#everyone's favorite sardine

[twstinginthewind]

[ 𝐓𝐑𝐘 ] ―  sender gives receiver a taste of what they’re cooking / baking for their opinion - Paul wants Mia to be honest about the salmon cream pasta he's cooking up for the Lounge's upcoming special menu. 🌼

Five Senses prompts

"I've never been backstage at Mostro before!" Mia's eyes were wide as she took in the bright, clean atmosphere of the lounge's kitchen. She sat on a tall stool next to the big butcher-block island that dominated the room, her chin propped up in her hands. "It's really cool back here!"

Paul chuckled, not turning away from the stove. "It's back-of-house, Mia. Backstage is for folks who get an audience, not the ones who make yer meals." He stirred a large, bubbling pot of pasta, and nodded with satisfaction. Nothing was sticking; it was gonna be perfect. He took the lid off of the other saucepan, and a thin wisp of steam rose to meet him.

"You kinda have an audience, though, don't you? Everyone who comes here can't wait to see their favorite fella, the one who brings them their lunch." She giggled demurely into her hand.

"I'm hardly anyone's favorite," Paul scoffed*, rolling his eyes. "But I'm glad ya think so, at least. I think we're almost done, here..."

Mia's ear twitched attentively as the scents from the stove reached her. "Mm! That smells real familiar, Paulie! What'd you make today?"

"You mentioned favorites?" He was still facing the stove, ladling some sauce into a separate bowl, but from behind, Mia could see a blush starting to form. His ears and the back of his neck were turning as pink as a fresh piece of—

"Salmon?" Mia asked, cheerfully.

"You got it!" Paul's posture relaxed slightly as he combined the pasta with the sauce, tossing it gently to cover every strand. "You told me ya liked salmon cream pasta, so I called up Ma, and she gave me the recipe that we used ta use at the restaurant. Azul was lookin' for some new dishes, anyway, so I told 'im we could try it out, maybe add it to the rotation. But I wanted you ta have the first dish." His hands reached out for a few final items; a spoonful of capers, a sprinkle of shredded cheese, a sprig of parsley.

"You really wanted to add my fave to the menu?" Mia's expression went soft, and she put her hand over her heart.

Paul turned to face her, pink-cheeked, with a plate of the creamy pasta in one hand and a fork in the other. "Well, I wanted to add somethin' special. And I couldn't think of anything more special than whatever your favorite would be."

"Paulieeeeeee. That's so sweeeeeeet." Mia bounced a little on her stool as he put it onto the counter in front of her, and gratefully took the fork. "Here we go!!" She twirled up a forkful and took a bite.

Paul's palms sweated. Now was the deciding moment.

Mia squeaked in delight, and he finally relaxed. "It's perfect! It's just like the one at Grammy's favorite place in Pyroxene! But better because it's got chunks of salmon instead of a mush. It's sooooo good!"

Paul grinned from ear to ear. "Thanks, Mia!! Now I just gotta convince the boss to like it, too."

"I'll tweak his nose if he doesn't," she said around another mouthful. "If he doesn't like it, he's got no taste at all."

*incorrect. as we all know, everyone loves a lil' sardine. Except Floyd.

[charlessainzz]

can do like reader with charles getting quite a few feature on dts here and there moments. thank you! i don't really like dts but I love the ferrari bits!!

My first request! Thank you for requesting this, it was fun to write! I hope it’s good! 

Drive to Survive’s Newest Star is… Not a Driver?? 

Take One: 

Cameras were everywhere. It was another Drive to Survive filming day. These days always made you nervous. More cameras than usual, more eyes than usual, and more opinions than usual. Luckily you were feeling good. You were decked out in head to toe Ferrari merch. White lace cami, vintage red leather Marlboro pants, red peep toe Manolos, with a number 16 cap. You looked the part of a die hard Ferrari fan. More importantly you looked the part of a die hard Charles Leclerc fan. And you were. His wonderful, supportive girlfriend of 2 years. His biggest fan. 

You felt the camera pan to you as Charles made his way through the garage you. He had just finished FP1 and well lets just say it wasn’t looking great… He needed you now and Charles could care less if the DTS cameras were watching. Your eyes light up as you see him getting closer to you. He grabs your waist and nudges your nose with his. 

“Hi,” you squeak, anticipating a kiss. 

“Hey..”, he whispers. “That was pretty bad wasn’t it”.

“Mmhmmm car looks pretty rubbish”, you giggle. “But that driver…. He’s pretty great. Makes a worthless car worth driving”, you say as you give him a peck. 

You both embrace in a tight hug and another kiss. Feeling the cameras rolling and hearing the photographers clicking away, you both start laughing. Oh this will be Netflix gold. 

Take Two:

Rain in October and in Austin, Texas. What are the odds! A usual dry race with an unrelenting sun had turned into a gray, storm filled race. The track was almost flooded. The radios of drivers shooting off justifiably angry that the race hadn’t been red flagged yet. The DTS cameras were here of course. Another perfect scene for them, they’d definitely be getting the footage they wanted.

Your hands enclosed in a prayer, begging for the officials to do something. To call for a pause, to cancel! There was no way the race could continue like this. Visibility is almost next to zero. You intensely listen to the radio, checking for Charles’s voice. He’s mad, he can’t see, and he’s ready to get out of the car. 

You’re watching the screen as the cars begin to slow around a turn, you see Charles and Pierre bump sending Charles off the track. It was all in slow motion. His car and your reaction moving at the speed of molasses. While the bump seemed minor, there were more cars headed his way. That’s what scared you. Just as that thought enters your mind, Checo’s car shoots down the track and narrowly misses Charles sending water crashing into him. You let out a shriek and cover your face crouching to the ground. The cameras all turn to you, documenting your reaction. You peek through your fingers seeing everyone staring and the lens facing you. At first you feel embarrassed but then you remember, that’s your man! You stand back up, straightening your posture, and brushing your hair off your shoulder. Arthur envelops you in a hug and points to the screen. 

Charles is being rescued by the emergency crew and he’s making his way back to you. He’s coming back to the safety of the garage and the safety of your arms. The DTS cameras know what’s coming next, and they stay on you waiting for the paddock’s favorite couple to reunite. 

Take Three:

Silverstone was always packed. But this year felt different. The crowd looked like sardines packed into a tin can. No room to move or even breathe. 

Charles held open the car door for you and grabbed your hand. He knew you didn’t love these crowds. He held your hand tight as you walked into the paddock. Cameras flashing, fans screaming, and DTS film crews lurking. You and Charles had one mission. Get to the Ferrari building as fast as possible.

Hands stuck like glue, you’re both practically running through the paddock. Of course, Charles being the man he is, has to stop and take pictures. But this leads to more attention and bigger crowds. You don’t mind, you know they love him. He deserves the love. Yet, the crowd becomes more…. pushy, more desperate for a glimpse at the Ferrari man. 

As he takes the millionth picture, you feel someone clench your arm and rip you from Charles. Letting out a scream, you fall into the ocean of the crowd. A man, desperate to get a picture, had done the unthinkable. He put his hands on you. Charles felt you instantly leave his presence. He snaps around grabbing your hand once more, and focuses his attention at the man. 

“Don’t you dare touch her!”, Charles growls with a finger in the man's face. That’s when you notice a boom mic over you capturing every second of this interaction. You let out a groan knowing that this will probably be in an episode. But hey! Your man was protecting you! 

His arms wrap around your shoulders and you both rush through the crowd heading towards the Ferrari hospitality. To the safety of your second home. Fans still hot on your tails screaming, “Leclerc! Y/n! Wait!”. Unknown to you both, DTS cameras are right behind you. Capturing the knight in shining armor protecting his princess. After what felt like a marathon, you see the Ferrari crew waiting at the entrance to welcome you in. Like deer leaping through a field, you both jump through the front doors. Doors closing, the cameras catch you both hunched over trying to catch your breath still clinging to each other. Like a wildlife documentary they sit at the door documenting two creatures that had just escaped a near death experience. 

After taking that moment to pause, you turn and see cameras pressed against the door recording you and Charles. You can’t help but let out a big belly laugh tapping him on the shoulder to look. Charles sees, grabs your hand, and flips off the camera pulling you towards his room. 

This episode will definitely be talked about! 

Take Four:

He takes the checkered flag! Charles Leclerc wins the Las Vegas Grand Prix!

The whole garage erupts into celebration. Charles wins! Carlos in 2nd. It’s a 1-2 result for the Ferrari team. What more could Fred have asked for. The whole garage runs towards the podium, awaiting their boys. You take off running towards the barrier followed by a film crew of course. Unsurprising to anyone, the Drive to Survive team is here to capture the lavish race that is Vegas. 

The podium waiting area is front to back red. You want to see him, you need to see him. But how can you get to the front? Not wanting to be rude, you tap shoulders and whisper ‘excuse mes’. As people turn ready to shout at the person cutting through, they recognize you. With sheepish smiles they usher you through to the front. Cameras following, but you could care less. 

Finally, you're at the front waiting for the drivers to exit the cars. Barriers crushing your ribs, you can feel your heart ready to leap out of your chest in anticipation. Then there he is! He leaps out of the car and throws his hands up. He points to the sky, and then points to the team. Jumping down he sprints to the Ferrari team ready to welcome back their champion. He leaps into the arms of the first team members he sees. Everyone reaching to touch him, to congratulate him, to get a glimpse of their driver. He scans the front row looking for you. He knew you’d be there but where are you? As he takes off his helmet he sees you. Tears have stained your cheeks and hair a mess from running. 

Charles jumps to you and grabs your face. Hands over your jaw, he brings your lips together. The kiss says everything and more. Cameras push in closer and closer as you continue kissing your driver. You break apart and laugh knowing what they’re capturing. Charles looks you in the eyes and says, “Another kiss for the winner?”. 

“Always”, you beam and bring him back into you. Charles takes a hand and pushes the lens away from you both. Trying to get some privacy in the most public situation ever. The film crew lets up knowing they just got their shot. They just got the money shot of their number one F1 driver and Drive to Survive’s newest star… who’s not a driver. Who would’ve thought!

[honeysickledream]

Who's Who, Darling? Part 2 | Poly141 x F!Reader

Tags / cw: NSFW (Smut) fivesome (F/M/M/M/M), fingering (f!receiving), p in v, protected sex, blindfolds, finger sucking, a bit of spanking, light pussy slapping, edging (ig?), orgasm denial of sorts, birth control (IUD) mention, Reader is referred to as Pet a handful of times (mainly by Price), offscreen masturbation, polyamory discussions and agreements, no use of Y/N, no descriptions of reader | if i missed anything, let me know! MINORS DNI (18+) w/c: ~3.4k Pt. 1 | AO3 A/n: this whole thing got away from me, it’s a long one. I’ve been slowly writing it as life hits me upside the head with a new pan every other day. If parts feel rushed, that’s predominately why. Proofread in the middle of the night so ignore typos, please. Also, happy Halloween! divider by @/saradika-graphics

The guys are making coffee and tea when you manage to pull yourself out of the bed and stumble into the kitchen. You’re flashed a smile by each and given pecks on the cheeks as you rub the sleep from your eyes and try to adjust to being alive and having them in your house—last night seeming like some mouthwatering fever dream. Soap suddenly proposes that he make breakfast for everyone and you whine, knowing just how inept he is in the kitchen. The little kitchenette in the break room on base has been closed down more times than anyone can count because he manages to set something on fire.

Price quickly banishes Soap to the living room and sends you along with him, but not before he hands you a warm mug filled with your favorite drink doctored just the way you liked it. There’s not much room on the couch, not with Soap sitting on the middle cushion with his legs spread out as far as they’ll go. He gives you a look—the ‘come sit on my lap, I don’t bite’ look—and you give in. It’s too early in the morning to be stubborn, to be standing honestly, and you’re chilly despite the heat being on.

His thick arms wrap around you, pulling you as close as they can, and he turns on the TV. You notice as you take small sips from your mug that Soap’s eyes are trained on your throat as it bobs with each swallow. He gives you the sweetest look as he asks—begs almost—to give your throat a kiss. Tells you he’s been wanting to do it for ages now and that he promises not to bite.

Fucking liar he is. One peck to the center of your throat turns into another, then a dozen more with faint nibbles between each one. He licks your throat, too, which causes your breath to catch and thighs to press together. The throbbing in your clit worsens when he noses at your pulse point and whines, hips jerking lightly against your ass.

Ghost’s voice cuts through the faint buzzing in your ears and you wince as your arousal dissipates. He tells you breakfast is ready, but you’re not released from Soap’s intense hold. Ghost gives him a glare and Soap’s hips buck once more in response. You’re given one last nip before Soap lets you push off him. He trails behind you, the hem of your sleep shirt caught between two fingers.

Your place at the table has been set elegantly, as if you were royalty. Price pours you a glass of juice while Gaz pushes your chair in and lays a napkin (really it’s just the second cheapest kind of paper towel you could get) in your lap. Ghost places your plate before you and awkwardly gives your head a pat when you thank him. It’s awfully charming being treated so well by them, but there’s a bit of suspicion lurking in the back of your mind.

It’s not your fault the men you’ve entertained in the past have be lackluster in…well, just about every way.

They all sit on the other side of the table, crammed together like sardines in a tin as they dig into their own omelets and hash. Your omelet was the prettiest that’d been made: no tearing along the seam, perfect gold spots across the outside. The seasonings used were light and complementary. Ghost had been the one to cook it, you reasoned. He was a maestro in the kitchen, always bringing in little bits of what he’d cooked the night before to team meetings or sharing his food during breaks in the rec room when it wasn’t under repair because of Soap.

Your appetite quickly fades as you wonder when the topic of ‘Round Two’ will be mentioned, or if Ghost and Gaz’s hints of things turning into something more will be touched on. Both have been sitting in the back of your mind since last night to the point you recall vague dreams regarding them. The anticipation of a talk makes faint nausea build in your belly as your heart keeps wondering and hoping, hoping, hoping—

Price clears his throat and your fork skids on the plate. The screeching of metal on porcelain makes your skin crawl and your teeth ache. All four of the guys look at you with concern and you wave them off, quickly taking a sip of juice. The anticipated conversation begins once you swallow, no chance of any spit takes or choking.

He puts it all very plainly: the four of them do want you. They’d been keen on you for the longest but had all agreed to refrain from making any moves to preserve camaraderie but then you’d gone and complained about your workload and not being laid. The perfect opportunity for them, for you. He tells you they’d talked about how things would go afterwards, the proposition of some kind of…situation or legitimate relationship between you and all of them.

It’s stressed that there’s no pressure, no true expectations of anything—the military’s funny that way sometimes; the expectation for anything to work out often squashed without realizing once it begins to grow. Soap becomes a little pouty when Gaz assures you they’ll all be okay if you decline round two of the bet, or if you ask them to just forget anything ever happened.

That’s when you ask if you can say your piece and you’re given the floor. You find it flattering, and jarring, that they’ve all had their eye on you for a while. You admit you can’t help but pay close attention to them as well. Sometimes you think you know their personalities, talents, and appearances better than your own. And you express that round two is something you desperately want to have happen. But, the prospect of a relationship of any kind between the five of you makes you twitchy despite the last twelve or so house of constant dreamy pondering.

You explain, not in too much detail, that your past relationships and dynamics haven’t been the healthiest. Each one adding a new boundary and expectation to an already long list. Anyone you get with in the hopes of something serious is quickly met with said list because you’ve learned to never assume that people will be good and faithful. You tell them that you’re willing to explore things with them if they’re amenable to be respectful of that list—and of course, you would be be respectful of their limits.

They hear you out when you tell them you’d want something closed, just the five of you. Everyone intertwined in various pairings if that’s what they wanted, but no outside people. Too complicated, too risky in some circumstances. No one throws a fit or even looks the least bit bothered by the boundary which settles your nausea significantly. Slow and steady is your next big point. You want to explore things with them as they come up naturally, be it kinks or troubles or life in general. Rushing to force an experience, you have found, cheapens it and leads to some form of relationship burnout that you don’t want to experience with them or have them experience with you.

It’s all quite formal, their agreeing to what you want and stating their own boundaries—no secrets, the relationship still exists but becomes second place when on a mission or otherwise at work, communication remains at the forefront of everything—which you’re happy to agree to. You’re half-tempted to get some pens and paper to really seal the deal, but you settle for pinking-promising with Soap which seems to be enough for the others.

Breakfast is through not long after, and you work with the guys to put away leftovers and clean up the kitchen. You get a kiss on the cheek or shoulder, a firm hand pressing your back whenever they pass by you. It makes your skin heat, your stomach and heart in some mild flux at the constant sweet attention that is all yours. They receive their own affections from you, a peck in return for a peck, a gentle lean into their side when their shoulders brush yours.

Soap mentions needing a change of clothes—toiletries, too—and the others echo him. They’d be gone for a while, base was a healthy distance from your home which is just how you like it, but you didn’t want to be alone while getting ready for round two. You ask if they can grab some of Price’s stuff to bring back while they’re on base so he can hand around to take part in the prep since he got so little time with you last night.

And that’s exactly what led to you trying to tune out the grating voices of sports casters while being prepped on the couch.

Price has been idly fingering you for the last hour while watching a rerun of a football game he missed during the last deployment. He slowly presses two of his thick fingers into your cunt, keeps them still for a moment or two before he crooks them and you tense around them. Then he pulls them most of the way out while spreading them bit by bit, only to push them back in.

Occasionally he’ll get a text, sometimes multiple at a time and you know it’s from the others because of the little text tones. Whatever they send him has his hips bucking, causing his hard cock to rub against your stomach for a bit of friction before he settles.

You want to bite him for being such a fucking tease but you can’t find much purchase to do so given that you’re draped over his lap and pinned there, face buried in one of your fluffy throw pillows that Soap teased you for owning. You also remember that it was you who asked him to stay behind to prep you and to do it his way.

The front door opens and you perk up to the best of your ability. You try to squirm a bit so you can go greet the others and find out what they’d been up to, but John’s hold on you tightens. He gives your bare ass a light slap, soothing over the spot as the faint burn of pain faded. The others come into view and you whine at them, but they don’t pay you any mind, leaving you to your fate with Price as they go to the bedroom, shopping bags and luggage in hand.

“I didn’t know they were going to the shop, too. What did they get?” you ask Price.

“You’ll find out when we’re ready for you to,” he says as he slowly presses a third finger into you. The stretch is bordering on uncomfortable. His free hands soothes your tensing back. “Three’s all we’ll do—that’s what we agreed on. Relax for me, pet.”

You huff, feigning annoyance while relaxing to the best of your ability. His three fingers are about as wide as your biggest toy. The same one that sits at the back of your nightstand drawer, used only when you have a fully uninterrupted day off, something you haven’t had in ages. It simply takes too long to prep yourself and when you’re ready, you’re too tired—annoyed, too, sometimes—to do more than cockwarm it for a while. It was also hit and miss if penetration did much for you.

Something thuds in the bedroom and you bang your head against the fluffy pillow. “If they break something up there—“

“Nothing’s broken, pet. Gaz probably tripped on Soap’s damn boots, or Ghost’s turned one of them into a pretzel for being annoying,” Price said.

Price gets a text and he pulls his fingers out of you slowly. He’s gentle as he grabs hold of you, a wall of muscle for you to lean on as the shaky muscles in your legs remember how to work. The bed’s been stripped down to the fitted sheet and mattress protector under it, a lone pillow is at the foot of the bed. Water bottles and a variety of snacks have been laid out on your desk, the lights dimmed and tower fan turned on to manage the temperature. Ghost hands you a lilac satin blindfold, a definite upgrade to the sleep mask he’s now tossing in the trash bin under your desk.

A quick refresher of the dos and don’ts and safe words are had before Ghost helps you lay the strip of fabric over your eyes and tie it in place. You casually drop that if the others want to toy around with you while you try to determine who’s fucking you, they should go for it.

Four sets of hands guide you onto the bed and put you on your knees, the pillow secure under your elbows. Belt buckles clank and fabric rustles, you hear whispers before a box is opened and foil is crinkled—condoms. Condoms had escaped your mind but not theirs, and you’re glad. Sure you’ve got an IUD that’s going to need replacing in a handful of months, but it’s better to be safe than sorry. None of you could afford the scare that came along with not using condoms.

The bed dips as one of them kneels behind you and you try not to flinch when a firm hands rests on your hip. You arch your back as his tip presses against your slit with the slightest bit of pressure. It’s when he slowly presses into you that you realize just how necessary Price’s three fingers were. The stretch makes you shudder and clench, your inner voice reminding you relax as he massages your hips.

You give him a quick thumbs up when you feel situated enough. His movements are slow at first, he pulls out halfway before guiding you back until your ass is flush with his hips. You feel unruly hairs scratch your cheeks and shake your head, knowing full well who it is: Soap. You may or may not have caught a few glimpses of his bush, at least the top bit, during the times he stretches his arms over his head after unbuckling his belt post-mission or training.

He reaches around and between your legs to toy with your poor clit that had been ignored by Price for a whole hour. You whine into the pillow as your body shudders with pleasure and your hips jerk to chase his teasing fingers, pulling you out of the steady pace that had been set. You hold off on saying his name because he’s at least trying to be a giving partner, but it stumbles from your lips when his pace gets faster and jostles you closer to the edge of the bed.

Per the rules of the bet, his turn is over. He slips out and carefully pulls you from the edge. You feel a little bad that he didn’t come, but then he groans softly across the room and you know he’s taking care of himself just fine. And probably sitting naked on your leather desk chair at that.

Someone gently turns you onto your back and settles between your legs, cool hands guiding them to hook around his hips. You’re given a bit of time to adjust to him before he’s leaning on his left forearm and thrusting into you firmly. There’s no way to identify him by his manscaping, or lack thereof, and he hasn’t started using his hands or making sounds, which quickly frustrates you.

Patience isn’t your main virtue, you’re learning.

You scrunch your nose and move your brows, trying to get the satin blindfold to shift so you can get a glimpse of something but you hear someone ‘tsk-tsk’. Then a hand slaps your cunt lightly—Price’s hand, it felt the same when he spanked your ass earlier. You writhe and moan as Price occasionally pats your clit while you’re getting fucked, the stimulation causing that dizzying tension in your belly to coil tighter and tighter.

Those thinner, longer fingers that tormented you last night ghost over your lips and you part them. You lay your tongue out flat and then lick the finger that prods at the pointed tip of your tongue. Your lips wrap around two of his fingers and suck lightly, moving your tongue against the undersides. The man doubles over, hips stuttering as he comes. He pulls his fingers free and you wipe the spit from your lips as you say his name—Gaz—softly. He presses a kiss to your lips before pulling away and hopping off the bed.

Either Price or Ghost take Gaz’s place quickly, resuming his pace to keep your arousal from dissipating. You’re hoisted up by four hands and you quickly wrap your arms around the man’s neck. He guides your hips to rock with his as he whispers in your ear before pressing a kiss to your cheek. Ghost lays you back down as you do what he asks and say his name. He wanted Price to have the final go, to have his fun and to make you come.

You latch onto Price like a leech when he hovers over you. That hour of prepping you taught him exactly what to do, where to press and when. As he pulls out, his thumb moves faster against your clit before slowing as he thrusts in, your back arching and body burning. Sweet praise comes at you from all sides, filling your brain with cotton as you try not to let go too quickly but when Price calls you their ‘sweet pet’, it’s all over. You’re coming around his cock, crying out brokenly as hands move across your body to limit the jerking of your limbs. For a moment everything’s quiet, then a heavy and hot weight is on top of you, panting in your ringing ears.

Price pushes off of you and helps you sit up against a bunch of pillows that are shoved under you. A water bottle is shoved in your face right as the blindfold comes off. You sip at it while you watch Soap, Gaz and Ghost bumble naked around the bedroom to find the wet wipes the apparently bought, and your backup sheets and mattress protector. Price is half holding you as he asks how you feel and if everything was done to your liking. You tell him you’re good but tired, and that it was quite enjoyable. You check in with them, as well, getting smiles along with affirmative answers.

The next thing you know, all four of them are filtering in and out of your shower, quickly washing up and helping you do the same before they tap in the next one. Dinner consists of five different pizzas, a shabby blanket fort in the living room, and a campy horror film that puts you to sleep across their laps halfway through it.

What if I put reader on leave with in an array of dildos and a new vibrator while the guys go on a mission…? I’m thinking some thoughts. Anyways, poor Soap. He hasn’t even come close to making reader come and it makes me so happy. He’s the character I love to be sadistic towards. Last time it was Ghost x Gaz who got her off, now it’s Price. He’ll get his turn eventually…

[katyswrites]

put on your records (and regret me)

PART 2 | SERIES

Pairing: Steve Harrington/fem!reader

Warnings: asshole!Steve, rivals-to-lovers, swearing, HEAVY alcohol use, recreational weed use, getting drunk/blacking out, descriptions of puking/hangovers, no use of y/n

Wordcount: 3.7k

Playlist

You love WAMC-Hawkins, Indiana’s top college radio station. It’s your safe space, your niche. It’s where you’ve made your friends, your favorite place to be when the rest of the world gets to be just a bit too much. Well, with one exception.

Steve Harrington is a thorn in your side. And just as well - he thinks you’re a royal pain in the ass. But in your senior year, you’re both on the e-board, so you have to work together. You love to hate him. So why can’t you get him out of your head? And, why do you find yourself going to see his band, each and every weekend?

Underground basement concerts, spinning old records, and screaming matches in the vinyl library with the boy you love to hate. An enemies-to-lovers college radio station 90s AU.

TRACK 2

You don’t truly decide to go to Steve’s stupid party until the last possible moment. You already know that spending more time with him than necessary is a recipe for disaster. But, you reason, you probably should show your face. It actually does seem like nearly everyone from the campus’ music scene would be there - it would look bad if you didn’t show up. The radio station’s funding is always on the chopping block - half of your job is networking and being friendly with practically everyone on campus to keep it alive. 

Still, as you start getting ready, you consider backing out about 50 times. Is Steve actually expecting you to show up? Is it a pity invite? Or, a challenge?

Knowing him, it’s probably the latter.

Throughout the course of getting ready - which mostly involved throwing on some makeup while intermittently feeling like you had nothing to wear every time you looked in your closet full of clothes - you chugged a bottle of wine to help yourself relax. It had been on the door of the fridge, so God knows how long it had been there, but it’s good enough. Then you’re out the door and catching a bus downtown, shivering a bit in the crisp October evening air. You pull your jacket tighter around you as you hop on board, forever thankful that university students get to ride the city’s buses for free. 

It’s packed full of other college kids, mostly freshmen undoubtedly on their way to frat parties downtown. You had outgrown that phase after sophomore year, opting for friends’ house parties and going out to bars as you got older. You can’t help but look at them fondly - somehow, despite being peers in all the ways that matter, you feel so far removed from them; the girls in their mini dresses and crop tops, boys carrying six-packs and sporting unbuttoned flannel shirts, loudly packed onto the bus like sardines on their way downtown to make bad decisions.

Hamilton Street is in the heart of the downtown area, where a lot of students live. You hop off the bus with nearly everyone else, droves of kids filling the streets, chugging beers and smoking cigarettes as they make their way to various frat houses. You follow the groups, the other students slowly peeling away until it’s much quieter - it seems like Steve’s place is one of the last ones on the block.

You had purposely left late enough so that you could guarantee you wouldn’t be in the first wave of people to arrive - it was closer to 11 than 10 at this point. The autumn evening air was chilly enough that you’re walking briskly, jacket pulled tightly around your shoulders. You nearly turn around approximately six times between the bus stop and his house - yet, against all odds, you find yourself standing on his front porch.

Like most student rentals, the house is old and a bit rickety - you can hear the din of chatter and music inside. A good sign, you suppose - part of you had been worried he’d purposely given you the wrong address. You wouldn’t put it past him, not when it comes to you.

You take a deep breath, and open the door. The smell of beer, weed, and sweat hits you like a wave. The small living room is hazy with smoke, the house immediately a bit too warm from body heat. A few heads look up as you enter, followed by an uproar of greetings.

Look who decided to show up!

Hey babe!

Everyone hide, mom’s here!

You roll your eyes, laughing.

“I do have fun sometimes, guys.”

“Oh, I know,” a familiar voice says, Eddie lifting himself off of the couch to give you a big hug.

“I was there at that party freshman year when you nearly fell off of Mikayla Hodder’s roof-”

“Shut up,” you say, face flushed with embarrassment at the (fuzzy) memory.

“Can I get you a drink?” the shaggy-haired boy asks.

You nod, following him back through the house towards the kitchen. You shoulder your way through bodies, saying the occasional hello when someone you recognize catches your eye.

Eddie is rooting through the fridge, pulling out a beer and extending it to you. You accept it gratefully, pushing the fridge closed with your hip as he leans against the counter.

“So…I wasn’t expecting you to be here tonight,” Eddie remarks, popping his bottle cap off with an opener screwed into the wall. 

“And why’s that?” you ask casually.

“Well… I mean, please tell me you know whose house this is -”

“Of course I do,” you say quickly, taking a swig of beer. “Harrington invited me.”

Eddie raises an eyebrow.

“Really?”

You nod. “Is that so unbelievable?”

He just shrugs, staring down at his bottle.

“Dunno. I know he’s not exactly your favorite person -”

“Maybe so, but a lot of my friends are here, so… who's to stop me?”

Eddie grins, clinking his drink with yours.

“There you go - I was hoping you’d come out, to be honest. Sometimes I’m worried you don’t let yourself have fun anymore.”

You scoff.

“I - I have fun.”

“You used to. This year, though, you’d been so…”

“So what?” you ask defensively.

Eddie’s face starts to turn a bit red.

“Well - you know - I know you’re stressed and all, managing the station, but… you can be a little…uptight.”

You roll your eyes.

“I’m not uptight -”

“Look, trust me - I’m saying that with love, as your friend -”

“Yeah, whatever - I can be fun.”

“I know - I’ve been there with you through it all. Just… I’m glad you came. I guess that’s what I’m trying to say.”

You don’t really respond, crossing your arms as you glance around the kitchen a bit.

“What are you looking for?” he asks.

“No one,” you respond absentmindedly.

Eddie smirks.

“Yeah - okay.”

Steve is nowhere to be found. Perhaps that’s a blessing - it’s busy enough here that you ma be able to avoid having a conversation all night.

It’s around then that Eddie’s bandmate Gareth is stumbling into the kitchen, stopping himself for a moment before breaking into a grin when he sets eyes on you and Eddie.

“Thank God - me and Jeff need someone for pong!”

That’s how you find yourself partnered with Eddie, letting yourself forget about Steve as you play beer pong. You’re a competitive person, and arguably more so when you’re drunk - that’s how you and Eddie kick ass two rounds in a row, leading a fed up Gareth to declare the game totally bogus before storming out to the back porch to smoke with Jeff.

You high-five Eddie on your way back to the kitchen to grab another drink. You’re properly tipsy now, probably on your fourth drink in less than 2 hours. Your tolerance did used to be better than this - maybe Eddie was right, about you not being as fun as you used to.

The kitchen is empty, which you’re thankful for - it’s tiny to begin with, so more than a handful of people makes it feel cramped. You’re a bit hot, working up enough of a sweat during the game that you had shed your jacket already. The refrigerator light is nearly blinding in the dimness of the room, but the cold gives enough of a relief that you bend over and lean into the fridge. You hang there for a moment, sighing. In the distance, you hear the sound of a glass breaking, followed by a series of aw, mans - you decide it’s not your problem to worry about, and stay there another moment. You then root through the fridge for a moment until you find a bottle of something you like. 

You slam the door shut and turn to head back towards the rest of the party, only to nearly jump out of your skin when you realize you’re not alone.

Steve Harrington leans against the doorframe, arms crossed and wearing a smirk.

“Jesus - you scared me. Why the fuck are you just standing there like that?”

He shrugs.

“Just enjoying the view, sweetheart.”

You scoff, popping the cap off of your bottle and heading right towards him, hoping he’d move out of the way to let you through. That, of course, is wishful thinking.

“Can I get through?” you ask, bristling as he blocks the doorway.

“You decided to come,” Steve says, looking down at you with a grin.

“Well, you did invite me.”

“I know - I’m glad you actually showed up, though.”

“Yeah, I’m sure you are,” you mutter sarcastically, shouldering past him and back towards the living room.

Eddie’s lounging on the couch, eyelids heavy as he passes a joint between himself and Argyle.

“Got enough to share?” you ask, plopping down next to him. He nods, passing it over to you. You take a long hit, letting the smoke settle into your lungs as you sink further into the couch.

“You good?” Eddie asks.

“Mm, yeah. Just want to chill here for a little bit.”

He nods, paying you no mind as he takes a deep inhale. Your eyes follow Steve as he crosses the room and heads out to the front porch with a girl you don’t recognize. You feel your brow furrow, your eyes trained on the front door. It’s not too long after that that you manage to help Eddie finish the joint. You chug your beer, starting to feel lightheaded, the world around you moving a bit more slowly.

You fall into a comfortable crossfaded lull there for a while, with Robin Buckley eventually placing a beer can in the middle of the table and calling for a game of Kings as she shuffles a deck of cards.

You open another beer as she does, sitting forward a bit to half-heartedly play the game. You find yourself getting stuck taking a drink quite a few times, your reflexes slow and your wits not quite about you. A few more people filter in, sitting criss-crossed around the coffee table and pulling cards from the deck and doing what it dictates. 

“Six is chicks!” Eddie cries out, flashing his six-of-spades card to the group. You roll your eyes as you take yet another drink, reaching to grab your own card as Eddie sticks his under the can’s pull tab.

You glance at it, and giggle.

“Jack - what’s Jack again?”

“Never Have I Ever,” Robin says, holding up three fingers. Everyone follows suit, and you think for a minute to start it off.

“Okay, um… never have I ever done a drug harder than weed.”

“What the fuck does that mean?” Eddie asks.

“What do you think it means?”

“Alcohol is technically more powerful of a drug than pot,” Steve pipes up across the table - when did he get here?

“Shut up Harrington, you know what I mean -”

“Yeah, like acid and coke and shit,” Argyle adds.

“Well fuck,” Eddie concedes, putting a finger down. 

You laugh, expecting nothing less of him. It goes around the circle for a bit - things ranging from never have I ever broken a bone to never have I ever had a threesome, followed by a series of laughs or groans as people put down fingers and down drinks. You only have one finger left by the time it gets to Steve.

He thinks for a moment, humming to himself as he does - you can’t help but think that there isn’t much he hasn’t done. After a few more seconds pass, he smirks, and locks eyes with Robin.

“Never have I ever hooked up with someone in the vinyl closet at the station.”

“Not fair,” Robin exclaims, smacking Steve on the arm. He laughs as his friend lays into him. She’s blushing, and officially out of the game. She glares daggers at him as she takes a drink.

You can’t help but notice that Steve gets quite a few people with that - Eddie being one of them, caught in a cascade of groans and fingers getting put down. You feel your mouth fall open in disbelief.

“Whoa, wait - is everyone fucking around in the vinyl library?”

Robin stares at you for a moment, dumbfounded, then laughs.

“Wait, seriously? You didn’t know that?”

You feel your face flush with embarrassment, all eyes on you.

“Well - um, no, this is the first I’m hearing of it.”

Eddie just grins, and gives you a playful pat on the back.

“You seriously don’t know your own radio station at all, huh?”

“I - I guess I’m not that surprised that someone has, but - all of you?”

“Not all,” Steve chimes in.

“Yeah, wait - how have you not?” Robin asks.

Steve just shrugs. “I don’t know… I have things like, I don’t know - a bed, in my own home, for starters.”

Robin rolls her eyes. You meet Steve’s eyes for a moment, and quickly look away.

You stick the Jack card in the pile under the beer can’s pull-tab - only to hear a pop followed by a hiss.

“Uh oh, Madame President broke the seal!” Eddie declares, pushing it towards you. “Looks like somebody’s got to shotgun it.”

You take it begrudgingly and stare at it for a moment.

“I need to borrow someone’s keys,” you finally say, earning some whoops and hollers from the group. The last thing you vividly remember is popping a hole in the can, and downing the whole beer in a manner of 30 seconds.

******

You blink awake groggily - enough sunlight permeates through the curtains that you know it must be morning. You groan, your mouth dry and tasting distinctly of alcohol. A turn over towards your bedside table makes your stomach feel all wobbly - fuck.

You reach for your alarm clock, squinting at it - nevermind. It’s not morning - more like the afternoon. Well into the afternoon.

A pit of dread settles into your gut - when did you get home? How long were you asleep? You never sleep this late, not even on weekends - a late lie-in for you is 11 AM. You’re definitely in your own bed, which is a positive - still in last night’s clothes, though. How? 

You don’t remember much after the game of Kings - though, you were definitely doing shots at some point… with who? You remember being in someone’s car - maybe. Or was it the bus again? If you actually managed getting the bus home while blackout drunk, you’re actually quite proud of yourself. But that somehow doesn’t seem too likely.

You pulled yourself to sit up, only to immediately regret it. Your stomach is now churning like a stormy sea, and your head is starting to throb. You’re an idiot. 

You hadn’t gotten drunk like that since your freshman year - it was a rookie mistake. You just hoped you didn’t make a complete idiot out of yourself in front of everyone.

After finally pulling yourself out of bed, you stumble over to your bedroom window and open the curtains. The bright afternoon sunlight hitting your face made you realize what a horrid mistake that was - you’re practically blinded by the light, and your head is properly pounding now. And now…

You barely make it to the bathroom in time, keeling over the toilet to puke up all of last night’s mistakes. The second your knees hit the cold tile floor, you begin coughing everything up, regretting anything and everything you’ve ever done to lead you to this moment. You don’t even hear Nancy approach behind you, not even aware of her presence until you’ve flushed and fall back against the wall, feeling disgusting.

“I was going to ask how you’re feeling, but it feels like a stupid question,” she says, leaning against the doorway with her arms crossed. 

You glance up at your roommate, feeling so small.

“Ha ha,” you say sarcastically. She offers a hand to help you up, which you accept gratefully. She waits until you’re hunched over the sink, brushing your teeth and gargling water to clean the taste of sick out of your mouth, to speak again.

“So - it was a fun night?” she asks cautiously.

You laugh dryly. “Um, yeah, I guess the night was fun. Right now… not so much.”

“Aww, poor baby,” Nancy coos teasingly. “You’ll be alright - just chill out today, yeah?”

“Mm - yeah, that’s the plan. I think I’m going to take a shower… and lie down for a little.”

Nancy nods. “Yeah, good idea - maybe I can go down to Blockbuster, rent a couple of movies, get some snacks?”

You offer up a small smile. “That’s nice, but you really don’t have to -”

“No seriously, it’s fine, I think they have some new stuff I want to check out anyways. I don’t have plans anyway - let’s just do a girls’ day, maybe get takeout later -”

“Sounds great, Nance. Thanks. Maybe hold off on takeout, for a bit… let me see how all of this feels,” you say, gesturing to your stomach. 

“Yeah, okay. I’ll head out - take a nice, long shower, it always helps.”

“Sure thing - and hey, I don’t know who called you, but thanks for coming to get me last night.”

Nancy furrows her brow quizzically. “What do you mean?”

“I - didn’t you bring me home last night?”

Nancy shakes her head.

“No - no, I was asleep. I think I heard the door open at some point, but I assumed that was just you coming home - you don’t remember?”

You shake your head, properly confused now.

“No - I don’t. I - think maybe I took the bus back then?”

“I thought they stop running those after like 2AM? I didn’t hear you get home until around 3, I think.”

She’s right - then how did you get back?

You bite your lip, thinking for a bit. 

“Maybe it was Eddie. I’ll call him and ask.”

Nancy nods. “Alright, yeah. Either way, you got back safe. Sorry about the hangover, though.”

You wave her off. “It’s my own fault - I went too hard last night. I’m just going to try to sleep it off, I guess.”

After Nancy leaves, you take a nice, long shower - you feel utterly disgusting, still in last night’s sweaty clothes and smudged makeup. You let last night’s bad decisions cascade down your skin and into the drain, sighing as the shower semi-revives you. 

By the time you’re out and drying off, your stomach has settled a bit more. The headache has only gotten a bit worse, though. You open the medicine cabinet, only to find the bottle of Ibuprofen missing. Did Nancy use it and forget to put it back? You don’t want to go rifling through her room, so you trudge back to your bedroom, praying she can find it when she gets back.

Pulling on a baggy t-shirt and pajama shorts, you reach for the phone on your bedside table - you punch in Eddie’s number, sitting on the edge of your bed as you twirl the cord with your finger. He picks up almost straight away.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Eddie - it’s me.”

“Whoa! She lives!” he cries out, laughing. You wince.

“Can you not yell, please?”

“Uh oh - are you feeling a little… delicate?”

“Fuck you,” you murmur, falling back onto your mattress. 

“I’m only teasing -”

“Yeah, whatever. Listen - did I make an idiot out of myself?”

“How much do you remember?”

“Uh - I remember playing Kings… and not a ton after that. I remember little things here and there, but… were we dancing?”

“You were dancing. On the kitchen table, if I remember.”

You groan, letting your head fall into your free hand.

“Oh God -”

“It’s all good, listen - people thought it was fun, I swear.”

“Yeah, if you say so… did I throw up?”

Silence on the other end.

“Oh fuck -”

“Only actually in the toilet, though - well, someone’s Solo cup at one point. Then it was all the bathroom after that, I swear. I really don’t think a lot of people saw that part though, the night was kind of winding down.”

“You swear?”

“Positive. Even I was leaving at that point. Don’t know if you got worse after that, though.”

You sit up suddenly, despite your body’s protests.

“You - what?”

“Listen, I didn’t want to leave you, but Argyle’s buddy Jonathan offered to drive us, and he didn’t want someone who might get sick in his car -”

“But wait, hold on - how did I get home? I thought you got me back -”

“Oh - you really don’t remember, huh?”

“Well - no.”

“Don’t get mad, but -”

“But what?”

“It was Steve. He drove you home.”

You pause, opening your mouth a few times to say something, but not finding the words.

“Huh?”

“Yeah, Harrington only had like, two beers all night, so he said he could take you back.”

“I - oh.”

What you wanted to say was, why the fuck would he do that?

“So… yeah. Sorry about that. But, I’m glad you made it back okay.”

“Yeah - mm hm…” you murmur absentmindedly. You hear a shrill beeping sound through the phone, making you wince.

“Sorry - fuck, Gareth set off the fucking fire alarm again. Sorry, I -”

“No, it’s okay. Go deal with that. I just… wanted to make sure you knew I’m alive.”

“Glad to hear it,” he says, and you can practically what your friend’s grin through the phone. “Gotta go - drink water, eat some fries, bye -”

Click.

You sit there in silence for a few moments, brow furrowed - Steve? Did you really make a drunk fool of yourself in front of him? You groan - he’ll definitely find a way to use this as leverage. How did he even get you inside? Did you throw up in his car - Christ, you hope not.

Worst of all… now you owe Steve Harrington, of all people.

It’s as you’re making peace with this horrible realization that you finally spot the Ibuprofen - there it is, in plain sight, on your bedside table. The bottle is conveniently right there, somehow, with a glass of water. You hadn’t noticed it in your hungover stupor earlier - when you reach for it, you realize it’s sitting on top of a note with untidy scrawl that reads:

Take some of this - you’re going to need it, sweetheart. 

-Harrington

You stare at it dumbfoundedly, then scoff.

Motherfucker.

author's note: I'm back! I took a bit of a hiatus, but I'm back in the swing of writing. I wont lie though... this is barely proofread. So, please be kind. This is a slow burn, so don't expect real smut for a few more chapters. But, let me know your thoughts, and I hope you enjoyed!

[lostloveletters]

Crimson and Clover (Bucky Egan x OC)

Summary: Bucky expects a lot of things when he arrives at Thorpe Abbotts, but Holly Dean isn't one of them. He's not complaining, though.

Word count: 5.1k

Note: I wrote most of this in a notebook over the past 3 days so my hand hates me, but I hope y’all like this! This fic covers pretty much from when Holly and Bucky meet to about Damn Yankees (mid-May to mid-June). Title comes from the song (Joan Jett version, we're bisexuals here). Do not interact if you’re under 18, terf or radfem, or post thinspo/ED content.

Warnings: Inevitable historical and technical inaccuracies (I’m playing a little fast and loose with who was at Thorpe Abbotts early with Bucky). Depictions of grief and depression. Period typical attitudes.

“Wait, what’s going on?” Bucky asked.

“Some of the Air Exec girls are having another typing contest,” Dye said.

“Who’s the favorite to win?”

“Dean’s won the past two, but Spinelli’s pretty good.”

He was glad to have caught Lieutenant Glenn Dye when he did. The guy had been making a beeline to the Air Exec office when Bucky joined him. His first night there, and already some kind of action—socially, at least. No one had been able to tell him when exactly he’d actually get to join McDaniels’ crew on a mission, but he was itching to get up there, even despite the weariness McDaniels carried with him.

He looked a lot more relaxed in the Air Exec office, standing toward the front of the bustling chaos with Duvall, his navigator. Bucky and Dye pushed their way through the people packed in like sardines to witness the typing contest. Dread fell over Bucky for a split second. What if that was the most exciting thing going on at Thorpe Abbotts?

A shout carried over the conversations. “Last chance to place your bets, ladies and gents!”

“Over here!” Duvall fished a quarter from his pocket. “I’m in on Pinkowsky.”

“You’re throwing your money away,” McDaniels said.

Bucky pulled a crumpled dollar bill out of his pocket and placed it in the outstretched hat next to Duvall. “Put a dollar on Dean for me.”

A young woman with blonde hair in messy twin braids and oil-stained coveralls rushed over, nearly knocking into Duvall. “Hey, did I miss it?”

“Just about to start. Hey Major, have you met Woody yet?” Duvall asked.

Bucky shook his head. “Don’t believe I have.”

“Private Woodward—Woody,” she said. “I’d shake your hand, Major, but I’d probably stain it.” She held up her right hand, covered in black grime that she made some effort to scrub out before arriving.

“Major John Egan, but everyone calls me Bucky,” he said, before gesturing to the women sitting around the office. “So who’s who in this thing?”

Of the Air Exec typists, three were competing in the typing contest that night. Nancy Pinkowsky, a Floridian, sat a little toward the back of the room, as she applied red lipstick in a small compact mirror. Leona Spinelli of Newark, New Jersey, had her heels—sleek black pumps, not regulation—kicked up on the desk of one Holly Dean, straight from the nation’s capital with the brightest smile and sparkling brown eyes Bucky had ever seen in his life.

“He bet a buck on Holly to win,” Dye said.

“You bet on Holly, and you haven’t even met her yet?” Woody asked.

Bucky grinned. “Intuition. I got a good feeling about her.”

“You’re right about that.” Woody smiled. “She’s my best friend.”

His eyes scanned the room as he tried to commit faces to memory, but his gaze kept drifting back to Holly until she caught him staring and responded with a smile that he couldn’t help but return. He moved to make his way over and say something to her, but his introduction was interrupted by the announcement for the competing Air Exec girls to get to their desks, and all spectators to shut the hell up.

Holly’s eyes met his again, only to fall to the blank page in front of her when he blinked. From the sound of just three typewriters clicking away incessantly, Bucky could tell he’d end up with a headache if he stayed stuck as Air Exec, and that would be on top of the inevitable hangovers. 

Her fingers moved fluidly across the keys, her face calm and focused, no evidence of her smile to be seen. 

He finally tore his gaze from her to glance at Woody at his side, the mechanic silently bouncing back and forth on her feet, bottom lip between her teeth. Her focus was fixed on Holly, too.

“Finished!” Holly shouted to a cacophony of cheers and groans.

Two guys walked over, one of whom had been collecting everyone's bets. Scanned the paper and muttered between themselves for an agonizing minute before one of them announced Holly had, in fact, won with no mistakes and an impressive word per minute count.

Woody bounced back and forth on her feet, excitedly grabbing Bucky’s arm. “Beat her own record!”

“Attagirl, Holly!” Bucky shouted.

Just as soon as the chaos began, it promptly ended with Holly’s win. No reason to stick around after hours any more. Don’t have to go home, but you can’t stay here, as Bucky had heard many a bartender say at last call. People slowly filtered out of the office.

A few bills and some change were shoved into his hand. “Here’s your cut. $4.50.”

He raised his eyebrows, slipping the money into his pocket. Not bad for his first night in East Anglia.

Holly didn’t recognize the man standing next to Woody, but something about him seemed familiar, comforting without the ache that usually accompanied thoughts of home, of…she figured it best not to spoil the rush of her win before she even reached Woody and met the man smiling her way. 

Woody threw her arms around Holly in congratulations, their embrace lasting a few seconds before remembering they weren’t alone.

“Oh, Holly! This is Major John Egan. Just landed a few hours ago,” Woody said, her arm around Holly. “Major, this is Sergeant Holly Dean, typing queen.”

“Quit it!” Holly laughed. “You’re the new Air Exec officer, aren’t you?” She extended her hand. “Good to meet you, Major.”

Bucky shook her hand. “Looks like you’re batting 300, Sarge. I gotta keep you on my roster.”

“Starting lineup?” she asked.

“You bet,” he said. “You’re from DC, aren’t you? You must be a Nats fan.”

“Sure am,” she said, with all the foolhardy pride of someone devoted to an ever-struggling team. “How about you?”

“Yankees.”

“So you’re from New York!”

He shook his head. “Manitowoc, Wisconsin.”

“How does a man from Wisconsin end up a Yankees fan, Major?”

“I know winners when I see ‘em,” he said with a wink. “And call me Bucky.”

“Alright, Bucky.”

The two women leaned into each other, sharing an expression Bucky couldn’t quite read. Their closeness palpable, he found himself missing Buck. Probably would’ve had something to say about his betting on a typing contest, and Bucky would astutely point out typing wasn’t a sport, receiving an eye roll accompanied by a movie star smile of amusement in return.

“I hate to be that person,” Woody said apologetically, “but we should be heading back now.” 

He nodded. "Right, well it was nice meeting you, Woody. I’ll see you tomorrow, Holly.”

“Bright and early, Bucky.”

——

Despite being in East Anglia for less than 24 hours, Bucky knew Thorpe Abbotts wasn’t anything to write home about, even if he had someone to write home to. The Rip Van Winkle village was only woken up from its slumber by the arrival of the United States Army Air Force and Red Cross. Local farmers were forced to trade a rooster’s morning crow for the roar of bomber planes as their alarm clocks. The English and Irish laborers who worked around the base considered their American compatriots novel and exotic—or a nuisance, depending on who he was talking to.

Found out there was a pub in town. Headed over with some of the other pilots and local laborers the night before. Good drinks, fun company, and a pretty barmaid. At least he wouldn’t have to rely on typing contests and the officers’ club exclusively to get his kicks. Though, if the typing contests happened regularly enough, he’d be looking at a decent payday if he kept betting on Holly to win. A guy the previous night had argued that Spinelli would win often enough, but Bucky, in all of his misguided superstition, figured there must have been something to going into the damn thing blind and making the best bet.

When Bucky got to the office, he almost couldn’t believe it was the same place that had been bursting at the seams the night before. Nancy Pinkowsky’s lips bore no trace of the bold red she painted on them. Leona Spinelli wore WAAC-issued heels, clacking across the floor as she walked over to a file cabinet. And Holly Dean’s brown eyes were dull, framed by light purple crescents below them.

Bucky frowned, making his way over to her.

“Morning, Sergeant,” he said.

“Good morning, Major.”

“Rough night?”

She gave him a tired smile. “Something like that. Did you get a chance to meet Corporal Pinkowsky or Sergeant Spinelli last night, sir?”

“Afraid I didn’t,” he said, a charming smile spreading across his face. “I’m sure we’ll all get to know each other pretty well. Major John Egan, but you can call me Bucky.”

They all seemed more controlled, stifled in contrast to the night before as they introduced themselves. Women always had personas to shift in and out of, social chameleons depending on the situation. Bucky had gotten along just fine without watering himself down for anybody, but as an old paramour of his had pointed out to him, he had the distinct advantage of being a man, and the world was far more forgiving to men with character than women, who had to shrink themselves to fit into perfume bottles, lipstick tubes, or in the cases of Holly, Nancy, and Leona, ribbons of typewriter ink.

“Looking forward to working with you, Major,” Nancy said, her long, dark eyelashes fluttering. She desperately wanted to be a flirt, but lacked the nerve to follow through. 

Always sharp, Leona hardly missed a thing. Her attention could be unsettling, too intimidating for some people unless they knew her well enough. “Nice to meet you, sir.” 

Bucky shifted his weight on his feet, looking away from Leona. 

“Oh, Colonel Huglin’s looking for you,” Holly said.

He sighed. “That sounds about right. Wish me luck.”

“Good luck, Major.”

As soon as the door to Huglin’s office shut behind him, Nancy and Leona’s focus turned squarely to Holly, their attention weighing her down. She knew exactly what they were going to ask, anticipating their disappointment at her answer that no, she didn’t know if the handsome Major was taken. She would have been surprised if he were.

“So, what’s his deal?” Nancy asked.

Leona leaned over her desk. “Yeah, I saw you talking with him last night.”

“Well, he’s from Wisconsin, but he’s a Yankees fan.”

Nancy groaned. “You know what baseball team he likes, but you didn’t find out if he has a girlfriend?”

“What, you wanna make your move after flopping last night?” Leona teased, her cat-like gaze drifting over to Holly. “Besides, he’s got his sights set on you, Holly Dean.”

Holly shook her head. “I’m not ready to even consider anything romantic. You know that. I’ll never say ‘no’ to making a friend, though.”

“He might,” Nancy said.

“Well then you ask him if he’s getting his dick wet, if you’re so curious,” Leona said, snickering at the way Nancy’s face paled. “See, you need someone more your speed. Hey Holly, he say when the other flyboys were getting in?”

She shook her head. “He didn’t mention it.”

“Geez, maybe Nancy’s got a point. Is baseball all you talked about with the guy?” Leona asked.

The women’s chattering fell to whispers when Bucky stepped out of Huglin’s office a few minutes later. Perhaps Holly hadn’t noticed it sooner, caught up in the throes of her own exhaustion following a near sleepless night, but Bucky was quite clearly hungover. He certainly hadn’t kept his aviators on inside for style, that much became abundantly clear as he rubbed his forehead. The three typists shared wordless side glances at the state of him. First day on the job and probably got chewed out already.

“Any of you know where a guy can get aspirin?” he asked. 

“There’s a first aid kit in the cabinet over there. Should be some,” Holly said.

“Thanks.”

“Of course, sir.”

They went back to typing, silently, slowly, glancing up every now and then to watch Bucky rifle through the first aid kit and promptly dry swallow two aspirin pills. He haphazardly shoved the contents back inside the box and closed it, shoving the first aid kit back into the cabinet. He retreated into his own office, presumably to sleep off whatever ailed him.

“Forget him,” Nancy whispered, only loud enough for her compatriots to hear. “He hasn’t even been here a day and he’s hungover. That’s sick.”

Holly gave her a pointed look. “Don’t be rude, Nance.”

“And he made a mess of the first aid kit.”

“I got it,” Leona huffed, getting up from her desk. “You’re such a baby sometimes.”

Nancy stuck her tongue out at Leona as soon as her back was to them. 

Holly liked them both well enough, at least more than some of the other women in the Air Exec office. Considered them friends, close enough to go out with, share some drinks and laughs, but she never quite clicked with them on the same level she did Woody. Some kind of disconnect emotionally, never quite able to meet her energy the way she needed.

The two had met in San Francisco a little over a year prior, the weekend Stan was being sent off to the Pacific. Holly went with him, glad she had in hindsight, and among the mischief they got up to their last weekend together, one of Stan’s Navy buddies, Frank, invited them to a party. Woody had been Frank’s date, and in a city bustling with women who'd signed up to help Navy or Marines, the two WAAC women bonded right away. Like the stars aligned. The best weekend of their lives. Nothing short of a relief when they were both stationed at Thorpe Abbotts.

She wasn’t quite sure how to describe her relationship with Woody. Friends didn’t encapsulate the complexity of how deeply she felt for her, the certainty with which she knew she could rely on her. She found herself hard pressed to find anyone who understood her the way Woody did.

Holly didn’t see Bucky for a few more hours, and wondered how he could possibly get shut-eye with all of the commotion. If it wasn’t the combined clicking of half a dozen typewriters, it was the talking, a whirlwind of new reports and telegrams and projects to be started and those subsequently scrapped near completion because something had changed, which then affected everything else and brought everyone back to square one.

Quite different from the law firm she worked for as a typist prior to the war. Typically kept up case files and typed up minutes and summaries for various meetings. Sometimes, the lawyers would bring her with them on the cases that went to trial instead of being settled out of court, needing a typist to sit in and record testimonies. While her knowledge of shorthand helped back then, learning the United States Army Air Force acronyms and jargon was like learning another language, not to mention the plethora of accents she had to interpret on top of that.

At least it was interesting work, important work. Kept her on her toes, like she figured Bucky would, as around noon, when she made her leave to get lunch, he emerged from his office and rushed over to her just as she was walking out the door.

“Mind if I join you? I’m still learning my way around,” he said.

“Isn’t half your job knowing where you’re going, Major?” she joked.

He grinned. “That’s the navigator’s job. I’m a pilot, doll.”

“Well, I’m no navigator, but I think I can get us to mess in one piece, as long as you don’t mind walking.”

“Not at all.”

“You won’t be saying that for long, believe me. It rains so much here, you’d think you’d need a rowboat to get around.”

“Know where I can find one of those?”

She shook her head. “What you need is a bike. They’re hard to get a hold of, but since you’re a Major and all, you can probably get your hands on one easier than most.”

“See? I’m learning from you already.”

On their walk over, it became clear Bucky’s fanaticism for the Yankees rivaled Holly’s feverish devotion to the Nationals, and when he made a joke at their expense, he almost thought she took it as a personal offense. She also made a passing remark about how if she had any doubts about city life, it had been snuffed out after a mere two weeks in Thorpe Abbotts, the countryside charm wearing off rather quickly for her. Bucky agreed, neglecting to mention he hadn’t experienced much of fast-paced, city living himself, but he knew he’d thrive in it given the opportunity. 

“So, you writing to anyone back home?” he asked when they found a table to sit at.

“Just my parents and a few friends.”

“No boyfriend?”

Her lips pressed together in a thin line. “No.”

“Hey, there’s nothing wrong with that. I mean, I don’t have a girlfriend or anything.”

“It’s not that. I was engaged but…he died.”

“Was he a pilot?”

She shook her head. “Navy. Was killed at Midway last year. His name was Stan.”

“Shit, yeah,” he said softly, “I remember watching the newsreels from that.”

“I could never bring myself to watch ‘em.”

Biggest naval battle in history. The headlines screamed it. Boisterous radio and newsreel announcers regaled the public on the heroic exploits of the members of the Navy and Marines who took on and triumphed over their formidable Japanese enemies. He remembered the restless envy that tore through his gut with each newspaper article, each newsreel—not over the coverage or accolades, but of the action. Lucky bastards got to give the enemy a taste of their own medicine while the 100th was still running practice missions. He hadn’t considered the losses very much. Didn’t have reason to until then.

“Jesus, I’m sorry, Holly. I feel like a real jerk.”

She shrugged, a weak smile spreading across her lips. “Don’t apologize, you couldn’t have known. Just make sure you hit ‘em where it hurts when you’re up there. Doesn’t matter what continent. It’s all the same.”

He nodded. “You got it, Sarge. I’m goin’ up in two days. We’ll give ‘em hell.”

“Good,” she said. Cleared her throat, tried to shake off the sadness that slithered through her like a snake. “So, where’s the rest of the 100th?”

“Got lost coming over here,” Bucky said, laughing when her eyes widened. “Hey, I’m kidding! They’re still training stateside. They’ll be here in a few weeks. June, probably.”

“Anyone single?” Holly asked, quickly adding, “Leona and Nancy wanted me to ask.”

“Off the top of my head? Crank, Douglass, Brady, DeMarco…” He grinned. “Hey, maybe you can type up a list for me.”

She laughed. “Sure I can.”

“You gotta meet Buck. I think you’d really like him.”

His best buddy. Second best pilot in the 100th, only following him, of course. The one of the greatest storytellers she would ever meet. Pretty much inseparable since they met at basic. Didn’t mention how being the focus of Buck’s attention felt like being on top of the world, could send him even higher than any of the forts did. Couldn’t think of a time he felt that way about anyone else.

“He sounds terrific.”

“Pretty square, though—“

“Square?”

“The guy doesn’t drink, doesn’t smoke, doesn’t like sports, including baseball, and he’s been dating the same dame since high school.”

“You make the last one sound like a bad thing.”

“Well, it will be for Nancy and Leona’s list.”

“Are we seriously going to make one?”

Bucky snickered, increasingly amused with the idea the more he thought about it. “Why not?”

——

If Holly minded Bucky’s company, she never said anything about it. Didn’t bat an eye when he’d tag along to wherever she was headed to every now and then. Sometimes on her own, but she spent a lot of time with Woody, and the more he was around the two of them, the more he was itching for Buck to finally make it over.

The Wilhelmshaven mission rattled Bucky. His first. Poor Duvall caught the bad end of flak and was covered in blood and barely hanging on when the fort landed back at the air base. Woody’s voice wavered when she told Holly about it, the state of the navigator. Woody was friends or friendly enough with most of the bomber boys by virtue of working on their forts, their babies, really. Being ground crew meant she also had the unfortunate burden of witnessing firsthand the aftermath of the brutality the bomber crews faced in the skies.

Suddenly, Bucky carried the same weariness Holly had seen the other men wrestle with in their own ways. She was hardly surprised when Bucky drowned his in alcohol at the village pub, inviting her and Woody along to join him and some of his fellow pilots for a nightcap, a celebration of Bucky’s first mission.

“Mark my words, Holly,” Bucky said, well into his fourth beer. “If there’s gonna be two pilots left in the sky by the end of this war, it’s gonna be Buck and me. I’d bet anything on it.”

His certainty caught in his throat when her smile didn't quite reach her eyes. 

“That’s hopeful.”

“You make that sound like a bad thing.”

“It’s not,” she said softly. “Sometimes I think too much about what could go wrong. I’m sorry, Bucky.”

A stormy melancholy hung above Holly once in a while, and though it never poured, she withdrew within herself. Some mornings, she greeted him with a shadow of the smile he always looked for as soon as he walked into the office. On those days especially, he reached out, tried to bridge the gap between them with whatever story or one-sided conversation he could think of.

He had asked Woody about it, knowing she’d be able to explain it to him better than anyone else. Only started after Stan died. Unnerved some people, annoyed others who thought she was being too dramatic, moping for so long over the man. Her behavior could be erratic, mostly self-isolating, occasionally self-destructive, but that aspect hadn’t reared its ugly head for some time. 

“I wish you knew her before,” Woody had told him quietly. “She wasn’t always like this.”

“I like her just fine now,” he’d answered, almost defensively.

“Good. She thinks the world of you, Bucky.”

His heart had jumped. Stopped himself from saying the same. 

Now, however, sitting with Holly in the small pub, He smiled, smacking his palm against the table, a mischievous gleam in his eye. “I know what’ll cheer you up. How about a song?”

“You can sing?”

“Nope.”

But he did anyway. Blue Skies. Enthusiastic. Off-key. Loud. Ran around the place like someone lit a fire under his ass while the pub erupted in cheers and heckling at his performance. 

“What the hell is he doing?” Woody asked, sitting down next to Holly, half-drunk glass of beer in hand.

“Trying to cheer me up."

Singing certainly wasn’t his forte, and adding dancing to the mix only served to make the performance worse. He crashed into a nearby table, sending glasses to the ground with shrill shatters that cut through his song. Holly’s hand flew to her mouth as she tried to stifle her laughter at the mess and the fact that he kept going. Pulled the exasperated barmaid in for a twirl, and she nearly hit him with her tray.

“He’s nuts,” Woody laughed.

Holly grinned, clapping enthusiastically when Bucky concluded the song, half out of breath, perspiration on his forehead. “Yeah, he is.”

“How about another round and an encore?” he asked when he returned to the table, pleased with himself at how big Holly’s smile was.

“Yes to another round!” Woody exclaimed. “Hold the encore.”

——

June didn’t offer a reprieve from the incessant English rain, but by the second week of the month, it brought Buck Cleven, and as far as Bucky was concerned, things were as right with the world as they could be, all things considered.

He tried not to think about the possibility of Buck not liking Holly. Knew he wouldn’t show it even if he somehow weren’t all that fond of her, ever the gentleman, good ol’ Buck. But Bucky had heard one too many guys make some snide remark about Holly and her odd behavior, her grief, to leave him with more than a few healthy grudges. Still, he wasn’t shocked at Buck’s incredulous attitude when he brought up Holly.

“Where are we going?” Buck asked from the passenger seat of the jeep.

“Quick pit stop to the Air Exec office,” Bucky said. “You gotta meet her—Sergeant Holly Dean, best typist you’ll ever see in your life.”

“Bucky—“

“C’mon, I talked you up to her! She’s keen to meet you.”

Buck shook his head. “You want me to humor your little girlfriend?”

“It’s not—Buck, come on.” Bucky scoffed. “What, I can’t have friends now?”

Buck hummed. “Sure. Friends.”

“She’s great, Buck. We should all go out sometime. You’ll see.”

“You know, Marge went to the trouble of introducing you to Peggy—”

“Holly’s fun! She makes the desk job less boring.”

“Whatever you say,” Buck said as the office came into view.

Holly swore she heard Nancy whisper “oh my god” when Bucky walked into the Air Exec office with whom she could only assume was Buck Cleven. She took in a deep breath in an attempt to even out her palpitating heartbeat. He almost looked like he walked off of a movie set. 

Then he took off his cap and smiled at them, introduced himself to Nancy first, who managed a quiet “Hello Major,” and then to Leona, whose deep eyes almost bore a hole through the pilot. Holly swallowed roughly when he made his way over to her.

“You must be Holly, then,” he said. “Buck Cleven, it's nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you, too," she said, glancing between him and Bucky. "I already know I’m gonna get your names mixed up, so I’m sorry in advance, sir.”

Buck smiled. “My first name is Gale, if that helps.”

“Gale’s a great name. Why go by Buck?”

“On account of this one,” Buck said, gesturing to Bucky. “He doesn’t have any manners, if you haven’t noticed.”

“He’s swell,” Holly said. “Best Air Exec we’ve had yet.”

“Heard you’ve been keeping an eye on him for me.”

“Trying my best, sir.”

“Well, he’s in one piece, so you’re doin’ a pretty good job.”

Kind and handsome—and woefully taken. But not perfect. Didn’t like booze or baseball, pretty much non-negotiables as far as she was concerned. Nancy and Leona didn’t know that, though. Neither of them had Bucky’s insider knowledge the way she did. Maybe it wouldn’t have mattered to them all that much, anyway. Most importantly, she wasn’t ready to date again. Ignored who came to mind when she thought of where she’d like to start, though. Probably ruin a damn good thing if she did.

“It was nice meeting you ladies. I’m sure we’ll see each other around,” Buck said kindly.

“Don’t be a stranger, Major,” Leona said.

Nancy nodded enthusiastically in agreement.

“You girls behave while I’m gone,” Bucky joked.

As soon as the door closed behind them, the three typists shared dazed expressions.

“Was he on that list you gave us?” Nancy asked.

“Not a chance,” Holly said. “Bucky says Buck is hopelessly devoted to his girl back home.”

Leona groaned. “That was the most gorgeously unavailable man I’ve ever seen in my life. I need to have a drink or four over it tonight.”

——

The day of Buck’s first mission, Bucky clung to Holly the way a child would a blanket during a bad thunderstorm. He felt ridiculous making the comparison between himself and her, but he knew she’d understand the uncertainty, the waiting. Didn’t say anything when he found lame excuses to keep her working in his office, unsure of how else to express that he didn’t want to be alone with himself, with his thoughts.

The practice missions were just that—practice. Though Buck took them on with all of the focus and skill of real missions, there wasn’t much risk involved. Death couldn’t reach out its cold hands and touch them quite yet, but on his first mission, Bucky swore he felt its frigid grip on his shoulder, trying to pull him away with it somehow. Learned how to ignore it by his second mission, not to see its face behind his eyes every time he blinked or hear it calling for him with each burst of flak. But he couldn’t tell Buck, no way for him to understand until he was up there and experienced it for himself. Maybe that was why Holly sometimes retreated into silence when it came to Stan.

Wondered how she felt before she got the news about Stan. Was she expecting it? Had a gut feeling that she hoped was indigestion? Blindsided and crushed? He couldn’t bring himself to ask. Wasn’t sure he could handle knowing her answer. 

Instead, they talked baseball, as she’d given him a Lou Gehrig card she got from an old pack of Big League Chewing Gum, having inexplicably brought her modest collection of baseball cards over to England with her. Had a Yankee among her more treasured cards and didn’t think twice about giving it to him. So Lou found his home among Bucky’s two rosaries and various homegrown talismans that carried his hope and superstition. Took the place of his lucky deuce which he’d given to Buck that morning, not that he’d dream of biting a corner off of it.

He scratched the bridge of his nose, avoiding eye contact with her as he said, “Thanks for putting up with me.”

“What do you mean ‘putting up with you’?” she asked. “I like being with you.”

“Yeah, me too.”

He almost couldn’t believe how close they’d become in the weeks since they met. So close that every so often, they’d be asked if they were a couple, brushing off the assumptions with laughter and the answer that no, they weren’t. Hell, even Buck assumed it before he met Holly. But really, he couldn’t think of how much would change between them if they were. Didn’t matter. He knew things would be okay if he had Holly around, no matter how that looked.

“Hey, shouldn’t they be getting back soon?”

“Shit, you’re right. I’ll see you later, Holly.”

“See you, Bucky,” she said, taking his hand in hers and giving it a gentle squeeze before releasing it. “Take care.”

He nodded silently, slipping the hand she held into his jacket pocket when he turned to leave, wanting the warm, comforting feeling to last until he could see ‘Our Baby’ approaching and finally relax. A smile spread across his face, but there was no way for her to have seen it.

[bibbityboppitybillyharvgrove]

Rambles - E.Munson

Summary - Eddie hosts a holiday party, Wayne not expecting 15 people to show up at their trailer. Although the trailer was filled with his friends, he spent most of the party outside with one of his closest friends, Y/N, sharing a joint. 

Word Count - 737

Warnings - Female reader, Use of drugs(weed), use of Y/N

Author's Note - Welcome to day five! I'm still keeping up so hopefully I will be able to keep up for the next 20 days! We shall see!

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Feedback is welcomed and encouraged!

Enjoy!

not my gif

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A year ago, Eddie would have thought he was crazy for spending the holidays with Steve Harrington and Y/N Y/L/N, but this year, it seemed perfectly normal. Wayne had allowed him to host a party in their trailer for his friends. The deal was just Eddie’s friends and nobody else. However, Wayne had vastly underestimated how many friends Eddie actually had. The trailer was packed with people, everyone from Hellfire, including Lucas, was there, Max, El, Nancy, Jonathan, Argyle, Robin, Steve, Y/N and Will. There were 16 people packed into the trailer like a bunch of sardines, when Wayne showed up, he was quite surprised with the amount of friends his nephew had accumulated over the last year.

Most of the older teens had taken over Eddie’s bedroom, the younger ones taking over the living room. Y/N and Eddie were sitting outside on the steps leading up to the front door, sharing a joint as they sat in a comfortable silence. She was the one to break it after a short while. “Wayne seemed surprised with how many people showed up,” She pointed out.

“He thought I was only inviting the Hellfire guys but I don’t think he realized how many people I’m actually friends with,” He replied, “It’s weird to think about really. I mean I had maybe 3 friends last year but this year there are 15 people at my trailer because they chose to be friends with me.”

“Who wouldn’t want to be friends with you? You are one of the best people I’ve had the joy of meeting. You’re like one of my favorite people ever, everyday with you is something new. Nothing is ever the same and I love that because it makes hanging out with you so much more fun because I never know what you’re gonna do,” She rambled, Eddie’s cheeks turning a bright pink color.

“You ramble when you smoke,” Eddie pointed out, “It’s cute.”

“Shut up.” She bumped her shoulder into his with a smile on her face. The two of them shared a laugh before talking about random things that popped into their minds. They sat out there for a few hours just talking and laughing, only going inside as the younger kids started to leave. The number of people in the house dwindling, Steve, Nancy and Robin all left, it was just Gareth, Jeff and Doug hanging out on the couch with Wayne. 

Y/N was getting giggly because she had smoked a little too much. “She’s gonna crash here tonight, if that’s okay Uncle Wayne,” Eddie mentioned. Wayne gave him a noncommittal grunt. He took her hand and led her to his room, Gareth whistling at the pair and Jeff clapping which resulted in a middle finger from both of them. 

This hadn’t been the first time she had stayed over with Eddie, she had stayed over so often that Wayne was just used to her staying. It’s not like Eddie brought girls over, the only girl that was ever at the trailer consistently was Y/N. As they got to his room, he handed her a pair of his boxers and a long sleeve shirt to wear for the night, taking out a pair of long flannel pajama pants. The two of them getting changed with their backs turned to each other before climbing into his bed and getting under the covers. 

They laid beside each other, on their sides just looking at one another. She started to giggle again which made Eddie start chuckling. “What is so funny?” He asked between his laughter. 

“I don’t know,” She giggled with glee. The two of them laughed for nearly 30 minutes before being able to calm down enough to talk. “You’re so handsome,” She said suddenly.

“You’re so beautiful,” He responded with a smile. She pressed her forehead to his as they looked into each other’s eyes. “Your eyes are so red.” 

“So are yours.” 

Both of them fell asleep not long after, their tiredness sneaking up on them. Wayne had checked on them before he had gone to bed, finding the two of them face to face and holding onto one another tightly. He had gently shut the door with a smile on his face, happy for his nephew even though the pair weren’t together just yet. He knew it wouldn’t be very long until the two got together.

[its--fandom--darling]

little bean - em x fem!reader

This is my submission to @oneforthemunny​‘s summertime writing game. I chose to do a wildcard 🃏 submission for cowboy eddie and sweet girl. I hope I did them justice and that everyone enjoys this sweet little story about dad!cowboy!eddie as much as I enjoyed writing it. 

Pairing: Dad!Cowboy!Eddie Munson x Sweet Girl!Reader

@oneforthemunny​ @munsonology

Warnings: talk of pregnancy, reader being called little mama, afab reader, brief mention of car accident. please let me know if I’ve missed anything and I’ll update my list. (This isn’t edited. hopefully it’s all good. Enjoy!)

A/N: this is heavily inspired by personal experience with one of those ride and spring ponies that my sister and i had growing up. all header pictures are from pinterest, credit to the og owners of the photos. graphics by @firefly-graphics​

“Can you please uncover my eyes now?” you plead with your fiance as he guides you outside to see his latest surprise. You and Eddie had never really talked about having kids, always considering the many farm animals that you’d convinced him to adopt over the years as your pseudo-children. So when you’d found out that you were pregnant after a fender-bender, you and Eddie had the realization that you both wanted this little bean to be a part of your life. 

This brings you to now, 6 months into your pregnancy. The morning sickness had wrecked you for a while and your cravings had been intense and random. Pickles and peanut butter, sardines and fiddleheads, copious amounts of cheese doodles. But Eddie had taken everything in stride, making the 20 plus minute drive into town to hit the only 24 hour mini mart in the area whenever the urge for a midnight milkshake struck you. He’d truly been a saint, he’d always been good to you, treated you like a princess, but seeing you round with his child had unleashed another side of him, one that was incredibly tender. Without hesitation the two of you had decided to be surprised when the baby came, knowing that no matter what you had, it wouldn’t change the fact that you two were going to spoil, cherish and raise your little bean to be a kind person.  

“Just be patient for a second more, little mama. I don’t wanna spoil the surprise just yet,” he murmured, a grin evident in his voice. 

You huffed in fake annoyance, crossing your arms after the screen door, thwapped shut behind the two of you. 

“Alright, ready?” 

“Yes, Eds! The suspense is killing me!” you squeak, bringing your hands up to grab at your man’s calloused hands where they rested over your eyes. 

He chuckles as he lets his hands be pulled from your eyes. You blink a few times to adjust your vision before taking in his latest surprise. In your silence, your feel him lace his fingers with yours as you feel the familiar burn of tears in your eyes. 

“I know little bean won’t be able to use it for a while after they’ve made their grand entrance, but it was the last one in the store and sweet girl, I just couldn’t resist.”

You turn and kiss him softly. “It’s perfect, I love it.”

Sitting on the front porch is a ride and spring horse, almost identical to the one that you’d described to Eddie. You’d been telling him how, despite being a city girl, had spent many of your earliest summers of childhood at your grandparents. They lived in the countryside in a big white farmhouse style house.  Your grandfather was always a fan of black and white westerns, so you’d watched more than your fair share while your granny took her afternoon nap. You’d expressed to Eddie that those were some of your favorite childhood memories, especially when you’d arrived one day to find a beautiful chestnut colored ride and spring pony on your grandparents front lawn. The image of his sweet girl as child with little pigtails and her grandfather’s cowboy hat slipping down over her eyes as she bounced away the afternoon on that horse had made his heart clench. 

“Really? It isn’t too much? I know that I’ve been spoiling little bean and they ain’t even arrived yet but…”

You cut him off with a sweet kiss, cupping the back of his neck with your free hand and pouring your love and appreciation into the kiss. “It’s perfect,” you repeat as your lips part and he breaks into a grin as you bump your nose against his affectionately. “Thank you, for the horse and for taking care of me and bean. Thank you for listening to me and remembering those little details I shared with you.”

He grins wider, eyes crinkling with it. “It’s my pleasure, sweet girl. You two are my whole world.”

You grin at him, “You forgot about Medusa, can’t have her feeling left out now.” 

He chuckles and rolls his eyes at you, “Well, you’re right about that, sweet girl.”

You kiss him again. “Always am, aren’t I?”

He rolls his eyes, “I’ll give you most of the time, little mama.”

You smirk up at him, “I’ll take it. Now come on and show me what else you got.”

He furrows his brow at you, “What are you talking about?”

“I just know you didn’t leave the store with just that toy, lay it on me, what else did you get?” 

He sighs, “You know me far too well, sweet girl.”

“It’s because I love ya handsome, now show me the goods.”

He chuckles as you settle on the porch swing he’d installed for you when you’d first moved in with him. “I’ll get the bag.”

You giggle and kick your feet up resting your hands on your bump, stroking your thumb over it tenderly as Eddie ran to the pick up to grab the rest of his haul. As you watched him go through everything that he picked up for your future child, you knew that there was no way that you would wanna do this with anyone but your Eddie. 

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(Read more sacrifice)

[yellowhollyhock]

IDW Donn: So what's everyone's favorite food?

12 D: Pizza

87 Donatello: Pizza!

Rise Donnie: Pizza without pineapples

03 Don: Sushi!

Donatello: WHAT

Don: Or pizza.

Donatello: You eat raw fish?!

Don: Yes? I'm a turtle.

D: While turtles do eat fish, it's usually very little

Don: Well, I'm an over-achiever 🤭

Donatello: I understand being more of a gritty show in homage to the original comics, but there's got to be a line somewhere! Have you no respect for the viewers' stomachs?

Don: I saw you eating pizza with marshmallows, onions, and peppermints last week

Donatello: Yeah, because it isn't fish!

Donn: ... Interesting. Pizza with sardines? No pineapple 😉

Donatello: If I weren't an exceptionally nice guy I'd beat you all up right now

D: I think he's a little homesick.

Donatello: I can't believe you eat that on daytime television!

Donnie: D used to eat algae and worms.

D: Hey! At least I don't drink flavorless juice

Donatello: At least you don't eat raw fish

[linxuelian]

Comic Fiesta 2023 Anime Convention Experience Log - With Photos!

Hey there! After posting my previous experience log on Anime Fest+ 2024, I realized I'd shared photos from Comic Fiesta 2023 on Twitter but never did on Tumblr. Since this happened way back in late December 2023, I've forgotten a good portion of my experience there (I have unfortunately the memory of a goldfish) - so it'll mostly be photos of the crowd and MXTX cosplayers, whom I have some loose commentary on based on what I remember from our very short and random interactions.

Anyway, I hope you enjoy this as an MDZS/TGCF fan as much as I do! I spent only a few hours there, but I did have a good time hunting down cosplays from the MXTX fandom during that time.

I'll begin with pictures of the crowd. If you don't already know, Comic Fiesta is an anime convention held in Kuala Lumpur Convention Center, Malaysia, and it's one of the oldest here too. As of 2023, it's opened its doors to roughly 70,000 attendees, which is rather big considering our country's quite small in size. I've heard from my friend that there are attendees from overseas too, namely Singapore and Indonesia, due to the famous people the organizers tend to invite, so it does make sense that it's grown this large over time.

While the convention itself is held indoors, there's a large park outside where cosplayers tend to hang around and take pictures. A number of people don't buy tickets and go into the convention hall either - and I get why; the last time I was in the hall, I was squashed like a sardine, and not the fancy kind, either. We're a sweaty bunch after a good whole morning of lining up.

Anyway, the park is very pretty, as well as mostly green and neatly trimmed:

It's at this park where you can get the best shots of cosplayers, and find some space to line up for photos of them.

It's got this giant Christmas tree up at around this time of year too, which is super wonderful:

With that aside, I'll get to the cosplays. Let's start off with my favorite best girl of all time, Jiang Yanli:

Credit: https://www.instagram.com/clairegsw/

I'll admit I was both surprised and stoked to see a Jiang Yanli cosplayer around! She seemed pretty surprised too to have someone ask her for a picture - she was taking one with two elaborate bride cosplays, but as I'm a fangirl with heaps of love for Yanli, I thought she shone like the brightest star at that event. You go, Claire!

Next up is our boy Xie Lian, who seems to get quite a number of cosplays done of him:

Credits: https://www.instagram.com/ayana_liyana/ and https://www.instagram.com/itsmeira_az/

These two came together and were looking for wild, lone San Lang cosplayers to catch in Pokemon battle-like sequences respectively. Sadly, as it goes in the BL cosplay world, there's always a shortage of gong/top/seme cosplayers in a con. Everyone wants to be the beauty, it seems, and quite understandably too.

That said, here's another beauteous Xie Lian cosplay:

Credit: https://www.instagram.com/jingzu518/

Cute, nice, and also decidedly not looking for wild semes to capture.

Anyway, no Xie Lian is complete without a Hua Cheng by his side in any event, so here's the obligatory couple cosplay I saw by the escalators when I got up to the entrance:

Credit: https://www.instagram.com/njq_03/

This particular Hua Cheng cosplayer's one of the first dudes I've seen doing TGCF cosplay, which is pretty interesting considering the reception of BL by male anime fans in my country hasn't been... the best - or the kindest, from personal experience. But I'm happy to see it and would like to take this as a positive sign of changing times where our BL fandom gets more mixed in demographics.

Speaking of HuaHuas, here's a particularly fun and cheerful one:

Credit: https://twitter.com/meechandes

When I told this HuaHua that there were Xie Lians looking to form a couple, I was told that they already have a Xie Lian of their own! Again, HuaHuas are in great shortage! You'll definitely get a lot of attention dressed as him as he's both very flashy and coveted in the danmei cosplay scene as a character.

Moving along, here's a pic of my favorite best boy Jin Ling, the snazziest and most golden young master in the universe:

Credit: https://twitter.com/koni_kn

This particular cosplayer was kind enough to humor me at a crowded, fast-paced subway. We managed to find a quieter spot to take a picture. Look at how pretty it looks, bless! 😍 I'm so glad Jin Ling got some representation as a side character. He's absolutely the best!

On cue are his uncles, the twin heroes of Yunmeng, Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian (whom Jin Ling will probably deny is his uncle, but hey, Mo Xuanyu's body will uncle him however he wants):

Credit: https://www.instagram.com/feza_yu/

The duo came with their own professional photographer, who also doubled as their translator (thank you, photographer man!). This Jiang Cheng's also the softest, gentlest and shyest Jiang Cheng I've ever met in my life. Legs are safe when he's around since he won't be breaking them anytime soon!

Next on the itinerary are our not-so-elusive, staple-of-any-con Wei Wuxians:

Credit: https://www.instagram.com/ken520.cos/

I dub this guy the Balenciaga Wei Wuxian, because, you know, I took his photo right in front of Balenciaga and he looked like the richest Wei Wuxian cosplayer there. No joke - his outfit even had pleather, and he'd spent about 270 bucks on it. I saw it up-close since he was pretty friendly. His arm bracers even had details sewn onto them instead of just being prints! Talk about luxury! I coughed up jealousy like blood from my mouth.

The outfit is from CQL, but he knows MDZS too. I'm familiar with the donghua but too lazy to finish it, so he's definitely put me to shame here as a fan as well, blast him!

Last but not least, we have kitty ears Wei Wuxian (a.k.a. Lan Wangji's Incense Burner Dream #965):

Credit: https://www.instagram.com/mikaecsr/

Now, I won't lie - I first thought they were wolf ears. But as Wei Wuxian does not like dogs of any kind, nature or breed, I'm going to assume that these are feline ears.

Whatever ears they are, though, Lan Wangji will be sure to get hot and toasty seeing them. Wei Ying, you devil you.

Anyway, this marks the end of my write-up! I hope you enjoyed the descriptions. As I don't have Instagram, feel free to hit up any of these cosplayers I've credited and link them here so that they can download pics of themselves and read what some random Internet weirdo had to say about their outfits.

Over and out!

[mytheoristavenue]

GOTG Rocket x Reader - The Ache

Summary: You and Rocket have never gotten along, but your mutual hate will never stop the ache in your bellies.

Warnings: unrealized love, angst, romanticization of toxic dynamics, romantic/sexual feelings without action, longing, double-sided, takes place between vol. 2 and infinity war, reptilian!alien!reader

Escalation. Everything had to escalate, every tiny disagreement. But that's to be expected when your family consists of a lizard, a bug, a sapling, a rodent, three assassins, and a celestial demi-god. Gamora had called it growing pains, but at this point, you weren't sure anymore. Quill had suggested that everyone was just cramped in the ship and grumpy because of it, but maybe he just wasn't ready to accept the fact none of you actually liked eachother.

Actually, that wasn't necessarily true. You liked some of your teammates, Mantis and Groot, for example. Drax and Gamora were also good company, and Quill introduced you to many of your favorite songs. Occasionally, you could even squeeze engaging conversations out of Nebula. That only left...Rocket.

-----

"Get outta here," he grumbled, dropping spare parts at his feet and disregarding you immediately upon entering your shared living space. You afforded him a sideways glare and scoffed, not bothering to look up from the sappy romance novel you were taking in.

"You can't just kick me out, Rocket, this is my room too." You chided from your bottom bunk, inches from his back. If you were willing to pay him any mind, you would've seen his fur stand up on end at your response.

"Yeah well, it was my room first and I need space to work. You can read that stupid chicklit anywhere ya want, but unless you wanna go into the next mission with a busted blaster, you better get." He barked, hunching over on the floor, going to work.

"I told you I don't need your help fixing it. I'm taking it to a professional when we land, asshole. Now give it back." You growled, sitting up and slamming the paperback down on the bed.

"No," he said frankly. "It's my job to fix shit when it breaks, so I'm fixing it. And for your information, I am a professional. Now get lost."

"Rocket, give me back my blaster, I don't want you working on it!" you protested, sharply standing up and narrowly missing his bunk with your head. "If you don't give it back, I'm telling Quill that you've been going through my stuff again!" It wouldn't have been a lie, either. You knew full and well that that gun was in your personal trunk earlier in the day. There was no way he'd 'just found it'.

Rocket went rigid, offended, and dropped the pieces in his hands. "Why don't you want me working on it? I made the damn thing in the first place, why wouldn't I be qualified to fix it, your highness?"

"Oh, don't give me that! You think I haven't noticed how it's only my stuff that breaks? You'll make the same thing for everyone, but somehow the one I get breaks every other week!" You huffed, fists clenched and eyes narrowed.

Finally, Rocket turned back to look at you, his nose nearly grazing your thigh in the sardine tin you called a bedroom. Rabid coal eyes bored into you as he stared you down, bearing teeth and growling. "And just what are ya implyin' there, princess?"

His intimidation tactics only triggered your own instinctual aggression, making your scaly tail sway as a warning, your lip curling up and revealing a jagged and carnivorous grin. "You're sabotaging my weapons and I know it."

"Take it back," he warned. "Now."

"No," you tested, leaning down closer to him. With shoulders bouncing with labored breath, he tried to calm himself to no avail. Suddenly, before you could register what had happened, you brought your hand to your burning cheek. Warm, red blood dressed your fingertips as you drew them back to observe them. In the background of your vision, Rocket shrunk against the wall, chest heaving.

"I-I'm sorry..." he whispered, barely audibly. "I-I didn't mean to-"

"Y-You scratched me...?" the hurt in your voice melted his resolve even further as you pressed your back to the bunks in an effort to be even centimeters further from him. Finally, you'd gained enough courage to bolt out of the door he was partially blocking, bounding over him like spooked prey. He watched you disappear within the depths of the ship, sobbing, likely to go tattle on him.

Rocket slid to the floor, holding his head in his hands. He didn't like hurting people, at least not ones that weren't hurting him first. But you'd hurt his feelings, right? He wracked his brain trying to justify how poorly he always treated you.

You were the thorn in Rocket's side, a headache that refused to subside. You got stuck in his fur and crept under his skin like an infection. He had become sickly addicted to yelling at you and eagerly awaited altercations with you. He was just excited to put you in your place, he'd tell himself. Winning arguments with you would get him so incredibly high, and losing them, incredibly low, all he could do to return to neutrality was relieve himself.

But he hated you, right? Rocket hated you so much, that sometimes, he'd listen to you snore from above when he couldn't sleep. Only to have something to bully you for the next day, of course.

-----

You stared at your disfigured face in the mirror, standing in the cubical of a bathroom that you all shared. Lightly, you drug your fingers over the quartet of shallow cuts. Sometimes you'd squeeze your cheek, just to watch a sparse dots of red surface. You were still in shock, unable to believe he'd actually tried to harm you.

Maybe you'd pushed him too far, maybe he really did hate you. Maybe you really did hate him. What you couldn't question, however, was the way your tummy churned at the sight and sensation. You couldn't possibly be aroused from this? God, you were sick.

-----

You lay flat on your back, back in your bunk with Rocket in the same position above, with nothing between you but air, aluminum bars, and a thin mattress. You could hear his shallow breathing, and you wondered if he was asleep or not, not that you were willing to check.

"(Y/N)," he finally spoke, swallowing painfully and running a paw over his forehead to soothe himself in some way. "You awake?"

You were almost scared to answer. What was the correct choice? Was he going to do something to you if you didn't answer? Would it be better to pretend to be asleep to avoid a fight? "Mhmm." you responded shakily.

"I was just gonna say, I put your blaster and a few spare parts in a box in your trunk," he mumbled, barely above a whisper. "Ya might wanna tell whoever ya take it to upgrade the trigger to something with less resistance, that should fix it for good."

"Thank you..." you breathed, quiet as a mouse. "I'll tell him."

"I'm sorry..." he stammered from above, curling himself in a comforting ball. "For...ya know? Does it still hurt...?"

"A little." you answered timidly. "They weren't very deep, it'll probably heal without any scarring."

Rocket's muscles instinctively relaxed at that, relieved he wouldn't have to look at your disfigured face and be reminded of his monstrous temper for long. "That's good..."

"I'm sorry I insulted you..." you confessed, lying still so as not to let the creaking bed disturb the quiet.

"Don't be, I'd be suspicious too." He finally let go of a breath he didn't know he was keeping. "And, for the record, I haven't been giving you broken tech on purpose, but I guess..." he halted, unsure if or how to admit his dark pleasures. "I guess I do kinda like it when we fight..."

"...Why?" you asked, a bit sickened.

Rocket's jaws parted again, as he thought he'd finally found the words to say, but suddenly, there was a searing ache in his chest. Reaching up, as if to catch it in his paws, he sighed. This wasn't the time, he hadn't come to terms with it yet.

"I guess...I just really can't stand you."

[swissboyhisch]

Last Call

Pairing: Jamie Drysdale x Reader

Summary: Inspired by "Last Call" by Will Linley

Word Count: 2104

Warnings: Uh mentions of making out and grinding. Alcohol.

THE MASTERLIST JOIN THE TAGLIST HOCKEY DISCORD

Late nights I'm not going home Found my friends but I lost my phone In the smoke Living is hard sometimes So I gotta clear my mind That's my favorite kind of night

It was Saturday night, meaning time to party. After a week of work, that was total and utter chaos, you needed the drink. Whether it was a strong drink or not didn’t matter. Your friend invited you along with some of her other friends to a party at a bar for her brithday. Since you finished late after being made to stay past your rostered time, you would be one of the last to arrive at the venue. You quickly swung by your apartment to change before heading there. 

The bar was busy when you arrived. People were packed in like sardines in a can. Luckily you were on the list for the party which gave you a quick entry through security. First things first was alcohol. The people surrounding the bar were four people deep while the poor bartenders rushed person to person. You scanned the crowd while waiting your turn. Hoping to spot your friend or even someone you recognised from her Instagram. When you finally reached the bar, you ordered your favourite drink. 

“There you are!” A voice shouted over the loud music pumping through the bar. A hand dropped onto your shoulder making you turn. Your friend stood there with a wide grin. “I tried messaging you but you didn’t respond.”

“That’s because I lost my phone after I arrived. I went to message you and it was knocked out of my hands within the crowd.” 

She laughed, “Doesn’t help there is a layer of smoke just covering the dance floor from the fog machines.”

“You sure that’s not all the vapes?” You joke. 

The pair of you made your way through the crowd and up stairs to where the booths were. In the corner was a large group of people around your age. Majority you didn’t recognise. But there was your friend’s boyfriend who you were yet to meet. Beside him was this cute guy with brown hair tucked under a backwards cap. He was cute.

Now at a bar Met this girl Through a friend of a friend We started dancing to ABBA Now I can't pretend To play it cool Might be a fool But I don't want it to end No, no, I don't want it to end

Jamie was invited out by Trevor and his girlfriend to celebrate her birthday. Since it was the start of Summer vacay, he had nothing else to do. Both boys were due to head home for the summer break next week. Trevor to Michigan to spend time with the Hughes’ brothers and co and Jamie back to Toronto to spend time with his family. 

The group was tucked away in the corner, hoping it would hide the two big time hockey hot shots from both fans and prying eyes. It was a decent sized group too. The only person beside Trevor Jamie knew was the birthday girl. Everyone else were her friends he had never met. 

Since the boys had finished their season, they were enjoying being able to drink and let loose. Each cradled a beer in their hands. Talking between each other. That was until Jamie got distracted. A pair of girls were nearing the group. One he had seen throughout the prior hours of being at the bar. The other, the one who caught his eye most, he had never seen in his life. And without missing a beat, Trevor noticed his awe-filled look.

“I’ll introduce you,” He laughed, pulling him from the booth over to the two girls. 

He tried to pull his hand from his grip, but drunk people are surprisingly strong. Hoping to save himself the embarrassment. When they stood in front of the two girls, Trevor’s girl was quick to latch herself onto him. The kiss between them bordering on making out. Probably for the 5th time tonight that Jamie had witnessed.

“This is Jamie, he’s Trevor’s best friend and roommate.”

You smiled, introducing yourself to him. Your smile was hypnotising. The little group returned to the booth. Jamie was able to sit beside you at the end of the seat. 

Everything was peaceful until the familiar notes of one of the best party songs started blasting through the bar. So many people were rushing to the dance floor to enjoy the song. Jamie was a fan of ABBA like Trevor was of Taylor Swift. He was going to go dance to this song. But why not bring the cute girl who was already smiling at him.

“Wanna dance?” You ask him.

When he thought you couldn’t get any better, here you were wanting to dance with him to ABBA. He led you through the crowd to a spot where you could be anonymous amongst the crowd. You settled into a spot just before the chorus kicked in. Both of you were close, dancing on each other. Wandering hands. The alcohol influences much of the moves between the pair of you.

You sing loudly with the rest of the crowd. “Gimme, gimme, gimme a man after midnight!”

At that moment, Jamie was lost. He knew he didn’t want this moment to end. This song. He had to play it cool, not make a fool of himself if he wanted to see you again. But deep down, he also knew tonight wasn’t the only night he’d be seeing you. 

Oh, it's last call Baby, I don't wanna go home They turn the lights on You pull in and give me one more I got the feeling of you kissing me Stuck in my head I'd let you break my heart If I can see you Can I see you again?

You and Jamie basically spent the night on the dancefloor. Trevor and your friend had no clue where you two had disappeared to. They just knew you guys were together thanks to a rather misspelt text to Trevor from Jamie’s phone. 

Last drinks were called. Something you and Jamie made sure to take advantage of and order one last drink for yourselves while you enjoy the rest of your short lived evening. The crowd was still dancing away. Getting even more hyped when another ABBA song played. This time it was Dancing Queen. One final song to enjoy together. Even better that it was an ABBA song. 

Unlike the last ABBA song to play though, where you were singing along to the lyrics. Your lips were on his. It was like life support for yourself. As you pulled away to catch your breath, the only thing on Jamie’s mine was your lips. On his. The feeling. Not breathing. Everything about you stunned him. 

To the pair of you, the crowd didn’t matter. Nothing else mattered but each other. The drunken haze was well in effect. Time flew. I mean, they always say time flies when you’re having fun. And dancing with a cute guy (tongues down each others’ throats) would definitely class as fun in your dictionary.

The lights of the bar turned on, blinding many drunk dancers still crowding the dancefloor. No more party lights or strobe lights. Just normal lights bathing you and Jamie in light. You two could now see each other better than before. Though it just added to how you both thought. They’re hot. 

Jamie couldn’t help himself. He was desperate. “Can I see you again?”

She looked at me and then she said "I've called a cab, it's on the way Oh, I’m glad we had just one night Wish it would turn into five But I'd die happy tonight"

“I’ve ordered an uber, it’s on the way.”

With no phone, there was no way for you to switch numbers. You’d get a new one or just lose Jamie’s if he wrote it down. You weren’t the most coordinated drunk person. Only seeming fine on the surface.

Jamie wrapped his jacket around your shoulders as the pair of you waited outside for your Uber. Jamie soaked in your presence. If he was honest to himself, if he died tonight, he’d be happy. But he wanted more than just tonight. He wants one more. Two more. Five would be great. 

But he’d always be thankful for the one carefree night you shared together at a kinda dingy bar in downtown Anaheim. 

You on the other hand fully believed there was more than this night for you and the cute guy. Something in your gut told you you’d be seeing each other more thanks to both of your best friends. The ever crazy masterminds to you two. 

The car pulled up in front of the pub and you confirmed it was yours. You turned to Jamie one more time, sharing a hug and a quick kiss. “Oh, I’m glad we had just one night but I wish it would turn into five.”

Oh, it's last call Baby, I don't wanna go home They turn the lights on You pull in and give me one more I got the feeling of you kissing me Stuck in my head I'd let you break my heart If I can see you Can I see you again? Can I see you again? Oh, can I see you again?

The boy watched you climb into your taxi and drive off into the midnight traffic of Anaheim. He ordered his own uber to take him back to Trevor and his apartment. Whether or not Trevor was there was a different thing altogether. 

When Jamie finally arrived at his apartment, he fumbled with keys for a hot moment. First after he let himself in was to shower. It didn’t matter if Trevor was home. Or even if he brought his girlfriend back here.  Hopefully the water would sober him up before going to bed. 

He laid in his bed thinking about the night. Thinking about you dancing in front of him. Singing away to ABBA without a care in the world. Jamie swears he could still feel your lips on his. Or your ass against his crotch as you both danced in the crowd. Everything about you lingered in his mind. Touch, smell, taste. Everything. 

Give me more. It was the only thing. Jamie wanted more time with you. To get to know you. Your quirks. Your passions. Was ABBA your favourite band? Was the perfume you wore your everyday scent or just for special occasions? Was the outfit tonight your usual outfit or do you like to dress up when going out?. 

Jamie then remembered something. It hit him like a freight train. He’d be able to see you again. You still had his jacket.

At a bar Met this girl Through a friend of a friend We started dancing to ABBA Can't play it cool Such a fool But I don't want it to end No, no, I don't want it to end

The ride home was depressing. His touch lingered on your body. His hands ghosting your waist. His jacket that was still wrapped around your shoulders scenting you in his cologne making it the only thing you smelt. It was like his ghost was beside you. WHispering ABBA lyrics in your ear like he had throughout the night.

You couldn’t believe a night out celebrating your friend’s birthday turned out to be the best night of your life. And it wasn’t because of the alcohol this year. It was all thanks to her boyfriend’s best friend. Jamie. Jamie Jamie Jamie. His name was on repeat. The only thing on your mind. On your drunk mind. ABBA was right, Gimme Gimme Gimme!

You went to bed once you got home. A bottle of water on your table with aspirin ready for the morning. Sleep deprived of its peace. Jamie Jamie Jamie. His lips were soft. His hands were rough. Hair soft and fluffy under the ducks’ cap he wore until you put it on your own head.

You hoped you played it cool. Didn’t make a fool of yourself. You wanted to see him again and you hoped he’d want to see you again. Maybe more than a night this time. You’d let him break your heart if you could only see him again. 

Oh, it's last call Baby, I don't wanna go home They turn the lights on You pull in and give me one more I got the feeling of you kissing me Stuck in my head I'd let you break my heart If I can see you Can I see you again?

TAG LIST:

@findapenny @mp0625 @hischierhaze @11zegras @lvrzegras @francesfarhadi @cixrosie @daisysthings

[galatially]

❝𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭❞

𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 / 𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 — 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐠𝐞!𝐛𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐲 𝐛𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐬 x 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐠𝐞!𝐛𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐤!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 — my gaze lingered, waiting for you to notice me; how far would bucky barnes go to get the attention of his favorite tutor?

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 — 3.5K

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 — 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐃𝐍𝐈, 𝟏𝟖+, strong language, thigh riding, oral (fem receiving), idiots in love

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 — my old page did not deserve the fics i had written for it, lol. because this was fucking cute

“…hello? James?” 

Fingers snapped in front of his line of sight. He blinked and saw your brown eyes in front of him, your full lips fixed into a frown. 

“You asked me here, remember? I have my own midterms to study for.”

Bucky smiled, broad and smug. “You know you love bein’ around me, Y/N/N.”

“Please stop calling me that. Only people from home call me that.”

Bucky leaned back in his chair. “Can I call you sugar?”

You gave him a flat look. “You can pay attention to this study guide I spent all night drawing up for you.”

Bucky blew out a breath, turned to the notes in front of him, and studied. For ten minutes. He looked over at you. The tip of your tongue peeked from between your plush lips as you scrawled out notes with one hand and flipped through your textbook with the other. 

When had he ever been so entranced by someone before? 

“Looking at me isn’t going to help you pass your Calculus II midterm,” you chided. 

“I’m hungry. You?”

You set down your pen, a thick brow arched. “If we break for food, will you let me study?”

A wolfish grin stretched across his face. “Among other things.”

“Fine.” You slammed your textbook shut and gathered your things. “Meet me at Daly’s in fifteen.”

Bucky nodded, a grin tugging at his lips. “See you in fifteen.”

Fridays at Daly’s were your least favorite nights.

The small pub couldn’t have held more than one hundred people but everyone seemed to want to pack in like sardines. Whiffs of cologne, floral perfume, and body odor intermingled with the smell of bar food and alcohol. 

You sat at the bar, nursing a glass of pear and apple cider, eyeing the door for signs of Bucky. You raised your phone and surveyed the screen: half past eight. 

He was supposed to be here twenty minutes ago! 

You sighed and took a sip of your drink. 

“Hey, Y/N/N.” 

Your childhood friend, Steve Rogers, took the stool beside you, his blue eyes bright. 

“Hey, Stevie,” you said, smiling. “What brings you here? I thought you had a study group tonight.”

He jabbed his thumb over his shoulder. “We’re taking a break to get some food and then heading back to my dorm. What about you? You not tutoring tonight?”

“I was. But my student wanted food and now he’s late.” You rolled your eyes. “I don’t even know why I agreed to this.”

“You even got dressed up,” the blond remarked. 

Your face warmed. “No, I didn’t!” Compared to what you normally wore, your fitted black jeans and lacy crop top were dressier. And maybe you dusted your favorite highlighter along the apples of your cheeks and swiped some of your trusty lipgloss on your lips. 

You didn’t do it for James Barnes. Far from it. 

“I just felt like getting a little cute, Rogers! Is that so bad?”

He put his palms up, a smirk on his lips. “I’m just saying you look mighty fine for someone you view as just a student.”

You took another sip of your cider. “I don’t think anything of James.”

Steve’s brows furrowed. “James? As in Bucky Barnes?”

“Why does everyone call him Bucky? That’s such an odd nickname.”

“It’s short for Buchanan,” a voice answered. 

You and Steve turned and saw the man in question standing behind them. His brown eyes were hard as they looked between the two of you. “It’s my middle name. Everybody calls me Bucky.” He tipped his chin to Steve. “‘Sup, Rogers?”

“Yo,” Steve said, throwing him a two finger salute. He stood up from his barstool and turned to face Jo. “Text me later, okay? Let me know you got home okay.”

“I can get her home just fine.”

You shot Bucky a glare. “Yeah, okay, Stevie. Have fun with your study group.”

Steve pressed a kiss to your temple and gave a short nod to Bucky before disappearing into the crowd of coeds. 

“You and Rogers, huh? Didn’t peg you for the type,” Bucky said.

You narrowed your eyes. “And what type is that, James?”

“The girl that falls for the blond-haired, blue-eyed, all-American type.”

“Not that it’s any of your business who I spend my time with, Steve and I have been friends since grade school. He’s practically my brother.” 

His face softened. “I’m sorry, sugar. I didn’t know.”

You shrugged. “You never asked.” You knocked back the rest of your drink and slammed a ten dollar note on the bar. “Good night, James.” You slid off of the barstool and pushed past him. 

A hand gripped your wrist. “Y/M, wait. I’m sorry. I know I’m late but I can explain.”

You didn’t need an explanation, you didn’t care. Why should you? You weren’t even really friends. Glorified acquaintances at best. But despite yourself, you turned to face him, a dark brow raised. “Well? Spit it out.” 

“I was nervous.” Under the dimmed lights, you saw his cheeks turn red. “Can I be totally honest with you? I don’t need your tutoring.” 

You frowned. “I don’t understand.”

“I signed up for your study sessions to get closer to you.” He took hold of your hand and threaded his fingers between yours. “I’ve been trying to find a way to get you to notice me and I figured that getting your help with a class was a good way.”

“Why go through all of that trouble, though?”

“Y/N.” Bucky looked you up and down. “I like you.”

Your jaw went slack. Did you hear him right? “You…like me?”

He tugged your arm and pulled you into his chest. His right thumb skimmed along the curve of your bottom lip. “I was pissed when I saw Rogers talking to you. Looked like you two were close.”

“We are,” you said, your voice hoarse. 

“Closer.”

You shook your head, your earrings hitting your cheeks. “Steve’s like a brother to me and I’m a sister to him. He’s dating a girl named Sharon from back home. She’s a Sociology major.” 

“Good to know.”

Bucky’s touch scorched your skin. When did his his free hand go to the small of your back? You couldn’t remember the last time a guy’s touch made you feel this way, if ever. But here you were, in James Buchanan Barnes’ arms in the middle of a dingy pub. 

“James, I — ”

“Have I ever told you I love when you call me James?” A slow smirk made its way onto his lips. “You make it sound so sensual. Sexy.” Your mouth dried. “Let’s get out of here.”

“Where are we going?” you asked, dazed.

“You’ll see.”

You had never put much thought to how Bucky’s dorm would look but you were surprised to see that he and his roommate were clean and organized.

Before you could say anything, his mouth slanted over yours. He buried his fingers in your curls and lightly tugged. The moan that left you was swallowed by the kiss. You fisted his shirt collar and yanked him forward. His kiss was sloppy, teeth and skin and tongues clashing together. 

“James.” His name was breathy as it left your lips. Your eyes flicked between his eyes and his mouth and that turned him on. Your chest rose and fell in exaggerated breaths. “What are we doing?”

“Something we should’ve done a long time ago.” Bucky kissed you again, harder than the first time. You moaned into the kiss and wrapped your arms around his neck as he pulled you onto his lap. Your clothed pussy ground against his thigh, your wetness dampening his pant leg. 

“You all wet for me, baby?”

“Yes, sir,” you teased, your voice husky. 

Bucky groaned and scooped your up into his arms and carried you to the bed. “Call me sir again and you won’t be able to walk for a week.” 

Your jaw went slack. You’d never heard him talk to you like that. So rough and authoritative. You put a hand on his chest. “Wait.”

“What’s wrong?”

Your brown eyes searched his. “If we do this, we can’t be just friends. You know that, right? Everything changes.” 

“Oh, Y/N/N.” Bucky stroked the side of your face. “I’ve never wanted to be just friends with you.” He kissed you again. Both pairs of hands fumbled to remove their clothing as you ground your wet mound against his clothed thigh. “Gettin’ eager, huh, sugar?”

You pulled back, a half smile on your lips. “Are you even Southern?” 

“I’m an army brat,” Bucky answered, “But I spent more time in Kentucky.”

“Huh.” You smiled. “You should tell me more about your childhood sometime.”

“Sure. But right now, I’m fuckin’ desperate to be inside of you.” His eyes lingered on your plush mouth. “And I’m curious to know how many times I can make you cum.”

You made a guttural sound in the back of your throat. Your head was spinning; no one had ever spoken to you like this before. From your few sexual encounters in university, you found that most men advertised themselves opposite of how they were. You’d find yourself left unsatisfied and had sworn off of flings in lieu of tutoring and classes. 

You’d been sitting on Bucky’s lap for mere minutes and you were ready to give yourself over to him tenfold. 

“Well?”

You blinked. “What?”

“How many times do you want to cum?”

You rested your head into the curve of his shoulder. “You can’t just ask me questions like that, James.” 

A shudder rippled through Bucky. “Why not? I want you to feel good.”

You nipped at the skin peeking out from beneath his shirt collar. “I want you to feel good, too.”

He groaned and flexed his thigh. The friction made you throw your head back and a loud moan to spill from your mouth. “Fuck, baby, you sound like sin.” He pressed hot, open-mouthed kisses to the column of her neck. He nipped and licked at the satin skin, chuckling when you hissed in pleasure. 

“Fuck.” 

You ground your wet cunt against his hard thigh, your grip on his shoulders tightening. Bucky’s hands found your hips and helped your build up a rhythm. Your breasts bounced as you rode his thigh and soft grunts and groans jumped from your honeyed mouth. You started moving faster, signaling you were close. “Fuck, James, I’m going to cum.”

Bucky tightened his hold on your hips. “You gonna cum from ridin’ my thigh? I haven’t even been inside yet.” He held you still and you whined, your brown eyes glaring and blown out. “I want to taste you.”

You eyes widened some. “What?”

He flipped them over and made quick work of your skin-tight jeans. His rough hands trailed along your hipbones and pelvis, tracing light circles in her skin. Your eyes screwed shut and you tucked your bottom lip between your teeth. His lips replaced his fingers and you sucked in a sharp breath. You fisted tufts of his hair when you felt his warm breath on your cunt.

Bucky kitten-licked your sensitive bud and you arched your back off of the bed. He loved how responsive you were. He looked up at your writhing form and chuckled. 

“Your pussy’s weeping for me, sugar.”

“Stop teasing me,” you whined. He licked a stripe up your slit and you yelped. “James!”

“Keep saying my name like that, sugar. Let the neighbors hear.”

Neighbors? You were so far gone you didn’t care if the whole campus heard you. You just needed his mouth. Your head was spinning and your body tingled. 

“I swear to God, Bucky, if you don’t fuck me — ” 

Your words left on a moan as his tongue dove into your creamy center. You’d never gotten head like this, fast and hard. Bucky pinched and rolled your clit between two fingers and you gasped, squeezing his head between your thighs. “Oh, fuck! Fuck, yes!”

His laughter vibrated against your pussy. He’d been dreaming about what you’d taste like. His fantasies did you no justice. You were sweet like honey and he couldn’t get enough. He threw your legs over his shoulders and took hold of your hips to still you. Your moans were frenzied and throaty, echoing off of his dorm room walls. He felt your belly tighten and added two fingers as he sucked and lapped at your cunt. 

“Fuck, Bucky, I’m cumming!” A broken mix between a sob and a moan left your mouth and you went limp.

“I’ll give you a few minutes to catch your breath,” he said, smug.

You threw an arm over your face. “I can’t. No more.”

Bucky moved up your body. “Oh, baby. We’re going all night.”

Bucky had woken alone many times in his life. But waking up beside the imprint of what was your body burned something hellish in his chest. 

“Yo, Barnes!” His roommate, Sam Wilson, pounded his fist against the door. “I need to get changed for my next class! Tell your guest to find her own room!”

Bucky groaned and scrubbed a hand down his face. “Come in, you idiot! ’S just me.”

The door opened with Sam’s head creeping around it. His brown eyes gave a tentative scan of the room before pushing the door and striding into the room. He looked his roommate up and down. “What’s that on your face?”

“What?”

“That look. Like somebody just kicked your damn dog in front of you.” Sam threw his shirt over his head and went to rifle through his wardrobe. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Bucky said on a sigh. 

“Bullshit. I’ve never seen you so hurt.” Sam draped a towel over his shoulder. “What, your little flavor not like you in the daylight?”

Bucky threw a pillow at him. “Shut the fuck up.”

“What! I’m just askin’ a question!” Sam turned to face him, shower caddy in hand. “Whatever that girl did to you last night wasn’t what you needed.” He rolled his eyes and left Bucky alone in their room. 

“It’s what she did this morning,” Bucky said to himself. 

After not hearing from you for two weeks, Bucky had gone to the tutoring center to question you. Why were you ignoring him? Was the sex too far? Why did she leave him that morning?

He knocked on the glass window and saw Maria Hill, the librarian and director of the tutoring center, sitting at her desk. Her bespectacled blue eyes found his, a wide smile stretched along her lips. “James! I haven’t seen your name on the sign-in sheet in a while. What’s up?”

“Hey, Ms. Hill.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Have you heard from Y/N? I don’t have her number but she’s been ignoring my messages and I was getting worried.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I thought she put the bulletin on Blackboard.” Bucky raised a brow. “She’s been sick the past two weeks. Her roommate, Wanda, has been getting her coursework for her.”

“Oh.”

Ms. Hill gave him a small smile. “If you want to check on her, go talk to Wanda.”

Bucky nodded. “You wouldn’t happen to know where I’d find her, would you?”

“I’m sorry, no.” She pursed her lips in thought. “But I think her friend Steve would.”

“Hey, Bucky.”

There was no plausible reason for Bucky to have disliked Steve Rogers as much as he did. Well, he knew the reason. From what little Bucky knew about him from you and Sam, he was a nice guy. He was the football team’s running back, he tutored like you did, and vice president of Lambda Kappa Tau. Though he was too boy next door for Bucky’s taste, they could be great friends if they’d spent a night at Daly’s together. 

The local diner, Rusty’s, was quiet this afternoon.  Bucky had seen Steve on shift a few times he’d come in with you for breaks but they rarely spoke. “Hey, R — Steve. I’m sorry to interrupt you while you’re at work.”

Steve waved him off, a broad smile on his face. “No problem. What’s up?”

“I wanted to ask if you’ve heard from Y/N lately.”

Steve sighed and shook his head. “Last I heard about her was a Snapchat message from Wanda last week. Said that she was banning contact to Y/N until she got better.” He lifted a shoulder. “We’ve texted a few times since when she’s awake but I haven’t seen her, no.”

Bucky hummed. “Well, at least I know she’s not ignoring me.”

“Ignoring you? What’d you do?”

“Nothing!” Steve raised a brow. “We just — we had a thing. A moment, really, last Friday.”

“After that night at the bar.”

“Yeah. I mean, I thought we were fine. But thinking back, maybe I came on too strong.” Bucky put his face in his hands and groaned. “I fucked up.”

“Look,” Steve sighed, “I can’t speak for Y/N but I’ve known her since fourth grade. She’s not someone that runs away from issues or people.” He chuckled. “Besides, she never fakes being sick. She’s too much of a workaholic.”

Bucky snorted. “Tell me about it.”

Steve chuckled. “Yeah, I’ve heard from some of the guys on the team that she was worse than some of their hardest professors. Though I don’t know why you were one of her tutees.”

“What makes you say that?”

“You’re in my buddy, Piet’s, STAT301 class. From what I’ve heard, Biostatistics is no walk in the park.” 

“If you’re talking about Maximoff, tell him he owes me coffee and a new notebook.”

“I will,” Steve said, laughing. A blonde came up beside Steve and motioned to the table across from where both men stood. “Let me finish up here. Thanks, Nadine.” He turned back to Bucky. “I’m going to give you Wanda’s number. Text her to see if Y/N willing to have visitors.”

“Thanks.” The right side of Bucky’s mouth quirked up. “You’re an all right guy, Steve.”

“You’re not so bad yourself, Bucky. Maybe after you and Y/N figure your thing out, we can all hang. Me, you, Y/N, and my girlfriend, Sharon. It’d be nice.”

Bucky clapped a hand onto his shoulder. “I’d really like that.” 

“Y/N/N?”

From beneath your duvet, you poked your head out. “Yeah?”

“You’ve got a visitor. One of your students.”

You groaned. “Tell whoever it is that I’m indisposed, Wanda. Give them the number of my replacement.”

“You hiding from me, Y/L/N?”

Despite the pounding in your head, you jolted forward at the voice. Leaning against your doorway stood James Buchanan Barnes in all of his sexy glory. Suddenly, you were aware of your own state of dress: bloodshot eyes, oversized bonnet atop your head, and a low cut tank top with no bra. 

You squared your shoulders and narrowed your eyes. “What are you doing here?”

“I had to go through three people to find you,” he said. “You had me worried.”

Your face softened. “You don’t need to worry about me, James.” You gave a weak chuckle. “I’m just a little tired, is all.”

“Your roommate said that you overworked yourself.” He crossed the room and turned on your bedside lamp. In the soft glow, his brown eyes were soft as they took you in. His large hand cupped your forehead. “You still have a bit of a fever. Have you eaten today?”

“I just woke up,” you admitted. 

“Have you been drinking water?”

“There’s a water bottle in front of my side dresser.” You put your hand over his and moved it to your cheek. “I’m sorry I made you worry.”

Bucky smiled. “’S fine. I like taking care of you.”

You chuckled. “Don’t count me out just yet. Before you came, I was awake for three hours.”

“Bravo.” He moved his hand away from you face. “I want to talk about last Saturday. If that’s okay.”

You pulled your brows down. “What about it?”

“You left. No note, no text. You just left me alone.”

Your eyes flicked to your bedroom door. “Can you shut the door, please? This sounds like a private conversation.” 

He nodded and strode across the room, closing the door. When he turned to face you, you’d pushed your duvet off of your body and moved to the middle of your bed. 

“Come sit down.”

“Sugar — ”

“Please, Bucky.” He sighed and moved to sit beside you. “You told me that you liked me and I never answered.”

“You didn’t.”

“Well, I do. Like you, I mean. I don’t know why I never said anything.” You smiled at him. “Though the sex solidified it for me.”

“So to clarify: you like me, too, and you weren’t avoiding me?”

“Why would I avoid you? You’ve literally seen me naked!”

Bucky threw his hands in the air. “I don’t know! I thought that I did something or that you didn’t feel the same way.”

“Of course I like you, you clown.” You rested your head against his shoulder. “So much.”

Bucky pressed a kiss to your temple. “Enough to go on a real date with me?”

“Are you going to be on time?”

“For you, I’ll be early.” 

𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 — i'll say it once, i'll say it again: brown 👏🏽 eyed 👏🏽 bucky 👏🏽 supremacy 👏🏽

[sitp-recs]

Masterclass in smut 🔥

Happy Friday everyone! As promised, here’s a multishipper/multi-fandom smutty reclist with my personal wank bank favorite ships doing the nasty and being 100% unapologetic about it. I could maybe split these between 2 categories, evocative and downright problematique filth - y por que no los dos??? Naturally, everything’s (very) Explicit here. Bon Appétit my horniessss

Has the Touch by professorfangirl (Bond/Q, 007, 2k) - the sexiest, most intimate and organic smut I’ve ever read, #writing goals

Bond is good with his hands.

Slip Free of My Grasp by @lqtraintracks (Harry/Sirius, HP, 3.5k) - 1st person pov goals, sinful and redeeming at once. This Sirius holds my heart

I don't want to be bad for him. I want to do bad things and still be, somehow, inexplicably, good.

Sardines by @shiftylinguini (Scorbus + Jeddy, HP, 4k) - a masterpiece with impeccable atmosphere, no one has ever made borderline incest feel so light & playful

It’s bad enough his cock is hard from listening to the impromptu midnight pornography of his brother getting off; Albus is not going to add seeing it to the list of reasons why he lost his mind, and presumably his eyesight, on the eve of his grandmother's seventieth.

Tremolo by Lilsoshie, marose (Tony/Peter, MCU, 4.3k) - stream of consciousness smut with insatiable Tony and exhausted af Peter

“You’re gonna ride me,” Tony decides, easing his fingers free and cherishing the unhappy whine the move inspires. “Up, come on.”

The Lies We Live With by @bixgirl1 (Jeddy, HP, 5k) - peak angsty smut, just the tip has never hurt this much :(

It doesn’t really count… is almost always followed by a lie, James learns, growing up.

Honeyboy by dollylux (Wincest, Supernatural, 6k) - filthy underage semi-public incest, see y’all in hell 🤠

While John's running an errand in the backwoods in Louisiana, Sam finds a way to keep Dean occupied. (Sex kitten!Sammy and trying-so-hard-to-be-good-in-public-and-failing!Dean.)

Ravishing by Miss_Lv (Newt/Percival, Fantastic Beasts, 7.6k) - give me dead dove like this or give me nothing!!!

Theseus holds a dinner party at his home and once Newt plays his part, he escapes, unaware he has an admirer following him.

Toeing the Line by @shiftylinguini (Tedrarry, HP, 8k) - nothing gets me more into Harry/Teddy than watching Harry watch Draco fuck Teddy. Filthy & sweet but really, this is here for the brilliant title plus daddy kink

Draco wasn’t sure why watching his partner fuck Teddy until he screamed was somehow less morally iffy for Harry than just doing it himself, but Draco wasn’t about to judge. Not when he was balls deep, anyway.

Only As Directed by rageprufrock (Hartwin, Kingsman, 12k) - possessive love is knowing how to share :)

“Arthur is a bad man,” Roxy had said. “Fucking tell me about it,” Eggsy had muttered, and gone to put on the tarty trousers Harry had picked out for him like a fucking high-end pimp.

Burned Silk, Buckled Leather by @ruinsplume (Sirius/Draco, HP, 12k) - stunning catharsis smut, liberating and full of kink positivity

When Sirius discovers a down-and-out Draco Malfoy lurking around the edges of a Muggle kink club, he thinks he knows just what Draco needs. He isn't expecting to run into some long-buried needs of his own.

Euphoria by birdsofshore (Scorbus + Dralbus, HP, 22k) - my go-to wank material, dilf Draco can step on my face anytime

A fire is prickling in the pit of my belly. I feel a little like I'm watching this happening to someone else. Al's sitting there, reeking of another man's sweat and come. He looks miserable and anxious... but also well-fucked. I look at his mussed hair, his bitten lips. I've never wanted him more.

From Thy Bounty by feyrelay, natureboy (Tony/Peter, MCU, 32k) - masterclass in both building and resolving sexual tension

Tony’s eyes are always dark, but now there's almost no iris left. He looks hollowed out. There’s something terribly hungry there, despite the feast they've filled themselves on.

Sötnos by Miss_Lv (Newt/Percival, Fantastic Beasts, 37k) - exquisite world building, blows my mind every time

Newt was expelled from Hogwarts but his parents managed to get him into another school, Durmstrang. There, Newt is taken under wing by the kind Professor Graves, who teaches him everything he needs to know about making new friends.

Heart Toward the Highway by Edwardina (Jo Harvelle/John Winchester, Supernatural, 43k) - the only F/M story you’ll ever need to read, I promise

Jo, fresh out of high school, has left home and wound up on the road with John, trying to learn the ropes from someone who isn't exactly sharing and caring. John, distant and impatient, isn't really a partner, friend, or role model -- which means that Jo's gotta get all stupid and hot for him. Their stoic apprenticeship starts to unravel as Jo starts to run out of clothes and John can't ignore her anymore.

Breezeblocks by hellhoundsprey (Supernatural RPF, 59k) - I have no idea how I found this, I don’t even read RPF. if you’re into cuckolding + humiliation: it doesn’t get any better than this

After months of doubts and suspicions, Jake ends up catching his husband red-handed when he comes home early one Friday afternoon. A/B/O

[sukisukisu]

Stuck in the jet wash

Bad trip I couldn't get off

And maybe I bit off more than I could chew

And overhead of the aqua blue

(The kids aren't alright- Fall Out Boys)

---

If I want to touch him, Iwaizumi thought, so be it, just touch him.

"You still haven't gotten over the habit of buying a bunch of ready-to-eat food for the whole week, have you? Cooking one proper meal will kill you or something ?" he asked, his voice monotonous through the speaker, a very Iwaizumi Hajime kind of tone. He always tried to be polite to everyone, but at the same time, Iwaizumi knew he didn't want to.

(It's a relief to think about the fact that, Oikawa was the only one who knew all this about him)

"Yes, sorry for always being a clumsy person, sorry for always being wrong, Mr.Iwaizumi" Oikawa sighed. Iwaizumi was in his dorm in Irvine, and it was dark now, the sounds of the city rushing in to fill up the empty room. Oikawa, on the other end of the line, was far away in Buenos Aires. Suddenly Iwaizumi realized how much he missed hearing this teasing tone so close to his ear.

"But you know, Iwa-chan. Time is treasure, and money. I want to focus all my time on volleyball. If not, why could I still standing here?" Oikawa exhaled. Iwaizumi didn't say anything approving, but he let out a small, complacent hum.

"Well, I guess you're not wrong" Iwaizumi sighed, more helpless than in surrender. He wondered where Oikawa was. He didn't hear any other sounds around him, maybe Oikawa was at home. "But I mean, you need to balance your life too, Oikawa. I don't want to go to your funeral yet"

"It's okay, it's okay. Everything's fine, Iwa-chan" Oikawa boasted "Recently, I've improved my reaction speed to the ball from one second two to one second. Sooner or later I'll get to play oversea"

"You talk like a clock or something . It's awful" Iwaizumi said bluntly, and Oikawa let out a disgruntled cry. Iwaizumi could never understand it, but Oikawa once said that he liked the calculation, because he wanted everything to be perfect, and loved the feeling of the ball reaching the palm of his teammate in the right amount of time. He liked it, when everything was in order, his lips parted, counting the passing moments. One, two. A pass is two seconds. The jumping block is three seconds. Fast pass is one second five. "I remember when I was in high school I was influenced by you too. I kept counting one, two before I jumped. Not so much now, though"

"You can use that habit for many things Iwa-chan, in normal life, for example" Oikawa hummed. "Like the three-second, and five-second rule. Do you measure anything else like that?"

(If I want to touch him, Iwaizumi thought, so be it, just reach out)

(It's only three seconds)

"No, nothing," he lied. Oikawa fell silent, an invisible nod that both of them understood. Oikawa then tried to convince him of his habit of shopping for ready-to-eat food, the health benefits of a box of dried sardines, and told him to buy presents for their parents, the next time they would return to Miyagi.

(Not just three seconds anymore, Iwaizumi thought. It's thirteen hours now, do you have to be so far away from me?)

---

Fall to your knees bring on the rapture

Blessed be the boys time can't capture

On film or between the sheets

I always fall from your window

To the pitch black streets

---

They were sitting together in class, their desks by the windows, and when the glass is pulled aside they'll be able to have their own cherry blossom branch. The branch seemed to have grown in a different trajectory than the others, hanging down from the window of their third-floor classroom instead of floating in the pale blue sky like others. This was Oikawa's favorite lunch spot, Iwaizumi remembered. Though to him it was nothing more than a nuisance, as cherry blossoms always covered his lunch box.

"Not again!" Iwaizumi let out a disgruntled groan, clutching his head as a peach petal fell straight into his bowl of soup. It was springtime, and his mother had prepared a squash soup for him, which she said was perfect for this weather. Anyway, he couldn't eat it anymore now. "I'm so sick of this place"

"Sometimes we should just enjoy those small moments in life, Iwa-chan" said Oikawa intelligently—something Iwaizumi detested. "You'll miss this all later, when we're not here anymore"

Oikawa's statement made them both fall silent for a second, even though Iwaizumi knew it was just a frivolous but factual remark. They both knew what was coming, though both avoided it like a giant elephant in the room. They were in their final year, the college entrance exam is approaching, and then they would have to find their own way. Though it sounded shallow, Iwaizumi hated thinking about those things, about what school he's going to, where he's moving to, the things he often called "adult worries". He wanted his life to be just like it was then- only him and Oikawa, the volleyball team, school, dinner, and the desire to become stronger. Thinking that all of this would eventually end made him feel both frustrated and heartbroken, like a child who lost his favorite toy he was holding in his hand.

"Have you thought about where to go?" It was Oikawa who asked, ending the silence that hung between them. He knew Iwaizumi didn't want to stay in Japan- he said that Tokyo was too complicated to live in, and he didn't really want to continue his career as a volleyball player. As usual, Oikawa always knew what Iwaizumi was thinking. He wasn't sure why either.

"For the time being, I'm considering between California and Brazil, or Korea. They have a very good university program, and the scholarship amounts are also very high" Iwaizumi said. Oikawa replied with the sound of bread crumbling in his mouth. What is he, six years old? "But anyway, I want to choose the closest place to Japan. I also have to calculate how long it is from the airport to where I will live and which country is the easiest to issue a Visa"

"I mean, you can just go where you want. There's no need to think so much. If you want to go---- then just go" Oikawa explained calmly. A hand tapped on his chin, and Iwaizumi's eyes widened, as if surprised, before that expression slipped from his face. Looking calm, Iwaizumi shrugged.

"And what can guarantee that, there will be no risks if I just go where I want to go, without any consideration?"

Oikawa smiled. Iwaizumi narrowed his eyes, he didn't understand, couldn't understand. The midday sun shone on Oikawa's face, a glimmer of light, winding through the air.

"Because no matter where Iwa-chan is, I'll be there to find you whenever you need me"

---

Surviving in California wasn't easy for Iwaizumi, even though he never wanted to admit it. After being encouraged by Oikawa that year, Iwaizumi decided to go to Irvine, and signed up for a small volleyball team while waiting for the results of his college entrance exams. At that time, everything was still easy. He lived in a small apartment, the window overlooking the street, watching the flow of people. His apartment was a five-minute bus ride and a ten-minute walk from the gym. Everyone was friendly to him, every Friday they would go to party at the restaurant just down the street. California was so similar but also so different from Japan, especially when you place Irvine next to the Miyagi. The night in Irvine was always alive, in a sense that wasn't very pleasant to him. How can one sleep in a city like this?

"You can never actually separate the night and day here" another Japanese guy on the team told Iwaizumi. Apparently his name is Takehito. "It's not easy to live here, Iwaizumi" Takehito said while packing things from his closet into his personal bag. He applied for leave to return home. "I'll just go back to Japan. My parents said it's okay, and everything will be fine. I'll give it a try there" then he gave Iwaizumi a rare smile "But one day, I hope I will see you on TV"

Iwaizumi found himself different from that moment, from the day Takehito returned home, until he received an invitation from Birtwistle University, for a scholarship to the athletic training department. But studying was no way easy, and Iwaizumi had to move from his tiny apartment with beautiful windows into the school dormitory in the city center. His classmates were not very friendly. They were taller, and harder to approach. They didn't try to talk to him. It took him twenty minutes to walk from the dormitory to the nearest restaurant. Weekends were no longer a concept to Iwaizumi, as he spent almost all of his time at the library, and the chatty calls between him and Oikawa dwindle before disappearing altogether. Currently, they only call when there was a need.

Suddenly, Iwaizumi realized how great the distance between them had became. He could no longer reach out and touch him, one, two, three, and his hand reached Oikawa, and Oikawa turned to smile at him, like a strip of spring sunshine. No, that had gone too far, and Oikawa was on the other side of the continent. There was no way Iwaizumi could reach out to touch him anymore. Not just three seconds. No more feeling the warmth of his flesh, like one reaching out to touch the sun. Just a palm filled with air.

"Iwaizumi-san" someone called out, causing him to flinch. Iwaizumi looked up, it was Ushijima. He looked even taller than when he was in high school, even though he was already something different from them then. He almost forgot they were at the park chatting after meeting Ushijima's father, not having time to regain his composure until the other handed him a can of Pocari sweat.

"You got heatstroke? Your face looks a bit tense" said Ushijima, very casually. Iwaizumi never thought he was that kind of caring person. "If you want, we can go home"

"I'm fine, thank you" Iwaizumi nodded politely and popped the lid of the can. Its sticky taste was so familiar, it made him smile a little. "In high school we used to drink this like it was water, so nostalgic"

"You're not wrong" replied Ushijima. It seemed that what Iwaizumi said also made him think a bit. "Miyagi sure is amazing"

Iwaizumi was silent, because the other was right. There was something about Miyagi that always held him back, even though he was an ocean, and twenty-two hours away. Relaxed days, without thinking about the worries of adults, a volleyball on his shoulder. Peach blossoms outside the window of their classroom in Aoba Johsai. His training shoes were lying next to Oikawa's, and they were sprawled on the floor, drenched in sweat. Oikawa reached out his hand to touch the sunlight as if it were something, and his face was disappointed as if he wanted to hold it tightly in his hand. Iwaizumi didn't know why he remembered that scene now. Oikawa's hand clenched, sunspots dancing across his face.

Iwaizumi realized he could never forget that face.

"Do you want to go back to Miyagi, Iwaizumi-san?"

---

I'm not passive but aggressive

Take note, it's not impressive

Empty your sadness

Like you're dumping your purse on my bedroom floor

We put your curse in reverse

---

They were sitting side by side in the shade of Kitagawa Daiichi High School's gym, and Iwaizumi remembered that at the time, Oikawa was crying. His face was flushed red, buried in the collar of his blue-white jacket with their middle school logo on it, his eyes puffy, tears streaking down his cheeks. Iwaizumi sighed, pulling out a handkerchief. He was already too used to this.

"Listen, everything's fine. We'll do better next year" Iwaizumi said, trying to sound as sympathetic as possible, thrusting the towel into Oikawa's hand. With the stubborn expression still on, Oikawa blew his nose. "Shiratorizawa is strong, but they're just a team like us. Just practice and we can beat them. So stop crying, okay?"

"I can't accept it...." Oikawa sobbed, his face buried in the handkerchief  "Unacceptable....we practice until it's dark....every day.... only to lose..." He pouted "It's not fair"

"I know, I know" Iwaizumi rolled his eyes. He, honestly, didn't feel as miserable as Oikawa was feeling right now. I mean, last year they lost to Shiratorizawa too. The year before... and the year before that, as well. It was humiliating to think about, however, Iwaizumi didn't think he had the need to show it out like Oikawa, so he kept quiet. But Oikawa seemed to have something else in mind, so Iwaizumi saw him look up, his eyes shining like stars.

"Listen, Iwa-chan. Do you know what the summer solstice is?" Oikawa said. Seeing him shake his head, Oikawa let out a sigh.

"The summer solstice is the beginning of summer in the northern hemisphere. Which means it's the only day of the year where the day is longer than the night. It's the longest day of the summer" he explained, scrutinizing Iwaizumi's face. Eyes shining, it was hard to believe that Oikawa was in the ninth grade, the province's best second passer, and the captain of the Kitagawa Daiichi volleyball team. He looked just like a kid.

"That means, on this day we have more time to play volleyball, the longest day we can practice together in a year. So from now on, we will play volleyball a lot on that day, and then we'll get better. And then, we'll defeat Shiratorizawa, okay?"

(At that time, his way of thinking was only enough to deceive children. However, Iwaizumi still wanted to listen to him. He still wanted to believe)

"That's a good idea, Oikawa" Iwaizumi exhaled, grinning. Oikawa nodded.

"Then promise me, that we'll spend the summer solstice every year together. And we'll get stronger. We'll be the strongest pair in Japan!"

Oikawa held out his hand, and Iwaizumi waved it at him, a habit of theirs.

"I promise"

---

And it's our time now if you want it to be

Maul the world like a carnival bear set free

And your love is anemic and I can't believe

That you couldn't see it coming from me

---

"I can't make it this year" one day when Oikawa called him, Iwaizumi lied.

He didn't have to turn on the video mode to picture Oikawa's face right now. He must have been frozen in front of the phone, arms crossed over his chest, eyebrows furrowed stubbornly—the kind of Oikawa Tooru expression he used to make when he didn't get what he wanted. Then Iwaizumi would have to coax him with some reason that would be able convince Oikawa, hopefully, so that he would just let it go and forget about it. He was so used to this scenario.

"I have a particularly important test. You know, I'm in my fourth year, my final year. I can't miss any chance to graduate" he lied again, the words overlapping, he knew it was all a pathetic counter-measure. "That's why I'm not going back to Miyagi. But Ushiwaka will go, I guess"

"I don't care about Ushiwaka at all, are you crazy out of your mind??!" Oikawa hissed from the other end of the line in displeasure. His voice was shrill, filled with anger, and Iwaizumi understood why. "We already didn't come back last year, Iwa-chan. And the year before as well"

"What's the point of coming back there?" Iwaizumi sighed "We've been gone for four years anyway"

"Well, we should go back to watch this year's Seijou match against Shiratorizawa. Go back and have a beer with Mattsun and Makki. Go back, and have a surprise party to congratulate Yahaba on his promotion. Let's go home, back to our old practice room in Aoba Johsai, Iwa-chan" Oikawa explained. Iwaizumi admitted that all of the reasons Oikawa listed were valid, but he couldn't let himself give in.

"I'm so sorry, but I can't miss the exam this time He sighed. Somehow, Iwaizumi had a feeling that Oikawa didn't believe him. He always knew when he was lying, but despite that, Iwaizumi was still here. He really didn't want to see Oikawa. At least, not right now.

"I see" Oikawa hummed, then sank into a thoughtful, silent silence "It's just...."

"It's just that I feel like you're so far away from me, Iwa-chan"

Consciousness slammed into Iwaizumi like a bullet train, and he felt his hand freeze for a moment. No matter how much they both avoided it, despite the fact that they already knew it was true, Iwaizumi- like Oikawa- never wanted to admit, that their relationship wasn't what it used to be. They were different. They were adults, with adult worries, and Iwaizumi had forgotten how close Oikawa felt to him, as well as the love he had never expressed. He didn't want to say it, nor did he intend to say it. He just wanted to keep Oikawa there, close enough for Iwaizumi to see him, but far enough for Iwaizumi not to touch, to not need to touch him.

It was him who pushed Oikawa away, but as a natural reaction, he wished Oikawa would come closer to him, once again placing his hand on his forehead, laughing into his throat. As a natural reaction, he avoided Oikawa, but he was the one who craved him, more than anyone.

How ironic.

"Stop saying things like that"

"What?"

Iwaizumi was silent. His lips pursed.

"I don't want to hear you talk about such things anymore" Iwaizumi repeated. "Our relationship--- it's fine. We're grown-ups, Oikawa. We're not two eighteen years old anymore. We don't have to stick together all the time. So-- you don't have to, think about me so much. Just let--- let things be. I'm just one of them people in your life"

Deep down inside, Iwaizumi knew Oikawa wasn't wrong. He knew it all- about the short, awkward conversations, about the calls that dwindled and stopped altogether. Suddenly, Iwaizumi wondered how his old self would feel. If he went back in time, and told eighteen-year-old Iwaizumi that he didn't want to be Oikawa's best friend anymore, he would probably punch him in the mouth and call him an idiot. That's what Iwaizumi was, he was an idiot. He knew his eighteenth self would reach out to touch Oikawa and hold him tightly in his arms with all his might, but now, he wouldn't allow himself to do that anymore, wouldn't give himself the right to that anymore.

Oikawa didn't say anything. He hung up, and Iwaizumi couldn't reach him until a week later.

---

And sometimes I just wanna sit around and

Gaze at my shoes

And let your dirty sadness fill me up

Just like a balloon

---

They were sitting next to each other on Aoba Johsai's gym floor, it was the summer solstice of their senior year in high school. The two had been practicing all day, just like the promise they had made to each other, so Iwaizumi thought his poor back was falling to pieces as he collapsed onto the wooden floor. Oikawa was sitting up straight, thinking about something. He was always thinking about something, it was weird. Iwaizumi reached out, his fingertips touching Oikawa's shirt, the white and blue plaid uniform shirt worn over the years. At that time, Oikawa was still very close.

"What's wrong, Iwa-chan?" Oikawa asked with wide eyes. Outside the door, dusk was slowly falling, signaling the end of the longest day of summer, and also the beginning of summer.

Iwaizumi felt his mind relax at that thought.

"Nothing" he grinned, exhaling. He didn't even know why he was so happy. "Suddenly I feel happy because summer is coming"

"You've always liked summer, haven't you, like a child" Oikawa made an innocuous remark. Iwaizumi glanced at him, and Oikawa seemed to falter. "Okay, me too, fine, I'm sorry" the brunette exhaled, surrendering.

"But this summer is the last summer I'll be able to practice with Iwa-chan. It's sad to think about, to be honest"

Ever since they were two kids, Iwaizumi and Oikawa have always loved summer. Iwaizumi was born in June, a month before Oikawa, so his mother made a joke that they were the children of summer. Iwaizumi remembered that they were both very proud of that, a childish pride. But for him and Oikawa, summer is the season of freedom, no school, no homework, the sun is always overhead and a big field with a ball for them to play freely. Summer is the season to rest and do what they want, the blue on the back of Oikawa's shirt when he jumps for a serve, the sticky taste of Pocari sweat dripping down their throat, Oikawa's hand holding his, sweaty, but never letting go. It is often said that high school is the spring of life, although Iwaizumi still stubbornly believed that it should be summer.

"That's not wrong" Iwaizumi exhaled. "We trained really hard today, anyway. Even though I don't think we'll ever face Ushiwaka again" he pretended to stick his tongue out, shaking his head. At the thought of that name, Iwaizumi was bored to the core. They had haunted each other for years now, it was finally time to let go.

"Actually... that's why we don't need to practice today. But for some reason I still wanted to call you over"

"You're too cheesy" Iwaizumi laughed. The setting sun poured into the gym, licking his shins.

Oikawa did not answer. Iwaizumi jerked his head up when he didn't hear him reply, with a laugh, or perhaps an exclamation, as his talkative nature often did. But nothing came. Oikawa said nothing, and when Iwaizumi tilted his head to look at him, he saw that Oikawa's face was red.

(Don't say anything, he thought. Please don't)

"Perhaps because...." Oikawa hesitated. But then he squeezed his hand, his eyes wavering.

(With each summer, you'll get further and further away from me, thought Iwaizumi. So don't say anything. You know that's better for both of us)

"Perhaps because today is the longest day of the year, that I can be with Iwa-chan" continued Oikawa. His eyes filled with tears, like that day when he cried after the loss, and Iwaizumi comforted him, the day they made that promise. A promise for the summer solstice, a handshake at dusk, a handkerchief, a smile. Iwaizumi remembered those things as clearly as if it were yesterday.

"One day in a year may sound like a big deal, but compared to our whole life, it's merely a second" Oikawa laughed. "So if it's just for a second, can you stay with me?"

---

On the summer solstice of 2023, Iwaizumi did not go to class.

The previous call between him and Oikawa kept Iwaizumi miserable for a week, as he deserved. He tried calling him many times but couldn't, all his messages went straight to voicemail. No calls from Matsukawa and Hanamaki- maybe Oikawa didn't tell them. He spent his days buried in blankets and survived on fast food and water. The hum of the air conditioner was the only sound he could hear these days. Looked like his utility bill will increase. Iwaizumi couldn't care less. He deserved it.

The clock showed nine o'clock in the morning. Iwaizumi turned on his phone, realizing that today was the summer solstice, he had almost forgotten about it. June twenty-two, the text on his screen appeared. He sighed heavily, and was actually about to go back to his sleep, until someone knocked on his door.

"The utility bill isn't due today" Iwaizumi called out, his voice slurred, tired. Damn, he hated this dorm.

There was silence on the other side of the door. And then, Iwaizumi's eyes widened.

"If you don't open this door, Iwa-chan" the voice said, "I swear, quite seriously, that I'll kill you"

And in the end

I'd do it all again

I think you're my best friend

Don't you know that the kids aren't al, kids aren't alright?

It was like a shock, and suddenly, all the sounds in the world seemed to have returned to him, crashing into Iwaizumi's room like a giant storm. The sound of the city, the music outside the window, his TV crackling, his heart pounding. Iwa-chan. Its tone was painfully familiar, nostalgia exploding and rattling in his chest like a chemical reaction. Iwaizumi mumbled, getting out of the blankets and crawling up, heading for the door. His hand was cold when he placed it on the doorknob, and for a minute he wondered what it would be like if he hadn't opened it. But he knew this time, he had to do the right thing after all the mistakes, so---

(Three seconds, only three seconds)

Oikawa's arms wrapping around him, and the scent of shampoo in his hair smelled like cherry blossoms, his body warm, his shoulders lightly shook as they collided. Oikawa was like a hurricane hitting right in his little room, and it really scared the hell out of Iwaizumi with what all this could do, but at the same time he thought he'd never been so happy. Turned out that's all it took. It only took three seconds to reach him, three seconds for his mouth to open and call "Oikawa!", three seconds to dial the phone, thirteen hours to get to Buenos Aires. That's all, but he didn't do it, never had the courage to do it. Perhaps he was never as brave as he thought.

(If I want to touch him, then I would just reach out my hand like I'm touching the sun, reach out for three seconds)

"Iwa-chan" Oikawa, just like his memories of that year, bursted into tears on his shoulder. His hair was shorter, and he was taller too, sturdier, tanned and certainly more handsome than the last time they'd seen each other three years ago. But in his eyes Oikawa would always be just Oikawa, he was Kitagawa Daiichi's Oikawa with the blue uniform, Aoba Johsai's Oikawa with the jade teal flag on his back and the crown on his head, the Oikawa who had always reached out to him.

I'll be yours

When it rains it pours

Stay thirsty like before

Don't you know that the kids aren't al, kids aren't alright?

"Iwa-chan, I've been thinking a lot about what you said. About us becoming adults, about how we don't need to stick together all the time. I asked my mom about it and she said you'r enot wrong" Oikawa said. Iwaizumi brushed the wet hair from his cheeks. "But, I still don't want to accept it. I thought about it, and I realized that one day a year isn't enough. So, can't you stay with me for the rest of our life?" He sobbed "You said that you're just another person in my life, but I don't think so, I don't allow, will never allow you to say that. Iwa-chan to me, is the most important person, the bearer of the warmth that is warmer than anyone, the one who holds me tighter than anyone, so you can't say that, you can't ever say that, understood?"

With just those questions, Iwaizumi allowed himself to pull Oikawa closer. This time, he allowed himself to hold him in his arms, the gap he had tried to fill but never dared to. This time, he allowed himself to smile. Suddenly he remembered that last summer solstice of high school when he and Oikawa were sitting next to each other in the gym, and neither of them wanted to go home. They ended up sleeping there too, only to be scolded by their parents the next day. So childish.

"I promise," he said, his voice echoing from the past. "But, I also want you to know that I love you. And that's why I've been avoiding this since forever. So if anything happens, it's your fault" Iwaizumi said nonchalantly, though his face was red, deliberately ignoring the fact that he had just confessed his love so blatantly.

"Fine, Iwa-chan" Oikawa laughed. And then Iwaizumi suddenly felt so relieved, to be able to hold the summer of his life.

---

(Iwaizumi realized that "I love you" only takes three seconds to say.)

[1863-project]

hi! i recently went to visit NYC with my friend (it was fun!! veeery crowded but fun) and she mentioned that 1) there are a lot of abandoned rail lines around NYC, some of which have been reopened and 2) there's apparently an event in grand central where they put a lot of the old trains out on display???

i didn't have time but i'd love to check both of those out if i ever visit again - i was wondering if you knew any more about them? + also if you have any other recommendations for what else to see around the city 👉👈 tysm!!!

Hey, I'm so glad you had a great time in my city! NYC is really a wonderful place, even though we're packed like sardines in here.

There are definitely a lot of rail lines that aren't currently in use in and around NYC, as well as some that are only used for freight. We used to be a pretty dense railroad hub (before cars fully took over). The proposed Interborough Express would run on the Bay Ridge Branch of the LIRR, which hasn't carried passengers since 1924 and has been exclusively used for freight since. If you go into neighborhoods that once contained shipping warehouses, like Industry City in Brooklyn, you can find railroad infrastructure if you know where to look still. A bit further afield, they're looking to hopefully someday return rail service to the Delaware, Lackawanna and Western's old Lackawanna Cutoff, which would allow New Jersey Transit trains to go non-stop between Hoboken, New Jersey and Scranton, Pennsylvania. And of course, we have a myriad of abandoned subway stations, which you can look for as you pass through on your way to other destinations! (City Hall is the one I recommend trying to see the most - just stay on the 6 Train until it loops around after its last stop and you'll pass through as it gets set up to go back uptown. Or you can become a member of the New York Transit Museum and go on a tour, like I did.)

Actually, visiting the aforementioned New York Transit Museum makes getting into an abandoned station easy as pie. You pay $10 to get in and you're in the old Court Street Station. If you like trains (or trolleys or busses!) on any level I highly recommend it.

RE: Grand Central, that was an old event done for National Train Day, and I don't know if they still do it but it would generally be in early May if they bring it back. I know they've been known to roll out the Hickory Creek for that - it's an observation car that used to be on the 20th Century Limited, the New York Central's flagship service between NYC and Chicago. The Hickory Creek is maintained by the United Railroad Historical Society of New Jersey and it tends to be in their yard in Boonton, NJ when it's not running on private charters.

For other recommendations - oh my God, if you haven't been to the American Museum of Natural History, you have to go. It's my favorite place in the entire world. I'll also recommend the Bronx Zoo, the Wildlife Conservation Society's headquarters, as they do a lot of work towards the conservation of endangered species and education. If you like baseball, Citi Field (where my useless Mets play) has significantly better food options than Yankee Stadium, and I'm not saying this out of bias - Yankees fans agree with me.

Avoid Times Square. It may be geared towards tourists, but everyone who actually lives here hates it because it's too crowded and you can't get where you're trying to go. If you really have to go to Raising Cane's or Junior's Cheesecake there are locations in Brooklyn that are so much less crowded.

If you have questions on anything specific I'm happy to help! I love sharing my city with other people!

[guybitesatgames]

you know video games, and you know vampires, yeah? whats the best vampire in a video game in your opinion?

Pardon me while I take advantage of the fact that "best" is a nebulous adjective.

If we take "best" to mean "the most closely fit to an archetypal vampire"...

I gotta go with the obvious answer: Castlevania's Alucard.

Isn't he a dhampir? Shouldn't it be Dracula?

Paradoxically, Alucard's condition as a dhampir makes him closer to an archetypal vampire than Dracula. Vampires are often used as an allegory for liminal identities - an AB person who can neither fit into group A because of their B traits nor fit into group B because of their A traits. Being only part vampire doubles down on this trope, and we occasionally see Alucard grapple with this, whereas Dracula is far past the point where he's struggling with his separation from humanity.

Besides, can Dracula do this?

Further, it might just be because we're playing as him, but we get to see Alucard doing a lot more vampire-things than we see Dracula doing. He's got bat form, he's got wolf form, he's even got the oft-forgot mist form and he sleeps in a coffin. We can presume that he inherited those things from his father, but Dracula's more likely to take on a war form more commonly associated with werewolves than that of the humble bat.

/|\ ^._.^ /|\ .𖥔 ݁ ˖🦇 ݁˖ ݁𖥔 . /|\ ^._.^ /|\

If we take "best" to mean "doing the best at vampirism"...

that would have to be Sebastian LaCroix of Vampire: The Masquerade Bloodlines fame.

Everyone else on this list plays nice- LaCroix treats people as playthings. As a character you are not meant to sympathize with, he's allowed to embrace the cutthroat-but-genteel nature of a vampire that protagonists can't. He's afforded the luxury of being a monster and that is a luxury he will indulge. Even though we don't see him drinking blood or flouncing around in a cape, he goes so overboard being a manipulative little leech that he has to take the top spot.

He's also the only one here to do the most vampiric thing of all - being undone by one's thirst.

/|\ ^._.^ /|\ .𖥔 ݁ ˖🦇 ݁˖ ݁𖥔 . /|\ ^._.^ /|\

If we take "best" to mean "my favorite, vampiric metrics be damned"...

I'd be remiss not to mention Valvatorez, best (and only?) vampire in the Disgaea series.

As one might expect from the Disgaea IP, he's a bit of a trope inversion; he's sworn off blood and he's only interested in power if it can be used to help those under his rule, but that's what makes him so lovable! The only king I stan is one who properly understands noblesse oblige. Instead of being the usual "powerful friend with a tragic cost", he's unflaggingly the friend who wants to make YOU powerful with the only drawback of probably having sardine breath. On all thematic points, he fails to live up to vampiric standards, but that reflects poorly on the standards, not on him. In a just world, all vampires would use their age as a source of wisdom to be shared and their strength as a means of helping up friends in need.

/|\ ^._.^ /|\ .𖥔 ݁ ˖🦇 ݁˖ ݁𖥔 . /|\ ^._.^ /|\

Honorable mention: myotismon in many of the Digimon games. Usually, he's a perfectly stand-up guy who just happens to have An Aesthetic that gives everyone the wrong idea and gets him in trouble.

Poor lad