you’d want to meet at this party just happens to be yelling in your face. The panic attack is inevitable, really.
Pairing: college!Steve Rogers x reader, college!Bucky Barnes x reader, college!Sam Wilson x reader, college!Natasha Romanoff x reader
Word count: 7.8k
Warnings: so much angst, past SA, alcohol, talk about violence, Christmas celebrations, things finally start to happen, kissing :)
A/N: Happy holidays to anyone who celebrates and to those who don’t, I hope you have a good few days anyways <3 This is the first I’ve posted since July which is awful of me so sorry
Series Masterlist
Main Masterlist
You didn't see them all summer. The day after your last exam was over, you bolted back to your hometown and spent the entire summer selectively ignoring messages from Bucky and Natasha and Steve and Sam asking what you were doing and how your summer was going and maybe you could all meet up and go somewhere and—
It's December now, and every goddamn day since June you have been trying to figure out if what Bucky said to you when you were sick was a fever-induced hallucination or if he really, actually, said that he wanted you to take his last name someday. It made you panic, because the entire spring term you tried to convince yourself that your feelings towards them were batshit crazy and any inkling to them feeling the same was a delusional reach, grasping for crumbs that in reality were just friendly gestures. And then he says that.
"She's just practicing her future last name, Stevie."
So, yeah...things have been weird. Three months have passed since classes started and none of you want to mention what happened right before summer break. Actually, with each day passing you feel more like maybe it was just a hallucination or a very vivid dream, because both Bucky and Steve act like it never even happened. Bucky even had his mouth latched onto some blonde sophomore at a dumb, stupid frat party on Halloween. You went home right after and cried for two hours. But it's not hard to conclude that even if there was some spark or connection or anything beyond friendship with either of them before summer, it has died out completely.
The subject will probably never be broached. You're too scared of confrontation and definitely too scared of revealing unreciprocated feelings for that to happen. The slightly tense atmosphere in the loft is entirely your fault—your lack of communication with anyone in the group during the summer has made them a little confused, you guess. You mostly spend time in your room, giving excuses of studying and talking with parents on the phone and 'I'm just tired, sorry'.
Spending too much time with Natasha scares you too, because she reads you so well and you don't want her to know how hurt and unhappily in love you are. She'll try to do something about it and then Steve and Bucky will catch on and then you will end up rejected and labeled as crazy, because who the fuck falls in love with two people?
That doesn't mean you've managed to avoid her. Living in the same apartment as her definitely makes that hard, but just the fact that she won't let you makes it impossible. Last week she even broke into your room when you had it locked, because apparently she knows how to pick a lock open in under ten seconds. She absolutely knows something is off, but so far she hasn't brought it up.
Natasha is the sole reason why you're now standing in the backyard of some rich kid's house just off campus, surrounded by smoke from cheap cigarettes and fairy lights hung up between the trees and one too many shots of vodka in your blood. It's December utterly and thoroughly—there's snow on the ground but people still haven't accepted the fact that wearing their short dresses and tank tops without jackets does not work anymore. Ice drops hangs from the tree where you stand, listening to Natasha talk with a drunken girl looking for her phone.
It's fun, sure. Not the worst party you've been to and not the best either. You talked to the girl you've been sitting next to in History class earlier for almost twenty minutes. Got free vodka. It's Friday and you don't have any exams to study for. None of that makes you forget that things aren't the same.
"Nat. Nat." You poke her shoulder repeatedly, obnoxiously probably, until she glances over her shoulder with a slight glare.
"What is it?"
"I'm gonna get 'nother drink. Inside," you tell her, pointing with your thumb towards a hedge even though it was meant to be the door. Natasha seems to understand anyway.
"Okay. Don't wander off too long. And come back here right after."
"Yes, ma'am." You give her a half-assed salute before turning around, swaying slightly in your step. It's the uneven and slippery surface of the snow-covered ground, you tell yourself.
There's a lot of people here, is what you note as you push yourself through the seemingly endless crowds of the living room. You kind of hate that they haven't played a single song you like and if Steve was here he would agree, because he doesn't listen to any music made after the internet was born. Bucky would then make fun of Steve and you would laugh and everything would be right in the world. Instead you're pressed to kitchen drawers of a dark kitchen, cheap vodka mixed with soda running down your throat.
The kitchen is crowded too, but either way it's a respite from whatever the hell's going on in the living room. Jumping up and down and calling it dancing (you were doing the same the hour before). You're too drunk to be miserable about everything happening in your life this entire term and much too drunk to feel the absolute atrocious taste of your drink.
In half an hour you will probably throw up and tomorrow will be spent nursing a horrible hangover, but those consequences seem insignificant right now. You just keep thinking about the image of Bucky shoving his tongue down someone's throat that wasn't yours. It was heartbreaking. That he's not here is a good thing, because you'd either witness the same thing again or actually bring it up to him, and that's much worse. God knows it's only a matter of time before Steve does the same thing.
Someone pushes into you, forcing the liquid from your cup to spill from the confines of the red plastic onto your dress. It's black, so it doesn't really matter, but the alcohol still seeps through the fabric until it reaches your skin.
"Shit, fuck—"
Your hand tries to somehow dry your dress by fanning the fabric, which obviously doesn't help very much, and the paper towels placed on the counter in front of you escape your drunken mind completely.
Fresh air and icy winter winds are the only options, so you push through and stumble into people on your way outside. It takes a lot longer than it should. You can't really see much considering the dizziness and darkness inside, but somehow, magically, you are eventually dragging your way towards Natasha who stands in the same place as before.
"Nat. Natty—I spilled. Look."
The black dress with the now wet patch is lifted towards her by your hands, highlighted for her to see. You sway as you tell her.
"Jesus, you can barely stand straight," Natasha answers with a stabling hand to your shoulder, shaking her head to herself instead of focusing on the very urgent fact that you spilled on yourself.
Natasha turns to the girl she's talking to, saying something you can't bother to decipher, before stepping aside with a guiding arm around you.
"We gotta get you home before you embarrass yourself for real," she mumbles underneath her breath.
"I heard that," you whisper, a loud hiccup following. Whoops.
She rolls her eyes, fishing her phone up from her pocket.
"Who—who you writing? To?" you ask, slightly aware that your sentences lack correct structure but not really caring. As long as the message comes across, right?
"I'm texting Steve. I can't drive and you sure as hell can't."
Even in your state, panic instantly sets in over the mention of his name even though you live in the same goddamn apartment.
"Nooo. No Steve."
Your hand grasps for her phone. Nat pulls it away from your reach much quicker than you can comprehend.
"Yes Steve. You're a mess and he's the only one with the patience to take care of this level of drunk. I don't care that you're avoiding them for some stupid goddamn reason," she tells you.
"Nat," you whine. "He can't see me. I spilled!"
She just glares at you. "I swear to god, Y/n...nobody cares that you spilled your drink. I can't even see it."
"I'm so drunk!"
"Yeah, I know. Just—just stay here, okay? I'm going to get you some water so you can sober up by the time your precious Steve comes for us."
Natasha is heading inside before you can process her words. Waiting in place for a few minutes turns into an eternity in your mind. She should know better than to leave you unattended and then expect you to stay—really, it's her own fault. You will accept no blame if Nat gets mad at you for going inside again. It's cold and you need to go to the bathroom. Also, you're mad at her. Telling Steve to come get you? That's just...embarrassing.
Once again you're shouldering your way past people on about the same level of intoxication as you. There's a bad remix of a Christmas song playing loudly. Makes you wanna punch whoever's phone is connected to the speaker. The bathroom is so, so far away. It's something the architect of this house should've thought of before he put it at the very end of this long hallway you're currently making your way through, but clearly he didn't have you in mind.
"Fuck! Watch where you're going, asshole," some girl seethes at you as your shoulder nudges against hers. A nudge is an exaggeration—you brushed against it at most. She's probably an aggressive drunk, that's all.
You don't answer, instead fumbling for the door handle to what you believe might be the bathroom. Some couple is making out in here, the girl with her ass planted on the edge of the bathtub and the guy nearly devouring her face. Doesn't look very pleasant, if you're honest.
"Out. I need to pee."
Your hands find their way to their shoulders, ushering the lovesick pair out of the room without much protest from either of them. They're still making out as they walk out.
Despite your less than sober state, you manage to remember to lock the door after they leave. Some of the mascara that previously inhabited your lashes has moved down to rest under your eyes. You rub it away, smudging it slightly, but it just makes you look a little more like one of those cool girls you always see on campus. It will do.
You kind of want to throw up, but decide against it. That hasn't happened since you were a freshman, and you'd like to keep it that way. Staring at yourself in the mirror occupies your time in the bathroom instead, swaying slightly with your hands placed on the cold sink. If Steve saw you now he would be so disappointed. At least you imagine he would be—that fatherly look on his face as he tells you how you need to be more mindful with your alcohol consumption. Did you even watch who poured your drink? Never go anywhere alone at a party. Especially not a frat one. You know better than this, Y/n.
Steve's imaginary voice is interrupted by someone banging on the door, shouting for you to hurry the fuck up. It's been over ten minutes, but to you it just feels like three, and Natasha has been looking for you ever since she returned to the garden with a glass of water in her hand and no one to give it to. It's not her banging on the door, unfortunately, but instead a dickhead guy who has no patience. Can't a girl spend some time alone in the bathroom doing nothing anymore?
The guy glares at you as you push the door open, stumbling out into the crowded hallway while paying him no mind. It's dark save for the red LED-lights plastered on the walls, making it feel like a seedy dive bar instead of a seedy house. You don't see much.
"Hey! Hey, you—the girl with the black dress!"
Someone pushes their way past the people talking and making out and leaning against the walls, shoving through them as he searches for your attention. Of course, you don't really think it's you he's after. Half of the people at this party are wearing black dresses.
A clammy hand finds purchase on your shoulder, halting you in your less than gracious steps and turning you around with ease. Head tilted back, gaze running upwards until they settle on the face of a quite attractive guy. He doesn't look pretty happy to see you. You're not very happy to see him either.
The blood drains from your face, stealing away all that alcohol-induced heat within a second as his curly hair and green eyes look down at you with that same contempt he had when Sam dragged him away from the kitchen almost a year ago. You had hoped you never had to see him again. It was a naive thing to wish for.
"Y/n, right?" he asks bitterly. You don't answer, but he takes your silence as a yes. It was probably a rhetorical question anyway. His slightly crooked nose was perfectly straight the last time you saw him. His face is committed to your memory, burned in to taunt you on sleepless nights and everytime an unknown man walks a little too closely when you're out alone. "Your little boyfriend broke my fucking nose. You know that?"
Another rhetorical question. Definitely more threatening. Might be the tight grip he has on your arm too. Either way, his mere presence has apparently stripped away your ability to breathe normally. It feels like you've been running to the point of nausea, dark spots dancing before your eyes as he shakes you in attempt to get an answer.
"You ruined my fucking reputation. For what? I barely touched you. Such a sensitive fucking bitch, going around telling everyone that..." His voice trails off, ushering you into a quiet corner when he realizes people are staring. "Got nothing to say now, huh? Been so good at running your fucking mouth before, haven't you?"
"Let me go," you whisper, voice wavering. You don't sound assertive at all, instead weak and fearful. It's what you feel, as an upbeat, slightly bad cover rendition of "All I Want For Christmas" booms through the house. Girls shrieking in excitement over in the living room reaches your ears. You would have joined them if you weren't currently cornered by the guy who assaulted you in your own kitchen a year ago.
"No, we're going to fucking talk. What the fuck were you doing, going around saying shit like that about me to everyone?"
"I...I didn't..." Your lips part between words, breathing out shakily, trying to articulate sentences long enough to make sense. Why can't you speak? Why can't you even think?
"You didn't what?" he seethes. "You're such a fucking bitch, you know that? Acts all innocent and hides behind her friends. My nose is fucking crooked forever because of that fuckhead you sent after me."
Is it the alcohol that renders you this goddamn useless? There's just tears springing to your eyes, unable to say anything in defense of yourself. Can't even walk away.
He pushes you against the wall, knocking the breath out of you. To other people it probably looks like you're hooking up. At least that's what you hope they think, because otherwise you want to wonder why no one is intervening.
"Joshua, please let me go," you tell him again, even more pathetic this time. You're crying now, curled in on yourself in attempt to make yourself as small as possible.
"Fuck, you're so—"
"She told you to let her go."
The assertive, familiar tone booms through the hallway. It doesn't really, can probably only be heard by the people around you, but it feels like it when Steve's tall figure pushes through with hasty steps towards where you and Joshua stand, followed by a glaring Bucky with his jaw clenched so fucking tightly. A sob of relief is drawn from your lips, muffled by the back of your hand.
Joshua steps back instantly. Kind of funny to think that he's so scared of those two, and sad to think that he only respects a 'no' when it comes from men.
"Nice nose job," Bucky speaks up, pointing at his own nose as he stares at Joshua's crooked one, courtesy of the damn good punch he managed to land with his left fist all those months ago.
"Fuck you," Joshua growls, taking a step forward in attempt to appear more threatening or something. He doesn't really succeed—both Bucky and Steve towers over him in both length and build, unrelenting in their stance. As if they're stone walls keeping out the enemy.
Steve rolls his his eyes, shaking his head with a sigh. "Just get out of here. Don't go near her ever again, you hear me? Bucky's glad to fix your nose otherwise. Break it right back. Can't promise the result will be very good, though."
Bucky stands slightly behind Steve, raising an eyebrow in Joshua's direction that tells him there's not even a trace of a lie in the blonde giant's statement.
"You—fuck this." Joshua throws his hands in the air, aiming the most distasteful glare over his shoulder in your direction, before pushing past Steve and Bucky with a shove.
Your body instantly deflates, the tension melting off your limbs as you close your eyes and lean back against the wall. Gentle, firm hands instantly reach your cheeks, your arms, searching for any trace Joshua might have left behind on your body.
"Hey, hey. Y/n, are you okay? Did he touch you? Sweetheart, look at me."
Bucky's voice draws you out of the anxious, panicked state you slipped into, fluttering your eyelids open to see his worried frown and an equally worried Steve looming behind him. Wet cheeks and red-rimmed eyes greet them, pupils dilated from the alcohol.
"Y/n, are you hurt? How long have you two been talking?" Steve adds, looming over you in such a way that his large frame blocks out any of the colorful lights plastered on the walls.
They already know you're drunk—Natasha was the one to call them here to get you, after all. Maybe your silence and obvious intoxication makes it clear to them after a couple of seconds that an answer from you is a few minutes away, a few miles of distance from this foggy, packed house. Nothing more is said or requested from you. Instead your trembling form is led away and out into the biting cold by gentle hands belonging to your friends. Even your slight shock can't shield you from freezing your ass off as soon as you get out into the fresh air again, teeth beginning to chatter within the second step on tightly packed snow.
"What the—where the hell have you been? I swear to god, Y/n, I was gone for two minutes! I've been looking for you everywhere!" an angry Natasha yells, running perfectly towards the three of you down the slippery lawn to where Steve is currently helping you into the backseat of his car.
"Nat," Steve says, giving her a pleading look that silently tells her it's not the time for a scolding.
"What? I told her to stay put when I went to get her a glass of water and she just disappeared out of nowhere. Slippery motherfucker while drunk, I swear she'll be the death of me—"
"Nat," he repeats, sternly this time. In that tone only he masters, silencing even the most eager tongues with a single exhale. "She met Joshua. And she's not okay. So please, leave your yelling for tomorrow and get in the car."
Steve holds the passenger door open, gesturing for the seat beside Bucky. He's turning the key, letting the car warm up properly while he clutches the wheel tightly. Natasha's irritated frown turns into a concerned one, nodding silently before slipping inside. Steve closes the door shut behind her.
You lean your head against the frost-covered window, fogged up by your breath two inches away from it, and close your eyes. Steve leans over you, reaching for the belt and fastens it over your torso. You forgot. He never does.
It's no surprise, doesn't startle you despite your absentminded state, when his warm hand cups your cheek, turns your head to face him. Soft, blue gaze and ridiculously long lashes. It's nothing but contrasting against the clouds released from your mouths with each breath—warm, concerned...loving? Maybe.
"Are you okay?" he whispers, thumb rubbing over your cheek.
You nod. "Yes. I am now."
Bucky puts his foot on the gas, turns on the blinker, and pulls away from the curb, out onto the streets. It's nearly soundless. The usual rumble from wheels against road is cushioned by the snow.
"This was a mistake. Sorry, I can't—" Sam gags, moving his head out of the bathroom before returning his presence within a few seconds. "You're a real shitty guard, Nat. Why'd you let her drink this much?"
All four of your roommates are gathered in the bathroom, surrounding you as if you're a newly born lion cub in a zoo, while you puke your guts out into the toilet. Steve is kneeling on the floor beside you, a comforting hand rubbing your back, while Bucky sits a few feet away with a glass of water in hand, ready for whenever you need it.
"Fuck you. You weren't there—she was like a goddamn ghost, just slipping away everytime I blinked. Looked fucking everywhere for her. 'S not my fault," Nat answers, residing on the floor of the shower in lack of space.
"Not true," you murmur in answer, your voice echoing off the ceramic surrounding you.
You're pretty much done throwing up, it's just the exhaustion following that's keeping you slumped over on the bathroom tile. Your hand stretches out in Bucky's direction, reaching for the glass of water that's gulped down within a few seconds.
"Careful. Gonna get sick again if you do it this fast," Bucky says, unable to help himself from brushing away the stray drops of water running down your chin.
The gesture is nothing new from him. He did it when you were sick all those months ago too, and you haven't forgotten it at all. His thumb gently rubbing over your skin as if you're precious, something deserving of gentleness, is engraved into your mind. You're thankful for getting most of the alcohol out of your system, because you might not have remembered this moment in the morning if not. Fuck it if you forgot the way his pupils widen just slightly, as if he didn't mean to, as if he couldn't help himself.
"I'm fine," you whisper in answer, clearing your throat. "Got it all out."
"Good." Steve's hand moves up from your back to your head, stroking it for just a second before withdrawing his touch. "Let's get you to the couch."
"I don't wanna go to the couch. Wanna be in my bed." You're pouting. Maybe there is some trace of alcohol left in you.
"Steve and Buck will feel much less like creepy stalkers if they stare at you sleeping on the couch instead of hovering around your bedroom all night like a bunch of pervs," Natasha speaks up. A snort follows after, as if it was a joke and not a statement. Definitely tipsy too, despite unwilling to admit such a weakness.
Steve raises a reprimanding eyebrow Natasha's way, telling her to shut her mouth with just his gaze. She smirks in answer.
"Don't listen to her. A fucking liar," Bucky remarks, but there's still some form of amusement in his expression. He can't even deny the statement—he is going to watch over you. Doesn't really matter if it's in the living room or in your bedroom. "Now let's get you up. C'mon."
With a push from your arms against the cold tile, you're standing on two legs again. Steve is hovering his hand near your back, ready to support if the vodka decides to topple you over. But you're fine—just tired now.
For ten minutes it feels things are back to normal again. On the living room couch, nestled in between them, your head leaning on Steve's shoulder as a stupid Hallmark Christmas movie plays on the tv. Sam and Natasha are in their rooms sleeping, and for a few moments you forget why you kept your distance. Everything would have been good if this is how the night would end. If Steve didn't have to address the past six months.
"I've missed this. With us," Steve whispers as he strokes your shoulder absentmindedly, like it's second nature to him to have his hands on your skin. "You've been so distant lately. For months, Y/n."
The room instantly becomes tense enough to make you nauseous. A clearing of your throat, an attempt to sit up out of Steve's hold and away from this conversation that you'd much rather avoid is futile—it's instantly stopped by Bucky's hand on your chest that pushes you right back.
"No," he says sternly. "You're gonna sit right here, sweetheart, and tell us why you've barely let us see you since fall term started. 'Cause it's sure as fuck not something I take lightly. Why have you avoided us?"
You look away, shaking your head to yourself as you try to talk yourself down. You will not break. You will not confess a single thing. You are going to act like everything is fine and you are not currently freaking out being sandwiched between the only two men you would gladly be sandwiched between under different circumstances than this.
"What are you even talking about?" you answer meekly. It's clear as soon as the words come out of your mouth that no one is falling for your innocent act, not even sweet, naive Steve. Then again, you're doing a particularly bad job. "Both of you think I've been distant?"
"Cut the bullshit, Y/n. If we've done something wrong, just say so." Bucky bites his cheek, glancing down for just a second, but it's enough to let his vulnerability slip. He's hurt.
A wave of guilt instantly washes over your body, an unusual feeling. During all these months of avoiding any interaction with Bucky and Steve besides the necessary ones, you didn't think that they'd actually mind your absence that much. They might not be hopelessly in love with you like you are with them, but they're still your friends. Friends miss each other.
"Or if it's something personal, you can tell us, you know? Is it anxiety, or are you feeling generally low, or...?" Steve chips in, trying to drown out Bucky's accusatory tone.
"No, no...I'm not depressed, Steve. And none of you have done anything wrong, I promise," you say hastily, shutting down their concerns as quickly as possible while trying to buy yourself time to come up with an excuse. "I just...needed some alone time."
Bucky rolls his eyes, shaking his head. Sassy man. "Bullshit again. You've spent a bunch of time with Natasha. Sam, too. It's us you're avoiding." He points to himself and Steve with his hand. "It's been almost six months, Y/n. What the hell's your problem?" He pushes himself off the couch, standing up and blocking your view of the tv. It's as if his frustration is all contained while sitting down.
"Bucky," Steve scolds, glaring up at his friend. He's not appreciating the tone at all, that's for sure.
"There's no problem, Bucky," you tell him, shaking your head. Trying to dismiss this entire conversation before you reveal too much.
"No! Y/n, I'm going fucking crazy! This is the first time you've even let me touch you in half a year!" Bucky yells, a pleading tone in his voice that breaks your heart just a little. Because it's true. You have barely even hugged since June. You've barely talked for more than five minutes at a time.
"Don't yell at her, for god's sake, Bucky," Steve adds, his hands on your shoulders and ready to get up from the couch any second.
"What the hell's going on with you, huh?!" Bucky continues, ignoring Steve's statement. His eyes are solely focused on you, void of the usual softness. There's just anger. "Cause if you can't stand us, then tough fucking luck. I can have your fucking things moved out by tomorrow for all I care. Can move right into Walker's dorm. Bet he'd accept you with open fucking arms if you get to your knees and—“
The drop of your heart down to your stomach can almost be heard, an echoing, hollow sound. You're sure of it. Bucky shuts his mouth, as if he realizes what exactly was about to come out of it. What is not even a second of silence feels like a whole minute, before Steve shoots up from his seat beside you and grabs Bucky by the collar, rattling the whole room with the force in which he nearly tackles Bucky against the wall with. The tangy taste of iron starts to fill your mouth, your teeth biting down on your lip hard enough to draw blood. There's tears lingering in your eyes but you can't hold them back, not anymore.
"You don't fucking talk to her like that, you bast—"
"I love you! It’s ‘cause I fucking love you guys!” you yell, a pathetic sob marring the words. “So I’m fucking sorry that I’ve avoided you two but I’m trying to get over these goddamn—these feelings, but I can’t, okay! I can’t!”
The bitter delivery is punctuated by the sleeve of your sweater wiping away the tears furiously, cutting Steve off and drawing both of their wild eyes towards your figure now standing up, just a minute away from a complete breakdown. You don't even process the fact that Steve cursed. It would've been teased about endlessly in any other situation.
"I will go. I'll leave if that's what you want," you seethe with a voice so unsteady that it's almost unbearable to listen to. "But I don’t hate any of you. I don’t, and I get why you’re mad. But fuck you, Bucky. Fuck you for saying that.”
More tears fall. It's futile to wipe them away when they'll be replaced the second after. You want to say more, hit Bucky where it hurts, but you cannot get the goddamn words to form on your lips. Opening your mouth and closing it again, shaking your head, comes before hastily walking towards your room and locking yourself inside without giving them a chance to answer.
As soon as the door is slammed shut, your hand comes up to your mouth to muffle the sobs. Sinking down to the floor as if you’re in a movie, forehead resting against your knees. The rate of your heartbeats could be considered dangerously high, but you just blurted out a whole love confession for two of your roommates in the midst of a fight. How the hell could everything turn to shit so quickly? Half an hour ago all of you were joking around in the bathroom, and now you're not sure you have the courage to face any of them again.
It's a rash, impulsive decision fueled by anger and betrayal and shame, but you rush over to your closet and pull out an overnight bag that's soon filled to the brim with enough things to last you a few days. You're crying the entire time.
When you pass the living room again, Bucky isn't there anymore. But Steve is. Barely a glance his way is spared, with hasty steps heading towards the hallway. You remind yourself of a furious toddler when you angrily put on your jacket, stick your feet into your winter boots. The bag is slung over your shoulder, hand resting on the door handle.
"Don't go. Y/n, please don't leave."
Steve stands at the other side of the hallway, a broken down expression on his pretty face.
"Bucky went out of line, but he didn't mean it, I swear. He's just too prideful to admit it," he continues. You shake your head, biting down on your bottom lip. "Please, honey. It’s Christmas Eve. It won’t be the same if you’re not here tomorrow.”
"I just need some space," you whisper, brushing away a stray tear with the sleeve of your jacket. You’re so embarrassed and hurt that you can barely look him in the eye. "I can't be in the same apartment as him right now."
Steve sighs, looking about ready to just throw you over his shoulder to get you to stay. But he won't do that. That's not Steve. So instead he glances down to the floor, shaking his head to himself.
“Did you mean it?” he asks softly. “The thing about—you said you loved us. Did you mean it?”
It takes a few seconds before you nod tentatively, sniffling and keeping your gaze on a spot past Steve. He doesn’t say anything.
Steve gathers courage enough to walk up to where you stand by the door, grabbing your cheeks with his hands, thumb running over the tear-stained skin gently. For a few moments, he just looks at you. Loud thoughts running amok in that perfect head of his.
“Nothing I say right now will do my feelings any justice, so I’m gonna save any big speeches for tomorrow. But just…stay. It’s 2 am, it’s freezing out and you’re still drunk. I don’t want you out there on the streets alone. I need you to stay, even if it’s only for your own safety. Don’t have to talk to any of us if you don’t want to.”
His words makes you nod automatically. All it took was his hands on your skin and the flicker of hope his words ignite in your chest, and you conceded within a second. No hesitation left in that exhausted body of yours. He‘s not saying outright that your feelings are requited, but it doesn’t feel like a rejection either. He doesn’t seem disgusted by your confession, by the knowledge that you’re in love with both him and his best friend.
“Good girl. Let’s just—let’s get you to bed, okay?”Steve tells you, squeezing your shoulder gently. With your confirmation in form of another silent nod, he nestles the bag out of your grip and takes off the jacket from your torso.
The bed feels so soft and warm and comforting when you lie down. Steve tucks you in. It’s achingly sweet and you don’t really deserve it after avoiding him and Bucky like that for so long, but he looks out for you nonetheless.
“Steve,” you whisper, drawing his gaze up to meet yours. “I’m sorry. For being so distant.”
He shakes his head. “You have nothing to be sorry for. You were scared,” Steve answers. “Don’t worry about anything, okay? Get some sleep. You’ve had a tough night, Y/n.”
The softest of smiles grazes your lips, puppy eyes gazing up at Steve. Your wonderful, caring, perfect Steve.
“Are you alright? It must’ve been hard meeting Joshua again. And what Bucky said, it…it was far from okay.”
“I will be,” you whisper.
He nods, observes your face for a few seconds. Leans down to press a kiss to your forehead—what kind of college guy even does that? And then he leaves the room, turning the light off behind him.
You’re woken up by a red headed, crazy woman sitting on top of you over the sheets, shaking your shoulders.
“Wake up, fuckhead. You’re gonna open the presents I got you,” Natasha urges, grinning down at you as you blink your eyes open, groaning.
“Fuckhead?” you ask, a tired chuckle from your lips as Natasha climbs off the bed.
“Yes. Don’t like it, huh?” she teases. “C’mon. The guys are already waiting.”
With slow steps and a loud yawn, the slightest trace of a hangover plaguing your body, you drag yourself out into the living room. Around the ugly, little tree that Sam insisted on cutting down from the campus gardens last week (he almost got arrested by the security guards) the three boys sit. Your gaze falls to the floor, scratching the skin right above your lip nervously, once Bucky looks up at you. Can’t really read his expression, but you figure you’ll lay the fight aside for the day. It’s Christmas, after all.
“Merry Christmas, sweetheart,” Steve says, urging you to sit down next to him right there on the carpet. You offer a soft smile, and an even softer ‘Merry Christmas’ back. You’re still unsure about yesterday. Despite there being no rejection from either of them, the uncertainty is kind of killing you. A pit of anxiety rests in your stomach, an uneasy feeling corrupting every cell as you sit down on the floor next to Steve.
Not even ten minutes later, the living room is drowning in a sea of wrapping paper. Natasha went overboard with the gift shopping this year, it seems like, but her absent father is also some kind of Russian oligarch or something so she tends to use up as much of his money as she can. You’re not complaining.
The special edition of The Hobbit, signed by the director of the movie, that you managed to get on eBay and cost you a fucking fortune is received with a whispered ‘thank you’ from Bucky. He holds it in his hands tightly, staring down at the book without a word, and you don’t know if he’s happy for it. Maybe he’s not happy with anything touched by you at this moment. He hasn’t gotten you a gift, it seems like, or maybe he threw it in the trash and burned it yesterday.
Steve got you three books that he’d heard you say you wanted months ago, and a dainty silver necklace with a bee pendant hanging from it. “You know, uh, I usually call you ‘honey’ and I thought it was a little funny, maybe. But I can exchange it if you don’t like it. It’s no problem,” he had said, even though there were tears of gratitude in your eyes. Your arms were thrown around him a second later, hugging him tightly as you thanked him profusely for the most thoughtful gift.
Now you’re leaning your back against the couch, still on the floor, watching as Sam and Natasha are tinkering with his new Nintendo Switch that he got from her (overboard with the gifts, as previously mentioned). He’s so happy it almost makes you zoned out as you watch his childlike excitement. It’s nice to see the two of them so calm and sweet with each other too. Usually bickering and getting on each other’s nerves all the time otherwise.
“Y/n, can we talk?”
Your head tilts back, looking up at Bucky standing nervously in front of you, his hand rubbing the back of his neck. There’s a deep hesitation within you, a pride that wants to say no and remain in your angry state forever without confrontation. But it’s Bucky. You hate this animosity between the two of you, the tension. Despite being pissed off and hurt and afraid that he doesn’t want you, you can’t say no, so you nod and push yourself up to a stand.
Bucky closes the door to his room behind him gently, clearing his throat and looking at anything but you. A sigh comes out of his mouth, shaking his head, before he parts his lips to speak.
“I’m so sorry, Y/n. What I said was disgusting and unforgivable and so fucking out of line. You didn’t deserve that at all. So out of proportion to what I was mad at you for,” Bucky says, running the palm of his calloused hand over his face.
“It was,” you answer honestly. There’s no use in denying that what Bucky said was stupidly hurtful. He nods, looking away from your gaze.
“It made me angry thinking that you ignored me, because at first I didn’t know what I had done, you know? And then I thought for a few months that me and Steve had been too overbearing and that you tried to keep your distance because you thought we were annoying or something. But that’s not the case. I should’ve known better by now than to think that you would do anything to purposely hurt us.”
You gulp, nodding, looking down to the floor. “I’m sorry too,” you whisper. “I didn’t know that you guys thought I had something against you until last night. Obviously, you…you know now that’s not the case,” you tell him, embracing yourself with your arms. “But last night, Bucky, I…you hurt me. I know you were angry, but saying those kind of things isn’t okay.”
“I know that. God, I know, Y/n. I’m so sorry. It was fucking childish of me, retorting to saying that Jo—“ Bucky shakes his head, hands coming up to tug at the roots of his hair. “And it felt stupid giving you that present in front of everyone, so now you think I didn’t get you anything, too, and—“
“You got me a present?”
“Yes. Of course I did, Y/n. But I saw how much Natasha had bought and that necklace Steve gave you and my gift felt stupid in comparison to that. Just didn’t want to give it to you in front of everyone,” he says, a little awkwardly. A little boy giving his mother a drawing he made in kindergarten, he reminds you of.
“Bucky…that doesn’t matter. I don’t care what you have gotten me. I’ll like it no matter what if it’s from you.”
He shifts in his place, contemplating something, before picking up a sweater on his bed, revealing a wrapped present hidden underneath. Bucky took the gift from the pile without anyone noticing before, throwing it into his room so no one would see.
With a tentative hand, he reaches it out to you. Doesn’t watch as you unwrap it, instead biting on his thumbnail. You reprimand him for it, and the hand returns to his side.
“Is it a book?” You run your fingers over the cover, a hardcover with nothing on it. Blank.
“It’s a photo album. Shit, it’s stupid. I don’t know,” Bucky answers, looking about ready to snatch it back, but you open the first page up before he has a chance to.
A picture of you, Natasha, Sam and Steve on the first page. It was taken last year in November. You’re all running after one of Sam’s model planes, fall leaves singling down from the sky. It’s a beautiful picture.
“4 grown idiots running after a kid’s toy - November 12th, 2022”
“It’s just pics I’ve taken with my phone, so it’s nothing artsy or anything, but…uhm.” Bucky runs his hand through his short, brown hair.
You flip the page. You’re looking out through the kitchen window, the sun shining through and casting shadows over the room and your figure curled up on the chair.
“Angel in the sun - March 25th, 2023”
A soft chuckle is drawn from your lips, resisting the urge to run your finger over the photo, but you don’t want to smudge the blank paper. On the same page there’s another picture of you with your arms around Natasha’s shoulders, nearly wrestling her to the ground with the force of your hug. You look so happy.
Bucky looks nervous as you glance up from the photo album at him. “Know it’s not much, but…yeah.”
A loud huff of hair escapes Bucky as you throw your arms around him. It takes a second or two for him to hug you back, but he soon has his chin resting on top of your head, arms around your waist.
“I love it,” you whisper, holding onto him tightly enough to constrict his breathing.
“You do? I can take it back if you don’t like it.”
Your grip around him releases, arms coming down to your sides so you can take a step back and look him in the eyes. “This is everything, Bucky,” you say softly, feeling a lump in your throat that can turn into tears any second. “The fact that you took the time to make this for me is just…it’s the most thoughtful thing ever. And these pictures are so beautiful, Bucky, and just the thought of you sitting down and glueing them onto the page and writing captions and—“
His lips against yours. Oh god. Oh my god, Bucky has his lips pressed against yours. Gentle hands hold your jaw, his head leaning down to compensate for the height difference, and Bucky Barnes is kissing you with urgency and desperation.
The shock is enough to make you unable to return the kiss. He seems to take your surprise as rejection despite the fact that you literally yelled ‘I love you’ in his face last night. Bucky steps away and takes his hands off your skin, running his hand over his mouth, shaking his head.
“I’m so sorry, don’t know what the hell came over me, I—“
On your tiptoes, fingers grabbing his sweatshirt to pull him closer, and you nearly smash your lips against his to shut up any of that doubt he carries. It’s not a graceful or very romantic kiss, but by the sound akin to a very mild growl that comes from Bucky and his hands sliding down to your waist to pull you closer, you guess he likes it anyway.
It doesn’t last more than 20 seconds. A harsh knock on the door to Bucky’s room interrupts it, forcing you part from his lips and get down from your tiptoes again.
“What the hell are you doing in there? C’mon! I’ve made goddamn Christmas brunch!” Sam yells, drawing a soft chuckle from your lips as your forehead meets Bucky’s chest.
With a soft smile, nothing said, you back away from Bucky. Slipping out of his room and leaving him there all flustered and semi-hard from a 20 second make-out session. The first ever between you, though. He thinks it’s pretty understandable.
As Bucky follows you into the kitchen, sitting down at the table by Steve, he leans towards his best friend and whispers into his ear low enough to make anyone else unable to hear.
“I kissed her, Stevie,” Bucky says with a shit eating grin on his face. “I finally fucking kissed her.”
The blond man turns his head enough to look over at Bucky, the red flush of his cheeks and ears enough to tell anyone what’s been said.
“Are you serious?” Steve asks.
“I kissed her and she kissed me back, I swear. I gave her that photo album I’ve worked on for weeks. She said she loved it, Steve.”
“I guess it’s my turn then, isn’t it?” Steve answers, a shy smile on his lips as the two of them watch you sit down opposite of them at the table, glancing through the window out at the heavy snowfall. Natasha puts a newly toasted bagel on your plate.
“Go get our girl, Stevie.”
#stark u#marvel fanfiction#marvel fic#bucky barnes x reader#steve rogers x reader#bucky barnes angst#sam wilson x reader#natasha romanoff x reader
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Silken Webs & Pirouettes - Miguel O’Hara x Reader
Summary - The reader and Miguel finally meet… Ballerina!Reader & CEO!Miguel. Alternate Universe with most of the characters included as seen in "Across the Spiderverse." Many cameos ahead. Miguel is a successful business owner but personality is canon. This is a steamy reader insert, Miguel x You! Enjoy and pls leave me lots of love and comments as it keeps me motivated <333
next chapter
three
I hate this. Oh I despise it. This feeling, this day, this music and this fucking limp legged Christmas tree that taunts me from my window.
So many employees and all of them are proving themselves to be nothing more than incapable. All For morale.
For fucking blue elephant.
Truth be told, I could give less of a shit what the Daily Bugle says about me or my company. I could, but not Jessica Drew. Not my right hand. That’s why there is that stupid music, that pathetic tree and that is exactly why I have been forced to stuff red, silk handkerchiefs in my pocket.
All my girls respect me, but Jessica? They worship her. She’s the epitome of the perfect boss to weak minded people.
And fucking Jessica wants to sit in a circle and trade presents with our employees. Just the thought makes my fingers curl, hand balled into an intolerant first.
Presents. It makes me think of lilac, of Lacy.
Lacy is a smart girl, one of my smartest actually. And instead of being buried deep inside of her, using my dick to try and find the spark that once captivated me within her, I, the CEO of my own fucking company have to entertain the persistent brat downstairs.
No puedo más, no puedo más. No. Puedo. Más.
I huff out an annoyed breath and stand, a minute longer where I brood in my seat and I’ll leave the hire to interview herself. I busy myself with gazing out of my floor to ceiling glass. New York greets me like a betrayed brother, icy and bitter. All of the city is strung with icicle lights and nauseating colors for the holiday. So loud and happy, so infuriating.
My reflection mirrors me, cold and in charge— as it should always be. Yet today, today doesn’t feel like it. Today, I have to cater to stupid Cindy Moon and the fact that she’s incapable of being wrong. No Lacy, no sleep.
I never do, anyways.
Time passes slow as I wait, as I gaze out into my city from my castle. Jessica calls my leather seat a throne, and it couldn’t be more fitting.
An agonizing gathering of fleeting moments before I hear Cindy Moon’s heels clicking to the rhythm of whatever the fuck is playing on that radio. There are more footsteps beside her, but those are much less graceful.
Must be the girl.
Great.
I wait for the knob to turn, I wait to be over with this. I have no intentions of taking her on, none at all. I’ll let her down cordially for sake of morale and I’ll find Lacy and get to the bottom of why I don’t feel her anymore.
Not in the way you feel passion when you fuck, no. The excitement, the reminder with each stroke that you’re alive. You don’t have to search for it anymore… but it always fades, and onto the next muñequita that makes my dick stand.
But fucking Lacy. So pretty in her Lilac with those big blue eyes. I thought she’d last longer. She’s too sweet to get rid of so early.
My clock is taunting me, my patience running thinner as I turn and narrow my eyes at the halted shadows under the oak door. Slowing my breathing, I listen. Are they whispering?
Cindy Moon, warning the new hire about me.
I shake my head and take a moment to adjust my silken pocket. Alright, I’ll play generous for the holiday season and walk slower to my oak door. I’ll give them a chance to come inside, to respect me.
One step closer, and closer, two more strides and I’ve reached it. And they? They’re still playing school girl on the other side.
I tug the door open with brute force, prepared to spit a sarcastic insult at little Cindy Moon who has gotten very close to being fired far too many times today.
I don’t get the chance.
A mess of ivory cloth and pink ribbons falls against me, so light and soft I believe her to be a feather for a moment. She gasps, french tipped manicure gripping at my navy suit desperately.
My eyes slim even further, jaw tense and tight. Cindy’s eyes are the opposite. They go wide as saucers, eyebrows pointed and high as she catches a glimpse of the place where my jaw twitches.
I’m annoyed.
The stupid little thing scurries away with only a, “Sir!” and a nod. Lucky girl. Evading her final day with me.
I take a moment to close my eyes and imagine that instead of being here, with an idiot on my chest, I closed my laptop and grabbed my bag. I walked downstairs and met Lacy in the cab, I took her home to my apartment and got her nice and warm by the fireplace. I wrapped her strawberry blonde hair in my fist and started fucking her hard enough so that she couldn’t walk for a week, fucking her so hard I managed to forget how far away the spark feels. So hard that I began to feel excited again, alive.
That’s not how this evening played out, though.
My eyes force themselves open and wander down to the mess of frizzy tresses splayed against my suit. The potential new hire is clumsy, and her face is pressed up against my chest. Thankfully, she rushes to steady herself as quickly as she can.
Dios mío…
Her hair stands tall as if it’s laced with lightning bolts, evidence of the friction my suit caused. Her face is flushed as a reminder of her embarrassment and her skirt is wrinkly and frayed.
My eyes wander down further.
Her shoes are too tight for her feet, her tights are too tight for her curves, and she’s wearing… teddy bear socks?
I’d laugh if I wasn’t at my last straw with the idiots around me. Who told her that wearing this to see me would be a good idea?
Must have been my cruel girls on floor one. That’s why I keep them there, because they’re cruel. Because they’ll send anybody away that’s a waste of my time.
Maybe they’ve fallen sick with this disgusting holiday spirit, maybe it was the morale or maybe they wanted to get a good laugh out of watching the girl with ribbons in her hair and teddy bear socks sob her way out of my building.
The stupid thing, she fails miserably at trying to brush down the electricity in her hair and smooth the wrinkles in her skirt. Her manicured hand shoots out to meet me. I only stare at it.
“Good evening, sir.”
I just look on at her, she shrinks. I don’t have time for this today, and I’m grateful knowing that she’s already made a bad impression. This will be quick.
“Follow me.”
She does, stumbling behind me like a deer with a broken leg. I collapse into my throne and place my glasses to rest on the bridge of my nose. My hands make quick work of finding her paper.
I nearly lose my composure when I do.
¿Cómo es posible?
This girl, this very stupid girl that has been waltzed into my office by Cindy fucking Moon has no chance here.
She has no references, no former places of employment, her bank account is pathetic and the only properties she owns are a shitty little apartment in the city and her pink ribbons, wrinkly skirt and teddy bear socks, apparently.
It’s a wonder, how she managed to convince her way into here. Most of my employees are women, how I enjoy it, so I know she didn’t put that mouth to use. It’s a true mystery then.
A mystery.
I’m curious.
I glance up at her under my brows and am unsurprised to see her standing straight as a pin, awkwardly.
“Sit.” I command. She does.
Good girl.
She collapses into the Italian leather uncomfortably, it practically swallows her. She looks small, underfed. Dark circles hide behind whatever mierda she put on top of them to keep them away. She’s tired. She’s a mess.
A mysterious mess and as I look more at her and her teddy bear socks, I want to know why.
“What’re you doing here?”
My voice makes her jump, that excites me. Reminds me I’m alive, and my words hold power in my building. I like it. Excitement… just what I’ve been needing.
Maybe I can entertain her, just for a little.
“I- um…”
Oh. Her voice is soft, but low. She stuttered, but her words don’t shake. It’s unexpected. She keeps surprising me.
“I’m here for the seasonal position? Morale?”
Fucking morale.
Stupid girl… just when I was starting to like you.
“Are you asking me or telling?”
She blinks at me, and if it weren’t for how observant I am and how well I’ve become at reading people, mostly women, I’d take her as a bland little damsel with no brain in her pretty head.
But I see past it.
She’s digging her nails into my Italian leather. She doesn’t like the way I’m speaking to her.
Good, I like that.
It’s fun.
“I’m telling you, sir.”
Ahí está. Un fuego.
Her voice is sharp and curt, she’s tense. She’s… annoyed with me.
It’s obvious to me that she’s had no experience at all in a professional setting at any point in her life.
I push my glasses up with my thumb and clasp my hands together, leaning back in my seat. Eyes staring into hers, watching… observing. The silence makes her squirm, she’s uncomfortable.
I keep it going.
“Aren’t you gonna ask me questions?” She whispers.
My gaze wanders again, past the ribbons and wrinkly skirt. Past the tight tights and manicured fingers. Right down to those teddy bear socks.
“What’re you wearing?”
“That’s not a relevant question.” She snaps back immediately.
I shift in my seat, more excitement. More liveliness. More surprises.
“It’s a question.” It’s a statement, but it sounds like a command. She answers me.
“They’re for luck.”
Hmm.
I’ll give her a break, for now. With a sigh I grab her paper again and glaze over it quickly.
“You’ve got not a single reference, no former places of employment and no credibility. Answer my first question again, what’re you doing here?”
She’s gone silent again, picking at the white polish adorning her fingernails. I allow her a quick moment, the lucky thing speaks before I do.
“I know how this all looks. If I were you I’d turn me away too…”
“I might.” I interrupt as she takes a breath.
Her nose twitches. Does it always do that when she’s annoyed?
“I know. But give me a chance to answer your question, like you asked me to.”
Maybe she’s not so stupid. I wave my hand as a gesture for her to continue, and with a sharp breath, she does.
“I won’t bullshit you and pretend that me walking out that door wouldn’t be bad for me, because it would. I need this, and I don’t expect that to change your mind either… but it’s the truth. I do need this, and it makes me perfect for the job because I’m gonna do everything in my power to keep it. To perform the best I can. Besides, if it’s a grave mistake on your end sir then, I’m only here for one season. Then you are free of me. I know I may not look it, but I’m determined. I’m obedient and I am capable and I know I can do this better than any other blonde broad that’s set to sit in this chair after me. Trust me.”
She’s desperate, but she didn’t have to give me that speech for me to catch onto that. No, she’s a pretty girl. I can tell from her nails and her ribbons. Office work doesn’t seem like her first choice. It makes me wonder, what has she been doing all this time?
What made her come here?
Her gaze falls onto her teddy bear socks and she must take my silence as an answer, she uses her tight shoes to scrunch them up at her ankles. She’s disappointed in them.
Pretty girl for pretty work.
Maybe she’ll last. Quizás me he vuelto loco.
Carajo.
“You’re hired.”
🏷️’s: @laysmt | chap 3 song 🎧:
#miguel o’hara smut#miguel o’hara imagine#miguel o’hara x reader#miguel ohara#miguel spiderverse#miguel smut#miguel 2099#miguel x reader#miguel spiderman#miguel o'hara#atsv miguel#miguel x you#miguel x y/n#miguel o’hara x you#miguel o’hara fanfiction#miguel o’hara across the spider verse#miguel o’hara x y/n#miguel o’hara fic#miguel o’hara fluff#spider man#spider man 2099#across the spiderverse#Spotify
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some informal thoughts
hello! hope the holiday season has been kind to all of you. and i hope all my jewish followers had a lovely hanukkah! anyways, since i said a few months ago that i’d pick poetry smackdown back up sometime around this time of year, i thought i should make a post. the gist of it is that i’m still quite busy, i have a break that’s about three weeks shorter than I was planning on, and i don’t currently have the mental bandwidth required to read, contemplate, and sort through poem submissions in a way that does justice to them, even if i were to recruit some friends to help out. since running a tournament format requires at least five weeks of continued engagement once it’s underway, and since i’m not at capacity to offer that right now due to the change in my schedule, i’m gonna have to bow out for now. sad bc i was looking forward to it!
my hope is that i’ll have some more time over the summer to hunker down with it, in which case you’ll be hearing from me. it’ll frankly depend on the kind of job i land in for the summer, but i find that my unemployed spirit can typically keep me doing stupid shit regardless of workload...to a point. i don’t want to make any promises because i don’t want to get anyone’s hopes up just to let them down again LOL. i do admit the amount of exposure the first tournament got has made me feel like more of a perfectionist this time around, doubly because i don’t feel that i’m very suited to being a public online presence (even a relatively quite small one)—i’m bad enough at responding to emails for my own real life responsibilities, let alone tumblr asks for the silly responsibilities i invent for myself lol. that’s not to say i no longer want to do it, or i don’t enjoy it, or even that i don’t feel capable of making a really interesting bracket—just that if i am working to put something new together, and if people are taking the time to submit poems they care about, then i don’t want to half-ass it.
my second admission is something like this. I made the original bracket as a celebration of poetry and our relationships to it. yes it was silly and competitive, and the poems were very tumblr, but still, celebration was the intention—I wanted to have conversations about poetry. I stand by the bracket format as a fun and valuable way to foster conversations about poetry, but truthfully, the poems i’m wanting to have conversations about right now—the poems that we should be talking about right now—are ones that i'm not comfortable putting in a bracket. I reblogged The Baffler’s Poems from Palestine collection on here earlier, and Najwan Darwish’s “Who Remembers The Armenians?”, which I still often find repeating through my head when I'm traveling from one place to another, walking home or riding the bus. I came across this beautiful thread recently where people have been translating Dr. Refaat Alareer’s “If I Must Die” into their own languages (this just makes my translator's heart sing!!!!!!). @havingapoemwithyou has been posting some great poems from and for Palestine as well—check out their tag here.
There's always more to add, and I'll be posting more on here as I come across it, but that's what I feel anyone should be focusing on right now when it comes to poetry. i think poetry can be an escape but it should never be a distraction. does that make sense? i wouldn't be against doing a one-off poll here or there, but it feels weird to be making a tournament for poetry right now, or anytime soon. i feel like what free time i have right now is still best utilized helping my friends with organizing in the real world. and god, a bit off-topic but while I'm talking, fuck poetry foundation—I have so much respect for all the poets keeping up the boycott, because while i think it's a simple decision, it's not always an easy one (Aurielle Lucier discussed that here).
anyways, if you read all of this, thank you for your time!! I could go on and on, but really this was just meant to be a message telling y'all that there won't be another tournament for a while lol. even so i'll be trying to use this small silly platform as best i can until palestine is free because that's the absolute least i can do.
#not a poll#also i'm closing my ask box for now because i know i don't have the bandwidth to answer anything rn. sorry :(#but feel free to reply here with your thoughts and any resources and i'll do my best to respond#or even messages might be fine. something about the ask format just gives me anxiety sometimes lmao#cannot stress this enough i am so so so bad at responding to things#even when i want to or enjoy doing it
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Again | Q.Hughes
summary: “and you watched it again, and again, and again”
warning: mature themes and mentions of sex. minors do not engage.
-
Quinn didn’t like people. He wasn’t outgoing, he didn’t venture out to find fun. He liked his people, his circle and the things he enjoyed.
He didn’t make new friends with people who weren’t on his team or introduced to him. He just didn’t.
That’s who Quinn was and he was content.
Until he met you.
Quinn had met you at a game, you were a guest of a big VIP suite holder at Rogers. The guy was trying to impress your boss and sent you for the night.
Down in the lounge you had excused yourself to answer a call in a hallway just off the room you were in.
Once you’d hung up you turned to go back automatically being thrown onto your ass on the floor.
“Oh my god, I’m so sorry!” The guy rushed to help you up and you brushed off your skirt.
“I’m fine, I’m fine it’s ok!” You assured, looking up finally.
“I really didn’t see you there-“
“It’s okay, probably the most fun I’ll have tonight” you mumbled with a smile.
His facial expression matched yours in that moment before he looked back to the room you’d obviously come out of “Work thing?”
“Yeah”
“He always tries to impress people by bringing them down here, he’s a bit of a dick”
Your eyes widened in both shock and delight “really?”
“I probably shouldn’t say that but yeah” he sighed.
“Well i best get back” you smiled, reaching out to straighten his tie “Good Luck”
He quirked a smile “Yeah thanks”
You were almost at the door when you heard him call “Hey!”
“Yeah?”
“Can I get your number?” You paused, reaching into your pocket and pulling out your business card.
“Good Luck, Hughes”
Quinn had never done such an out there thing before but he text you that night, just desperate to get to know you.
You became friends and you got to know the other Canucks, you were invited places and hung around with other wives and girlfriends.
Quinn stopped most communication when he left for home in the off season.
You took that as a chance to start dating again, knowing you couldn’t get hung up on him. He’s an NHL player, it would never work.
You had a boyfriend by the time everyone arrived back in Vancouver for the season and Quinn had no idea.
“Hey don’t order yet I’m gonna text y/n and ask if she wants to come over!” Quinn announced, picking up his phone.
“She’s out with Liam tonight for his birthday don’t bother” Elias replied nonchalantly, ordering the takeout on his phone.
Quinn’s eyebrows furrowed “Liam?”
“Her boyfriend?” Brock replied almost as if Quinn were a child.
“She has a boyfriend? Since when?”
“Since the beginning of summer, Quinn have you not spoken to her?”
It was then he realized he actually hadn’t spoken to you. At all during the off season.
That night he was laying in bed he text you.
to: y/n
hey, I’m back in van for the season. want to grab coffee or something?
to: huggy bear 🐻
hey! welcome back!! schedule is pretty packed atm but I’ll text you?
to: y/n
for sure! you coming to the home opener? I can get your ticket.
to: huggy bear 🐻
I never miss it! dw about it brock already sorted mine and liam’s tickets thanks tho!
Quinn put his phone on the nightstand then
“Stupid Liam”
Stupid Liam stuck around until Christmas. He broke up with you when he had to move to New York for work and you guys just didn’t want the distance.
Quinn was delighted, you were heartbroken.
He helped you get through the holidays, opting to not go home to Michigan and instead spend it with you.
He took you out and you hung out when he didn’t want to be recognized outside.
He thought things couldn’t be going better until after the team had won, a shutout win everyone headed to the bar to celebrate.
You were all getting pretty wasted and one thing led to another Quinn had you pinned up against the bathroom wall of the bar fucking you senseless.
When you were done in the bathroom he could hardly keep his hands off you as you exited the bar and into a cab. All the way back to his place where you did it again, and again and again.
When you woke up the next morning with him laying next to you, you pressed a kiss onto his bare shoulder and started getting up.
You hard circles round to his side of the bed to try and find your bra when you felt his hands wrap around your waist, pulling you backwards into the bed with him.
“Quinn!”
He was now hovering over you, looking down with a look you couldn’t quite place and a smile
“Goodmorning” he mumbled, leaning down to kiss you quickly.
Your hands found his cheeks “Mornin’”
“You were trying to sneak out on me” he accused.
“I was trying to save us both the embarrassment”
“I’m not embarrassed. Are you?” He quirked an eyebrow and you shook your head “no”
“Good because if you were embarrassed I couldn’t do this” he continued by pressing kisses on your jaw, down your neck and stopping just above your breasts which still didn’t have a bra on.
You stopped him “Quinn, we can’t do this if we-“ he shut you up quickly by kissing you again.
This continued for a couple of months.
You’d go over to his and sleep together or he’d call you late at night with a
“You up?”
It started taking a toll and you realized soon enough you were falling for him.
You didn’t want to tell him, you had a good thing going here but push came to shove and you decided it was for the best you told him. You had to protect your own heart.
The Canucks were currently on a roadie, in New York while you were sat at home alone with your thoughts.
You knew you should wait until Quinn was home, to do this face to face. So, you left your phone next to you and turned to the tv as a distraction.
That approach reined useless when at 1am you picked it up and texted him.
to: huggy bear 🐻
hey. I know ur probably asleep it’s like 11 there I think? anyway I just had something on my mind I had to say. these past few months have been really fun and weird and Q I just have to get it off my chest that I think I love you. that’s so weird to say out loud lol but I care about you a lot and I hope we can be more than just fuck buddies. well I’m gonna go to bed. goodnight.
You hit send. letting out a breath and putting your phone down.
Lying on the pillow you smiled just thinking about him.
God, you were in love. In over your head.
When the morning came and you checked your phone you expected to see a message from Quinn but you didn’t, all you had were social media notifications and a message from your best friend.
from: bestie
I’m so sorry angel girl. I want you to hear this from me before anyone else sends you it. I love You. I’m here for you.
The message was sent with a link to a tweet.
@hugheswhoree: lmao we were out in a bar in Hoboken last night and my friend hooked up with Quinn Hughes? What is life? Anyway here’s the vid of them kissing ahaha she says he was a good kisser.
You watched the video. Watching how he kissed her, his friends around him laughing at the scene they were witnessing.
Your heart broke but you watched it again, and again and again.
Until the video couldn’t be seen any longer for your tears.
You threw your phone on the couch and sobbed.
“How could I be so fucking stupid?”
You let your phone die that day, not doing anything or talking to anyone.
When you plugged it in the next day and it powered to life you became inundated with texts.
Some usual texts from friends and colleagues, a couple from the girlfriends who had seen the video. Some from Elias and Brock both apologising to you about what happened asking if you were ok.
Multiple from Quinn. Your breath hitched and you pressed the text chain.
from: huggy bear 🐻
oh god
I’m sorry.
I’m so sorry.
You’ve seen it haven’t you? Please answer the phone I want to talk to you. I want to explain.
Please, Please y/n just answer the phone. I’m begging you to answer.
I love you! I love you too! and I just need you to pick up the phone please…
Tears dripped down your cheeks and your shoulders shook with sobs.
When the Canucks arrived back in Vancouver Brock headed straight to your house, to be the one to check on you and also because you were dog sitting.
He let himself in and found you curled up on the couch with Milo and Coolie.
You looked at him when he walked in, his face dropped “Oh no… don’t cry!”
“You knew…” Is all you said, your bottom lip quivering “I saw you”
“I know, I know but I didn’t know you told him you liked him!”
“I feel so stupid!” You cried, pulled into his arms “I feel stupid Brock-“
“I know, it’s alright” he comforted you, hand rubbing up and down your back.
Brock stayed the night. As much as he wanted to sleep in his own bed he couldn’t leave you so he made home on your couch for the night.
He left you the next morning after making you coffee and assuring you were ok.
He wasn’t gone more than an hour before you heard banging on your front door, approaching the door you looked through the peep-hole, Quinn was standing there on the other side.
“Go away Quinn!”
He sighed, relieved to finally have heard your voice
“y/n, please just open the door I wanna talk to you, please I need to explain-“
“I saw the video Quinn, there’s not much to explain!”
He sighed again, leaning his head on the door “Please”
You decided that you couldn’t listen to him any longer, walking away from the door.
He stayed out there for a while, sitting in front of the door and annoying your neighbours with his continuous talking.
“y/n… I love you. you’re the one who got me out of my comfort zone in life, I hadn’t asked a girl out until I met you and I love spending time with you. I’m sorry, okay? I don’t know why I did it because it was fucking stupid and I wish it was you-“
Quinn was cut off by steps and when he looked up he didn’t like what he saw.
“Hey Quinn, man you good? She not home?”
It was Liam.
“Oh no, no she is-“ “Okay, good. Can I get in?” He asked, making Quinn move out of the doorway, reaching into the plant pot to grab the spare key you kept which Quinn was facepalming about.
“It was nice seeing you man, you want to come in and see her?”
Quinn shook his head lightly “No, I should - I should probably get home! Liam, I thought you moved?”
“Oh I did! I was at your game at Madison Square Garden on Monday actually!” He chuckled “But she called me last night, she was really upset so I came back just to check on her”
Quinn clenched his jaw “Yeah… nice”
“Anyway man I better get in and see her. It was nice seeing you!”
Quinn only nodded his head and left down the stairs.
He’s missed his chance, again.
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charlos + hands
Charles’ hands are on him the moment the door gets closed behind them and Carlos gets pushed against it.
“Finally,” Charles bites against his lips before kissing Carlos deeply again, his fingers tightened in Carlos’ hair at the base of his nape. His nails scrape Carlos’ skull and Charles licks into Carlos’ mouth and Carlos lets him take and take and take. As much as he wants. Always.
“I miss your long hair, why did you cut it?” Charles mumbles against Carlos’ jaw, making a line to his ear and sucking a kiss just at the hinge of Carlos’ jaw before drawing back, taking both Carlos’ sweatshirt and his t-shirt off at the same time. “And you shaved your arms' hair too. What was that about?”
He’s got a genuine frown between his brows, bordering on a pout, and Carlos chuckles, rolling his eyes fondly. He’s always been aware of how much Charles likes to play with his hair, gripping them when they’re fucking or petting them when they’re watching a movie together. The arms’ hair is a new thing. Carlos files it away in a drawer of his brain.
“Just trying to look nice every now and then,” he shrugs. And he needs to cut his hair before they start getting in front of his eyes and it frustrates the fuck out of him. There is nothing more to it.
“Well, you looked better before,” Charles simply states in that way he has of saying things like they’re universal truths that other people are too stupid to grasp easily. Carlos has always found it endearing. Today is not an exception.
“Any other complaints to make? And can we please move this to a bed? The handle of the door is currently crushing my lower back.”
Charles winces for a second and then he’s grabbing Carlos’ hand, pulling him to the bed. “Take off your clothes?” He asks gently, some of the high energy from just a couple of minutes ago already burnt off.
Carlos doesn’t have much left but he gets himself down to his underwear and sits down on the mattress with his back against the head of the bed, already knowing where this is going.
To prove him right, he barely has to wait a handful of seconds to have an almost-naked Charles climbing on his lap, knees on either side of his hips, arms on his shoulders, laced behind Carlos’ neck.
It’s always been Charles’ favorite position for them to talk and connect, enjoying both the physical proximity and the fact that they can easily tease each other into moving the action in another direction if they want to.
“What took you so long?” Charles asks once he’s all settled down. Carlos puts his hands on his waist, thumbs sweeping over his naked skin. “To get here,” Charles adds when Carlos only raises an eyebrow at him.
“Well, see, I had to take a plane from Madrid to Milan, then a car and—”
“Carlos,” Charles interrupts him, the annoyance easy to read on the lines of his forehead. “You know that’s not what I meant. I’ve been here for over a week already and we haven’t seen each other in a month, I just thought— I don’t know, I thought you were free of other commitments and could get here earlier. I missed you.”
Carlos only arrived at the mountains that afternoon with Rupert. They spent dinner with Charles and his friends before Charles got him back to his hotel room, and now they’re here.
The truth is, yes Carlos could have gotten here earlier. The thing is, he won’t admit to Charles that until the last second, he wasn’t even sure if that was a good idea for him to come at all.
He knows that Charles offered, before the end of the season, casual and all that. Charles says a lot of stuff casually that don’t end up happening. There is a thing such as spending part of the holidays with your teammate and there is another thing, such as spending part of the holidays with your teammate in his room in a way-too-goddamn-romantic place.
Hooking up with Charles and getting closer to him has been the highlight of Carlos’ second half of the season but they haven’t been good with putting words on whatever it is that they’re doing. Sometimes Carlos feels like he’s walking on eggshells and he’s one wrong move away from crushing everything.
He’s not strong enough to tell all that to Charles today, no, not when he just arrived and he looks so perfect right there in his arms. Instead of pouring his heart out, Carlos says “I’m sorry” and he kisses the corner of Charles’ mouth and asks “Let me make it up to you” and Charles nods, bringing them impossibly closer.
Send me a word + a pairing and I'll write a little something.
#carlos sainz#charles leclerc#f1 rpf#prompt fill#my writing#1655#the amount of carlos i've written the last days is insane#love that for me tho#brain is on a roll but i don't know for how long
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Hi Liv, I read ‘side-along’ by LQT (amazing) and now I’m craving for some hot Harry fics. Where Harry is unabashedly seductive and confident and Draco just does not know how to deal with it.
Do you already have a rec list for that ? Thanks so much darling !
Hi anon! Love that trope for us 😌🙌 if you’re looking for hot & seductive Harry you can’t go wrong with any fic by @l0vegl0wsinthedark and @lazywonderlvnd, they’re masters of smooth Harry! Some of my favourites:
Lucid by @dracoladon (2020, E, 4.4k)
Harry's not sure what makes him harder; listening to Draco talk about astronomy, or shagging Draco so thoroughly that he can't talk at all. Both, probably.
Luckiest Fucking Size Queen Alive by @l0vegl0wsinthedark (2016, E, 6k)
Potter escorts me home, presses me into my front door and kisses me with a ferocity that’s exhilarating. And then Potter asks me, in a growl that makes my cock throw a wet tantrum in my pants, how many more dates I would deem mandatory before I let him fuck me. I drag Potter to bed.
This Christmas, I Give You My Everything by @l0vegl0wsinthedark (2017, E, 6k)
This holiday season, Harry decides to claim the gift he wants more than anything else.
Aletheia by @lazywonderlvnd (2020, E, 8k) - mild dubcon, Polyjuice sex
Draco finds out Daphne's been shagging Potter and it turns out it's really not that difficult to get a piece of her hair.
The Page Eleven Wars by fireflavored (2010, E, 8.5k)
In a gossip-hungry post-war Wizarding World, Rita Skeeter has a wildly successful column in the Daily Prophet known as Page Eleven. Naturally, her favourite targets are the poster boys of the two sides of the war: Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter. Bored and annoyed, the two take up tabloid baiting for sport and pleasure.
Don't Bite the Hand That Feeds You by InnerLilith (2021, E, 11k)
[In which Harry takes Draco out for Eritrean food, and Draco has a severe obsession with Harry’s hands. Smut ensues.]
Little Talks by Femme and noeon (2012, E, 11k) - the way Harry wins everyone’s heart by being a sweetheart to Scorpius is a masterclass in seduction IMO
Draco's been shagging the Head Auror for months now, and he's sure it's just a fling. Until Harry asks him to a Quidditch match, that is, and things go horribly wrong.
What’s My Age Again? by @lazywonderlvnd (2018, E, 12k)
Harry Potter has had enough of pleasing the public, and his reckless tendencies are finally getting out of hand.
Shining, Like A Present by @bixgirl1 (2017, E, 13k)
The discovery of a small silver box at the site of a case opens up new possibilities.
Can't Get You Out of My Head by Femme (2017, E, 14k) - I highly rec the whole Special Branch series
After he sees Harry Potter naked in the Auror showers once, Draco can't stop thinking about him.
Stupid Love by @the-sinking-ship (2020, E, 17k)
Harry Potter, how does Draco Malfoy hate thee? Let me count the ways.
Heart Like Neon by @lqtraintracks (2020, E, 41k)
Bored of being The Chosen One, Harry discovers he rather likes sex and becomes a professional. He’s good at it, and part of why is that he can read people. Not minds, not Legilimens, but their whole self, and he can give them what they don’t even know they want. Enter Draco fucking Malfoy, enigma to everyone, including himself. Harry can’t help but want to break into him, to figure him out. And Draco, thinking he’ll fuck Potter on a lark, has no idea what he’s in for.
A Secondary Education by Thunderbird587 (2018, E, 234k)
Fleeing the aftermath of his recent divorce, Draco Malfoy takes up a post as the new Potions Master at Hogwarts. At first he believes his hopes for a fresh start are dashed when he sees that a certain boyhood rival is on staff there as well. But Harry Potter is being weirdly nice to him, leaving Draco no choice but to play along.
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Re: The Mentalist. Red John is always there on high days and holidays, but many episodes don’t feature him. Can’t deny they do go on about him a lot though.
White Collar is PERFECT for a good three seasons or so (Talitha78's vid to ‘Tonight I’m Fucking You’ by Enrique Iglesias fills me with glee to this day) but at some point you realise that the same two emotional arcs (one of them is doing sometime secretly but not for the reason you think and the other one is onto their betrayal and now doesn't trust them, then swap) repeat over and over again and never build and I cared too much to stand it and had to stop watching. If you are there for homoerotic frivolity though, I expect that stays steady.
Person of Interest I loved at the time (old men repressed and devoted, benevolent AI god struggles to communicate, eventually lesbians, astolat fic) but since then one of the main actors has gone big as a right wing QAnon weirdo.
If you want Bones but somehow even dumber (ex-Joss Whedon actor stars in a show about an unconventional law enforcement/writer crime-solving partnership) then: Castle.
Best actual crime plots (but not that erotic, except I suppose Goren likely gets a nearly sexual thrill from cracking people's psyches open), and it’s so old they don’t have computers on their desks at first and have to go to the library to look things up- the first 3 to 4 seasons of Law & Order: Criminal Intent. After that Vincent D’Onofrio gets tired and so do the writers.
My actual favourite procedural of all time is Elementary. I won’t say it doesn’t make mistakes (coughMycroft), but overall it is good all the way through, unlike all these other idiots.
THANK YOU FOR THIS. it's so helpful. i have read a lot of person of interest fic, to the point where i actually am not sure that i can watch the show, because i KNOW myself and i know i would spend the whole time being like "and when will they have the episode where the men enter a 24/7 bdsm relationship where sometimes harold keeps john in a sensory deprivation bodybag?
MY thing about procedural is that i'm suuuuch a wimp about murder. i actually cannot watch things that focus on the motivations of serial killers which is why the mentalist isn't gonna end up working out for me. i AM interested in bones, castle, and elementary as i enter this time in my life where i need to be watching something i halfway ignore, but again--i really don't like anything that focuses on murder and murderer rationales because i have a dumb soft little heart and dumb stupid old trauma. it's not all violence, or i obviously wouldn't be so into yellowjackets and tlou. it's literally just people dissecting very realistic murders and the why and how.
so you see why i have not managed to get into a lot of procedurals and why house md changed the entire game
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the fact that this time of year is like notoriously horrid for the mental health of a large percentage of the population, either for reasons related to the chaos of the holiday season or SAD or a million other reasons, and everyone knows this but we all still act as if nothing is wrong and are expected to continue as normal absolutely kills me. granted i was raised by two people who habitually ignore dire situations until they become catastrophic out of a desire to pretend everything is fine (they were continuing to use our oven for months after finding out it was leaking carbon monoxide and didn’t mention it until our detector started going off and i had to push them to stop fucking using it and call for repairs, to give a small idea) so a part of me is hoping my experiences aren’t universal and that i’m just surrounded by people whose entire approach to life is ‘ignore it until it goes away or you die and just continue like nothing is wrong’ but it’s really so insane to me. like, who are fucking kidding? everyone knows we’re miserable why do we have to act like we aren’t. why isn’t it acceptable to directly admit to feeling down. why do i have to justify to my supervisors how important it is to have holidays off and see my family. “well yeah nobody wants to work that holiday but somebody has to” WHY do we have to? what’s the point? i know we all know the answer but if everyone is so miserable why CAN’T we just close for the day and say fuck it??? if it sucks why aren’t we hitting da bricks. is the days revenue really worth it. i hate how being employed makes one basically subhuman. “oh well people will want to visit with their families for the occasion so we need to be open” as if we don’t also all have friends and families we want to spend time with? stupid cringe ass society. what’s the point in working ourselves to death when we aren’t even allowed the time to live the life we’re supposedly working towards. i haven’t had time to go hiking in years and now i’m so sore and broken from working myself to the bone that i don’t even know if i’d enjoy it anymore if i did. i know i’m just feeling existential cuz i haven’t eaten and as soon as this sandwich enters my mouth i’ll be normal again but it’s still getting to me man
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the dudes of hallmark in no particular order
Tyler Hynes - You actually get two for the price of one, because when he shaves I literally think he’s a different person than when he has a beard. Throw in scruff and that’s three!
My Noteworthy: Roadhouse Romance because it was actually really cute and that song was stuck in my head for a thousand years I even bought it. And It’s Christmas, Eve because it is proof that even if Niall Matter and Tyler Hynes are two different people Tyler Hynes is still a third when he shaves.
Niall Matter - … he is a different person these are two different dudes shit this list is off to a bad start
My noteworthy: Christmas at Dollywood (because Dollywood) or Country at Heart
Cameron Mathison - Gets extra points because he has an interesting voice and despite being a fairly standard 6’2” he always looks like he’s towering over his love interest. Actually Danica McKellar is just really short in the Valentine botany one but it’s a cute look.
My noteworthy: Very, Very Valentine and the Murder She Baked series
Brennan Elliot - I actually didn’t realize how many of these he’s actually been in until I pulled up IMDB and I’ve watched at least 5 of those with him in it, sorry dude. Gets bonus points because in a channel known for painfully cringe-looking movie posters, his are really really painful looking.
My Noteworthy: The Perfect Pairing, and Christmas in Vienna(YEAH THAT’S HIM TOO! I KNOW, RIGHT?)
Kristoffer Polaha - 10/10 no notes, love his voice. Even my gay ass would follow him into 5,000 stupid-ass plots with limited complaints. Gets bonus points for being simply “Handsome Man” in the cringe-fest that was WW84.
My Noteworthy: Double Holiday which is fantastic, and Dickens of a Holiday! Because it has acting within acting and I like that shit.
Kavan Smith - Look, I would die for Lee Coulter and everyone knows that, so every Hallmark movie he’s in gets an automatic watch from me because telling apart actors and characters is not my strength.
My Noteworthy: Other than When Calls the heart? how about The Perfect Bride and Love on the Menu
Ryan Paevey - In addition to probably being shirtless in Hallmark movies the most out of any of these guys, he’s also one of the best actors of the bunch. Unfortunately, you don’t notice that because he is ridiculously soap opera handsome.
My Noteworthy: A Timeless Christmas is actually fantastic and Don’t Go Breaking my Heart for something non-seasonal
Andrew Walker - he has been in so many of these but my Dad still refers to him as “Billy Hamilton” because of When Calls the Heart and, to be honest: same.
My Noteworthy: My Christmas Family Tree because it was a fucking ROLLER COASTER and Christmas on My Mind sorry guys he does a lot of the Christmas ones so not many non-seasonal options.
Luke MacFarlane - I feel like the costume department must have to spend a LOT of time on finding clothes that don’t emphasize those fucking ARMS since most of his roles for Hallmark involve him employing soft sweaters and heart eyes and I Respect that and for the love of god if we don’t get a Queer Hallmark movie with him I will riot.
My Noteworthy: The Birthday Wish and Just Add Romance
Paul Campbell - is NOT the lawyer from The Rookie / Iceman from the X-Men movies but sure does look like him. The Santa Heist movie was fun, but always going to be “he’s supposed to be a mechanic but he’s wearing fucking boat shoes in the garage” guy.
My Noteworthy: The Santa Stakeout and Wedding Every Weekend
Victor Webster - I don’t have anything witty to say because I thought he was in the one where he’s a widower and there’s a woman with amnesia, but he’s actually in the other one where he’s a widower and there’s a woman with amnesia, so…
My Noteworthy: The Wedding Veil Legacy and Five Star Christmas
Jesse Metcalfe - Gets extra points for Martha’s Vineyard Mysteries series because those are great, and extra points because I too suffered from Supernatural Brainrot for a long time but loses points for going over to GAC because we watched that weird music therapy valentines day one and they made him look shiny in a bad way.
My Noteworthy: Christmas under the Stars was freaking adorable, and Christmas Next Door
Marcus Rosner - Gets bonus points because he has such a villain face but he keeps trying! Any time he gets a romantic lead I’m actually pretty excited for him.
My Noteworthy: Romance to the Rescue and Love on Harbor Island because both of those also feature dogs even though neither of those movies really hits my top 25.
Wes Brown - is also a different person than Tyler Hynes and Niall Matter and I totally knew that (may be a little faceblind like my mom but it’s okay)
My Noteworthy: Every Time a Bell Rings and A Nashville Christmas Carol where he looks like a different person but that’s okay
Kevin McGarry - Really hitting his stride but does have a bad habit of playing the first part of the movie where the leads don’t like each other and are a little petty a little too well that sometimes he doesn’t quite win me over in the end.
My Noteworthy: Winter Castle and The Wedding Veil because of that Boston Accent I simply cannot get over.
Christopher Russell - Hits the niche that Greyston Holt left behind when he started getting other work though not quite as gravely. Does tend to be in the movies where we laugh out loud the most.
My Noteworthy: Warming up to Love and Kite Festival of Love if only because 0 thought was put into that movie title and I think that’s wonderful.
Bonus for being Sterling Masters in The Mistletoe Secret because that kind of role is hilarious and I love it.
EDIT TO ADD Will Kemp because I forgot about the precious accent boy who is so talented that I 100% believed he actually knew complex ballet and intricate chocolate-preparing techniques.
My Noteworthy: Love, Romance, and Chocolate and The Christmas Waltz. I’m actually inordinately excited for the one coming up this year but I’m also a fan of Reshma Shetty so that could explain it.
#Hallmark Movies#Hallmark#Lists#Long post#Sleep-deprived post#Tyler Hynes#Niall Matter#cameron mathison#Brennan Elliot#Kristoffer Polaha#Kavan Smith#Ryan Paevey#Andrew Walker#Luke MacFarlane#Paul Campbell#Victor Webster#jesse metcalfe#Marcus Rosner#Wes Brown#Kevin McGarry#Christopher Russell#Hallmark Posting
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i’ve decided that 2024 is going to be my year of my rest relaxation and most of all selfishness. i’ve been reflecting on myself this past year and this holiday season has made it really clear to me about how i’ve been working myself to the bone for others and holding myself back in terms of the things that bring me joy and i just can’t keep living like this. i’ve never thought of myself as a people pleaser i’ve actually actively been against that label but the more i’ve been reflecting on my behaviors i’ve realized that i totally am one and well fuck that!!! i hate that shit!!! it’s not that i want to be rude or unkind or anything because that’s definitely not my goal but. straining myself and pushing myself farther than i need to and ignoring my own wants and needs in fear of being judged isn’t going to make people love or care about me or put any more thought into me. i’m so utterly exhausted of constantly giving 150% for others when i don’t get even an eighth of that back. so i’ve decided i’m going to start putting myself first and everyone else leagues behind me because. so much of my life is rooted in guilt and shame and beating myself up because of how i’m perceived and it makes zero sense and all it does is make me fucking miserable. i want to knock down even those stupid mental barriers like how i’ve been too scared to go see movies by myself or forcing myself to be quiet because i’m convinced that all of my emotions whether it’s misery or joy is a burden to others because Nobody. Cares. nobody cares!!! nobody cares and that’s so freeing. i am going to find a way to love myself if it fucking kills me i am going to do what makes me happy and not care if it’s a “burden” to anyone else (it isn’t.) i am gonna do what i want when i want to fuckin do it and i don’t Care anymore. this will be the year i come out victorious in the idgaf war and it’s gonna be incredible
#i really have just been. so exhausted#and i can’t keep maintaining this#i’m naturally a hard worker so i’ll still be putting in the hours#i’ll just be doing it for myself and not in the hopes that i get some crumbs of validation#i’ve been feeling so. underappreciated and invisible in my life and that’s been really devastating#so i really need to take a step back and look to myself for some appreciation#because self hatred is so tiring and i’m the only person who will ever be able to give me what i want#i am no longer going to be begging for attention and validation and love#if people want to be with me and talk to me they’re going to have to show it because i can’t really bring myself to care anymore#i’m doing the BARE MINIMUM!!! well my bare minimum can be a lot. but i’m doing it for ME!!!#this is probably an annoying post but like i said. i don’t care#i’ve said things of this nature before but i am going to make an effort this time in making it count because i truly can’t live like this
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AO3 First Lines Tag Game
Thank you so much for tagging me @mychemicalrachel 😊😘
Rules: Share the first lines of ten of your most recent fanfics and tag ten people. If you have written fewer than ten, don’t be shy and share anyway.
My last 12 fics have all been for The Raven Cycle, featuring Ronan/Adam.
1. 'Tis not the season for mistletoe
Ronan tightened his fingers as soon as he was able to move. After a quick look around his room at Monmouth, it seemed like the only thing he’d brought back from the dream was in his hand.
2. The (Haunted) House Always Wins
“I’m just saying,” Ronan said for at least the fourth time in an hour, “why do you want to go to a stupid haunted house when you live with a real fucking ghost?”
3. Delicate, Hand-Wash Only
“Okay, I’m here, you can get the heck out,” Ronan hollered as he slammed shut the door of the townhouse behind him.
4. Rock Me Like
Adam heads for the Barns as soon as he gets off the second phone call. He makes one quick stop before pointing the shitbox toward Singers Falls.
5. Drive me crazy
Adam stared into the distance, the notes from his morning’s online philosophy class running through his mind, when Mike bumped into him, hard.
6. Man's Best Friend
Adam heard about Gansey’s dog in the halls of Aglionby before he even officially met Richard Campbell Gansey III himself.
7. How lovely are thy branches
Adam knew it happened again before he even opened his eyes. He could feel the sting of sharp needles in his palm and smell the fresh, pungent odor.
8. Kiss of Mistaken Identity
“All my holiday shopping is done except for you-know-who,” Gansey said, checking his tablet again with a worried sigh.
9. Special Delivery
Ronan was hosing himself off behind the back porch when he heard the knocking on the front door. He sputtered through a faceful of tepid water to shout “I’m out back” but he didn’t stop the water, thankful that Virginia was hot and humid even in early June.
10. Holiday Deals and Steals
Adam regretted every single one of his life choices that had led him here, at this very moment, to this very Target.
I don’t know who to tag because all my TRC friends are already playing, so if you see this and you haven’t done it yet, please consider yourself tagged! And tag me in so I can see your first lines too!
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Just curious as to why you don't like Christmas? You don't have answer if it's too personal. I know people have trauma or think it's too commercialized.
Oh. Nothing deep, I’mm just over most holidays 😭 Somehow they all cost money or involve me spending time with family I would rather not be with. Or having massive meals of food that’s like… fine? But if we’re having a feast that takes hours of labor I wish it wouldn’t be Just Fine.
Also, in adulthood, I’ve realized a lot of holidays make planning shit so much more annoying. Like trying to hang out with other adults but now everyone has to make plans with their families for the holiday and no one can manage on the actual day, which means sometimes several weekends are eaten up by oooone holiday and none of us can hang out.
I kinda feel this way about most holidays. Especially the holidays that take over entire months like halloween or christmas and it takes over. Like ugh being expected to watch horror movies all october or stupid christmas romcoms all December. And each year they get more time!! Halloween started in like september 😭 Christmas starts the second halloween ends.
Like fuck man!!! Why is the entire end of the year dedicated to holidays. Maybe I just wanna be chill.
I don’t like the expectations that come with holidays.
I don’t even like my birthday that much anymore like… Don’t expect me to make plans or be in a good mood just cause we have a day meaning.
I have become a bah humbug adult. I’ll yuck it up at actual seasonal events but mostly I am just tired
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monday - 4:06 pm - desk view: a bunch of christmas cards i got, and one i made (thanks pinterest).
This year I decorated the front of my house for Christmas for the very first time. The most holiday decorations I’ve done is a pumpkin on my stoop in October. This year I was too busy to get a pumpkin, but a couple weeks ago I hung a wreath on my front door. I always insisted seasonal decorations were stupid. I don’t like to decorate with anything that doesn’t make sense all year. Seems like a waste of storage space. And why would I decorate the outside of my house where 95% of the time I can’t see it? Aren’t my decorations supposed to be for me to enjoy?
Well, I’ve changed my mind. I’m certainly not going all out with lights lining every edge of the house, and never those big blow-up things people put on their lawns. But I hung a wreath on my door because I realized it sends a message to the neighborhood: someone here gives a fuck. Someone here is paying attention. Someone here knows that they’re not in a vaccuum, that they’re part of a community. I’m here, I see your houses, I know you see me. We’re in this together. At a time in this city when trash is strewn up and down every street (unless someone goes out there and picks it all up). When there’s a new murder on the news every day. Someone here knows it’s a holiday, someone here is celebrating. And the world will not prevent me from doing so, no matter how much trash and tragedy it wants to throw at us. It’s still beautiful here. Good things happen here. We have not lost our humanity.
You might think it’s not that deep. But I knew and cared for a child who was shot and killed this month. He doesn’t get another holiday. We can’t stop celebrating what we have. Every smile and every ounce of peace and joy takes us further from a world in pain. If I didn’t believe that every little bit counts, I simply couldn’t go on, so I have to believe—or maybe insist—that it matters that I hung a wreath up. Because someone else’s Christmas decorations inspired me. And maybe mine will inspire someone else’s, until we look down the street and we feel like we’re in a place with happy people.
I made this card for another teacher I work with who was a net to catch me when we lost our student and I felt lost in the midst of all I’m responsible for and all I am as a person that is more than just a teacher. May everyone’s holidays carry them with a lightness so that we can carry each other.
#the daily desk#city#writer things#writing#writers on tumblr#writers and poets#writerscommunity#drawing#christmas#holiday#teaching#teachers of tumblr#peace#joy
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