#if you read this all the way you deserve a medal

[somerandomocto]

Alright, I've been sitting with my thoughts long enough. I'm design info-dumping

(sorry if this reads bad or something)

So, main character twisteds huh? I'm gonna be honest none of them are all that scary and only twisted Sprout, Shelly, and Dandy, are remotely intimidating, but I think that might be on purpose? As in, a mascot horror generally isn't too scary to not shoo off the kids kinda way. Either way, Vee and Astro are generally lackluster (Astro might be on purpose, little to no clue what's going on with Vee tho), and Pebble? Actually his design is pretty solid the only problem is at first glance (thumbnail) I couldn't tell he was a dog (might be a me thing tho bc as soon as I heard him in game I knew Pebble was a dog). With Vee, she is in fact, bigger than you, like most main character twisteds, but she's just longer for the most part, nothing particularly special. Now, it could either be me seeing random fakes online, but, I do remember seeing a possible concept design for twisted Vee, where she's on the ground (legless) crawling out of a vent with a ton of wire looking things behind her, and I really liked this design! The only reason I can assume this wasn't the final design by the time the alpha came out was due to a determination to have Vee playable by the launch of the alpha and the whole "twisted stuck to a certain range that they can move in" thing was probably obnoxious to properly code and get working (I'm not sure tho, I don't code often), and thus was dropped for the sake of allowing Vee to be playable. Astro, if not for lore reasons as to being so simple is probably for the sake of the revelation alone that he has four arms. It kinda makes sense, no other twisted adds limbs, only removes or distorts them, and I personally thought it was interesting, then I finally got him and got hit with the "No, Astro's just built like that" Astro/Tisha conversation. (He could probably have more of a gimmick tho, I'll get to that at some point) Actually, a lot of the main character twisteds could lean into their gimmick more, like Sprout is a plant yes, but also strawberries mold and I am just not seeing it here. I think Shelly's lower half being ripped off and being replaced with roughly the chest down of a raptor is really cool, and also gives her a reason to be obnoxiously fast (because as it stands speed is the only way a twisted can be reasonably hard to deal with(with only ~3 exceptions)). Though I don't think Shelly's twisted as a concept has reached it's natural conclusion in terms of ideas, this is a great base! This also goes for Sprout, like, he's tall and kinda imposing, but we can do more with that right? For twisted Dandy, no really I'm so glad this game is in beta because that means things are subject to change and overhauls are possible. I mean, I don't hate it, it's really visually interesting, but not quite scary you know? Or maybe it was never supposed to be all that scary and I'm just thinking about it too hard. It's fine though if I am, fan art exists for a reason.

Ok I think I'm out of verbal thoughts for now

[callmethehunter]

Oh dear Anon, you have made my day! These are great questions about my favorite subject in the world: Robert Plant.:D And as far as that goes, I could (and will) go on and on about this forever, I’ve got so much to say!!

I’ve been obsessed with Robert’s music as well as with his personal life for years. I find him to be a multifaceted, highly talented and intelligent person who embodies traits that one would think were mutually exclusive, yet are somehow at home in him. He is without a doubt, totally outrageous and extroverted, he wants to be the center of attention, yet he is also reclusive, a deep thinker who is keenly aware of the world around him while also being introspective and self-aware. In his own words he has said

“It's part of me to get off on those moments where... well, what people would call attention. Obviously, that isn't the be-all and end-all of life, but at the states of creativity that I've reached, well, it helps the lyrics along a little bit.”

“ I’m pleased with how ridiculous I am. I like me. Though I’m not a huge fan. I know when to switch me off.”

I do think he has a very warm heart. He is genuinely interested in other people, in experiencing the most out of any given situation.

In my opinion, he loves the idea and the feeling of falling in love. He gets off more on that than on the longevity. It’s like he’s got ADHD in the aspect of love lol!! I say this because of the number of serious relationships (and not so serious relationships) that he has had in his life. I’m sure he was saddened when they ended, but then he’s moved on to the next great infatuation and adventure. He’s quite capable of starting again, as he has shown multiple times both in his personal and professional life. But I also think it’s a testimony to his heart that he’s been able to continue to be friends with his past loves. “There have been people I've warmed to over the years but, as the situation I'm in is so fleeting and transient, I've always known it's going to be over kind of real quick.”

I mean think about this: after having children with two sisters, Maureen (his exwife) and Shirley, they have been able to raise their children in what looks like a loving extended family. His sons, Logan (with Maureen) and Jesse (with Shirley), are half-brothers as well as first cousins. Just think on that for a moment. In a recent picture, there’s the entire family on vacation: Maureen, Shirley and their children with Robert, as well as Robert and a previous girlfriend, Jessica something or other (don’t remember her name). He’s not confined to societal conventions. He could give a flying fuck. I love that free spirit and he himself has said (and I paraphrase) that he may come across as being a good mate, but in reality he’s out to do whatever the fuck he wants. (And it shows!! )

He says, “...if you do what you think is right for the benefit of everybody and everything and you make decisions, then to go back and regret them afterwards - it's a futile experience and it's not worth thinking about. Because life just unfolds. Provided you do your best and you think you're on the right track, you can only be right or wrong. But to regret it - I don't think there are any huge errors or misdemeanors.”

In the area of friendship, however, he is fiercely loyal. He and Bonzo were like brothers till the end, and even still, Robert honors his dear friend. He’s also been able to maintain friendships with so many people from his hometown- people he knew before he was famous. He puts away the trappings of fame and fortune to be the good old Black Country boy, riding horses and playing with goats, walking around in the forests and enjoying nature.

“I think I could sing and shear a few sheep at the same time.” He is the picture of the word “earthiness”. Able to be the rock god on stage as well as the humble farmer on the farm or at the local pub. He’s loyal to his soccer team and to the sport itself which has been a lifelong passion. And I love that in him.

Is he a hedonist? Absolutely, he has tasted every pleasure there is to taste. His every material wish could be a reality in an instant...He has done drugs, had hundreds of one night stands. He is a highly sensual man. IMO the sexiest man that’s ever walked the planet. His sizeable bulge perpetually stands* as a symbol (no pun intended*) of his virility and lust (and I like it!!) He exudes charisma and raw sexual energy. He’s done it all to the highest level, partied and cavorted around the globe. What a life he’s lived!!

But in his lyrics there is also a deep spiritual side of him: I think he is a modern day troubadour and philosopher. His lyrics touch on that, “it is the springtime of my loving” ….“In the light you will find the road” “when all is one and one is all” “Then as it was, then again it will be, though the course may change sometimes, rivers always reach the sea” and I could go on and on with other examples. These are just what popped in my head. “I am a reflection of what I sing. Sometimes I have to get serious because the things Ive been through are serious” He’s had moments where he is the “golden god” as well as tragic moments such as the loss of his 5 year old son and the loss of his dear friend Bonzo. These are definitely reflected in his music.

All in all, in his own words:

“I'm like one of those firecrackers that goes off in your pocket occasionally. I'm not really struggling with it as much as the people around me. But at least I'm not doing too much damage to anybody or to myself. It's just the condition I'm aware of.

And he’s still got a twinkle in his eye.

Thank you for letting me go and on about this man, he holds such a special place in my heart. He is a beautiful and joyous old hippie full of wisdom and talent.. He has created a lasting legacy and I hold the deepest admiration for him, despite his human frailties or shortcomings.

[believerindaydreams]

today in Harry Sullivan thoughts:

not sure I'm convinced by the Harold name. does this man look like a Harold. no he doesn't.

[sunni-stuff]

Everything changed when that pregnancy test read positive.

The day you fumbled into his office, bearing what you thought to be bad news, John's excited face threw you for a loop.

Wasn't he supposed to be upset? Tell you that he didn't want to have a kid with someone he didn't fully care about? Why was he crying? Why did he embrace you so tenderly?

"I'll be there for both of you, Dovie," Price reassures in the nook of your neck, arms caging you against his chest.

Take care of both of you.

Both?

"M-Mr. Price, with all due respect—"

Price cuts off your protests. He leads you out of his office. His large hand grips your waist more possessively. "Go rest your feet up in the lounge; I'll take care of everything." His lips press to the crown of your head, ushering you away gently at the reception entrance.

You were supposed to have one fun night, not to be locked in for the rest of your lives.

Your days of working at a desk were replaced with John's house. It was far from the bustling base you had grown used to. The space was warm and homey. Bits of memorabilia were scattered about. Medals adorned the walls, and old photos sat on the shelves.

John said you only have one job now: making yourself at home.

There was so much space that you didn't know where to start or even how to start! It's not like there was a plan for having your boss's child! So much was happening so fast it left you overwhelmed, sitting on his couch with nervous hands. "Mr. Price, I'm really not sure about all this; I mean... what we did was a big mistake, right?"

From upstairs, you hear John laugh. He's been up there all morning, fixing the nursery for your child. He wanted to create a special room for them, saying that his kid deserves nothing but the best. Heavy footsteps announce his presence as he closes the distance between you. Calloused fingers grip your chin, forcing you to look into his ocean eyes. "You don't want this?"

His touch has you melting, words dying on your lips as you get lost in those eyes. God, why did he look at you that way? Churning like laundry, your gut writhes. A violent spin cycle grips your innards, knotting and wrenching them mercilessly. "I never—I never said that; I just think we're taking things too fast, don't you?" The half-hearted mumble escapes your lips, unconvincing even to yourself.

John's expression shifts; his eyebrow raises in slight scrutiny. "If you believed that, you wouldn't be here."

He's right.

"I do-"

He cuts in swiftly, voice firm. "You don't."

John's grasp tightens on your chin. He leans in, eyes intense. Your heart races. His lips brush yours. The kiss—chaste yet electric. A moment suspended in time. Emotions flood through you both, unspoken but palpable. "You have me. Whatever you want is yours, all you have to do is say the word."

John waits, poised for your word. His eyes betray a craving—silent, deep, and raw.

He belongs to you. He's all yours.

Your lips purse in a line, lip caught between your teeth.

Anything you want?

"I don't like the color of the nursey..."

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

P1

❥ I wasn't originally gonna do a part 2 but... I really like this one, next fic will be longer, possibly fluff and smut maybe who knows ❥

[elixirfromthestars]

Lines Crossed

Pairing: Athlete!Bucky Barnes x Artist!Reader (College AU)

Summary: You and Bucky have danced around the lines you've placed ever since that weekend camping trip. Months later, when Tony Stark hosts an extravagant party, he finally makes a move to cross them.

Word Count: 9.3k

Warning(s): 18+ mdni / drinking / jealousy / forced proximity / smut / female reader / drunk jerk (stranger) / tension / will they won't they oh they will 🫣❤️‍🔥 / sex w/protection / pet names / sprinkles of possessive + protective Bucky so be prepared / there's a build-up so enjoy ❣️

Prompt: oops, we were just hiding in this closet, but then the close proximity get us too turned on not to fuck

a/n: Please be kind this is my first time writing something like this. 🥺🩶 I decided to challenge myself and join @mercurial-chuckles‘ smutty September fest. A tad late on the deadline because Hurricane Helene decided to take the power out. 😭 This is a standalone fic, but you can most definitely read it (and is intended to be) as a continuation of the events of A Night of Frights & Delights. Likes, comments, and reblogs are greatly appreciated!! ❤️❤️

part one backstory // divider // ambiance 🤍

You step into the foyer of the Stark Manor, a grand staircase greets you, its golden railing glowing underneath an ornate chandelier. Various guests mingle around the manor, the buzz of conversation accompanying the music that pulses throughout. Everything about the sight in front of you screams old wealth and elegance. 

Your eyes scan the luxurious home with an expression of awe. Despite being invited before, you had never come to one of Tony’s parties. Choosing the comfort of your bed and your favorite show instead. However, this time knowing a certain captain of the baseball team would be here—and your history with him—well you just had to come. 

As you take it all in, your gaze locks on a pair of beautiful blues. The very same ones you were thinking of all day. And by the way he was looking at you, you knew he was awaiting your arrival just as much as you had been waiting to see him. 

There was no denying he most certainly had been. 

Bucky had arrived about half an hour earlier with some of his teammates. His impatience grew by the second at your absence. He was dying to see what you wore for the party. You denied him any sneak peeks, which only fueled his excitement. He tried distracting himself by greeting anyone he could and making conversation, but he continuously gravitated to the foyer, waiting for the moment you stepped in through those doors. 

When you finally did, Bucky knew with the utmost certainty that the wait was worth it. When his eyes met yours you knocked the air straight out of his lungs with the black dress you were wearing. The satin dawning your body accentuated your silhouette perfectly—and the high slit at your right leg showed off the right amount of skin. The way you did your hair and your makeup complimented you perfectly, and Bucky was losing his goddamn mind because of it.  

Sincerely, he was close to whisking you away and keeping you all to himself. 

You looked nothing short of beyond stunning. Bucky had been holding back for months, staying within the lines you drew that night in the tent, and honestly, he deserved a medal for that. It’s the hardest thing he's ever done. What he felt for you couldn’t measure up to anything else in his life. Never had he felt so over the moon in his feelings for anyone. Yet, you brought on those sentiments by just being you. He was sure if he wasn’t in love with you yet, he was damn near close to it. 

And right now, seeing you in that dress, his mind is going to places it shouldn’t. Places that only belonged to him and his bed on those nights you left him wanting more. Thoughts and scenarios where the night ends with him tearing that dress right off you and showing you just how serious he is about wanting you. 

He’s not so sure he can be on his best behavior tonight. 

Bucky discards the drink he had been holding and saunters over to you. Your heart races in your chest when you see the way his blues darken when he rakes his eyes over your form—shamelessly drinking you up. You take in his figure as well, the all-black suit giving him an aura of class and sophistication that was stirring something dangerous within you. 

Bucky cleaned up good, real good.

He stops a mere foot away from you, his eyes twinkling with intentions both of you long for. You didn’t realize you had been holding your breath until his voice broke you out of your trance. 

“There’s no way I’m letting you leave my side tonight, not in that dress,” Bucky’s voice is deeper than usual, contrasting the charming grin on his face. You roll your eyes playfully, “I don’t need a babysitter, Bucky,” you reply amused at the thought. Having Bucky by your side all night would definitely lead to you two enjoying each other’s company in other ways. 

Not that you would object if it did. 

Bucky’s hand reaches out to touch you, your heart skipping a beat as he adjusts the strap of your dress on your shoulder. His touch lingers for a second more as a light chuckle escapes him. “Maybe not you sweetheart, but I might. Someone’s going to have to keep me in check tonight. I already have a hard enough time keeping my hands off of you and now you walk in looking like a masterpiece and I'm supposed to keep my hands to myself?” He bites his bottom lip for a moment, almost as if to stop himself from saying too much. 

“Something tells me you’re going to lay it on thick tonight, aren't you?” You tease him, all the while your body thrums with the way he compliments you. Bucky always knows exactly what to say to make you feel like the only girl in the room. An effortless gift he had only when it came to you.

“Can you blame me, baby? You walk in and suddenly it's like no one else exists,” his tone is softer, yet serious when he says this. Your heart skipped a beat when he called you baby. The weight of his attention felt in every fiber of your being. Bucky only ever called you baby when he wanted to really affect you. Reminding you of the pull he had over you.  

The spell you two were under was suddenly broken by Darcy, who rushed over to where you were standing and linked your arm with hers. “Sorry! I’m going to steal her away for a bit there Bucky!” She says unapologetically as she tears you away from the man who looks like he could have devoured you if your friend hadn't interrupted. Your protests fall on deaf ears so you're left waving a small—but not definite—farewell to Bucky. 

It seemed Bucky’s friends had been waiting for the right moment to steal him away too. As soon as you were in another room Sam and Steve went up to Bucky and dragged him to whatever antics the baseball team was up to. His disappointment matches yours, but if there was one thing he had proven all these months was that he had a lot of patience. He knew you two would end up crossing each other’s paths more than once tonight. It was only a matter of time. 

“You forgot you promised to stick by my side tonight. My ex is here, I need the support,” Darcy reminds you with a slight pout. She looks like a ball of fire with the way she pulls you through the crowd in her crimson dress. Her eyes dart to every guest looking to avoid her ex at all costs.

“I didn’t forget. I was just saying hi to a friend,” you explain emitting a snort from Darcy, “A friend? If he’s just a friend than I’m the Queen of England.” You roll your eyes, a small huff of a laugh leaving your lips. Darcy wasn’t wrong. You and Bucky weren’t just friends, but you also weren’t anything more—and that was by your account. 

You and Bucky have fallen into a grey area of what you are to each other. At first, after the camping trip, you tried avoiding him. Not because what happened upset you—but because you couldn’t trust yourself around him after that. Making out with him in that tent made you realize that what you thought had been an annoyance towards Bucky was actually the beginning of a deep-rooted crush. One that bubbled to the surface after that night. 

Avoiding him altogether was an impossible task when he lived in the other apartment in the duplex you rented. Especially after he insisted on giving you rides back and forth from campus with the excuse that now that you two were friends it's only natural for him to be more friendly. By his definition, it also included things like buying you food on days he knows you’ve been too busy to get something for yourself, walking you to your classes whenever he has the chance, and going with you to art exhibitions to dabble in your passion with you. 

Oh, and it also included kissing you mercilessly during tutoring sessions. 

Around the time that fall semester began, Bucky asked you if you could tutor him on a few subjects. He hadn’t done the greatest academically last semester and he wanted to keep his grades up before baseball season started. You were hesitant at first, but ultimately gave in when you realized how sincere he was about needing the help. 

Tutoring Bucky meant spending lots of time with him after classes. The sessions were innocent at first, but after the first time kissing on your bed, Bucky made it a tradition to have his lips on yours, and his hands wandering your body at every session. He even stopped hosting parties at his place, preferring being in your room and getting drunk on the taste of you. 

Bucky was too infatuated by you to ever want to do anything else. Studying was an afterthought whenever you were around, and yet he was doing better than he ever had before in all his classes. Being someone you could be proud of was honestly the best motivation he could ask for. 

Deep down you knew you were falling for him. There was a bit of apprehension on your part as you hadn’t known Bucky to ever have a girlfriend. From what you can remember, ever since you’ve known him, he was the kind of guy who preferred flirting and casual encounters. And there was no guarantee you would be the one to break that. So to keep yourself safe you drew those lines—built those walls up high to guard your heart. Bucky respected those lines and never crossed them. No matter how badly he wanted to. 

Some days, like today, made you want to say screw the lines and just give in to what you desired most. However, when that desire included lowering those walls you put in place, you weren’t brave enough to risk it—so you didn’t. Instead, you and Bucky danced around those lines until it drove you both mad. 

Your thoughts follow you for the next hour as you stay by Darcy’s side. Bucky has this natural way of consuming your mind lately—and your sketchbook. You wish you had it with you right now because when your feelings decide to overflow you channel that intensity onto the paper. For months, every page had been filled with graphite drawings of Bucky. His smile, his eyes, his determined expression when studying, his confident stance during baseball games, and everything else that sparked the creative fire in you. You found a lot of solace in drawing him. 

Bucky was undoubtedly your favorite muse. 

You're so lost in your thoughts you don’t register you’re in the kitchen of the manor until the guests around you cheer. It seems Darcy and Thor have fallen into a friendly competition of sorts to see who could down more shots than the other in one minute. A group of spectators and friends have gathered in the kitchen to watch the showdown go down. Your eyes dart to Jane who only gives you a half-amused, half-exasperated look. She is not looking forward to having to drive those two home later.

Contrary to your friends, you weren’t drinking much tonight. Bucky’s lingering presence at the party was all your senses needed to feel like you were in a daze. For appearances, however, you decide to grab one of the red solo cups to blend in with the rest of those around you. 

“Hey, Y/n! Enjoying the party?” A male’s voice comes from your right and when you turn to see who it is a friendly smile appears on your face. It was Ian Boothby, a fellow art major at your university. You’ve had him in enough of your classes to consider him a friend. 

“Hey, Ian. Yeah, I’m having a good time. Are you?” Your question is a catalyst for a much longer chat with Ian. The two of you fall into light conversation about the semester, art, and other relevant topics. It's a nice breath of fresh air compared to the thoughts that had been consuming you tonight. Especially when he tells you the story of one of his painting mishaps causing you to laugh along with him.

Soon after, a hand snakes its way around your waist, and when you smell that familiar woody muskiness you know exactly who it is. 

“Having fun without me, sweetheart?” Bucky’s voice has a slight edge to it as he speaks, his lips forming a smirk. You face him and the look in his eyes stills you. 

Bucky does not look pleased. 

“Bucky, hey man. How’s baseball prep?” Ian beats you to it by addressing Bucky first. Bucky's eyes flick between you and Ian before he presses you into his side by the hold on your waist. This does not go unnoticed by Ian.

“Boothby, it's going good. How’s the cross-country season treating you?” Bucky asks, his tone giving away how uninterested he is in continuing this conversation. If Ian picks up on the animosity he doesn’t show it as he goes on and on about the sport. Bucky’s impatience grows the more he speaks and his hold on you gets a little more firm. When Bucky’s expression finally gives way to how he genuinely feels Ian finds a way to excuse himself and exit the conversation.

A beat passes before you finally speak, “Ian’s my friend. You didn’t have to scare him off like that,” you say with slight annoyance. Bucky clicks his tongue as he eyes you closely, “I didn’t, but I felt like it,” he shrugs cooly. “Didn't like the way he was looking at you.” He adds, his thumb rubbing small circles on your waist.

“Oh? And how was he looking at me?” 

“Like in the way only I should be.” 

The possessiveness in his voice catches you off guard. The air electrifying around you both at his words. You weren’t going to drink, but you suddenly felt the need to. You take a sip of the substance in your cup, the bitter liquid doing little to ground you. Bucky can tell how he’s affecting you and joins you with his drink. His eyes never leave yours as he gulps some of it down. 

You have to stop yourself from inhaling the entire thing in one go. 

“Ian’s harmless. He’s just comfortable with me because he’s an art major too. I’ve had a lot of classes with him,” you do your best to continue the conversation and ignore the way your body heats up when Bucky gives your hip a possessive squeeze. Massaging the area afterward in gentle strokes.

“You do a lot of bonding over paint?” Bucky’s response is slightly mocking, licking his lips to catch a drop of alcohol that wanted to escape. His eyes twinkle with mischief as he relishes the way you're looking at him now. Your gaze trained on his lips. When you realize he’s noticed, the heat from your body goes straight to your face.

You wouldn’t let him have the upper hand though. Never. 

“Well, when you have to sketch someone’s naked body you obviously become friendly,” your reply causes Bucky to choke on his drink, the hand at your hip falling as he uses it to grab a few napkins from the granite counter behind him to wipe at the mess he made. You hide a wicked grin behind the rim of your cup. 

He narrows his eyes at you, “Excuse me? What does that mean?” He knows what you mean, but he’s giving you a chance to tell him you're joking. He’s not hiding the jealousy that crawls up his spine at your revelation. 

“It means Ian’s a nude model for some of my classes. He may not look like it but underneath those layers, he’s got the most gorgeous—” Bucky cuts you off with a fierce kiss, his hands gripping your hips and pulling you into him. There’s been plenty of times you’ve shut him up with your mouth and it was his turn to return the favor. Because hearing you talk about the naked body of another man gets under his skin in ways he wasn’t used to.  He wasn’t going to just stand there and hear another word of it. 

The kiss catches you by surprise, but soon your drink is discarded in favor of pulling him closer by his blazer. Not caring who sees or what anyone thinks, since it’s the first time you’ve ever kissed in front of others. Your craving for him was far too loud to ignore anymore. Your lips stay locked until your lungs burn begging for air.

Bucky pulls away with a smug smile, his voice an octave lower as he moves to whisper in your ear, “You’re playing with fire, sweetheart. I know you love getting a rise out of me, but just so we’re clear—next time you want to mess with me like that—I’ll make sure you can’t even stand after I’m through with you,” his declaration causes a shiver to make its way up your spine. 

You swallow hard, your mouth opening to say something, but no sound comes out. Bucky lets out a rough chuckle, ghosting his lips against your cheek before pulling away to stare at how speechless he’s left you. He’s blatantly savoring every second of it. 

You want to say something—anything. Something witty or playful, but the thought of him making good on his promise—the image it conjures in your mind—keeps you silent.

“Buck! You’re needed at beer pong! Tony’s team is winning and the bet is up to five hundred,” Steve rushes into the kitchen, breaking through the bubble you two were in. His eyes dart between you and Bucky with a knowing look. He has to bite the inside of his cheek to stop himself from smiling at the sight of you two. 

You start to register there’s still an extravagant party happening around you.  

Bucky sighs with slight irritation as he once again gets his moment with you interrupted. He reluctantly tears his attention away from you to call back to Steve, “I’ll be right there!” Steve nods in approval before going back the way he came. 

Now’s your chance to say something, but Bucky pulls away from your body before you can. A coldness replacing where his touch used to be. “Hold that thought, baby. Looks like my team needs their star player,” he winks at you before placing a tender kiss on your forehead, “you keep thinking about what I said while I’m gone,” he says in a gruff whisper, brushing his thumb across your bottom lip in a barely there touch. 

He knows he needs to leave before he takes this somewhere you can’t go back from. 

Bucky doesn’t give you a chance to say anything as he makes a smooth exit. Heading out of the kitchen in the direction of the beer pong game. Your body prickling with an ever growing sexual frustration. You were embarrassingly close to snatching Bucky away and giving in to all your desires in one of the many rooms of the manor. 

“You two need to get a room,” Jane seems to read your mind as she teases you. Appearing from behind you once Bucky was no longer in sight. You can’t deny her words, letting out a small huff, “I don’t know what good that would do. I’ve been clear about not wanting to take things further.” You explain to her, not sure if you could go back on your words for the sake of giving in to what you want now. Jane has had this conversation with you a few times before, and it appears she's hit her limit today. 

 “That man is absolutely head over heels for you. How can you not see that?” Jane shakes her head at you, wondering how she can make you realize what you already know yet deny. There's a vulnerability that overcomes you when you reply, “It’s not that I don’t see it. I just—I’ve never seen him be serious about anyone. The only thing he’s ever serious about is baseball.” Jane looks like she’s about to do something drastic at your denial. 

“Y/n, Bucky is serious about you. He’s literally all about you—he’s chosen you over baseball many times. I’m not around him like you are and even I can see it clear as day. Do you know Thor and like half of the baseball team thinks you two are secretly dating? Stop denying what you know deep down is true and just give in—be happy,” Jane tells it like it is, her tone leaving no room for argument or denial. 

For so long Bucky has shown you another side of him—one not many get to see. He’s given you priority and importance when he didn’t have to. Care and consideration when you needed it most. A shoulder to lean on and a steady support to rely on. Time and time again Bucky has demonstrated how much you mean to him.

Perhaps, you both have been something more to each other for a long time and Bucky’s kept his wishes at bay to make sure things developed at your pace. 

When it finally hits you, you almost feel exposed by how skillfully Jane can read you. At how easily she can see the situation for what it is and not for what your worries twisted it to be. If Bucky had made it clear to you how he felt, what was stopping you from taking things further than they had been before?

At this point, nothing, nothing was stopping you but yourself.

This realization follows you to the dance floor. A very drunk Darcy had pulled you to it along with Jane, babbling tipsily after losing the drinking competition to Thor. You had never seen a living room with such high ceilings before or enough room to host a makeshift dance floor and a DJ booth. The living space had been stripped of its furniture and supplied with top-notch equipment to make it resemble the inside of a club. 

At least in the near darkness, it resembled one.

You’re in a huddle of your closest friends, all of them letting the music guide their movements to their heart’s content. You sway absentmindedly, so you're not merely standing there awkwardly. The kaleidoscope of party lights strobe and kiss your skin with an array of colors as the music thumps around your body. 

A loud cheer catches your attention, the source of the sound coming from a table on the far left end of the room. Tony and his friends were boisterous as they made a shot against their opponent's team in beer pong—Bucky’s team. You had a clear view of it all from where you stood. 

Bucky’s team seems to be taking turns on who drinks every time Tony’s team makes a shot. They look amongst themselves until Bucky steps up and chugs the liquid in the red solo cup. It's like he can feel the shift in the air because as soon as the cup is away from his lips his eyes scan the space and find you, and suddenly it's like you two are the only two people in the room. 

You want him—all of him. You enjoy the teases, the banter, the back and forth, but you know you’d enjoy calling him yours more. 

The music picks up in tempo as your boldness grows. Keeping your eyes trained on him, your hips begin to sway provocatively, tempting him to say screw the game and make his way towards you instead. Bucky’s not even paying attention to the game anymore his eyes soaking up your every move as it fans the flames of desire between you. The atmosphere around you buzzes as the ground shakes due to the sea of dancing bodies, and yet nothing thrums within you more than your need for Bucky. 

The little show you’re putting on for him continues as you roll and wave your body in ways that seduce him. Ghosting your hand along the curves and dips of your figure showing him exactly where you’d like his hands to be. Bucky’s mind is reeling with everything he wants to do to you and none of it involves the dance floor and all of it involves you and him in some private corner of the manor where he can show you exactly what his hands are capable of. 

You are making it impossibly hard for him to concentrate on anything else. 

Slowly and with shady intentions a group of drunk guys circle the huddle of you and your friends like vultures. Finding their way to snake themselves into any corner or crevice they can fit into. Their bodies bumping and grazing against yours. There’s one guy in particular that has his sights set on you. Getting closer to you on the dancefloor and creeping his hands along your waist. You swat his hands away, but he doesn’t disperse immediately. The alcohol on his breath fanning your face causing you to gag. The more you dismiss him the more adamant he was about keeping you close to him. 

Almost instantly, a protective grip pulls you away from the drunk guy. A familiar warmth encases you as Bucky pulls you into his chest, your back to him. Your hands find their way to hold his arms to ease the displeasure the drunk had caused.

Bucky glares at the drunk guy, his gaze cold and unapologetic, “Alright, that's enough.” The drunk guy sneers, his words slurred, “What the—what’s your problem bro? We’re just—” Bucky doesn’t let him finish, “Shut up. You’re not doing anything. You’ve got two seconds to back off or we’re going to have a problem,” Bucky’s reply is sharp and menacing. He directs it to all the men that had swarmed you and your friends. 

Shifting you so you stand at his side, Bucky steps forward to let the guys know he’s not messing around. Your hold goes to his right arm where you’re watching the exchange unfold anxiously. You hope things don’t escalate, not wanting Bucky to get into a scuffle. You know he can handle himself, but the idea of him getting hurt in any way caused your heart to ache. 

The guys size Bucky up and it seems some of them think they can take him on. Until the strobing lights illuminate Bucky’s darkened gaze enough that in their drunk haze, they finally recognize him as captain of the baseball team. That means that fighting Bucky meant taking on the entirety of the team. And with the way Sam and Steve were looking over to see if they needed to step in, and Thor was already storming over—they knew they didn’t stand a chance.

It was comical the way the drunk men scramble to get away as fast as they could. Muttering incoherences and apologies under their breath. They don’t get far as Tony’s hired security for the night promptly kicks them out. 

Thor comes up to check on everyone, giving special attention to Jane who keeps assuring him she’s fine. You turn to Bucky, who’s already inspecting you to make sure you are alright, “Bucky I—” You almost tell him not to worry, that you had things under control, but in reality, you’re glad Bucky stepped in. 

“Thank you,” you say sincerely, Bucky’s tense demeanor softens at your words. He moves to get a better hold on you, his grip at your waist protective teetering on possessive. 

“You don’t have to thank me for that, sweetheart. I got you—always,” Bucky’s genuine response makes your heart flutter and your pulse quicken. Your senses are awakened by his proximity, completely enamored with the way he looks at you. 

“Plus, if I’m going to fall for the most beautiful girl in the world, I have to know how to fight right?” Bucky says this like it's the most obvious thing, smirking at the way you don’t hide the smitten grin he elicits from you. There’s a sparkle in your eyes as you stare at him, Bucky’s heart racing at the sight of it.

 “You and your compliments,” you give a breathless laugh, letting your guard down for once and going with the flow. Bucky can sense it. Sense the way there’s a shift between you, the blossoming of something bigger being accepted and not pushed away by you anymore.

“Only for my girl,” he says this like a promise. His right-hand goes up to gently brush against your cheek. You lean into the touch, that same hand cupping your cheek in response. Bucky has never felt more elated knowing that maybe finally you two can go to places he’s only dreamed of. 

“Yours?” You question him playfully, which causes him to chuckle, the sound a low rumble, “You and I both know you are, sweetheart. I told you I had all the time in the world to make you fall for me—and I meant it,” he smiles, an intense fire in his eyes that only accumulates when you respond, “You don’t have to wait any longer, Bucky.”

He wastes no second to connect your lips, kissing you with a loving purpose. His lips have a slightly bitter taste to them from the beer that still lingered there. And yet, the bitterness disappears when one kiss turns into two and then three. His arms encircling you to pull you into his chest, your hands finding their way to the nape of his neck.

Bucky pulls away to ghost his lips against your jaw until his lips brush against your ear, “Those little moves you were doing for me earlier, do them again,” his husky tone sends a shiver down your spine as he tugs you in to dance with him. Your bodies mold to one another, hips swaying in rhythm with the vigorous music. The beat allows you to gyrate and grind in ways that drive him to the edge of his control. 

His hand rests on the small of your back, holding you close, fingers splayed out as if making a silent claim. You can feel the way his gaze burns into you, the air getting hotter making it harder to breathe. Your hands trail up and down his arms as need be. The rest of the party fades away leaving you two alone in this space of this charged energy. Every lingering touch and longing glance is layered with unspoken urges that would soon intensify to the brink of madness. 

“You have no idea what you do to me do you?” 

“I do. I’m not immune to what’s going on between us, Bucky.”

Your body, your voice, the way you plead with your eyes for him to take this further—it causes a stirring within his pants—the fabric getting tighter the longer the dance goes on. He needs to get you away, to get you alone. Bucky needs to satiate this hunger for you that threatens to consume him or he is going to end up doing something Rated R on this dance floor. 

The throbbing between your legs agrees. 

An idea pops into Bucky’s mind when he glances at his group of friends. He increases the volume of his voice so you can hear him over the music, “The baseball team was going to host a game of hide and seek. Should we play?” Playful mischief glimmers in his eyes as he asks you. 

“Hide and seek? Seriously?” You raise a brow, wondering how that was going to work in a mansion full of a million rooms.

“Yeah, come on. It'll be fun,” Bucky draws you away from the dance floor and over to where his friends are mingling and taking a few shots. Steve sees Bucky approach and they have a quick whispered exchange. Your eyes dart between them, curious as to what they're discussing.

“Seems like we’re getting a head start,” he comments to you as he leads you away from the main party and down a few intricate hallways. His hold on your hand is firm, yet careful—almost as if he’s afraid you’ll get lost in one of the many corners of the manor. The thrum of the music fades the further you slip away from the party. Your pulse spikes, both from the adrenaline of the game and the heat that still simmers between you.

Bucky has been to Tony’s parties plenty of times before, so he knows the layout of the manor pretty well. The clicking of your heels along the marble floors echoes at the pace of the beating of his heart. He tries to focus on the expensive artwork that lines the halls instead of the way your hand perfectly fits in his. The artwork is what’s guiding his path through the manor and you are the best distraction he could ask for. 

“Where are we going?” Your voice echoes down the endless hallway. 

“Somewhere no one will find us,” he winks at you, your heart skipping a beat at his words, his pace steady and purposeful as he turns one more corner and slips you two inside a room. You're encased in darkness, blindly feeling for a light switch until Bucky uses the flashlight on his phone to illuminate the space. You faintly make out your surroundings. You seem to be in one of the many guest rooms of the manor. The attention to detail in the room was no short of the attention paid to the rest of the place.

You knew Tony’s family had money, but seeing how they splurged for a mere guest room, meant his family was beyond loaded. 

Bucky whispered something to you, but you didn’t catch it as he took you by the hand and ushered you into the room’s closet, clicking it shut behind him. He reaches up to turn on the small lightbulb to cascade the enclosed space in a soft glow, turning off the flashlight on his phone and putting it in his pants pocket. The tension is now thicker and more palpable in the small space, causing goosebumps to rise across your skin.

If you had a dollar for every time you and Bucky ended up in a tight space together, you would have exactly two dollars. While maybe strange, it somehow seemed fitting for you two. 

Bucky steps closer to you, your bodies inches apart, the dim light doing nothing to dull the intensity in his eyes, “Now that I’ve got you here—I think I did a good job with the hiding spot, don't you?” His heated whisper brings your breath to a hitch. 

You have to clear your throat to compose yourself, “I don’t know…We had a whole mansion to hide in, and you chose a closet?” You can’t help but tease him, trying to lighten the unbearable tension. 

“Would you rather go hide in the library? The wine cellar? The arcade?” His voice is dripping with mirth taking another step closer to you. He knows what you're doing, but he’s not going to let the tension die down—not this time.  

“The arcade sounds fun,” you quip, leaning back against the wall. 

“Hm, maybe, but I prefer the closet. It’s a lot more private and it has its…advantages,” he reaches out to pull your hand up to his lips, planting a soft kiss across your knuckles. You go to use that hand to lightly push at his chest, but he catches it in time and intertwines your fingers instead. Your heart is racing a mile a minute. 

“Maybe the closet isn’t so bad, but these heels…Worst decision I made tonight,” you shift slightly, not meaning to change the subject, but your heels are torturing you. In the quiet of the closet the pain begins to creep up on you, begging to be acknowledged. After hours of walking on them, dancing, and standing overall—your feet were killing you. You weren’t sure how long you’d be able to stand upright while hiding. 

“Are they hurting you?” 

“Yeah, a bit.”

“Lets get them off then,” Bucky slides his hand underneath your right thigh, eyes locked on yours, as he hikes it up against the outside of his leg. Your hips brush up against his front, your breath catching at the intimacy of the moment. He watches your every reaction as he slides his hand down the underside of your leg until he reaches the strap of your heel. He’s able to undo it effortlessly, relieving you of the discomfort, his fingers grazing your ankle as he slides your right heel off. His every touch leaves heat in its wake. 

“Bucky you really don't have to—” he cuts you off with a soft smile and half-lidded eyes, switching his hold from your right leg to your left one, “I want to, sweetheart. Just let me help, ” he removes the other heel with the same tantalizing tenderness he used for the first one. Putting them to the side where they won’t get in the way.

The relief you feel is immediate.

“Better?” 

“Much.” 

“Good.” 

A moment passes before he speaks, his voice quiet with an underlying devotion, “You don’t get the hold you have on me, do you?’’ His right hand dances along the outside of your thigh while his left plays with the strap of your dress, twirling it between his fingers. The hand at your thigh traces patterns onto it. Trailing intricate swirls across the flesh, along your hips, ascending to your waist, and all the way up to the space between your breasts. The touch lingers there when you let out a soft sigh. 

You honestly forget how to breathe. 

“Say the word and I’m all yours, Y/n,” his voice is rough as his lips ghost against yours—seductively grazing against them. Going so far as licking his lips with an invigorating grin to really drive you crazy.

Bucky is waiting for you to make the deciding move. When you realize this, you throw all caution to the wind, pulling him in for a desperate kiss. You waste no time in granting him access to deepen it. Bucky follows your lead ardently. His hands snake down your body to cup your ass and pull you impossibly close to him. 

Your hands get lost in his hair, a groan rumbling through him at the way you tug at it. You two aren’t sweetly kissing, you're devouring each other. Yearning for the other all night leaves no more room for taking things slow or holding back. You’re both now giving in to what you want most—each other. 

The heat between you intensifies until it crescendos to a boiling point. The aching between your legs imploring you to do something about it. You reach down to tug at the waistband of his pants, causing Bucky to let out a husky laugh. 

“If you want something use your words, sweetheart,” he mutters against your lips, you suppress a groan, “You know what I want. I don't have to say it,” you retort impatiently. Bucky shakes his head, smiling despite himself, “I want to hear you say it,” he dips his head to the crook of your neck, his teeth nipping at the skin. The hands on your ass give it a light squeeze emitting a small gasp from you. You can feel the shit-eating grin on your neck. 

“Bucky….I…” your words are cut off by a soft moan when Bucky’s left hand sneaks its way through the slit of your dress until he reaches the inside of your thighs. He massages the flesh there, his thumb brushing against the hem of your panties. 

Your arousal pools impossibly more, and the lustful haze only increases at the way you feel his hardened cock straining against his pants—right against your hip. 

“Mm? What was that, baby? Couldn’t hear you over those pretty noises you're making,” his every word drips with cockiness. 

“You're insufferable.”

“That’s my girl.” 

Bucky kisses your neck with more fervor. Sucking and nipping at the skin hard enough to leave marks. Your thighs involuntarily close together at the way he calls you his girl. He eases them back apart with his deliberate touches. Kneading the soft flesh in his hands as his breathing goes ragged along your neck, tickling your skin. He was on the brink of losing what little control he had left. 

You suck in a sharp breath, losing what little semblance of control you had left the higher his touch gets. He only goes so far, barely brushing across your clothed cunt to give you a taste of what he can do if you just let him hear it. You were desperate for more and he knew it. 

 “Fuck me, Bucky,” you manage to whimper out, hooking your fingers into his empty belt loops and yanking him towards you. Bucky lets out a low growl at the brief friction, his eyes darkening to an almost unrecognizable color. For a moment, his brain short circuits at your words, processing that you really said that to him accompanied by that alluring sound. He’s heard those sinful noises from you before, but never like this. Never with the assurance of more. 

“Say it again.”

“Bucky, please just fuck me already.”

You don’t have to tell him another time. Bucky crashes his mouth onto yours with a new intensity, mumbling lustful promises into your mouth. How he wants you, how badly he aches to make you feel good, how he yearns for his pretty girl to lose herself with him, and so many more things that make you dizzy. 

He moves to bunch up your dress, hiking it up your legs until it's bundled at your waist. His breathing strains at the sight—your black lacy panties luring him in—his muscles tensing at the growing need to be inside you. His left arm reaches down to hook his forearm under your knee and bring it up to his hip. You wrap that leg around him, steadying yourself on your other foot as you grind against each other. You can feel the way his cock aches to be freed and it causes you to arch deeper into him. Your moans mingle into one, the slight relief overwhelming you. 

Bucky takes his free hand and splays it at the small of your back, offering strong support as your bodies continue to grind against one another. A chorus of moans and yearnful whines erupt from you both. All of the pining and hunger for one another amalgamates into one as you continue to rub against each other. You swallow each other’s sounds, tongues tangling carnally as neither of you leaves any room for air.

“Do you have—?”

“Back pocket. Wallet.”

Your lips barely disconnect at the brief exchange. You reach behind him, patting down his backside until you feel the outline of his wallet in his pocket. You take hold of it and bring it forward. Meanwhile, Bucky decides to leave wet kisses along the valley of your breasts. You can barely contain yourself and your soft moans as you pull out the condom. The wallet almost slips from your grasp as the attention to your breasts causes you to tremble. 

You hold it tighter intending to put it back in his pocket when something catches your eye. In the clear slot where his identification should be is a polaroid picture from the weekend camping trip. You’re in that picture sitting next to Bucky on a couple of logs surrounded by your friends and peers. There’s a bright smile on Bucky’s face, his arm around your shoulder as you make bunny ears behind his head.

You love this picture. You have a copy of it taped to your bedroom mirror back home.

At your stillness, Bucky looks up to see what’s going on. When he notices you staring at the picture, he smiles fondly. " It's the only picture I had of us,” he utters softly, causing a warmth to spread throughout you. You gaze at him in tender awe, marveling at the fact that Bucky is real.

Why had you ever doubted he was anything but yours? 

You kiss him this time with all the unspoken feelings you’ve bubbled up and kept inside. The wallet falls from your hands, but it's no matter as Bucky kicks it to the side with his foot, and shudders at the way your lips claim his. This goes beyond lust. Your heart beats with reason, and that reason is the man in front of you. 

“Bucky, I want this. I want you. All of you,” you whisper passionately, your hands lowering to help him unbutton and unzip his pants, the foil neatly tucked between your fingers. A guttural moan leaves him when you push the layers of fabric down and free his cock, pumping it a few times to get a feel of it. His head falls to your shoulder, sighing softly in a near whine as you tear the foil open and roll the protection down his length. It twitches in your hands, his hips bucking at the contact. 

His arms are preoccupied with keeping you close and steady, so you gently guide him to your center. Moving your panties to the side as he tantalizingly slides along your folds before he slowly enters you. Your mouth goes agape at the sensation while Bucky has to do everything to make sure he doesn’t cum right then and there.

This was so much better than what he had imagined in his dreams. 

It's been too long since you’ve done this and the burn at the stretch causes you to cry out quietly. Bucky peppers your face with sweet kisses and whispers of devotion. Trying to do his best to comfort you as he lets you adjust inch by inch. The hand at the small of your back rubs circles into it with his thumb, your own hands shooting up to grip his biceps for support. 

“I’m not gonna last if you tighten up like that sweetheart,” he hisses a groan at how tightly your walls envelop him. You’re really making it hard for him to not come undone in a short amount of time. 

“Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize, baby, just relax for me.”

His gentle words are accompanied by thrusts that are slow with a deliberate purpose. He’s careful with his pace as he wants this to go at whatever speed you need. It takes a bit, but his soft kisses and comforting touches coax the burn away until you're left with the ardent ache of needing more. 

“Faster, Bucky,” you plead breathily. He rests his forehead against yours.“Can you handle it, baby?” His question is full of loving concern, prioritizing your pleasure over everything.

“I can…fuck…please,” you assure him, your leg pulling him in tighter causing him to bottom out. Bucky curses and moans all in one. At your assurance, he picks up the pace of his hips, rocking them against you with a fiery velocity. The lewd sounds bouncing off the walls of the closet in waves. 

He gives it to you exactly how you asked him to. That man would do anything for you—just say the word and its done. 

Bucky is on cloud nine at the way you take him. The way your bodies mold and arch into one another’s like you can’t get enough. As if all you ever needed to consume to live was each other. When he goes to kiss you, you can barely kiss back as you’re too lost in the way he slams into you.

“Fuck, baby, if only you could see yourself. You’re so fucking gorgeous making those pretty expressions for me,” Bucky grunts out, drinking up the sight of your face. A string of mewls leaves your lips at the keen attention he keeps on you. Everything about you right now is a work of art in his eyes he wants framed and kept at his bedside. A constant reminder he’s the one who gets to make you look and feel so damn good.  

“Don’t stop, please don't stop.”

“Wasn’t planning to, sweetheart.” 

Your words egg him on to go harder, causing your back to press tightly against the wall. Hiking your leg just a tad bit higher to thrust into you at another angle. This was the best decision he ever made as he hits the perfect spot within you. One that leaves you clinging onto him desperately as your walls tighten on the brink of release. 

It takes a few more fierce drives into you until your orgasm hits you and you're cumming with a feverish intensity. Moaning Bucky’s name in a euphoric mantra that’s music to his ears. It's what brings him over the edge and he stills at the force of his orgasm, his head collapsing into the dip of your neck as he releases into the condom. 

“My girl. My sweet girl. You feel so good, baby,” Bucky softly whispers against your neck. Planting small kisses as both of you come down from your highs. Your arms wrap behind his neck to embrace him and keep him close to you. Bucky continues to mutter sweet praises along your skin, as your hands thread through his hair tenderly. Both of you steadying your breaths as you come back down to Earth. 

If it weren't for Bucky holding your right leg up, it would've fallen from its position at his hip long ago. You’re even more grateful for it now as your body felt completely boneless. And when he pulls out, its the grip he has on your body that keeps your knees from buckling.

Bucky lifts his head so his gaze locks on yours. His blues are swimming with a vehemence that steals your breath and causes your pulse to race.  

“Y/n, I…I wanted to give you some time. Time to figure things out—to figure out what you wanted. I tried pretending I was okay with pieces of you, but I’m not. I want all of you. I want to be yours,” Bucky confesses with sincerity. You reach out to interlock your hands with his, a floodgate of emotions engulfing you. 

“Bucky—” you start, but he’s not hearing it, afraid you’ll want to go back to a place that would devastate him. “Wait, just hear me out. Everything I ever did was to get you to notice me. From the moment we met there was just something about you that kept pulling me in. And I knew—I just knew I had to get to know you. And then one thing led to another and I fell for you—hard. Now I can’t imagine my life without you. There's only you. It’s always been you. Give me a chance, let me prove it to you every day, that I’m yours. That I have been for a long time,” Bucky’s tone borders on pleading, you give his hands a light squeeze to ease the worry in his features. 

“Bucky you have nothing to prove—”

“Y/n—” 

This time you stop him by clamping a hand over his mouth. 

“Bucky, you have nothing to prove because I’ve felt the same way for a long time. I just fought it for so long out of fear that maybe you weren’t serious about me. But I can see now I was wrong. I’ve been yours for a long time too, Bucky. I just pretended I wasn’t—and I’m done fighting it. I’m done being in denial. I want to have something serious with you. I’m ready for it,” your heartfelt confession immediately melts away the tension in Bucky’s shoulders. 

You wanting this as much as he did made him feel like he was on top of the world.

He mumbles something into your hand, the biggest grin on the other side of it. You laugh adoringly at the sight as you remove your hand to replace it with your mouth instead. Both of you sink into the kiss as a deeper devotion is exchanged. 

“Whoever is seeking is horrible at it,” you remove yourself with a light giggle, taking a jab at whoever the seeker of the hide-and-seek game is. A game that was long forgotten by Bucky until you mentioned it. 

Bucky smiles sheepishly, “About that…there's not actually a hide-and-seek game. And if there is they don't know we’re playing,” he confesses with a twinkle in his eyes. You shake your head at him, laughing in disbelief, “Bucky, then what were you and Steve whispering about?” Your curiosity is met with a boyish grin from Bucky, “I was just letting him know not to come looking for me. I wanted to get some alone time with you,” his hands find your hips again to give them a gentle squeeze.

Bucky is far from done with you yet. 

You roll your eyes lightheartedly at his revelation. Of course, he’d come up with a way to get you all to himself. Can you blame him? 

After a few more stolen kisses and lingering touches, you both start to compose yourselves. Adjusting your outfits and collecting your items from the ground. Thankfully, the guest room has its own bathroom where the two of you can clean up much better than in the small closet. Tousled hair, smeared makeup, and sweaty skin required a deeper attentiveness.

You both take your time in freshening up. The bathroom lighting does wonders to reveal every piece of evidence of your sexual encounter. You can now clearly see all the red marks that would eventually turn into hickeys that scattered your neck and chest. Bucky beams pleased at the markings he’s left as you scold him for making them so prominent. 

Bucky doesn’t give a damn. He’d gladly make more in an instant. 

By the end, all that's left is to get your heels on, which Bucky insists on helping you with. He offered to carry you for the rest of the party or even giving you his shoes, but you declined both options. You paid good money for these heels so whether you liked it or not, you were forcing yourself to wear them. 

Bucky helps you up onto the expansive marble counter. Lowering down onto his knees in front of you to slide your heels back onto your feet. Nimble fingers work the straps into place, making sure they're not too tight at the ankles. When he looks up at you, a devilish grin appears on his face. That spark of desire is back in your eyes when you see how good he looks knelt between your legs. Your mind was reeling with ideas as the heat once again pranced across your skin. Bucky’s gaze bore into yours, almost as if he could read your mind. He can’t help but get turned on again. 

You were in the same boat. 

“You know, I have a big stats test on Monday. I could use an emergency tutoring session right about now,” his tone is laced with suggestion as his fingers trace along your ankle. You hum, “Hm? Do you? I think I could accommodate that.” Your reply gives Bucky the go to start kissing up your legs until he reaches your knees. He never breaks eye contact as he places a tender kiss on each one before standing up and giving that same attention to your mouth.

“Perfect. Let’s get out of here, sweetheart,” Bucky mutters against your lips, the kiss a promise of the fun awaiting you for the rest of the night. Now that the lines were blurred beyond recognition, into something deeper, something real, you were both completely all in. 

[gasstationlady]

right person, right timing, right? | a charles leclerc social media au | pt. 1

pairing: charles leclerc x figureskater!reader (fc: jennie kim and some yuna kim)

after almost a decade, monaco's two-time olympic women's figure skating champion, y/n l/n, moves back home for her retirement.

notes: y/n's career is inspired by kim yuna's career! hopefully it’s not too confusing to read and follow 😭

disclaimer: typos. swearing. chatgpt french. i'm not the most educated in figure skating, so pls excuse any mistakes! photos aren't mine, nothing here is factual.

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nbcsports

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nbcsports Y/N L/N announces retirement after 2024 World Championships

The Queen of Figure Skating has taken her last bow.

NBCSports writer Kyle Smith tweets word that Y/N L/N, whose bid to become a fourth-consecutive World champion was narrowly denied today by the United States's Carolyn Rivers, has confirmed that she will retire at the age of 25.

The Monegasque superstar will end her stellar career with the 2018 and 2022 Olympic gold, three world championships, and the distinction of never finishing off the podium in her senior-level international career.

Read the rest of the article now on our website.

View all 508 comments

user no. fucking. way. please say sike rn

user God I don't blame her, figure skating is turning into math these days. She deserved that gold.

user ik monaco is depressed as hell rn LOL bc same

↳ user The way that's so accurate because imagine the #1 athlete representing your country is all of a sudden retiring. 😭😭 Monaco literally only has 2 Olympic medals EVER and they were both won by Y/N, if that doesn't say how significant she is to the country then idk.

↳ user i heard they even nicknamed her "Ice Queen Y/N" 😭😭

↳ user Yes, she is called "La Reine des Glaces" in Monaco!

user no hate to carolyn at all but she isn't rlly a complete skater. i'm extremely disappointed with the judging today

user wow i suddenly can't read

user Nooooo not my favorite skater ☹️

user i can't imagine watching a competition without y/n present :( such a major loss for the fs community, but i wish her the best in her retirement! 🥺🥺

user she just did one of the best performances i've ever seen, just to end up winning silver?? make it make sense fr

yourusername

liked by _kagavovskay_14, mlnmarta and 140,861 others

yourusername chez moi est là où est mon cœur, je t'aime monaco 🇲🇨 SEE TRANSLATION home is where my heart is, i love you monaco 🇲🇨

View all 1,816 comments

graciegold95 Beautiful 💞

↳ yourusername 💞💞

user are you quiting skating forever? :(

↳ yourusername i’ll be taking a break for a while but i will always skate, just not competitively! ❤️

user Nous regretterons de vous voir compétitionner, mais nous espérons que vous passerez une retraite incroyable, notre reine des glaces. SEE TRANSLATION We will miss watching you compete, but we hope you have an amazing retirement, our ice queen.

↳ yourusername Merci beaucoup ❤️ SEE TRANSLATION Thank you so much ❤️

isabeau.levito 🥹❤️❤️

mae_meite Je te souhaite tout le meilleur, jolie 💞 SEE TRANSLATION Wishing the best for you, pretty 💞

user so beautiful

user Bienvenue chez toi ! SEE TRANSLATION Welcome back home !

user i can’t be the only one wishing for charles and y/n to reunite (and get back together) now that she moved back to Monaco 😅

↳ user STOP BC LITERALLY ME TOOO 😭😭😭

↳ user omg i thought i was the only one who remembered they dated

y/nupdates

5,211 likes

y/nupdates Y/N attending a fundraising event in Paris! This is her first appearance since announcing her retirement three weeks ago 🥹

View all 55 comments

user I already miss seeing her on the ice 🥲

user omgg her wearing chanel is everything

user aww she looks so happy!!

user How did charles fumble her

↳ user i'm pretty sure that it was just the wrong time for them :(

↳ user Ik that they broke up bc she moved to Canada for skating but why couldn't they just do long distance 😩😩

user y/n will forever be my celebrity crush 😍😍

leclerc16

2,332 likes

leclerc16 Charles in Paris with fans today!

View all 30 comments

user seeing everyone surrounding him overwhelms me and i’m not even there 😩

user am i delusional for thinking he’ll somehow see y/n in Paris 😭😭

↳ user I mean they also both have been in Monaco the past two months and so far no interactions between them 😐

↳ user well no interactions that we know of 😁🤔

user charles looks so bf here

yourusername

liked by chanelofficial, lorenzotl, arthur_leclerc and 160,323 others

yourusername merci @/chanelofficial de m'avoir invitée 💞 SEE TRANSLATION thank you for inviting me 💞

View all 433 comments

chanelofficial 💞💞

user face card never declines

user so pretty 😍😍

user omg not arthur AND lorenzo liking this pic?? 👀

↳ user the logical side of me thinks it’s normal bc they all grew up together but at the same time it’s kind of sus since it’s usually just Arthur liking and not both🤔

↳ user 😭😭😭

user wait i’m confused why did she retire at such a young age?

↳ user It’s actually quite common for competitive figure skaters to retire “early.” Y/N hasn’t stated an official reason but I’m assuming the physical and mental exhaustion just got to her, especially because the sport has been favoring difficulty over artistry lately 🤷‍♀️

mlnmarta

liked by yourusername, charles_leclerc and 33,522 others

mlnmarta Les aventures avec sa tante Y/N sont ses préférées ❤️ SEE TRANSLATION Adventures with her Aunt Y/N are her favorite ❤️

View all 193 comments

yourusername le temps avec Chiara est mon préféré 🥰 SEE TRANSLATION Time with Chiara is my favorite 🥰

user the cutest duo 🥹

user Why is this y/n girl suddenly everywhere

↳ user umm y/n and marta are childhood friends lmao they’ve always posted each other! i think the internet has just amplified everything recently

user so does y/n have no job now lmfao

↳ user I'm like 98% sure she's gonna end up being a figure skating coach or an influencer or both

↳ user guys she's literally still working with her sponsors and i don't think they're dropping her any time soon

↳ user Chilllll she deadass just retired

user NO WAY CHARLES LIKED

yourusername

liked by charles_leclerc, lorenzotl and 597,390 others

yourusername Je voulais juste remercier tous ceux qui sont venus me soutenir lors de ma dernière présentation à Monaco. Je suis infiniment reconnaissante. Ce n'est pas la fin, mais plutôt le début d'un nouveau chapitre. ❤️

I just wanted to thank everyone who came to support me at my final showcase in Monaco. I’m endlessly grateful. This is not the end, instead it’s the start of a new chapter. ❤️

View all 2,104 comments

yourbestie À couper le souffle. Je t'aime ❤️ SEE TRANSLATION Breathtaking. I love you ❤️

user je n'ai pas pu m'empêcher de pleurer en regardant 😭😭 SEE TRANSLATION i couldn’t help the tears from falling while watching 😭😭

user you’re amazing 🫶🏼

chanelofficial 💞💞

adidas A true queen 👑

user WAITTTTT CHARLES LIKED

↳ user It’s aggravating to see Charles constantly being mentioned in Y/N’s comments. Other than that, this is a reach. I think everyone is forgetting that Y/N is highly respected in Monaco so it’s not unusual for Charles to like her photos. You can even check; all of Charles friends and other well known individuals from Monaco are also in her likes.

↳ user lmfaoooo it’s truly not that deep girl, it’s okay to smile

user her adding in her own translation is so real of her 😭

user There will never be another skater as graceful and talented as you 🥺🥺

f1gossip

12,388 likes

f1gossip Charles Leclerc seen with ex-girlfriend Camille Dubois driving around Monaco. Many fans were convinced he was back with a different ex, Y/N L/N, after Charles and his family were spotted at Y/N’s retirement showcase last week. Always Mr. Indecisive 👀👀

View all 116 comments

user bruh 😐

user This is crazy wtf i’d be pissed if i were y/n

user CAMILLE AND NOT Y/N BYEE i’m sliding down the wall punching the air sobbing bc what the hell

user i’m going insane contemplating the possibility that y/n and charles were always just friends and never had any intentions to get back together

user not what i wanted to see first thing in the morning 👎

user guys was it all in our heads

[randombush3]

cherry wine

jenni hermoso x reader

part one

i hate this but i'm posting it anyway LOL

also sorry if it doesn't make sense but just like don't read into it 🙂

thanks @codiemarin for part two's idea xx

i also feel like every character deserves an apology in this

p.s. not proofread soz

Jenni decides that she doesn’t mind too much. 

She is happy in Mexico, and, just like in Paris, her escape becomes a person, not a place. 

You have moved, and now you speak Spanish. She still doesn’t know where you are from. 

Your husband, however, is a lot more forthcoming. He works in oil. He owns a quarter of the club; he bought the shares without a second thought. You have no daughter but your husband wants women’s football to have a future. He isn’t a bad man, which Jenni hates. 

He is kind – filthy rich, but kind – and it makes it hard to hurt such a good person. 

Fortunately, ‘hard’ and ‘impossible’ are not synonymous. 

Motherhood brings about no thaw, but your iciness is what has always made you so enticing to Jenni. 

She memorises your address, and she is now the one who appears. The security guards open the gates for her when the time is right, and if it isn’t, they hustle her to a nearby bar and instruct her to wait. She waits obediently. She waits because you always call her back at some point. 

When you are with Jenni, cold fingertips warmed, eyes burning with desire, the tightrope she walks widens. She plants her feet with certainty, however false it may be. She looks down at the wire to avoid the world that blazes around her, and she never dares to look ahead because she knows that it is never going to be the right time to ask. 

It looks ugly, but it’s clean. 

Jenni is happy to be with you; happy here in Monterrey, just as she was happy there in Paris. 

Happy to hide and drag herself out of your bed past midnight. 

His bed. (She tries not to think about it.)

The complicating factor is the two little boys running around the mansion, chased by tired nannies who aren’t sure how to explain why their mother needs to be left alone with their favourite footballer. That’s what Jenni becomes, unluckily, because your husband is so forward-thinking that he takes the boys to see the girls. 

Although your piercing eyes can make Jenni shiver, the boys are unaffected. They run rings around everyone, but Jenni can sometimes bark out a command and get them to sit. 

Often enough, they sit an appropriate distance from your bedroom, patiently waiting for your private meeting to be over before hounding Jenni the minute she emerges. They take no notice of her tousled hair or wild eyes, and their attention flings Jenni’s tears back inside of her whenever you get a bit too harsh with her, so it’s all good. 

When her mother calls and asks why Jenni has learnt French now instead of when she played there, she tells her not to fuss. 

Jenni is removed from those who care about her, but the haze of comfort you provide blinds her to her mistakes. 

You are hers and she is yours. 

She lies in the palm of your hand and likes when your fist closes around her. She feels safe that way. 

She likes when there is blood because the blood tastes as sweet as cherry wine. Blood is proof that you are real. Your blood runs hot like tar, and she is glad to be rooted to the spot. 

Weeks go by, and Jenni’s latest medal begins to strangle her. 

You are starting to fall in love. 

It’s never happened before. 

It’s not dutiful and it’s not because you are too weak to overcome a woman’s nature; incapable of recoding the innate forces of motherhood. It’s not as taxing or exhausting, and it is certainly not the chore you thought love would be. 

Love is radiation, in a sense, and you cannot conceal it. 

Jenni is unaware that she should dress herself in lead, but suddenly everything is contaminated and, apparently, it is all her fault. 

He’s away. 

Jenni knows he is away because he said goodbye to her when he visited the team during their training session. He wished her luck for the match, he professed his faith in her to bring his club success. He is slowly losing the French accent when he speaks, he is slowly catching up to her. 

He’s away but this time she can’t shake the feeling of him in your bed. 

It’s never happened before. 

She still wants it, but her crime is flashing bright red in her mind. 

You, guilty too, flee from the lawless land you have built.

“We’re going to the Maldives for our anniversary,” you inform her, even though there is no reason for her to know. She is not this ‘we’. 

She’s actually never been included in a ‘we’. 

“And the boys?” Jenni asks with interest. She’d prefer them to tag along. It being less romantic would make her feel better. 

“The boys are staying here.” You turn around and face the window as she rises from the crumpled sheets. The blinds part enough for you to catch glimpses of laughing figures chasing each other around the poolside, shouts sounding frantically from their nanny about watching their step. “You’ll visit them while I’m away, right? They really like you.” 

“I really like them.” You smile. It reaches your eyes and Jenni sees the reflection of it in the glass. Wishing her hands could frame you, she feels encouraged to continue. “I like anything of yours. I adore you.”

Your response is as closed as a fist, but your ribs flare open and your heart is on display, thumping and thumping, and Jenni knows that she is holding the key to a rusted lock. It’s neither shiny nor new, but it is the right one this time. 

Jenni guards the key in your absence but she is going to hand it back to you. 

She does visit the boys, driving over daily, rolling her eyes when the guards remind her that you are not yet done with your holiday and punctuating her sentences curtly. They ask her about Spain. Jenni finds herself explaining lesbianism too. 

She can’t help but associate Spain with people she’d rather not think about, but the boys strike her as perfect blends of you and your husband and she is very quickly forcing those thoughts into her mind. 

She books a flight and she goes home, ensuring there is an overlap with your holiday so that you are the one who has to do the welcoming when she returns. 

“You’re not really here for work, are you?” Alexia sees right through her, amused by Jenni’s foolishness. “I have a girlfriend, Jenni.” 

“I need to forget mine,” Jenni replies quietly. 

Her attempt is futile and her desperation wanes the moment her plane lands. 

She tried. 

She can’t escape from it though; from you. 

You are still falling in love with Jenni. Distance didn’t stop it like you thought it would. 

You tried. 

Your husband grows busier and leaves more often. 

There is more time to fall in love with Jenni, and it suffocates you like some brainwashing, poisonous gas. 

You search for a cure for your illness, but there is no cure for the absence of infirmity. 

Your plan to drive her away is to echo how traumatising Paris must have been, but sleeping with Jenni furiously is infuriating. It doesn’t work! 

It doesn’t last, and, like some tired soldier, your fire is blown out and only softer, sweeter, more merciful embers remain.

There is no fight left, but you are in denial. 

The battle is lost and won, yet the victor is unclear. Is it Jenni, who is clutched closer and asked to sleep over? Is it you, with a delicious ache in your muscles and steaming blood coursing through your veins? 

“Do you love me?” 

You pale at how obvious you must have become and you don’t know how to answer. 

Jenni decides that she doesn’t mind too much. 

[cartierre]

LOVE ON ICE | ms47

SOCIAL MEDIA mick schumacher x fem!ice figure skater!reader

side note: the title for this is the most basic bitch i've ever created but i couldn't come up with anything better so we all have to live with it now. sue me! (please don't) side note pt2: also i have no idea how the winter olympics work, all of this is probably so inaccurate but it is what it is.

♡ liked by mickschumacher, beijing2022, olympics and 45,932 others

tagged: beijing2022

yourusername see you in a year beijing2022 ! until then, lots of training and minimal distractions!

view all 239 comments

beijing2022 congrats!! looking forward to see you here with us ⤷ yourusername absolutely blasted

mickschumacher that means not seeing you at any of my races? :( ⤷ yourusername talk to my trainer ⤷ yourtrainer no

user1 omg congratulations! we love to see you succeeding!

user2 she's literally so much more talented than mick ⤷ user3 i don't think you can compare racing in formula one to being a figure skater. two completely different things, makes no sense ⤷ user4 at least she isn't a nepo baby

♡ liked by 19,203 people

tagged: yourusername, mickschumacher

f1wagupdates Mick Schumacher and girlfriend Y/N Y/L/N arriving together at the Bahrain International Circuit for the first grand prix this season! This marks the official F1 debut of the son of 7 times world champion Michael Schumacher.

view all 76 comments

user5 omg i love that she came even if she's training for the olympics right now! ⤷ user6 kind of selfish of him to have her there even though she's literally training to become a champion herself ⤷ user7 i don't think mick forced her to come...

user8 she's rocking the paddock fashion game as she did back in f2 already! ⤷ user9 effortlessly beautiful, i'm envious :(

♡ liked by mickschumacher, gina_schumacher and 43,492 others

tagged: mickschumacher, haasf1team

yourusername you really think i'd say no to mick in fireproofs? and for free? also, congratulations baby for fulfilling part of your dream! mick wdc when?

view all 201 comments

user10 y/n going against her trainer and supporting mick for his f1 debut makes me giggle and wiggle my feet ⤷ user11 when is it my time to have an athlete boyfriend who i can support unconditionally?

mickschumacher i bet your trainer hates me now ⤷ yourusername she loves you ⤷ yourtrainer do i? ⤷ yourusername she's just joking ⤷ yourtrainer am i?

user12 why is y/n's trainer so funny for no reason ⤷ user13 the way she's just completely violating mick has me rolling on the floor

user14 can we please talk for a second how cute of a couple they are? ⤷ user15 lily and alex are having some serious competition right now

♡ liked by mickschumacher and 39,904 others

tagged: mickschumacher

yourusername winter break with my favourite person (myself) and mick is there as well, i guess

view all 198 comments

mickschumacher you're a terrible ice skating teacher ⤷ yourusername just because you're a loser on ice ⤷ mickschumacher i'm offended to my core ⤷ yourusername ice skating is offened by you

user16 sometimes i come to y/n's profile just to read through the little banters her and mick have in the comments ⤷ user17 free therapy

user18 i hope next season will be better for mick since y/n is then able to join him again after the olympics

user19 you're so cute you disgust me with your couple stuff

♡ liked by mickschumacher, beijing2022 and 49,392 others

tagged: beijing2022

yourusername breathtaking experience and an absolute honour to have been able to perform for my country at the winter olympics 2022. the silver medal will definitely look good on my shelf. lots of love to everyone who supported me along my way!

view all 536 comments

user20 so sad to not have you seen with a gold medal around your neck, but you were absolutely beautiful on ice!

user21 well deserved girl, very proud of you!

mickschumacher my little vice champion ⛸️🥈 comment liked by yourusername

user22 you were so robbed from first place.... ⤷ user23 she's just warming up, her career has a lot to offer for the future

user24 my whole tiktok is full of your performance, i love it

♡ liked by yourusername, dennis_hauger and 293,408 others

tagged: yourusername

mickschumacher couldn't have a more talented girlfriend than you ❤️🖤

view all 736 comments

user25 we love an equally supportive boyfriend ⤷ user26 mick keeps on continuing raising the bar over here ⤷ user27 i'll never find a boyfriend because no one else is mick schumacher

yourusername still baffled you were able to clear your schedule to see me perform ⤷ mickschumacher i'd never miss a chance of seeing you gracefully capture various emotions on ice

user28 i'm down for this man so bad ⤷ user29 fr y/n i want a lil piece of mick as well

[king-crawler]

The scene where Ralph meets King Candy for the first time is one of the most interesting ones on a rewatch because you already know who King Candy is pretending Not to be. The way Ralph behaves is interesting too. (I’m studying these little 1kb game characters under a microscope)

Below the cut is a LONG scene/character analysis (~6min read?)

First off. King Candy’s mere Entrance in this scene already characterizes him a ton and he hasn’t even said anything yet. He speeds obnoxiously around Ralph in his little go-kart BLARING HIS HORN. This immediately gives off the impression of: Very in your face. Very full of himself. And Very Annoying About It. (sir.. your Turbo is showing)

BUT THE DIALOGUE. JUST THIS SINGLE INTERACTION:

(Ralph Face Reveal While Screaming)

“Milk my duds! it’s Wreck-it Ralph??”

“Yeah...? And who are you, the guy who makes the donuts?”

“Hoohoo, please- No! I’m King Candy!”

I love this interaction because King Candy INSTANTLY knows who Ralph is. And from Ralph’s perspective that’s… weird.

Ralph is probably a little confused. Given how he answers “yeah?” He doesn’t just straight up ask “How do you know who I am” because he’s currently being interrogated (Probably Not a Good Time) Also that recognition is something he rarely receives in the first place, so why from this guy…? So instead he asks: Well who are you supposed to be?

WELL FIRST OF ALL. HE KNOWS WHO RALPH IS BECAUSE TURBO’S GAME CABINET SAT NEXT TO HIS FOR YEARS. Which is why King Candy is so surprised - he’s probably seeing him for the first time in decades.

“Hoohoo, please- No! I’m King Candy!”

I also love how he nervously laughs at first before responding with “No!” In that particular way- simply laughing it off before being Rather Quick to reject Ralph’s proposal that he could possibly be someone else. Interesting .

But it’s the way he says “I’m King Candy!” That carries so much implication. His pose and smile, the perfect inflection in his voice- it’s theatrical, it’s like he’s rehearsed it. It’s almost like he’s trying to convince Ralph that he’s really who he says he is with the best performance possible. He’s been doing that for years and by this point he’s totally mastered it. Nobody suspects a thing. (For now……)

—————————— Skipping forward a little, Ralph explains that he got a medal from Hero's Duty.

"Your medal? (giggles) Bad guys don't win medals!"

"Well, this one did. I earned it over in... Hero's Duty"

"You game-jumped?? Ralph... You're not going Turbo, are you?"

"What? No no no no no..."

"Because i-if you think you can come in here- (laughs nervously) to MY kingdom, and take over MY GAME, YOU'VE GOT ANOTHER THING COMING!"

THERE IS A LOT TO UNPACK HERE.

First off we'll focus on Ralph. The way he admits it... He knows it sounds bad. He breaks eye contact and hesitates before saying "Hero's Duty." Probably because he knows what King Candy is gonna retort with. But he still says "I earned it" not only because he doesn't want to incriminate himself, but because he believes it. He did earn it... right? And then Ralph tries to brush off the suggestion that he's going Turbo before being interrupted by King candy's rampant tantrum. (WHICH I WILL GET TO.)

At this point, Ralph is becoming less confident that he earned his medal because he's in denial about “going Turbo.” His confidence wavers here especially because he's in the presence of this apparent authority figure whose trying to guilt and incriminate him. (And this is a situation he's already all too familiar with- think of how Surge Protector always halts him when going into games just because he's a bad guy.)

But there's still one major thing keeping this denial intact: He wants to hold onto the fact he deserves his medal so bad. Others have hurt him for so long, he thinks getting that medal alone means he'll finally be respected, praised, and loved.

"Is it Turbo to want a friend? Or a medal? Or a piece of pie every once in a while? Is it Turbo to want more out of life?"

(I know that’s literally the Conflict of the Movie. BUT ITS WORTH MENTIONING OKAY I LOVE RALPH’S CHARACTER LEAVE ME ALONE)

I think the fact you can gather all this info just from the way he's portrayed during this SINGLE INTERACTION- its amazing. Amazing character writing is when when nearly every action a character does reinforces their motivations or personality and you're able to SEE IT!!

——————————

Now to focus on King Candy again… this FUCKER‼️

First off, him mentioning Turbo Isn’t even that suspicious at this point in the film… well… at first glance at least.

At first it seems like everyone knows who Turbo is. Ralph is questioned at Bad-Anon, Q*bert tells Felix and the nicelanders freak out- everyone who’s been around for a while knows who this guy is. But if you think about it… isn’t Sugar Rush a newer game? Not as new as Hero’s Duty, but it’s still a little odd that King Candy would know who Turbo is ON TOP of knowing Ralph. Just a little.

"You game-jumped?? Ralph... You're not going Turbo, are you?"

Ok but Seriously. That Part. The pure irony of King candy saying THAT a threat against Ralph in an attempt to incriminate him. The way he says it too... He breaks eye contact and glances to the floor like it’s something forbidden to even mention. His accompanied hand movements too (and King Candy speaks with his hands A Lot) they move like he’s describing a ghost story. He’s obviously trying to scare Ralph… trying to scare him into admitting something.

This is... a lot. Maybe even some level of self projecting...? Cuz MAN. that is too deep for me to even start getting into

But the fact that his OWN NAME (a SECRET IDENTITY MIND YOU) has become so infamous that now HE’S WEAPONIZING IT?!? IS INSANE??? Can you Imagine his thought process. Like how far gone into the deep end is he.

(SORRY FOR NOT USING MY OWN WORDS. BUT I JUST ADORE HOW @simpingforcys PUT IT HERE. …..)

THIS. this is so good. And the way King Candy eludes to “Turbo” as some kind of monster. Could that be offering him like. A Brief moment of catharsis. Or fuel some twisted sense of pride. What the FUCK is going on in this SICKO’S HEAD !!!!! I NEED TO KNOW!!!!

"Because i-if you think you can come in here- (laughs nervously) to MY kingdom, and take over MY GAME, YOU'VE GOT ANOTHER THING COMING!"

SECOND!!!!!! King Candy gets SO defensive SO FAST. That man jumps to conclusions IMMEDIATELY!!! He essentially throws a tantrum while stepping closer to Ralph, stumbling over his words and giggling nervously. The mere thought of there being ANY threat of someone else taking over "his game" riles him up SO BAD.

This is the same EXACT SAME TEMPER that made him storm into Roadblasters as Turbo years ago, because he saw Roadblasters as a direct threat to his own game's popularity - HIS popularity!!!! Because getting exposure- infamous or otherwise- is the ONLY thing that drives him. (Pun intended. Sorry.)

And the way he repeats “MY” kingdom “MY” game… mine mine mine mine mine mine mine mine mine. Are you done with your tantrum old man.

——————————

Wow. Anyways I think that’s enough for now. And that was in response to only a minute of content. (Oh dear.)

[atlantis-is-burning]

Dead Boy Detectives Cancelation

So in light of the heartbreaking news of Dead Boy Detectives getting canceled, I decided to write a letter to @netflix It's the first time I've ever felt compelled to reach out to a major company regarding their services but I wanted them to know how much the show means to us as fans and what they're taking away from us by canceling it.

For me, the show was a literal life-saver. Without going into too much detail, I was in a very dark place prior to its release and it was the only thing that helped me through it. That and meeting all of you =)

I don't know what impact it will have, if any, but if you would like to write a letter to Netflix as well letting them know what the show meant to you, I would definitely do so. Our community may be small compared to other fandoms but we are passionate and devoted to this show and they deserve to hear from us.

I've attached the letter below the cut for anyone who would like to read it and believe me, I'm not trying to medal in the tragedy Olympics with the intro, it's just a fact of what happened.

Maybe the show helped you in ways you couldn't imagine. Maybe it made you feel better about yourself or something that occurred in the past. Maybe it was just a fun comfort show for you that you really enjoyed. Whatever the reason, this show brought out the best in people and made the world feel just a little bit kinder for a while and I will never forgive Netflix for taking that away.

To whom it may concern,

On April 29th, I sat down and watched the first episode of the Dead Boy Detectives. 

I had heard good things about the show since its release a few days earlier, that it was fun and campy and easy to watch, but for me I was hoping it would be a distraction. A very close friend of mine passed away without warning on December 30th; she was just there one day and gone the next. The first half of the year was spent helping her family get her affairs in order while trying to process our shared grief and figure out how we could move on without her. 

I didn’t begin to feel like myself again until late March and by then it was only a fraction of who I had been before her passing. So when I sat down and pulled up the first episode of the Dead Boy Detectives, the only goal I had in mind was to pass a few hours watching a silly supernatural mystery show and think about something other than this sense of loss and imbalance that had settled over me.

It was the first time I smiled in nearly three weeks and it was the first time I laughed since December.

I watched the entire series, start to finish, in one night. Then I went back and watched it again the next day. And again a few days later. And for the first time since her passing, I felt like my friend was still there somehow, like we were watching it together. It was exactly the kind of show she would have loved when she was alive, flamboyant and silly with a touch of romance and mystery, so on my fourth rewatch of it, I sat on my couch with a picture of the two of us cradled in my lap, watching a show I know she would have enjoyed and feeling just the tiniest bit of my grief fade.

It was through the Dead Boy Detectives that I found a community online, a group of people who loved the show just as much as I did. We traded theories and ideas about the episodes, we excitedly welcomed new members who had just finished it and encouraged others to watch it in the meantime. We set up forums and threads on Reddit, we messaged each other, we embraced this silly, quirky show so much that it became a safe haven for a lot of us, it became a comfort series. We saw ourselves in this show and these characters and for many of us it gave us a sense of fellowship and belonging in a world where that feels more rare by the day.

And then it got canceled and for many of us, it felt like a slap in the face for the fans.

While I don’t claim to know the metrics on which a show’s success and renewal odds are based or what formula is used to determine ratings, I do know you didn’t see the fandom we created for ourselves because of this show. 

There are artists who make the most breathtaking art pieces you’ve ever seen, writers who bring you to tears with their works, and creators who painstakingly and lovingly created playlists and mood boards for each of the characters, matching them with songs and snippets of poetry that fit so perfectly it felt like it was made for them. There are fans who cosplay so well it looks like they borrowed the costumes directly from the production team and some who make jewelry and charms and trinkets that sell out almost before they complete them.

We engaged with the stars as well, wanting them to know how much we loved the show and these characters and how grateful we were to have watched them. We set up Q&As and asked them questions through Cameo, all the while thanking them for their work in bringing these characters to life. This show meant so much to us and we wanted them to know just what an impact they had had on more people than they ever could have imagined.

We were well aware of Netflix’s reputation of canceling shows based on poor viewership so we went in and organized weekly watch parties in an effort to increase the number of new viewers. We promoted it on Facebook and Twitter and Instagram, creators made videos for it on TikTok, and we created an entirely new tag on social media to bring more attention to this show we all loved so much.

Early on, there were several comments from people who said they were hesitant to even watch it; they had been burned before and didn’t want to get deeply involved with a new show that would turn into yet another “one season wonder.” We did our best to reassure them and convince them that this time it would be different; it wouldn’t be like all the shows that had been cut down before it could ever really develop. Since it was tied in with DC and The Sandman Universe, we promised them that maybe this time we could save it, maybe this time it would be enough.

And it was still canceled.

On Friday, August 30th, ten minutes after the news broke that Dead Boy Detectives had been canceled, I canceled my Netflix subscription. Netflix was the first streaming service I ever signed up for and today it is the only streaming service I have ever canceled. And, after watching the fallout in our little online community, watching the actual grief people were experiencing because of the cancellation, and scrolling through pages upon pages of outraged fans who swore they would never watch another program on Netflix and vowed to cancel their subscription that day, I can see that my decision was justified.

You have no idea the impact this show had on its viewers and you have no idea the impact you had when you took it away. We had people admit that the show helped them come to terms with their sexuality, helped them process deep-seated trauma, helped them love and accept themselves for who they were. We knew the Dead Boy Detectives would never be a runaway hit like Stranger Things or Bridgerton but we hoped and prayed that it would stick around just a little while longer, that we could enjoy these characters and their stories for even one more season before they were gone for good. 

For you it may have been just a silly little ghost show that was little more than a blip on the radar but for a lot of us it was so much more than that, it meant so much more than that.

I am under no illusions that this email will make a difference or that it will bring the show back from cancellation but I wanted you to know what an incredible and amazingly talented fandom you are leaving behind in its wake. These are people who put their heart and soul into the art they create and the words they put on paper and all we wanted was a chance to see that continue.

We are tired of being drawn into a program and falling in love with the characters with no guarantee that our viewership and involvement actually means anything. We are tired of begging for complex characters and the representation we crave in media only to have the rug jerked out from under us once we finally get it. We are tired of hoping and praying and campaigning to save a show that should easily be renewed for several seasons or, at the very least, a season two. 

We are tired of feeling like we’re being taken advantage of as fans, that the passion and excitement we have toward these shows and their stars, the kind of involvement you claim to want, is dismissed with little regard toward the fans of the show itself.

We are your audience and we are tired.

We will continue to love and cherish this show and these characters, without your involvement, and give them a much longer life than they ever had on your platform. This show, the cast and crew, and the fans deserve better than what you gave them and I hope you understand the tremendous amount of talent and passion you’re throwing away in your fan base.

With regards,

-M

[on-a-lucky-tide]

in the mood for angst today but imagine nikprice having to hide their relationship and trying to act 'normal' (as they can be) because what if the news of a british captain and a russian criminal/fugitive gets out and becomes a scandal?

Your wish is my command.

cw: SAS-style shovel talk?

John stood in front of Major General MacMillan's desk and watched the second hand tick by on the clock above the Major's head. Waiting. He knew what this was about. He could feel the nausea roiling in his gut like poison, more full of dread than he had been before Pripyat.

"'M sorry tae have tae ask ye this, John. I wouldnae if it were not a matter of national security," MacMillan said. Mac was a pragmatic man and he had enough spine to look at his protegé when he asked. "Are ye an' Nikolai an item?"

John swallowed the knot in his throat and dropped his gaze to meet the Major General's eye, his fingers tightening on his wrist behind his back. There was no point in lying. MacMillan knew. This was only to hear it from John's mouth before telling him it had to end. The poison felt like it was clawing up John's gullet. He wanted to be sick. "Yes, sir."

MacMillan leaned back in his chair and rubbed his eyes, his clean shaven jaw, and then looked at the wall on his left. It was covered in photographs, certificates and medals of valour. There was only one image he was looking for. The photograph they took after surviving a bad encounter in the Congo; the relief to be alive was palpable from the look on their faces alone. "Aye, well, tha' complicates things," he said finally.

John said nothing. His eyes fogged over and he swallowed again. Keeping it together through sheer willpower and self discipline forged through twenty-one years of service. He would rather be anywhere else in the world at that moment, including a KorTac detention site.

MacMillan tapped the files on his desk, fingers drumming like the herald of an execution in John's ears. "Ye need tae keep it quiet. Be discreet," MacMillan said. "Ye understandin' me, John?"

John let out a shaky breath, his fingers gripping tighter. "You're not tellin' me it has to end?"

MacMillan snorted. "An' if ah did tha', would it?"

John said nothing.

"Aye, thought not," he said. "This is damage control. He's 'n international arms dealer, a criminal, John. With links tae our feckin' enemy, I--"

"He's not like that." It came out of Price's mouth before he could stop it, and MacMillan levelled him with a disgruntled look. "Nik would never." Price had never felt such faith in something in his entire life. Nikolai would never betray him. Not for anything in this world or the next.

"Love makes us blind," MacMillan said. "'M sure he's an upstandin' fella, but if this gets out, then there will be talka honey traps, of spies, of..." He waved his hand and slumped back in his chair. "Ye stupid bastart, couldnae get yersel' a bonnie northern lad, eh? Had tae be the insane Russian fixer."

Price said nothing. He tried. His mouth opened, but there was a knot in his throat choking the words. Was it relief? He wasn't sure.

"Aye," Mac huffed. "'Course it had tae be. Shouldn' expect 'nythin' else." He stared at the wall again and then shook his head. "'e's good tae yer, by reports."

"Yessir." It didn't surprise John at all that Mac had collected his intel first. He would have spoken to the 141. In fact, Ghost had told him as such only two days ago.

"Good. Ye deserve tha'. Deserve someone tae treat yer right."

John drew in another stuttering breath, trying to read his superior's face. Mac had changed through the years. A desk did that to a soldier; the politics wormed under the skin and injected its venom, and suddenly you were doing and saying things the soldier in the field would have never dreamed of. It was difficult to predict which way he would go, but it seemed some of the old Mac that had fought at John's side was still there.

"This is ye only warnin'. Discreet. Keep all yer emails locked down, everythin'. He has no passwords, no access. No social media, no introducing him to your folks, nothin'. Don't gimme tha' look. This is due diligence."

"Sir."

"If this gets oot, even tae th' wider service, people bigger 'n' me will be lookin' tae broker a more permanent solution," Mac sighed. "Dismissed."

John turned to leave. His eyes stung. As his hand reached the door handle, Mac called over.

"An' John," he murmured, picking up his pen, "if ah get even a sniff tha' he's betrayed us, that he's turnin', 'll put a bullet in him mesel'."

John nodded.

Actually, there were two things in life of which John Price was certain: that Nikolai would never betray him, and that Major General Rory "Baseplate" MacMillan wouldn't even blink when he pulled that trigger.

[allsouls-emma]

could you maybe write an imagine with Leon and like his childhood best friend who became his girlfriend and they are just private but he mentions her during an interview and everyone on social media etc turns mental because of that ( for the face claim maybe Alexandra saint mleux ? )

✧The Quiet Confession✧ Léon Marchand x Y/N, Face claim, Alexandra Saint-Mleux.

Hello Anon, I Adore Alexandra so i was very excited to write this fic, Enjoy!

Warnings: Unrealistic Time line and settings, No knowledge of either peoples personal lives and mature themes.

The studio was buzzing with excitement as Léon Marchand took his seat across from the interviewer. The gold medal draped around his neck glinted under the bright lights, a tangible reminder of his recent victory. Léon was no stranger to interviews, but today felt different. It wasn’t just about the race or the medal—it was about opening up in a way he rarely did.

The interviewer, a seasoned journalist known for her ability to get athletes to reveal more than just stats and training regimens, greeted him with a warm smile. “Léon, thank you for joining us today. Congratulations on your incredible win! How are you feeling?”

Léon smiled back, his easygoing demeanor evident as he adjusted the medal around his neck. “Thank you. It’s still sinking in, to be honest. I’m just trying to soak it all in.”

The conversation flowed smoothly, covering his training, the pressures of competition, and the support of his family and teammates. But then, the interviewer shifted gears slightly, her tone more personal. “Léon, you’ve been a public figure for some time now, and your fans really admire how grounded and humble you are. What’s your secret? What keeps you centered amidst all the success?”

Léon paused, his expression softening. He knew this was coming, and while he was usually private about his personal life, something inside him felt ready to share just a bit more. “Honestly, it’s the people who’ve been with me from the start. My family, of course, but also… someone very special who’s been by my side through everything.”

The interviewer’s eyes lit up, sensing a scoop. “Someone special? Can you tell us more?”

Léon chuckled, glancing down at his hands as if gathering his thoughts. He could picture *Y/N* in his mind—her smile, the way she had always been there for him, from the early days of swim meets to the long nights of training. She was his anchor, his constant in a world that often felt overwhelming.

“Well,” he began, his voice filled with affection, “she’s actually been my best friend since we were kids. We grew up together, and she’s always been my biggest supporter. Over time, that friendship turned into something more, and now, she’s my girlfriend. We’ve kept it private because, well, it’s nice to have something that’s just ours.”

The interviewer tried to keep her composure, but the excitement in her eyes was clear. “This is the first time you’ve mentioned a relationship publicly. How does it feel to share that?”

Léon smiled, a mix of nerves and happiness washing over him. “It feels good, actually. She’s been such a big part of my life, and I think it’s time people know that. But we’re still going to keep most of it private—she deserves that.”

The interviewer nodded, clearly understanding the balance Léon was trying to strike. “Of course. Can you tell us her name?”

Léon grinned, shaking his head slightly. “I think I’ll keep that part to myself for now. But yeah, she’s incredible.”

---

As the interview aired, the internet erupted. Social media platforms lit up with fans reacting to Léon’s quiet confession. For years, there had been speculation about his personal life, but now there was confirmation—and everyone wanted to know more.

Twitter was abuzz with excitement. “Did Léon Marchand just casually drop that he has a girlfriend???” one tweet read. Another user posted, “Léon’s been hiding a whole relationship and we didn’t even know! Who is she?! #LuckyGirl.”

Fans began scouring the internet for clues, dissecting old interviews, and poring over any photo where Léon might have been seen with a girl. They found pictures of him at various events with a childhood friend, a girl who had always been in the background, quietly supporting him. The speculation intensified—could this be the mystery girlfriend?

Instagram was filled with posts tagging Léon, with fans expressing their excitement and curiosity. “We need to know more about her!” one comment demanded. Others were more supportive, understanding why Léon had kept his relationship private. “Respect their privacy, but OMG, I’m so happy for them!” one fan wrote.

Back at their apartment, Léon and *Y/N* sat together on the couch, scrolling through the reactions. *Y/N*’s heart raced as she read the tweets and comments. She had always known this day might come, but seeing it unfold in real time was overwhelming.

“I didn’t think it would blow up this fast,” *Y/N* said, her voice a mix of amazement and anxiety. She looked at Léon, who was calm as ever, his hand resting on her knee.

“I knew people would be curious,” Léon admitted, scrolling through his phone with a small smile. “But I didn’t realize they’d go this crazy.”

*Y/N* chuckled, leaning her head against his shoulder. “You just casually mentioned me on national television, Léon. Of course, they’re going crazy.”

He laughed, wrapping an arm around her. “Yeah, I guess I did. But I’m glad I did. I’m tired of hiding how much you mean to me.”

Her heart swelled at his words, but there was still a part of her that felt nervous. “Are you sure you’re okay with all this? With people digging into our lives?”

Léon turned to her, his expression serious but loving. “I’m more than okay with it. We’ve been through so much together, and I want people to know how important you are to me. But if it ever gets too much, we can handle it. We’ve always done things our way.”

*Y/N* nodded, feeling a bit more reassured. She had always admired Léon’s ability to stay grounded, no matter what life threw at him. And now, she realized, he was offering that same strength to her.

As the night wore on, the buzz online didn’t die down. Fans continued to speculate, creating theories about who *Y/N* was and sharing their excitement over Léon’s revelation. But inside their cozy apartment, Léon and *Y/N* found peace in each other’s company, away from the noise and the frenzy.

“I guess we’re officially out in the open now,” *Y/N* mused, looking up at him with a smile.

Léon grinned, brushing a strand of hair away from her face. “Yeah, we are. And you know what? I wouldn’t change a thing.”

*Y/N* leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. “Me neither.”

They spent the rest of the evening wrapped up in each other, the world outside their windows a distant hum compared to the warmth they shared. Léon knew that life would get crazier from here, but as long as he had *Y/N* by his side, he was ready for whatever came next.

And so, as the world buzzed with excitement over Léon Marchand’s quiet confession, the couple at the heart of it all remained steady, secure in the knowledge that no matter what, they would face it together.

[flowery-laser-blasts]

*inhale* 🗣 Okay, listen, I'm going to rant over this moment again, but this time in a post so the world can read about it 🗣

It doesn't matter how many times I've watched Graduation part 2... But THIS HERE.

THIS IS MY FAVOURITE MOMENT. THIS IS WHAT THE ENTIRETY OF THIS SERIES HAS BEEN BUILDING UP TO FOR DRAKKEN AND SHEGO AND I JUST--

HE'S SO VULNERABLE IN THIS MOMENT. Look at that FACE. YOU KNOW WHAT I LOVE ABOUT THIS?! YOU CAN SEE SO MANY THOUGHTS GOING ON BEHIND THOSE EYES. THE EYES ARE THE WINDOW TO THE SOUL AND OH MY GODS IS IT FRAGILE NOW.

THE MAN FEELS INSECURITIES, DOUBTS, WORRIES, A HINT OF BASHFULNESS BUT HE'S ALSO SCARED, ASHAMED, TERRIFIED EVEN; HE WANTS TO RUN AWAY, BE ANYWHERE BUT HERE! his face SCREAMS: "What am I doing here?" and/or "Do I even deserve this?"

BUT MOST OF ALL: "What will others think of me now?"

And then ALL of his questions get answered in the form of his partner in crime's expression: A genuine heartfelt and sincere smile that says "You deserve this."

Shego, the femme fatale who is wanted in 11 countries. The villain who insisted by all means necessary that she's evil through and through and will NEVER be a hero or want to be associated with heroes STILL stands by his side. Do you know what the most important aspect of this very moment is? Shego doesn't stand on 'equal' grounds as him and she doesn't mind it, she lets it happen.

Shego and Drakken's dynamic throughout the story has been Boss-and-Sidekick for the longest of times. Both of them fought: Drakken for wanting to feel superior over EVERYONE and Shego wanting as much power (and/or more) as Drakken would have when they had taken over the world.

However, the happenings in graduation changed everything and now the world recognizes Drakken as a hero, a world savior, and a protector of peace. But if it weren't for Shego flying all the way with Ron to the Lorwardian ship, Drakken couldn't have possibly stopped the invasion.

Look at Shego's expression. She genuinely feels happy for Dr. D. She could've stepped in at ANY point before or during this (press)conference, demanding her own medal and telling everyone that it was in fact her who helped Drakken save them all. But she doesn't. Shego knows how important this moment is for Dr. Drakken. After years of hearing his stories and knowing how much recognition means to him; she lets him have his moment in the limelight, the sun, and she's going to let him bask in all of it for as long as he needs to. Because the most important thing is that she knows what she did and that's enough: She went into space to bring back the man she wanted to rule the world together with. Never ever again would she let Dr. Drakken think, for even a second, that she'd abandon him.

Again, look at the distance between them in this shot.

Yes, the distance is closer but then

As close as they can possibly get in public

They're on even grounds now. Drakken wants to let the world and most importantly Shego KNOW that they are a team and that they saved the world together.

I once saw someone pointing out that they looked very uncomfortable in the last image, but let me put it like this: - Prior in the episode Shego and Drakken almost flew into each other's arms but became VERY reluctant, why??? Because Kim and Ron were there! What must those brats think of them!? Certainly, they cannot show any weaknesses in front of their arch nemeses!

And now let me show this again:

They're embracing each other... in FRONT OF THE WORLD LEADERS. OF COURSE IT'S A BIT AWKWARD, YOU'D BE AWKWARD TOO, but the KEY here is that They're NOT looking away from each other like they did before.

In the previous scenario, they avoided each other's eyes: no connection, desperately trying to show no weaknesses, trying to change the subject matter at all costs.

Now they lock eyes, and they read each other. How I read it (both facial expression as body language): Drakken: Hopeful, nervous, apologetic "Did I hurt you? I hope I did not", kind of embarrassed because his foliage acted out so assertively by his thoughts of wanting Shego to be at least on the same level as him for the world to know. Shego: Surprised but not at all distressed, disgusted or upset about this sudden change. Most of all, I think she's deeply moved: Drakken always called her a 'sidekick', but now? She's recognized by him and the world as his partner. If you look at her face, those eyes seem to be on the verge of tearing up and that smile, how shy and embarrassed it may look holds warmth and happiness.

Both of them acknowledge each other's worth and in a certain way, they took over each other's world.

[sparkypantaloons]

Metronomics

Sometimes it's too much, Gotham. Too much putting his body on the line for a city that can't and won't change.

Bruce imagines what his life could have been, what his children's lives could have been, if things had been different.

~~

Sometimes it's too much. Gotham. Too polluted, too populated, to poor...

Morally poor, he should say. The money's never been more than a means to an end for Bruce and he's never cared who has or hasn't got it. Even if he knows that's evidence enough of how out of touch he really is. To not be, and never have been, the levels of desperate so many of his fellow Gothamites have. Are. But he can't change that now. Not after a lifetime of more money than he could ever hope to spend (and God knows he's tried).

And it's not that he thinks poverty equals moral corruptness. Of course not. But God, if it doesn't cause a rot that's hard to escape. An agony deep in the bones, like an atomic bomb. Almost a century since, but still poisoning the ground and the air and the lives where it fell.

It's too much, sometimes. Gotham. Decades of putting his body, his heart, mind on the line for a city that doesn't change and can't change and... Won't.

Part of his Brucie-rich-boy-bit has always been a pretend man of the people. 'Billionaire spotted on Chicago's L-train', a picture of him in $5,000 jeans, throwing a peace sign on the platform at Quincy. 'Bruce Wayne joins the commute on Bangkok's BTS Skytrain' sunburned and sweaty and grinning like a moron. Public transport is easy when you don't need it. The delays, the overcrowding, the cost. All part of the big adventure when you're rich and famous.

He's deliberate in his appearances. Shows up too big to be allowed and always lost. Asking fellow travellers for directions and breaking every unspoken, local rule. Stopping at the bottom of escalators and standing on the right and never having his ticket ready at the barriers... but he's deliberate in his anonymity too.

He's ridden the New York subway and Shanghai's metro and Vienna's U-bahn more times than he can count. Undercover, trailing marks and tailing suspects, slipping past local police and resident gangsters alike. Just another nameless face in the crowd.

But then there's the times he's just there as himself. Times he rides the lines as Bruce. Not the billionaire, not the Bat. Just Bruce. Grey Ghost fan, hates mushrooms, loves dinosaurs. Father, friend, son. Just another traveller amidst the millions. Nobody wanting anything from him, nobody talking to him, nobody even noticing him. It's freedom unlike any he's ever known.

It makes him wonder what his life might have been. If he hadn't been born in the South Wing's master bedroom of Wayne Manor. What his children's lives might have been, if their father had just been a man, and not this man.

Dick for sure, Olympic medallist. There's no doubt. Even without the money and the training and the classes, his boy was destined for greatness. Gold medals and podiums and adoration. Coaching and teaching and leading. And, Bruce fancies, probably the ESPN correspondent for major competitions. Team USA coach. International Olympic Committee. Whatever Dick wanted; in any life there's nothing he couldn't do.

Cass, Bruce likes to think, would have been an architect. If she'd ever been afforded a normal life, ever been given the tender love and care she so deserved as a child. She reads people with ease, drilled into her as it was by Cain; a skill as crucial as its learning was cruel. But given a normal life? Architecture, Bruce is sure. The way she navigates space, the way she uses it and understands it. What better way to make a life than creating in the space she so fully inhabits? Designing structures that change the way people live, challenge how they think. She'd have been glorious.

Tim, on the other hand... Tim. If Bruce thinks about him too long the guilt starts to set in. His brilliant boy, just next door; alone for so long. Bruce was intimately familiar with the experience, though at least he'd had Alfred when he'd been young. If only he'd just paid more attention, he could have— anyway. In another time, one where Bruce rides the subway and to work and Tim doesn't spend the first decade of his life by himself, surely he'd be some fintech billionaire wizz kid by now. He'd have created a Facebook or eBay or Venmo. But better. Kinder. Richer probably than Bruce, now. And he'd still ride the metro next to his old man.

Damian, Bruce's youngest, sweetest boy. Who knows what Damian could have been, in a life where Bruce and Talia kissed each other goodbye every morning and sweet dreams each night. He's a gentle soul, really, fierce as he is. Shows it in his affection for animals. Gives them the tenderness he never had as a child. Who knows what he could have been in a life filled with light instead of shadow. Warmth and love instead of the League's relentless dark. A scientist maybe, or an astronaut. A teacher, a vet, a nurse. Whatever he wanted. A gardener, a piano tuner, a cab driver. Happy, whatever it was. And safe in the knowledge he was loved.

And then... and then, Jason. Bruce thinks of his second son the most, as he rides the rails. Takes the Bakerloo south from Marylebone and the Tanamachi west to Hirano. What Jason could have been, if things had been different. It doesn't seem fair to dwell on it. To imagine the darling, sweet boy who had been Robin as anything but. To disrespect the incredible fucking gift he's already been given of a second chance, by imagining it as any different. So instead he thinks that Jason would still be Robin. Still Red Hood. Still saving people, still putting himself on the line to make the world better. Even if Bruce didn't love the way he did it, he still loved Jason. Gods did he love him. It's too much, sometimes.

Gotham. Sometimes she's too much. But most of the time, most of the time she was everything. His home, his children's home.

To see the sun rise from the east corner of the clocktower with Cass and swing between the crumbling art deco blocks of Coventry, Dick by his side. Racing down her labyrinth of alleyways and side streets with Tim and even negotiating her sewers with Damian. And Jason. Just seeing Jason's face, scowling at him though it usually is, as he waits outside the Collins Street station for Bruce to arrive.

"Your late." He grunts, as Bruce climbs the steps of the subway. He looks at his watch irritably. "If we miss brunch, you're paying."

"Of course," Bruce says, a warm hand on Jason's shoulder as they begin to walk. "Anything for you, chum."

She's too much, sometimes. Gotham. But most of the time? She's exactly where he wants to be

[ryuzakemo128]

Grim Reaper - Supernatural AU

Pairing: Poly! Task Force 141 x you/ female reader

Content Warning: Fantasy Violence, Nogitsune, betrayal. If there is something triggering in this, I have not tagged. I suggest you read at your own discretion.

Words: 1024

Masterlist - Prequel - Part One - Part Two - Part Three - Part Four - Part Five - Part Six

Credit for Dividers: @cafekitsune + @strangergraphics

Summary: You are known for taking on a human form. Taking joy in tormenting, tricking, and possessing humans.

You are a Nogitsune. The translation for this is wild fox.

Alternate names for you are Yako, Yakan.

Yakan is more archaic. Its origin lie elsewhere. Predominately in a different animal.

Many local variations of your name exist. Only known to those in those areas.

Your habitat is located amongst the fields, forests, and wild areas.

Your diet? Omnivorous. You particularly like wax, oil, lacquer, women’s life force and blood. You are quite happy with your appetite. Only going out of your way to eat when it suits you and your own hunger.

Often referred to as Yako. A type of kitsune. A breed of magical kitsune to be more specific. You wander the East Asian territories amongst your kin.

You do not have a divine soul. Not only that, but you are not a messenger of the gods. You do not serve the Inari.

You are known for taking on a human form. Taking joy in tormenting, tricking, and possessing humans.

A keen sense of danger. Strong disliking for bright light. Hiding from the sun during the day. Scared of swords and knives. You do not do well with bladed objects. An intense fear of dogs. As soon as you smell one. You are already gone. Hiding.

Able to recognise human activity even though you hide from humans. Whenever you get the chance to. You are nowhere to be found. Which you generally enjoy. Sneaking around to steal some of your favourite foods like; wax, candles, lamp oil, lacquer, alcohol, and fried tofu. A feast for you. A delicious feast no other could compare to.

Some kitsune are viewed as holy creatures, magical foxes serving as messengers to the gods. You are not one of them. You are a low-ranking member. Furthermore, you do not act as a messenger. You do not serve the Inari. Despite all of this. You seem relatively comfortable with your low ranking. You don’t aspire to increase your standing.

In order to change your shape, your form, you requite a bone from a horse or a cow. It requires all of your concentration, your magical focus of some form or kind.

This went on for a while. Long enough for a task force 141 to find you all the way out in the English countryside. Resting on dry hay inside an abandoned stable. Clutching onto a worn-out pink teddy bear. A giant one. Big enough to cover your entire body. Engulfing it in a warm beacon of safety.

You knew this day would come eventually. People hated monsters. Monsters would always be stomped out by those who are deemed better on a biased moral compass. You wished you are back at home with your older siblings. Yet you were all the way out here. No way back. Lost and alone.

What you deserve and what you get are two separate things.

You deserved to be home. Instead, you were tricked into coming all the way out here by a person you called 'friend'. A friend who was a liar. A snake. A false promise. A deception. A deceiver. Unworthy of being your friend.

You’ve been running from them for months. You were too tired to put up much of a fight. If any at all. You didn’t hear the stable doors creak open or the footsteps of crunching gravel. “Are you here to kill me?” You asked. “To slay the mighty beast in order to receive a medal and pat on your back? Spare me the hypocrisy that is your kind. Werewolves like you don’t know anything beyond your own kind. Well done. You got your prize. You won the fight. You get something while the beast is slain. How noble of you.”

Noble? Pathetic. Bowing down to the needs of the whims and wants of others. Look at you. Tamed and bound by an entity who would discard you the moment they found something better. I know these things better than you might think.

No wonder you smell. The dog smell. Putrid. Horrid. Disgusting. The dog crate smelled of hundreds of dogs. The putrid smelling seeping into your clothes. The smell stung your eyes to a new level you hadn’t experienced before. Stench overwhelming as you were muzzled to keep you from biting them.

Scared. They’re scared like little pups. Whinging. Whining. Wanting more than what they deserve to get. I don’t care about what they want. I don’t care. I don’t fucking care about anything they could possibly want from me. Their whims and desires can go fucking drown in a river for all I care.

Along the road to the military base full of people marching around in military fatigues. You must have passed out on the way there. Snoring like a bear. A giant bear. A big bear. A big, big bear. They tried prying it from you.

You gave them growls. Snapping at their fingers. Gaz got bit a few times. Not hard enough to hurt. Hard enough to ward him away from you.

Your eyes held a luminous glow to them. Even if they were only open for a few seconds before falling back asleep. Stretching a bit before breathing a steadily.

Lowering the air conditioning between 12 degrees to 17 degrees depending on your mood at the time. Keeping the room you were kept inside. Cold enough for you to keep you comfortable. Not them.

Laswell looking in the crate with flashlight as the dog crate presented to her like an offering to a god who knew little of your kind. The urge to strike. To bite her burned inside your soul.

Those fucking naïve bitches. Dangling a snack in front me? Tempting me to eat her, are we? Idiots. Morons. Just a bite. A nibble is all it takes to get to the sweet red nectar beneath her flesh. To gorge myself on her blood like it was ordained by my nature.

Grim.

Grim.

Grim Reaper.

A new name.

For a new place.

Mine.

All of it.

MINE.

Once they ask for my name.

It is all they shall get from me.

A small kindness for their pathetic interference.

[narcissosbythepool]

but in me love is slow

A PriceGaz getting back together

Sfw, 2.9k words

Read on AO3

//

“Hey.”

Price doesn’t flinch. He’s been expecting this the entire evening. He wonders if he doesn’t turn around, pretends that he didn’t hear, that this would not have to happen, that he would not have to turn to the voice.

But he’s never been able to resist him. This is no exception.

“Hey yourself,” Price says, turning to Gaz. He looks… radiant. Beautiful. Price could try to find the appropriate words for it all evening and it wouldn’t be enough. He looks incredible in formal wear, always has, but today there’s a certain air to him. Pride. 

He’s holding a glass of sparkling wine in one hand, and he looks right at home in the glitz and glamour of the venue. Price is here as a guest – Gaz is the person of the hour, freshly promoted and awarded with some new medals to join the others. It fits him. Attention always has. The bright, warm lights fall on him like a halo and he’s simply mesmerizing to look at. Price never wants to look away, and for the first time in years he allows himself to indulge.

“You came,” Gaz says, raising his free hand to Price’s arm, squeezing lightly. His hands are bare, his gloves hanging out from his pocket, and his touch is warm even through Price’s jacket.

“Of course I did,” Price tries not to lean into the touch, tries not to read too much into it. “Congratulations for the promotion. And the rest.”

Gaz looks bashfully to the ground and then meets his eyes again, his mouth curved into a lovely smile. “It’s all thanks to you.”

Price raises his brow. “I’m retired, Gaz. I had nothing to do with this.”

“Had you not picked me up,” Gaz says, “I would never have amounted to anything.”

“That’s not true.”

Gaz pauses for a moment, thinking. “Well, I guess I would have climbed the ranks either way.” Price almost wants to laugh – Gaz has never been shy about his accomplishments, and he shouldn’t be. “But I would never have come this far. Not without you.”

Price bites his lip and notes how Gaz’s eyes zero in on the movement. He waits for Gaz’s eyes to flick back to meet his again, and Gaz flushes beautifully at getting caught.

So it doesn’t stop, Price thinks as he loses himself into the brown of Gaz’s eyes. The love never stops.

*

They broke up over many things and many months. 

The secrecy was exciting at first. Stolen moments here and there, laughing in the hidden corners and shadows where they could press against each other and exchange hungry kisses. After years of pining and longing, it was easy to forget themselves into the novelty of their newly found happiness, to ignore the pang of loneliness and rejection whenever their affection had to be brushed off and swept under the rug in front of others. It was all temporary, the reunion would be ever sweeter, and for a while it was.

But life like that turns stale after a while. 

Price could not compartmentalise. He was all-in or not at all in all aspects of his life, and loving Gaz was one of those things. Time and time again he ran into the difference in their ranks, his inability to keep his head when Gaz was in danger, and that turned him sour – like maybe he could keep himself together if he was colder, harder, tougher. In private he tried to make up for it, with soft touches and sweet kisses, worshipping Gaz like he deserved, but there was only so much that intimacy could mend. 

Gaz could not take the secrecy, demanded more promises that Price could not keep. He wanted to intertwine their private lives together if their professional lives kept them apart, but Price could not give that to him, afraid to be too vulnerable. Gaz would beg him to stay during leaves, rent together, take a holiday, go somewhere else where no one would know them, but Price could not afford to be found out, could not give him what he wanted. 

And so one night, one long and teary night, they decided to break up. With sweet kisses, Gaz crying and Price trying not to, they fell apart.

And that was that.

Or so they thought.

*

“So, how has retirement been treating you?” Gaz asks. They’re sitting down at a corner table while everyone else is mingling or getting some fresh air outside. Price has a glass of scotch and Gaz is still nursing his sparkling wine. The white tablecloth is already spilled with red wine, almost like a bloodstain. Price resists the urge to swipe at it with his fingers. 

“It’s been boring,” Price admits. “Running isn’t an option yet so I’m going a bit stir crazy.” He pats his bad knee lightly, the subtle knee brace under the trousers. “Looking forward to getting that permission soon.” He does not say how much he dreads the pain of it – that even when he’s cleared it would not end, being perpetually restricted by his injuries. His knee aches on rainy days and when the air pressure changes, and he’s made nervous by it. Such a plain weakness.

“Physiotherapy has been working, then?” Gaz leans forward, almost like he wants to touch Price’s knee but restrains himself last minute.

“It’s boring too,” Price huffs and Gaz’s eyes crinkle with the amused smile. 

“So just boring?” Gaz teases. “A man like you can’t find anything to entertain himself with?”

“I’ve watched a lot of shitty TV,” Price admits, taking a sip of his drink. It’s not great. “I did join a woodworking class.”

“Oh?” Gaz crosses his arms and leans back in his chair. “Never knew you had a crafty side like that.”

“I got it in my head to build a chair,” Price rubs his beard, feeling a little abashed. “But I thought it would be better to take a class first. No need to take unnecessary risks.”

“Who are you and what have you done with my Captain,” Gaz wonders and Price rolls his eyes.

“Your Captain has retired,” Price says, “and become boring.”

“Oh,” Gaz replies, something familiar dancing in his eyes, “you could never be boring to me.”

*

When Price woke up at the hospital, all he felt was pain.

It was sharp enough to drag him back to consciousness, but not the kind of searing pain that pulled him under in the first place. He could hear machines beeping, the sting and weight of an IV, all of it familiar to him. But he knew, somehow, that this was worse than what had come before, that this had been his last ride and he was as good as useless after an injury like this. Even through the pain he understood it with frightening clarity.

He didn’t want to think of it yet. He didn’t want to open his eyes. But there was a weight on his bed and he was getting uncomfortable.

Fighting his eyes open, the first thing he saw was Gaz.

He shouldn’t have been surprised. This had happened, like this and mirrored, time and time again whenever the other got injured. Unable to stay away from each other’s bedside, frantically making sure that the other was alright – that was normal, even after their break-up, before they had even gotten together. 

Before they had shared that kiss in his office in the early hours before sunrise, when Price’s resolve had finally broken and he had pulled Gaz’s body against his, kissed him like his life depended on it – and Gaz had replied beautifully, his hands in Price’s hair, his mouth soft and insistent at the same time. Before the frantic make-out session in his car, before the sweet kisses exchanged in the low light, before the fervent embrace right before a mission. Before all of that, Price would find himself by Gaz’s bedside like he belonged there. Before his love grew into something greater, Gaz would sit there and stand vigil, wait for him to return from the depths of medicated sleep. And after, when there were but the ashes of their relationship and a melancholic downturn of Gaz’s lips, Price would find him there.

“Gaz,” he called out, slowly moving his hand to rest on Gaz’s arm. He was sleeping uncomfortably in the hospital chair, his arms crossed over the edge of Price’s bed, head resting on his arms. There were dark circles under his eyes and he looked exhausted, likely having stayed awake by his side all this time, and Price’s eyes welled up despite everything. His Sergeant, his beloved, always giving his all. He could not take it, his heart twinging in his chest with the ache, the longing. But he had to see, had to see those eyes open and meet his, wanted the reassurance even in the middle of the unraveling catastrophe, the end of his career. Wanted Gaz to look him in the eye and find the love there. 

Gaz’s eyes opened slowly, and there it was.

*

If Price was in better condition, he would have asked Gaz for a dance. But he’s not, and he would be too embarrassed to do so even if he wasn’t, so they stay seated and talk until it’s time to go. They’re not even drunk, having switched to water ages ago as the waiters cleaned the tables around them, but they never seemed to run out of stories – nor of subtle glances, small touches, on the shoulder, a brush of fingers, featherlight. It’s like a healing wound, itching and demanding attention, even after all these years.

“Oh shit,” Gaz says and then a fake sort of smile rises on his lips as he nods to someone, “I have to go network again.”

“Good luck,” Price says, sipping his water, mourning that he’s being left alone again but not taking offence at the obligation. 

“I’ll try to tear myself away as soon as possible, I’m not done with you yet,” Gaz tells him with an accusing tone, like he knows that Price had the urge to slink away once Gaz’s captivating attention was no longer like a spell on him.

“Yeah, yeah,” Price waves him off, but Gaz grabs his wrist, his expression serious as he gets up.

“Don’t go.” His grip tightens just a smidge. “Wait for me.”

Price swallows thickly. “Alright.”

Price watches him socialize, and finds himself slightly amused at how ill at ease Gaz looks. And still he looks fresh and young and proud, and Price can’t stop watching him, take in every detail. There was a new scar on his chin, almost unnoticeable, and Price is certain there are several more under his clothes, unmapped and unknown. He yearns to reach out, to ask to see, to take him away and undress him, take a look and take his time with it.

It never really goes away, a love like this. It stays with you in every breath, with every step, the kind of longing that ties you down to the ground like roots growing around your ankles. And yet it doesn’t feel restricting – it’s just nourishment, getting life from the earth that has trapped you. It pulses sweetly with every heartbeat, flows in his veins, a spark in his nerve endings, entwined into every single part of his body, now belonging to another. It’s an ever-bleeding wound that never mends itself, blood thin and love thick in it.

Even with his injury they didn’t get back together. Gaz kissed his hands as he woke up, apologised over and over as if it had been his fault. It wasn’t, but it didn’t change the fact that he was sorry, nor did his apologies atone for the future that was now robbed of Price – or whatever future that would have been, retirement creeping in either way. But he mourned it, still, losing years with Gaz he could have been by his side. Mourned the team he had gathered that was now disbanding. Felt like he was abandoning his boys. Like he was abandoning Gaz.

But even as they said goodbye, when Gaz left his side to return to the world Price could never go back to, there was a certain sense of promise in the air. 

Don’t give up on me. And so Price didn’t.

He waited, for a while. When he sat at home, cursing his broken body and fighting the pain tooth and nail, he waited for Gaz to appear behind his door one rainy day and kiss him in the doorway. It never happened, and he didn’t fault Gaz for it – it wasn’t Gaz’s fault that his heart never stopped longing for him, that his chest throbbed with every thought of him – but he had to admit he was a little disappointed by it. 

And then came the invite. A gala, to the honour of the servicemen receiving some awards. He would not have gone, was it not for the little handwritten note.

‘Come see me.’

So he went. And here he is.

After a while he gets up to stretch his legs. He’s had enough of watching Gaz be pleasant to people that aren’t him, not even jealousy but boredom at not being the centre of his attention anymore. Gaz’s eyes snap to him like an eagle and Price just waves him off, gestures at the empty hallway with his head. Just going for a short walk. He does not mean it as an invite.

Still, not soon after he hears footsteps behind him.

“I told you to wait,” Gaz says. Price turns around and it suddenly occurs to him that the lights of this hallway are dimmed down.

“I wasn’t going anywhere,” Price replies. “You interrupted your mooching for nothing.” He means for it to come out as scolding, but he can’t help the pride in it. That his departure is more important than any networking Gaz could possibly manage tonight. 

“Not for nothing,” Gaz says and steps closer.

What’s remarkable about the lights, really, is that they evoke certain kinds of memories. Memories of being pressed against a wall, taking advantage of the shadows and dark nooks that a lighting like this offers. Not complete darkness, so they could still see each other’s faces, hands finding their place on the other’s face to caress. Could map each other’s expressions, the tense silence before dipping in for a kiss, a perfect kind of low light. 

“You sure you want to waste your time with me?” Price tries for it to be a joke, but it comes out too sincere. Like a genuine question.

“Is that what you think?” Gaz asks. He stays two short steps away from Price, keeping a polite sort of separation between them. “That I’m wasting my time with you?”

Yes. No. Yes again. “I don’t know. Aren’t you?”

Gaz watches him for a moment, looking for something, and then closes the distance.

“You know,” he says, tilting his head a little, “I’ve never kissed you out in the open before.”

Price’s breath hitches. 

“I never got the chance before,” Gaz continues, his voice low and soft.

“We couldn’t—” Price says and Gaz brings his fingers to Price’s lips.

“I know.” His hand drops to Price’s shoulder. “I still wanted to. All the time. Show them what I had, like some toy I could parade around.” His thumb worries the seam of Price’s jacket and he doesn’t look Price in the eye, follows the movement of his own fingers as if fascinated. 

“I wanted to,” Price clears his throat, “to mark you up.”

“Yeah?”

“Couldn’t bear the thought that they didn’t know who you belong to,” he says. He shifts, his hand finding Gaz’s waist, testing the waters. Feels Gaz’s ribs expanding as he takes a deep breath. “It was foolish. Like some kind of animal.”

“I think I would have liked it.”

“I think it would have landed me in jail.”

That makes Gaz laugh, despite it not being a laughing matter at all. “That’s probably true.”

When he looks at Price his pupils are wide and Price blinks slowly, wondering if his look the same. They’re so close and Price has missed him so much. But he waits, waits for the right moment, waits for a signal that tells him that it’s not just some kind of hypothetical. What could have been, and which will never be again.

“This is not,” Price murmurs, “out in the open.”

“No.” Gaz smiles. “I have you all to myself.” His hand on his shoulder inches to the back of Price’s neck, playing with the short strands there.

“That you do,” Price admits. “You have all of me.”

Gaz leans in to kiss him. Price meets him halfway.

It’s soft, sweet. Gaz’s mouth is relaxed, his kiss unhurried, like he has nowhere else to be. Like a mere greeting after a short goodbye and not a farewell. The softness of it makes Price weak, his hand not on Gaz’s waist coming to cup his cheek. Gaz bites his lower lip lightly, makes him gasp, and with that Gaz gently deepens the kiss, his tongue brushing against Price’s. 

They stay like that, slowly relearning each other and making up for lost time. Price’s head spins, and he can barely keep himself from turning the kiss into a hungry, needy thing – but Gaz keeps him in line, pulling back when he gets too rough and softening the kiss again with light pecks, on his lips, the corner of his mouth. Take it slow. There is time.

When Gaz pulls back, Price makes a desperate kind of noise and Gaz laughs at him.

“Let me learn you,” he scolds Price, his breath warm against Price’s skin. 

“You have places to be,” Price tries to cling to sanity.

“Not anymore.”

And with that truth he dips in once more.

END