#it is literally all you will ever see from me

[chobunz]

Hey :) I’m just now getting into enhypen, so tell me, what do you think they’re like in bed?

haiiii srry i took so long to complete this but nonetheless i hope you still like it !! i only did hyung line so i hope that’s okie </3 kinda went a little overboard and started yapping tew much in this one lol oopsies..

pair: hyung line ㅊ f!reader | warnings: smut, d/s dynamics, oral (m + f. rec), fingering, praise/degradation, c.ckwarming, p in v, a bunch of other nasty stuff i don’t feel like typing out lmfao

heeseung

don’t even get me started with this man omfg.. like he’s a literal sex god…

whether it be from his fingers, his mouth, or his dick he’s gonna make sure that you cum first always

will rip orgasm after orgasm out of you like it’s nothing, not stopping until you’re a whining, convulsing mess under him, smirking with utmost pride from how good he’s made you feel

he lowkey strikes me as someone with a high sex drive so i feel like the minimum rounds you’d be going on the daily is AT LEAST 3 (though sometimes that still isn’t enough for him), he not giving that pussy a break i fear..

feel like he’d also be very into body worship, just completely and utterly devoted to pleasing every inch of you, taking his sweet time to savor all of you as if it’s his last time he’ll ever get to fuck you— your body is a work of art to him so he’ll treat it as such !

is obsessed with marking you, like there’s just something about leaving hickies in places where only you two can see privately <3

loves fucking you in missionary so he can see your pretty, fucked out face— but is also a huge fan of doggie ‘cause he likes to spank your ass from time to time hehe

the way you feel around his cock, clamping around him with every thrust, has him moaning so much that he has to bite down on your shoulder to control himself ;(

will run slow circles at your clit with his thumb, other hand holding himself up to look at the way your face changes with pleasure

gets so horny for you and the way you repeat everything he says back to him as if you’re nothing but a dumb fuckdoll for him to use.. >~<

when he’s chasing his own high, his moans just get louder and louder, harmonizing with yours until he’s painting your insides with strings of white, quickly pulling out to watch his cum dripping out of you, admiring the beautiful mess he’s made of you ♡︎

jay

he’s the type of partner that would be sooo sweet and attentive and patient with you, like it doesn’t matter to him at all if you’re experienced or not; if anything he’d prefer to teach you new things !! (corruption kink goes craaazy)

he seems like he’d be more into passionate lovemaking rather than just pure fucking, just always treating you like the princess you deserve to be treated <3

loves the build up that leads up before you two actually get into it, like the heavy breathing in between slow, passionate kisses, pulling you in closer to him as you’re slowly grinding on him and the pauses to catch each other’s breaths just makes his brain short circuit 😣

is always telling you how pretty you look like while taking his cock, he’ll never ever get tired of the view of you on your knees for him as you’re sucking him off or while he’s fucking you in all kinds of different positions

i feel like he’s more soft dom leaning but i could also see him being a little mean sometimes, he knows how much you like it when he degrades you and tells you how much of a slut you are (only for him tho ofc)

is defff the type who talks you through it ><

pays close attention to your facial expressions and brushes your hair out of your face while kissing your lips every now and then, just needs to fill you up completely while he kisses you so gently in contrast to the hard and deep strokes he’s giving you. one hand on the side of your face, soothing you sweetly with each touch and the other hand playing with your tits

the way your walls flutter around him makes him feel dizzy, especially how you’re moaning as he fucks you nice and slow, praising you for taking it all so well. his good girl :(

would also be a big fan of cockwarming

idk why but i can just imagine you two chilling like that— you getting used to the feel of him inside of you while making out for a while, jay bringing his thumb down to rub your clit in slow, lazy circles

when you pull back to look at where you both connect together, you moan and he grabs your chin softly for you to look at him, finding your furrowed brows and fucked out expression so stinking cute !!

jake

THE BIGGEST WHORE OMG

like he’s such a freak but only when it comes to you, he’ll literally do anything you asked him to

in the beginning stages he would probs be a little shy at first, he’d be so gentle and delicate with you, kissing you sweetly as he inches himself slowly into you..

it’s like this for the first few times you slept together, taking his sweet time until you’d be able to take him with ease, and then the flip would switch— he’ll get a little more rough with you, calling you a dirty girl for him and how much you’re enjoying it

also strikes me as someone with a high libido, like he’s horny twenty four sevennnn, he’ll wanna fuck you any and everywhere

he hates condoms, he would literally rather die than to use one. is always begging to hit it raw each and everytime you guys fuck, he pinky promises that he’ll pull out !! (which only works about 60% of the time ..)

always always always wants to eat you out, he just can’t help himself he’s addicted to the way you taste, its like a drug to him. he’ll just randomly ask you out of nowhere if you wanna sit on his face and you allow him to do whatever his horny brain likes, plus with a face that pretty how could you not wanna ride it ???

this leads me to thinking about pussydrunk jake who’s so immersed in eating you out and fixated on your own pleasure, he could do it out for hours with absolutely no complaints on his end. it turns him on so much knowing how good he’s making you feel, he almost cums in his pants just from this alone..

i will say this time and time again, jake is very into recording during sex, he likes to record himself eating you out or fucking you, making sure the camera is super close up to capture all the little details; he’s built up quite the collection in his camera roll so far

is always so vocal in the videos, maybe even more than you tbh. he’d be asking you over and over if you like that and how bad you want his cock, he literally never shuts up. he gets a bit more intense when the cameras rolling, loving that you’re into it just as much as he is; you’re his little pornstar <3

sunghoon

i may be biased as hell but honestly i think he’s the biggest freak out of them all, like he’s the type who treats you like royalty when in public but in private ?? yeah, that’s a completely different story..

he just really really likes to fuck. morning sex, middle of the night sex, shower sex, phone sex, you name it. he’s literally down for everythinggg

feel like he’d also be very into corruption, slowly turning you into a sex obsessed freak just like him !! (twinsies)

will not give you what you want unless you beg for it. he likes when you use your words and tell him exactly what you need, if you want it that desperately then you’re gonna have to work for it, and you most certainly will

finds it endearing how much you squirm around and get all whiny as he’s fingering you, humiliating you when you can’t take it ‘cause how will you be able to take him if you can’t even take this small thing ??

he’d pitifully look at you as you’re stuffed full of his fingers, squeezing your cheeks together hard when you pout because you’ll take what he’s giving you and be grateful for it. idk it’s just very sexy— the contrast between his attitude when he’s training you in comparison to the real thing >_<

is a sucker for those cute innocent doe eyes you give him as you’re taking him down your throat, the sounds you make while choking around his thick cock, makes him so incredibly hard. he wants to use your mouth like a toy— his toy, until you’re a crying mess and feeds you with his cum <33

fucks.you.soooo.dumb

he eases into you ever so slowly, already too far gone as he feels warm walls hugging his cock, it has him moaning and throwing his head back in relief, and once he’s fully settled in, he will not be holding back

lots and lots of dirty talk !! will say the filthiest things to you in your ear all while pounding you from behind, you can barely even comprehend all of what he’s saying to you because of your fucked out state, all you can do is moan and repeat his name over and over in response

also loves it when you ride him, the way you’re bouncing on his cock and giving him the view of a lifetime, he’s never felt so desperate to cum before, groaning loudly as he feels you clench and unclench around him, milking him of all his cum

the aftercare is always so lovely and soft with him. he’d be acting like he didn’t just fuck you into a whole other dimension lol

idk, all i know is that i need hoon so badly.. y’all it ain’t even funny anymore :\

[starkwlkr]

the girls are fighting!! | toto wolff

an: because i’m seeing oasis this year, i thought it would be nice to make this pls don’t hate me, i love the spice girls!! (i only know one of their songs) fun fact: the original idea for this was that the reader was a grunge singer from the 90s but ever since the oasis reunion was announced that’s literally all i can think about

oasis member!reader

INSTAGRAM

liked by yourusername, britpopcults and others

f1updatingdaily f1 twitter recently brought up the feud that y/n l/n (oasis bassist and toto wolff’s wife) and geri halliwell (spice girl member and christian horner’s wife) had in the late 90s until 2019. y/n recently told rolling stone magazine that her and geri have love for each other now and attend races together when they can. while at least one horner and wolff settled their differences, christian horner and toto wolff continue the horner/wolff rivalry that was started by their wives.

hereswonderwall I’m not a big fan of the spice girls but when geri gave y/n the future trophy wife mug . . . it was iconic

y/nupdates y/n and geri: 👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩 toto and christian: 😡🤮

hamilton444 got a picture with y/n and geri in monaco last year! they were so nice and even facetimed my mum! she’s a big oasis and spice girls fan

feelgoodbitch toto and christian will never work it out on the remix

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liked by lewishamilton, gerihalliwellhorner and others

yourusername i guess gerihalliwellhorner was right 🙃

gerihalliwellhorner 😅😅

liamgallagher you traded the bass for fancy shite??

yourusername i would trade you for a strawberry

liamgallagher rude

yourusername see you in may for rehearsal! don’t be late you old man xx

mercedesamgf1 that’s my wife! - toto

ferraridepressionclub manifesting a divorce so i can keep y/n to myself

mercedesamgf1 blocked and reported

ferraridepressionclub WAIT NOOOO

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[toothfa-1-ry]

JUST FATHER ACTIVITIES

Imagine in an alternative universe, somehow you and your baby daddy Thanos escape the games (don't ask me how) and you guys pay off all of your debts and have financial stability

Basically father! Thanos headcannons!!

First of all, thanos is a girl dad. Idc i do not make the rules you CANNOT and WILL not change my mind otherwise

After the games, irrelevant of whether you were also in the games with him or not, he'd quit his drug addiction and go to a rehabilitation for the sake of your daughter

You couldn't change him, but atleast your daughter could

Thanos would go with you to the gynae every single time without fail, he'd brag about it (very loudly) though

"Look" thanos points at all the patients in the waiting room in the gynae clinic "how many women do you see with their husband's accompanying them?"

"Thanos shut the fuck up" you'd hiss at him, while hitting his arm. The women around you guys giving you the stink eye which he proudly gave back

"I'm just saying the truth- is it a sin to speak the truth?!?"

Will brag to the doctor and nurses too

"Say doctor miss" he leans back at his chair with his head held up high "how many husband's accompany their wives to the clinic?"

"Oh well that depends, not all the time-"

*insert thanos's loud proud laugh, his head thrown back while you grimace*

"I'm the fucking best aren't i"

*insert your slow head shaking* "Yes babe, you sure are"

He was always protective of you, but it grew even stronger after he found out you were pregnant

The type to protect you from a pigeon if he felt like it looked at you for a second too long

"Wtf are you looking at you cross eyed motherfucker"

*glares at the pigeon from a distance"

The type of person to hyper fixated on whatever small movement you do cause he's doesn't want you to get hurt

"Oh be careful be careful" *Holds your hand* "hold my hand and dont let go, use your other hand on the railing"

Says that he doesn't need to read or watch those "pregnancy classes" or "how to take care of a new born" classes cause he's already fully prepared

You later find out that he signed up for one of those seminars online and attends those lectures at night while your asleep

Bro probably has even stronger baby fever than you do

Buys things for the baby and you

"Thanos.. what's that in your hand"

"It's a costume, a ironman costume"

"For?"

"Our daughter 🙄 duh y/n"

"Babe, she still isn't even born"

"I got you a costume too" *takes out a black widow costume that seemed a little too racey* "you should try wearing it now just incase-"

*he got hit by you for trying to get you pregnant again while you were pregnant*

Let's say nam gyu wasn't the slimy bitch he was in the series

Best GODFATHER ever. GOATED godfather, S TIER godfather

I already mentioned this but I'm sure Thanos and nam gyu would come up with names for the baby

I'm talking wack ass names that they genuinely find cool

The list of names would include marvel character names (cause cmon, the child's dad is literally called thanos) or rapper names

"Add cardi b on the list too"

"You know that's not her real name right?" Nam gyu asked, pausing before quickly scribbling the name down

"WHAT?!? Since when??"

I'm sure nam gyu even accompanied the two of you to the clinic atleast once or twice

He was banned from coming though cause him and Thanos together made too much noise

Whenever you and thanos are in public, it doesn't matter if your in a cafe or restaurant or if your just out for a walk

If he meets anyone and i mean anyone

He'd tell them that he was gonna be a dad

"Hey do you know that I'm gonna be a dad?" *points at you* "and that's the mom- she's carrying my baby"

"Sir I'm the waiter"

On the softer note though

Kisses you on the lips first and then kisses your stomach second before you both go to sleep

If you groan or even if he senses a inch of your discomfort he'll automatically try to figure out a way to make you feel in ease

Tries his best not to annoy you

(It doesn't always work cause being annoying is his entire personality trait but it's the effort that counts!!)

Ties your shoelaces for you cause you can't bend over

Traces shapes over your stomach while you both lie next to eachother

Reminds you how pretty you are everyday

"If I'm the legend Thanos, then I guess you would be a myth, cause only a face like yours could make a man like me want to quit"

"Your so corny"

But you wouldn't have it any other way

[thejakeformerlyknownasprince]

So I'm putting together an In Defence of Cassie PowerPoint for a PowerPoint night with friends. Do you have any arguments for or against her? I trust your opinion and am curious.

Let's see.

"She's too powerful, too unique, too far-seeing, and not good enough for Jake! What a Mary Sue!"

Counterpoint: May I introduce you to the reigning champion fan favorite, Sad White Boy Tobias?

Only nothlit ever to regain the ability to morph

Only known human-andalite hybrid ever to exist

Regarded as savior by entire hork-bajir species

Entire existence is a time paradox the war hinges upon

Pulls the canonically "most beautiful girl in our grade", who turns down 6 or 7 other offers in favor of Bird Boy

Correctly predicted planetary ecology 65 million years in advance

Believed to be immune to 2-hour limit

In conclusion: y'all wouldn't be crying "Mary Sue" if Cassie was a sad white boy, and I can prove it.

"She's too weak and hand-wringing, and she never helps the war effort!"

Counterpoint: First of all, the fact that the same people say this in the same breath as "she's too powerful" is... telling. Secondly:

She saved the entire team's lives in #24, in #29, in #44, and in MM1, among others.

Specifically calling out #44 — that ending shows she is willing and able to be ruthless when her friends are in need. She doesn't like slaughtering human-controllers, but if the alternative is everyone she loves dying, then she'll fucking well do it.

Much like Jake (see: Sad White Boy), she's more willing to risk herself than her friends, hence the end of MM1

Her medical knowledge saves Marco from rabies, Ax from brain!appendicitis, and Tobias from bird flu.

Her survivalist knowledge saves everyone in #25 (the Arctic), MM2 (Cretaceous Era), #11 (rainforest), and #14 (desert).

In conclusion: Cassie's only idealistic-looking by the standards of this extremely morally gray team.

"She's so unfair to Jake!"

Counterpoint: Jake? The Jake who refused to speak with her for weeks? Jake who proposes marriage while they're still broken up? Jake who announces he'll never trust Cassie again because she [checks notes] saved his brother's life? That Jake?

Also:

She gives him tons of emotional support in #16, #21, #47, and other times he's feeling low.

They have a healthy argument where they air differences and come to an understanding in #9.

Did I mention he doesn't just dump her but ghosts her in the middle of the war's endgame?

They're teenagers. Their relationship isn't perfect, but it is built on open communication and mutual respect which is more than Rachel and Tobias can say

She's fighting a war, and PTSD for that matter. No, she doesn't have infinite emotional bandwidth.

In conclusion: Their relationship is fine, their breakup is mutual, and her behavior only looks bad if, once again, you're holding Cassie to a different standard than you are Jake.

"She shouldn't have trusted Aftran!"

Counterpoint: friendly reminder that the alternative was killing a 6-year-old for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. If that's what you think Cassie should've done, that tells us more about you than about her.

"She spends too much time moralizing!"

Counterpoint: this is a book series about war, not a friggin' video game. If you want moral pornography, go play Call of Duty. If you want sci fi realism, then you're going to have to accept that a majority of humans prefer not to kill their fellow humans if at all possible.

"She's a ripoff of [insert character here]!"

Counterpoint: literally every single one of these says more about the commenter than about the source work. "Every dystopia is set in the U.S." is the kind of thing only people who only read books by American authors would think. "All epic fantasy is Eurocentric" => tell me you only read books by white people without telling me. I'm glad you think Cassie is too similar to Willow Rosenberg, but there are at least 6 other stories in the known world, and I hear some of them even feature sweet/dorky/caring characters who are secretly ultra-powerful.

In conclusion: You don't have to like Cassie as a (fictional) person, but 85% of criticisms directed at her are bad-faith attacks on one of the 1990s' only fat Black female gnc ultra-powerful superheroes.

[ishaslife]

Love and Deepspace:

Caleb Trailer Breakdown

Okay, so, I was confused on the trailer for a while and honestly a little put off at the whole "villain" vibes I got from it. But... I feel like there's something deeper going on here. Just hear me out:

"23rd Neural Control Experiment"

Pay close attention to the word, "Neural," to do with the brain and the nerves, as well as "control." Then, we see him struggling.

He's moaning and groaning, almost as if he's trying to fight against it. He looks like he's pain and then suddenly,

He's fine, he's IN control. His whole demeanour changes momentarily and all the lights around him come to life, it's not chaotic anymore. Until,

He wakes up, as if from a dream, absolutely terrified. He's sweating and scared, he's almost relieved to realise that it was a dream. But... What if it wasn't? I have always bought into the theory that Caleb and MC were brought together as a part of a bigger experiment by Ever, to test their evols and how they would get along.

Caleb has always been experimented on to better suit the needs and purposes that Ever plans to achieve with him and MC. He is being mind controlled by Ever, it's a "Neural Experiment" after all, Ever is trying to gain control of his thoughts and feelings, to make him detach himself from the MC to be able to use his telekenisis/gravity manipulation evol more effectively. Caleb seems unaware of this, he thinks that all of this is a dream when it's likely not. It's a result of all the poking and prodding Ever did in his brain since he's been a child. And Caleb's feelings for the MC are so strong that he's always able to fight against it, even if he is aware of it.

Ever blew up their house, likely because they thought that if MC knew that Caleb is definitely dead, they'd be able to keep her away from Caleb and keep Caleb away from her, making it easier for them to manipulate his brain to their liking.

Caleb is a sweet guy. The moment I saw him in the game, he was instantly the "protective-older-oppa-niichan" archetype. And this sudden shift in him in the trailer made me feel... Strange to say the least. It was absolutely jarring. I don't think he's evil, I think he's being made to think he is evil.

The still from the trailer below; it shows what is likely his apartment and everything is boxed up, it's almost as though this is from the day he moved to skyhaven or a few days after.

(side note: it's kinda cute that the only thing he unpacked is that photo of, what I assume is, him and the MC on the left.)

This is most definitely the past because,

He still has the necklace and he seems as soft as we know him to be, he caresses the necklace with care and in memory, almost as if he's consoling the MC like, "I'll never hurt you, don't worry." (And well, also just because he misses her and wishes she was with him.)

And then, this beautiful dream-like scene, almost from a memory changes into something far darker.

It's as though he's not himself anyone, he's someone who has been twisted. Ever has succeeded and it's up to us to make him remember again.

To add: the apple symbolism. His art and his motifs are often littered with apples and snakes, snakes are often seen as symbols of seduction, betrayal and most importantly: duality in most world mythologies and the apple, it's quite literally the seduction and fall of Eve/mankind. Even the snake, the devil takes the form of a snake when trying to seduce Eve to eat from the tree.

Perhaps the snakes at meant to represent his duality, and Ever as they are the reason for his duality in the first place. Meanwhile, the apples: his fall orchestrated by Ever. Ever is the devil and Caleb fell for their trap, unknowingly just as Eve did.

[stxneflxwers]

I saw your post and came running 👀 I've been thinking about this since the end of December bc I really did not get into the holiday spirit until after it was over lmao BUT for any characters you want to write for: what are they like during the holidays? What traditions do they like to do? What gifts do they give you?

(Extra ideas you can take or leave if it helps your inspiration at all — How does Aventurine feel when you tell him you don't need any of those expensive gifts, just time with him? How does Sunday react when you sit him down to tell him he's stressing himself out too hard trying to find a perfect gift for you and that all you want is for him to be happy? How does Dan Heng respond when you tell him that the only gift you want for the holidays is him?)

^ I've just been rotating the hsr boys in my head all day at work lol so I have a lot of Thoughts™

gift of love.

summary. the greatest gift of all is his love.

a/n. tysm for the request!!! i decided to settle with gift-giving ideas you offered, since it sounded interesting and cute!! im just gonna stick with aven and sunday for this tho... i wanna test how sunday writes for me.

characters. aventurine. sunday.

cw. first time writing for sunday (this is more of a test with how much i enjoy writing him, sry for any OOC-ness). gift-giving. all lowercase. established relationship(s). PLS NOTE THAT I HAVEN'T DONE THE NEW TRAILBLAZE MISSION STILL CUZ I'M A LAZY MFER...SORRY.

aventurine.

tries to be soooo sneaky about figuring out what you like as gifts. he wants all of his gifts to be a surprise, after all! it doesn't work. you see right through his game plan. he's a smidgen disappointed (with himself), and might be a bit surprised depending on the kind of person you are.

he still ends up showering you in expensive gifts of things you enjoy. he tries to find the most expensive edition of any of those things even though he, of all people, should know that expensive ≠ well-made. you have to tell him to chill out.

he immediately believes you're angry with him (why wouldn't you be?). but you're not, and you can see the panic flash in his eyes for the tiniest of moments. you sigh softly with a wary smile. you briefly give him some space before talking to him about it.

you tell him that all the most expensive gifts in the world are nothing in comparison to quality time together. you remain patient with an open-mind and a listening ear – you know he needs a wealth of both. you make sure to tell him you miss him.

his mouth hangs open in silence when you tell him that, for once he's at a loss for words. his mouth closes and he smiles. he takes you into a soft hug and whispers, "i miss you too."

he makes an evident effort to be around you more often when he does have the time. you know, instead of wasting half of it out in the casino.

and it makes all the difference.

sunday.

the most perfectionist to ever perfectionist. stop him before he literally keels over from stress.

thankfully, you notice how weary he's been. and you ask him what's wrong. because at this point – everyone knows, everyone notices how he's been stuck in his head (more than usual). he frets over little things, as usual. but now he seems almost snippy. birdie is cranky.

when he eventually gives in and confesses that he cannot find the "right" gift for you, you're smiling and shaking your head. you give him a very long moment of silence, testing him – seeing if he catches on what you'll say next.

he doesn't catch on "quick enough", much to his dismay. perhaps he hasn't adjusted to your praises and reassurances...yet.

you tell him that the greatest gift of all would be for him to be happy. to be relaxed. to be in the moment. you throw in a little whisper, "maybe by my side, too."

he's silent – his mind running amok with what to say next. he settles for an awkward yet genuinely affectionate, "thank you..."

and then he asks for your forgiveness once he collects himself. you laugh softly and forgive him, you've gotten used to him asking for your forgiveness rather often. only yours, though.

at some point, you're going to need to tell him that forgiving himself is far more important.

[macgyvermedical]

I am DYING to know about your vendetta against space blankets

SO glad you asked.

So everyone who has never used one thinks space blankets are the best thing since SAM Splints, right?

They are all WRONG.

See. Picture this: It is 2016. It is April. It is Ohio. It is 39F and Snowing. There is still, tenaciously, snow on the ground from where it had fallen the night before. It is not even damp, but verifiably WET and MUDDY.

I am student-teaching Wilderness First Aid for the last time before I become a real instructor.

I am testing students out by having them rescue me. Which means I am laying on the COLD WET SNOWY MUDDY ground with a fake broken leg and concussion. Which means I am also COLD WET SNOWY AND MUDDY. Just like the ground I am, again, Laying On.

I am wearing a (cold wet snowy muddy) long sleeved t-shirt and jeans.

"You'll be fine" my Instructor Trainer told me. He said: "By now they should know how to rescue you and get you warm super quick."

Spoiler Alert: They didn't.

Every single one of them. LITERALLY EVERY SINGLE ONE OF THEM came out one at a time and threw a fucking space blanket over me (not under me, or around me) and did exactly zero (0) further temperature management.

If you have never met a space blanket they are the THINNEST piece of plastic and you have to use them in a VERY SPECIFIC way to get ANY benefit from them. THis was not that way.

Half of the space blankets, apparently knowing their uselessness, had the ABSOLUTE GALL to blow away anyway (at which point at least 3 of the students went chasing after them like my life depended on it).

Because, oh yeah. Was also WImDY.

I don't even know who told them about the space blankets because you know what hadn't?

The CLASS.

Because I was there when the other student instructor taught them about hypothermia wraps.

He had even Done a Great Job.

So I thought.

For 4 hours, however, I was trapped in COLD WET SNOWY MUDDY WINDY but wasn't being rescued 14 times in a row into a snuggly hypothermia wrap like I was promised.

And yes, you could probably blame this at least partially on me for not tapping out, but you see I was Committed To The Bit(TM).

I don't think my core temperature has ever been so low in my life (except for the time in 12th grade where I went out in the cold wet snowy windy to do some hypothermia research for a fic- that was also pretty chilly in space blankets' defense).

BUt, that is why I have a personal problemo with space blankets: They suck if you don't use them exactly perfectly and no one knows how to use them exactly perfectly. And we don't teach that because honestly even when you use them perfectly they pretty much suck.

Except if you're using them to be waterproof. I guess they're pretty good at that.

[aninipanin1]

I think that Anri begs adult manager! reader to force Ego to eat an actual meal that isn’t those instant noodles

EW, VEGETABLES...?

Notes: I actually love this so much, anon lol

"Good morning, Anri-san. How may I help you today?"

You greeted your fellow female manager, figure hunched over the washing machine, scrubbing the white linen sheets from the many rooms around the facility, especially the one that legit had an oyster sauce spill, leaving a spot darkened.

Anri gave her a large smile, one that is familiar, at first before her, she reached some sort of 'Eureka' moment, and her smile turned into one of disappointment she did not think of it earlier along with a hint of mischief in it.

"Actually, can you help me with something, Y/n?"

"Oh, of course! What do I do?"

The redhaired manager motioned for her to come closer, to which she followed. Cupping her hand around your ear, Anri whispered the 'task' she wanted you to do.

As she spoke, the wider your eyes became. How will you even pull this off?

"But, Anri-san..! You know how much he loves his noodles...and how he doesn't really like me."

You always thought that Ego Jinpachi, the head and director of the Blue Lock facility, never seemed to like you. He wasn't rude to you (you think because he talked to you the way he did to everyone else), but you can definitely see that he would go out of his way to avoid talking to you, approaching you or anything related to talking with you alone without Anri, unless it was something prefessional and work-related.

He also always scolds you. You know, it was just because of the betterment of the project. But why did he have to scold you for just being around Noel Noa or any of the master strikers? They were the ones handling the improvement of the boys. Of course, you need to be around them! Well, it was one of the many things you noticed, but you digressed. After all, you know you cannot please everyone, especially in a workplace environment.

So, you were a little shocked when Anri tilted her head at you, confused about your claim.

"Ego-san...doesn't like you?"

"Um, isn't it obvious, Anri-san? He doesn't really like talking to me at all, and when you aren't there with us, he will always avoid talking to me even if I try to make casual conversations! Also, he always scolds me for the stupidest reasons! Why does he get mad when I talk to Noa-san, Snuffy-san, Prince-san, or even Lavinho-san, I will never understand! It's my job to make sure that the boys are doing well and I can only make sure of that through the master strikers!"

You did not know when you started ranting, but you did. Anri, who listened to you with open ears, could not help but chuckle on the inside. She felt quite amused and also disappointed at Ego. But, she cannot say she was not surprised. Ego was one, if not the most emotionally constipated person she had ever met. It was not a surprise that he would try to avoid you.

But, why did he have to do all those things? It wasn't helping his cause at all!

'You better thank me for what I am doing, Ego-san.'

"Ego-san! Um..."

You stood there in the office where the said man was watching the many screens, watching over the progress of the players who were all training in their own ways. In your hands was a tray filled with sautéed vegetables, a bowl of rice, and some chicken in a bowl you cooked just for the man.

Even if you think he hates you, you can not just ignore someone who is literally putting their life in danger because they don't want to eat healthy things. You aren't messed up like that!

But, you did not know how to approach this, much less him. How will you even ask him to do this, much less with the strained relationship you two had? This was a really bad idea! Why did Anri have to approach you of all people for this-

"What is it?"

He turned his swivel chair to face you, his eyes a bit lidded to show that he was not that happy for being interrupted.

"I made some extra food, and uh...I thought you may want to have it."

'That's so stupid, Y/n!'

He raised an eyebrow at this, and it did not help that the look on his face showed that he did not approve of eating the pallate on the tray.

"Y/n-chan, you know I don't eat those things."

"I know...! I just didn't want to waste it. Anri-san said she already ate so..."

Ego did not say anything, turning his swivel chair to face the screens again. Just as you were about to give up and leave the room thinking that he would not accept the food at all, he raised his arm and pointed to an empty space on the desk.

"Put it there. Don't blame me if I don't eat it and it becomes rotten."

Blinking at his words, you just nodded your head, a bit dazed that he actually considered even being near the food. You did as he told before bowing and leaving to do your other chores and duties.

Needless to say, when Anri entered Ego's office, she was shocked to see the man munching on a bowl of rice with chicken and vegetables on top. His eyes were still focused on the screen, back hunched in a weird position, but he was indeed eating.

"Did Y/n pass by here..?"

"She did. Dropped this...abomination and her paperwork."

Ego answered, pointing to the food that he called 'abomination,' yet he was still eating the food, cheeks round with food. Anri nodded, yet it was obvious she did not believe the disgusted look in his face to which he only glared at her for.

"You're the one who said it. The facility should not waste food." He pointed his chopstick at her.

"Yeah, yeah. It's totally not because you favour her, definitely not." Anri shrugged, a cheeky smile as she headed out the room once she dropped the paperwork.

'I'm surrounded by simps, haahh...' She inwardly sighed.

ADDITIONAL TIME!

Anri: You like her.

Ego: No, I don't.

Also Ego: *proceeds to hoard every single thing Y/n gave him, yes, even if it was the inkless pen she passed to him to throw in the trash.*

I'm sorry if this was too short, hahaha. I didn't really know how to go deeper into this. But I hope you loved this!

Blue Lock is WRITTEN by Kaneshiro Muneyuki and ILLUSTRATED by Nomura Yusuke. All credits to the both of them.

[fushiguruuzzzz]

જ⁀ SAY IT TO MY FACE

“It was rare for Yuji Itadori to keep things from you. He didn’t like keeping secrets, it made something tight bud in his chest and made him feel guilty every time he looked at you. He only ever kept one secret, not only from you, but from the world.”

Now playing :: Rises The Moon — Liana Flores

Yuji Itadori x F!Reader

Words — 5.7k

Contents — 4+1 fic, violence, kidnapping, distress, mentions of death/loss, I can’t write fights for shit, no actual angst this time because I feel bad for hurting people again and again oops, but maybe angst if you squint?, I don’t proofread, lmk if I missed any <3

In a mess of crushing expectations and unfamiliar fluttering in your chest, you somehow cross paths with Tokyo’s one and only Spiderman. Maybe the eerie similarity he has to your best friend isn’t a coincidence at all, nor is the odd care he has for you. OR Four times Spiderman loved you, one time Yuji did it himself.

a/n — hi sofia yes this is for you teehee @rreveurdoll . I actually love spiderman yuji so much he’s been sitting in my notes app since august he just suits it saurrrrrrrr well I can’t do this it’s so uhghhughf. Also iera agreed with me so it was my final push hai ily

There was always a certain sort of familiarity about spiderman, a tranquil warmth that reminded you of something you could never quite put your finger on. It radiated from him like aura, constantly flowing but never really explaining itself. It was apparent in the way he held you—arm under your knees and another around your shoulders, almost as if he knew you were ticklish in the sides, like he knew you better than you knew yourself. The way he talked to you like he’d done it a million times before, his eyes lingering on the curve of your lips for just a beat too long, it was just so… knowing. Every time he interacted with you, it felt like he knew something you didn’t. That was because, well, he did.

It was rare for Yuji Itadori to keep things from you. He didn’t like keeping secrets, it made something wretched bud in his chest and made him feel guilty every time he looked at you. He only ever kept one secret, not only from you, but from the world. The hundreds, maybe thousands of people that might kill him if given the chance. And if you knew, maybe they’d get to you too. He couldn’t have that. It already haunted his every waking moment and it hadn’t even happened yet. Yet. That was the thing, it could happen at any moment. If he was the cause of your demise, he couldn’t forgive himself. So he tried his best, tried to keep his lips sealed the best he could, even if he struggled sometimes.

The first time you met spiderman, he almost screwed up. Already.

You’d somehow gotten caught up in the midst of a battle, the bakery you worked at getting completely annihilated by the commotion, so being the ever brave and courageous citizen you were, you ran for your fucking life. You somehow found it in you to remain at least relatively calm… until barely dodging a chunk of concrete thrown your way. The composure seemed to fade from there. You could feel your heart jumping out of your chest, but all you could think about was that you were lucky it was still beating.

That’s when he came swinging in. Literally. It was a flash of red out of the corner of your eye at first, you barely even paid any mind to it. But then his voice rang out with a call to you, and you couldn’t look the other way anymore.

“Hey! Y- miss!”

You took a moment to glance back, your loss of breath catching up to you as you panted and heaved. His feet hitting the ground was nothing but a small thump, swallowed up by the chaos bleeding in around you. “You can’t be out in the open like this. It’s dangerous.”

You couldn’t see his face, but you could basically hear the furrow of his brows. Through your pants, you managed gasp out a reply that you fear was just a bit too sassy. “I know. That’s why I’m running.”

His face fell just the slightest bit under the mask, but beneath that layer of latex was almost a smile. He found it hard to be amused right now, because honestly, when he saw you he felt like throwing up. Even before that, when he’d looked at the destroyed shell of what was your workplace, something sick twisted in his gut. It wasn’t fear, no, more than that. After every punch at the enemy came a glance among the crowd, desperately hoping to see you in one piece. When he landed in front of you and the first thing you’d said was dry and sassy and completely you, he couldn’t help the way his nerves felt just a little less racked. He wanted to hug you, to pull you into his arms and tell you how happy he was to see you, maybe get a kiss if he was lucky– huh?

But he wasn’t Yuji, and only Yuji had that sort of privilege. He was spiderman. He was a masked vigilante that you’d never been face to face with, so he tried to keep up the act. Therefore all he did was reply with a soft “yeah” before scooping you up and carrying you to safety, because that’s what spiderman does. He would’ve done it for anyone, really! But he handled you with just a bit more care, just a bit more warmth in those blank white eyes of his suit, because you weren’t just anyone. You were you.

He left you on the side of an untouched street feeling breathless and confused. Maybe you were naive, because his voice alone should’ve told you exactly who it was from the beginning. But there was a ringing in your ears from the noise, and your knees felt wobbly as well as your lips. You could barely think straight, so who could blame you? Mentally unmasking Tokyos famous spiderman wasn’t a common task in any situation, especially yours. Assuming it was your best friend felt crazy. Instead you remained oblivious and shaken on the side of the street, and he remained determined in the fight thinking of nothing but you.

— ⋮ ᰔ

The second time you met spiderman, the circumstances still weren’t great, but this time your life wasn’t on the line. Well, at least not literally.

The nights air was cold, nipping at your tear stained cheeks and clinging to the dampness left in its wake. Your eyes stung, both from the chill and the bitterness that welled up in your waterline and spilled over, only to drip down and fade away into the fabric of your jeans. Completely insignificant, but to you, they fell heavy. They beat down on you in a mocking rhythm, every droplet a reminder of the crushing weight of your failure. It was suffocating, but truly, would the lightness be any better? Would the complete lack of fulfillment, whether that be bliss or anguish, be less unbearable than the ache in your shoulders and the squeezing in your chest? You think that if it were, you wouldn’t still be sticking around. You wouldn’t be doing this. You just would’ve liked to feel less alone in the midst of it.

Your legs dangled freely over the stairs, the rusted metal of the fire escape not doing much to cage you in. As you swung them, felt nothing but air and the awareness of the ground so distant below, you got a taste of the lightness. A taste of your freedom, of your insignificance. Maybe that was all you needed to handle the rest of the weight.

As if your longing had been personally alerted to the universe, you heard a shuffling behind you. Your head whipped around just a little too fast—making something in your neck pop and reminding you that you really need to stop hunching over your laptop—enough to make your panic rather obvious. You were about to wonder how someone even made it up here, but then you saw him. The culprit stopped in his tracks, raising his two covered hands in an (unnecessary) surrender. It wasn’t like you could defend yourself if you tried, anyway. You were sat awkwardly on a set of rusted metal stairs with about two feet of space to run. You were no match for him. Fortunately for you, Yuj- spiderman wouldn’t dare hurt you. When you continued to stare at him through your teary eyes with a question he couldn’t answer, he realized he hadn’t come up with something to say. Luckily, you beat him to it.

“…spiderman?” Your voice was confused, small and almost weak as you tried to swallow the lump in your throat. He stared at you for a moment, only then remembering who he was. Right now he was spiderman, a stranger, and he had to act accordingly. The thing was—Yuji didn’t know how to act like a stranger to you. You’d become such a constant in each others lives that treating you as if you were unfamiliar simply defied the blood in his veins, the beating of his heart. He felt it thump angrily in his chest at the mere thought, because how could he feign distance when you were the one it beat for?

He cleared his throat. “Hi.”

A million questions ran through your head, countless quips or remarks, but your throat constricted around them and forbid them from jumping out. “Why are you… here?” you asked. Your voice was uncharacteristically bland, tired. He didn’t like it.

He shrugged, head tilting to the side. He leaned against the building, an attempt to be casual, but the brick was digging into his back and every sense he had was screaming at him to leap forward and hold you, to take the mask off and be who you needed. But when he considered the thought, the images of what might follow flashed through his mind like memories yet to come. He kept the mask on.

“Well, I was out… you know… doing spiderman things. And then I saw you. Looked like you could use a friend.”

Honestly? Yuji being out here was no sort of coincidence. The moment he’d felt a familiar tingling in the back of his mind, he was landing here before he could question why. In his soul, he knew why, knew it better than anyone. If Yuji couldn’t be there for you because he was spiderman, spiderman would have to fill in.

He paused, eyes trailing over the sag in your shoulders and the darkness under your eyes. You looked different than the last time he’d seen you—had it been weeks? A pang of something glum shot through him at the realization.

“What about you?” he asked, that teasing, spiderman-esque tone fading into something softer.

“Huh?”

“What’re you doing out here?”

You swallowed thickly. You felt as if you were stuck on a tightrope, looking between a reaching hand and the ground below. Let him slip his hand into yours, hoping it pulls you up, or fall? You were willing to take that risk. “Just… been fucking up a lot lately, I guess. This is my escape.”

He paused for a second. “Was that a pun?”

He felt victorious as he took in the subtle curl of your lips. “But forreal, what do you mean screwing up?”

A soft sigh left your lips, the air pooling in what looked like smoke around your face. You liked that—you could tell yourself that was the reason for your blurry vision, not that you were crying. Your fingers were twitching, and he wished he could take them.

“Just… nothing has been going right. Got my ass kicked by finals, I feel like shit, and- and usually I’d have my best friend, but…” you felt a painful throbbing in your chest, what you were about to admit feeling sour and wrong on your tongue. “He hasn’t been answering lately, he’s been… distant. Maybe he’s getting sick of me or something, I wish I knew.”

Yuji felt a tightening in his chest that was almost painful. Him. It was him. His spider sense had called him to fix a problem that he was the cause of. Sick of you? No, he could never be sick of you, but right now he felt ill. “He’d never,” he blurted without thinking, only realizing how odd that sounded once it had already reached your ears. “I mean– I’m sure he loves you.” His eyes widened comically. He kept blabbering, and it was only making things worse. “You seem lovely. Uh-“

To his surprise, you laughed. “Okay, okay, I get the point. Thanks… I think?”

He felt the heat that was crawling up his neck lower, simmer into a comfortable nothingness. “You’re welcome.”

By some strange coincidence, Yuji showed up at your door what must’ve been a mere three hours after your masked friend swung away into the night.

He seemed out of breath—almost panting, as if he’d just run a marathon (or fought the green goblin). He stood in your doorway, pink locks of hair rubbed in all different directions, chest rising and falling erratically.

Before you could open your mouth—ask what he was doing here and what sort of physical activity he was doing in the middle of the night, maybe—he was hugging you. His firm arms slithered around your waist, tugging you towards his chest without a word. He held you just a little tighter than usual, like he’d been waiting to do it for far too long. He had been.

“I haven’t seen you in two weeks,” he murmured, breath warm against your skin.

“I know.” Your words held a sense of bitterness, but you were hugging him back with a tenderness that contrasted what you wanted to feel.

“I missed you.”

How could he say something like that? How could he disappear for weeks and then come back and make your heart clench, because you know he means it? This was Yuji. Your Yuji. He talked to stray cats on the side of the road and was always there to lend a helping hand, whether that be to a sweet old lady or a convicted felon. He wouldn’t say he missed you if he didn’t, and either way, you knew he did. Whether it felt like it or not, you knew Yuji. You knew he missed you, felt it in the way his fingers gripped at the fabric of your shirt. It was almost desperate, like he was a shell of a man in need of fulfillment. As much as you wished you hated it, you wanted to be that for him.

That’s how you ended curled in bed, Yuji’s eyes trailing over your face for just a little too long, so much so that you weren’t sure he’d paid any attention to the movie in the first place. You didn’t say anything, but Yuji kept you just a little bit closer that night.

— ⋮ ᰔ

The third time you crossed paths with spiderman, it was you who sought him out. Well, sought is a strong word, you’d prefer to say that you gravitated towards him naturally. That wasn’t completely a lie, there truly was some sort of magnetic pull to him drawing you near, but your approach was completely by choice. But that wasn’t a conversation you were ready for, many layers of psychological complexities that you weren’t prepared to peel back, so you instead focused on the blurry red feet dangling from the rooftop and how you’d get up there to join them.

After a number of laps around the building that you’d need two hands to count, you hit the jackpot. Sitting humbly within the shadows of the dark, grey alley was a ladder. It was rickety and rusted and you feared it would be the last thing you ever saw—but it was a chance. Everyone took chances, didn’t they? Everything was a chance, in its own way. Love, hate, that answer scribbled into the last page of your exam that you’re not quite sure about. Spiderman took a chance every time he rounded a new building with those webs of his, took an even greater one with every fight and interaction with the public. He took a chance when he came to see you on that sullen night, and you still didn’t know why, but you knew you’d make it your mission to at least somewhat return the favour.

The metal was piercingly cold as your fingers wrapped around it, eliciting a wince from you, but only prompting you to hold on tighter. The sound of your boots clanking against the steps, the small grunt that left your lips as you threw yourself onto the roof—so many sounds barely heard beneath the never ending roar of the city. You heard sirens in the distance, and you wondered why spiderman was sitting in front of you instead of trailing near them.

His eyes met yours (sort of), and Yuji felt something warm flow through his veins. He felt his heart beat just a little quicker, thumping in time with your approaching footsteps. Suddenly the sirens didn’t seem so loud, the curse of his heightened senses not feeling so overwhelming as your face came into the light cast from below.

“Hey, y/n.” He spoke gently, like the words were something delicate, and they’d shatter if said too harshly.

He watched the way your eyes widened just slightly, brows twitching upwards in mild surprise. “You know my name?”

With a slightly wonky smile that you couldn’t see, he nodded. “Small world.”

“Isn’t it?”

Your words were meant to be a light response, but they only made the weight in his chest feel all the more dense. He turned back ahead, the cartoonish white eyes of his mask reflecting an infinite, erratic pattern of streetlights. His shoulders hung a little lower than usual, something you didn’t fail to catch. You sat beside him, legs hanging over the side of the building. The structure was sturdy and solid beneath your thighs, far more than both the barely-there balance of the ladder and his trembling breaths.

“It’s not, though,” he said softly, so quiet that it was almost whisked away by the winds of the evening. “The world is big. Too big.”

You tilted your head, hands pressing into the concrete to support your weight, but itching to reach out to him. You couldn’t give a reason why if asked, nothing other than the unspoken tranquility between you, like you knew much more than you spoke aloud. “What do you mean?” you asked.

“It’s too big. There’s too many people, so many that I can’t… I can’t save everyone. There’s always casualty in the wake of disaster, because the amount of people barely goes down each time. But- but they’re all people, they all deserve to be saved, but… they can’t.”

His words hung in the air, and invisible force between you that pushed down on his shoulders and deepened the furrow in his brows.

“You’re right,” you said. His head turned more quickly than it should’ve—he wasn’t expecting that response from you. Maybe you’d have given Yuji a different answer than you would spiderman. “Not everybody can be saved, but you still save people. A lot of them. Imagine if you never showed up, how many more people would die? A lot. Maybe you can’t save everyone, but you still save people, and that is what makes you good.”

It was as if your words were a sirens song, soothing him to silence and easing his thumping heart. For the first time ever, Yuji wasn’t exactly sure what to say. “Yeah,” he breathed after a moment, voice choked. “Yeah, you’re right.”

He looked up at you for a beat longer, taking in the way the ridges of your face were cast over by shadows, the way your hair fluttered and danced with every gust of wind. “Thank you.” He cleared his throat. “That friend you mentioned before… he’s lucky to have you.”

You shook your head gently. “If you met him, you’d think otherwise,” you said, oblivious to the fact that though spiderman hadn’t technically met Yuji Itadori, he knew him very well. “He’s great. Much better than me.” The corners of your lips quirked up fondly, something he could only describe as love being the force that pushed your smile wider. “He’s great,” you said, more breathily this time.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

The next hour or so was spent sharing mindless conversation, reminiscing over teenagehood in a way that made spiderman feel so close, but so far. He couldn’t rid himself of that odd feeling beneath his ribcage, the one that felt like his heart was trying to escape, wailing your name and clawing at him from the inside out. Luckily, the spider-suit did enough to keep it contained.

— ⋮ ᰔ

The atmosphere was tumultuous, the sound of the concrete around them crumbling accompanied by an occasional hiss of web shooting from Yuji’s suit. He moved with a choppy sort of grace, bouncing across alleys and buildings alike.

“I’m sure you could do better than that,” he teased, faux cockiness thick in his tone. A tense, tightly strung determination bled through his tone, too intense to be concealed by thickly coated boyish charm. He lingered on the wall of one building just for the sake of mocking his foe, head tilted to the side almost as if he was genuinely interested.

He quickly flung himself away, just barely missing the swinging, mechanical arm aimed at him.

“Ah ah, keep up!” he quipped, though his voice rose with a small yelp as he finished his sentence. It was clear his opponent only got further angered with every tease, wails of rage growing louder with every swing. Spiderman smiled bashfully, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Hah… guess I shouldn’t get too cocky…”

His opponent was some big guy, clad in countless layers of precocious technology that reflected the suns light like a mirror. What he assumed was his chest beneath all that metal was heaving, pants leaving his mouth. Suppose tech can’t compete with physical stamina, at least not in this scenario.

“You’ll regret this, spiderman!” he roared, voice scratchy, like he hadn’t used it in ages. “Surrender now, or I’ll have to do something I don’t want to. Don’t– don’t make it difficult.” His words got darker with every proceeding syllable, almost enough to make Yuji nervous. He was used to these threats, and they were empty more often than not.

“Yeahhh…” he drawled, unconvinced. But there was something in him that twisted his gut—not his spider-sense, but something… different. Something in his heart told him to worry.

Shaking his head, he made another advance in the direction of the enemy. He hadn’t bothered to remember his name, he’d never been a problem until now.

Swerving his hit, the big man continued. “I’ve been studying you, spiderman-“ he cut himself off with a groan, his incessant speech resulting in an impact meeting his side.

He grinned, malicious and knowing. As if he knew this was a game of cat and mouse, and he had him trapped like a rat. Something about it made Yuji hesitate, made that unfamiliar feeling in his heart throb. Yuji opened his mouth to retort, to at least attempt some sort of return that suited his sarcastic, spiderman fashion, but he was cut off.

“Or rather, I’ve been studying Yuji Itadori.”

He felt himself go immobile, felt his body freeze like an icicle in the midst of winter. His blood felt equally as cold, as if one move would make him shatter. People studied spiderman all of the time. There were news articles and personal reports and attempts at interviews—everyone knew everything about spiderman, except for his identity. At least, they did.

In that split second, Yuji had a terrible epiphany. With Yuji Itadori came Y/n L/n, always. A plethora of your shared moments flashed through his mind. Walking you to class, late night trips to the convenience store, all of the places around you that there’d been someone lurking. Someone just waiting for the right moment, gauging his behaviour and every aspect of his life, no doubt including the way he looked at you. Yuji might’ve seemed dense, but he was perfectly aware of how clear his love for you was. He loved everything, he loved the way the sun casted over the city and the way people lit up when he smiled at them on the street. He loved you most.

The figure looming over him smiled sickly, Yuji’s reaction telling him all he needed to know. As he began circling Yuji like a predator ready to pounce, he couldn’t stop him. All he could do was feel the pounding of his heart in his chest and wondering if yours was still able to do the same.

“So I was thinking…” the man began, trailing off for the sake of suspense no doubt. “What’s a better power to have over someone than love?”

The sinister words swirled in his ears like an echo. His mouth felt dry, the rest of the world fading to TV static as he tried to glance around for any sign of you, but his gaze was far too frantic to make out the shape of the person in front of him let alone you.

With a devilish snigger, you were revealed. Simply based off of the widened state of your eyes and the way you writhed in the rope you were restricted by, it was fairly clear this was news to you. Had your mouth not been taped, he was sure you’d have plenty to say. As his eyes locked with yours, the world slowed to a halt around you. Your gazes spoke louder than any words, louder than any scream into the dead of night. It spoke of love and fear all the same.

“Stop,” was all he could croak out. “Stop!” he shouted, louder this time as his gaze turned.

“Mm.. so I was correct, then?” said the near cyborg beast beside you.

Yuji’s gaze flickered to you, just for a split second. He contemplated lying, but he just… couldn’t. The words felt bitter and out of place on his tongue, even before they were spoken. So he chose bravery, in every sense of the word, and kept with his offence.

“Maybe, that’s none of your business,” he grunted, words emphasized with a hit to the man’s gnarly face. Yuji had a new sense of determination, the animalistic instinct to protect you. He’d already lost so many, lost his parents and his brother and the sense of humanity he grasped on to like the thread he hung by. He wouldn’t lose you.

All you could do was watch. You could only sit there like the helpless bystander you loathed to be, staring in horror as who might’ve been the love of your life was pummelled into the ground. It was like a twisted pattern of pain and the red of his blood darkening his suit. With every hit he landed he received tenfold, but somehow he always got back up. That was Yuji for you.

As the fight continued, you couldn’t help but begin to notice the obvious similarities between the vigilante and your own best friend. You felt utterly idiotic. Why else would he care so much, who else would you have shared those conversations with? Why else would Yuji look at you just a little different every time you met with spiderman? It all made sense. All of the “I’m sure your best friend is lucky to have you”’s and the explanations to Yuji’s actions that seemed just a bit too personal. Now you knew why, and you couldn’t even respond to the information, imprisoned by the tape over your mouth and the weight of your obliviousness as the sound of fist against face rang through the streets.

A weak, muffled cry fell from your lips as he was knocked to the ground.

Everything was going in slow motion. The robotic arm raised, hovering over Yuji like a sledgehammer just waiting to pound down. But then there was a metallic whine, and a halt. Panic washed over the man’s face as he froze—well, the metal parts of him froze, and those were the only parts that amounted to much.

He sputter and panicked, watching as the countless officers surrounding the area became aware of his suspended movement. It was over, just like that? He seemed just as surprised as you were, and as your eyes met, you were shocked to feel anything in common with him.

When you were freed of the twine that had been keeping you in place, you wasted no time in rushing to Yuji. The red and blue of the lights surrounding you blanketed him, making him appear as nothing but a puddle in the street. He looked completely melted—limp, and for a moment you thought he might not live to hear what you had to say.

You pulled his mask up over his face, disregarding the people around you and their wandering eyes. His face was battered and bruised, but undeniably still his, still alive. You felt your shoulders deflate as his throat bobbed, the small, otherwise unimportant motion doing numbers to ease your nerves. He was still here. You could still learn to love spiderman as you did Yuji, you’d still get the chance to feel their hearts beat as one.

His eyes fluttered open, vision bleary from the flashing lights and his lack of consciousness. “Y/n?” he muttered, voice nearly inaudible. It was the first thought in his mind when he woke, even before the fuzzy outline of your face came into view. His eyes flickered brighter when they saw you. He knew that face anywhere. “Y/n,” he breathed, softer this time.

“Yuji-“

“I’m sorry for not telling you,” he mumbled quickly. His hands reached for yours, the shaky, bruised skin wrapping itself in yours. It stung, but the feeling of your fingers intertwined with his was enough to soothe the ache. He was convinced that if you were to kiss every injured part of him, his bones would straighten themselves out for the sole purpose of holding you, because broken arms can not cradle. Snapped fingers cannot run through your hair, so if he were broken, he would repair himself as long as it meant loving you. No amount of bloodshed would keep him away, he would return to you in the winds if he had to.

You chuckled lightly despite the distress of the moment. “For not telling me what? That you’re spiderman or that you’re in love with me?”

He grinned tiredly, canines peeking out brightly, white against the pink of his lips. “Both.”

— ⋮ ᰔ

The sound of knuckles against your window was dull and hollow, but not unexpected. It did little to startle you, barely bothering to look up from your textbook as you hunched over your desk.

“It’s open!” you called over your shoulder, followed by the creak of the glass sliding open. The sound of Yuji’s feet meeting the ground pulled you from your school immersed daze, office chair swivelling around to face him.

“You know, leaving your window open at night is dangerous,” he said, half joking. His mask was already pulled from his face, messy pink hair matted and messy on his head. He was making quick work to pull off the rest of his suit as he spoke, hopping around on one foot as he tried to pry it from his skin.

You responded with an underlaugh, “I’m on the fourth floor. Nobody except spiderman is sliding open my window at eleven at night on a Tuesday.”

“Well-“ he cut himself off by knocking into your bedframe. He glanced back to you, cheeks warming in the slightest as he tried to balance himself and remain authoritative. “Well, they might!” he exclaimed. His eyes narrowed, but you didn’t find any sense of irritation in them. Within his shining brown irises was concern, the lingering anxiety that came with the events not long before. Yuji had been on edge ever since, constantly glancing around corners and panicking when you were out of sight for even a moment. In the corners of his vision lingered the sight of you helpless, burned into his mind like a tattoo he never wanted.

He tossed the red article somewhere on your floor, disregarding it entirely. He stood above you, arms crossed and trying to look annoyed, but resulting in a different, much cuter pout. He was many things that he wouldn’t admit. Tired—very much so—from spending his day trying restlessly to save lives, scared, and craving the tenderness in your touch that he never received with the mask over his face. When you locked gazes, holding it felt particularly hard for him tonight, because he knew you could see right through him. He felt bare, and not just because you were looking at his real face.

You sighed softly, standing up from the chair. You guess your studying could wait another night, because you knew Yuji couldn’t. Your chest throbbed with the thought of the danger he came face to face with constantly, the responsibility he carried on his back through every waking moment. The weight was heavy, and it was exhausting.

Placing a chaste, fleeting kiss on his cheek, you tugged him over to the bed. His hand was soft in yours, a contrast to the callouses and scrapes adorning the skin there.

“Come lie down,” you mumbled.

He glanced between you and the desk you previously occupied, brows knitting together. “Weren’t you busy?”

“I’m not anymore. Just come rest with me, please.” You shook your head, earnestly reflecting in your eyes.

He hesitated, opening his mouth to speak. “You don’t have to…” he began, but he stopped himself. He really, really did want to rest. He wanted to listen to your heart beat against your chest and have your breath fan over his skin, he wanted to curl into your embrace and be reminded that in this cruel world was a place of love. He knew that deep down, his heart resided with you, and he never felt it truly thump until he was in your arms. “…okay.”

So he crawled into bed with you, tired and almost clingy in his actions. His body slotted against yours like the missing piece of a puzzle, his arms slithering around your waist and face nuzzling into the crook of your neck like it was always meant to be there. He let his ear press against your shirt and hear the life beneath your skin, letting out a breath and physically melting into your arms. He looked so much more gentle like this. He wasn’t the sarcastic or silly figure the world knew spiderman to be, he was just a boy that wanted to help. He was just a kid like you who needed to know that there were things left to cherish.

Some would say you had two lovers. One a courageous figure in the night, the other a warm hearted, pink haired student barely making it into college. But you knew that spiderman was nothing but the parts of Yuji that had always lived within, and the bits that defined him most.

That night you traced every line and freckle on his face, committing it to memory because now there was no suit between you. You admired him as he slept, relishing in the tranquility of it all. It was just you and Yuji, flesh and love and transparency all in one.

From then onwards, Yuji fought his battles with just a bit more hope, because he knew you’d be waiting for him by the window when he won.

I MISSED writing for Yuji ugghhhhhhhhhh. If I wrote a part 2 of a strangers heart would yall fw that or nah (wouldn’t be for a while tho). I cannot write action at all im so sorry 😭 also cba to give big scary villain a name so it got repetitive

Jjk/gen taglist — @sh0ot1ngst4r @anotherwriternamedclara @ruruisru @lizbix @bubybubsters @azinniyaa @kashee-h @fiannee

— I did not tag those who could not be tagged. If you were on the general taglist and don’t see yourself, it’s because your tag settings stopped me from doing so.

[astradyke]

its almost 1 am and i swear it was midnight literally two minutes ago but in any case im thinking about how phil loves making content w dan in collaboration but how from day fucking ONE he was dan's biggest fan wrt his solo content...vouching for his channel when dan just started & promoting his videos and then going to WAD shows (that one pic yall know the one) and promoting dan's book in the haircut video (literally whole reason he made that video it seems like) and then promoting dans' tour in why dan is leaving me (literally whole reason he made that video i KNOW like) and then wdapteo 2 where bc dan cant be angry at all the shit hes been thru phil like emphasizes how much dan is trying hard and also like phil gets angry! phil gets pissed you can see it in his face! while dan looks neutral because he has to phil is mad because hes devastated that DINOK ended up as it was and from that day we KNEW something was up. and phil endlessly talking about how much ppl missed dan. and how phil talked and conintues to talk about basically im gay. and that part of dan is leaving me where phil says WAD is fucking amazing and the best thing hes ever done. being his remote crisis manager. talking about hwo people need to watch dystopia daily in his like cactus club updates. being a producer on DD & being remote crisis manager of WAD . this is not even to mention all the other ways Phil expresses his love for Dan because whole separate posts can and have been devoted to his loving Dan thru photography and how Phil loves it when Dan is loud & annoying and like all of that but this is just about the like, artistic work, because Dan is a performer and thats such a vulnerable part of him like DINOK & WAD & DD imo & BIG are all such a massive part of him and Phil relentlessly shows his support for it above everything else. and he has his love eyes while he does it! Phil loves his Dan so fucking much so easily so loudly i cant even breathe

[ranchstoryblog]

Fandom Memories: HMFarm

Hmmm. So, nearly a quarter of you whippersnappers wanna hear about the good ol' days, huh? Well, back in the day, you wouldn't just hang out on one or two big websites to try to find people who shared your niche interests among a million random users. Everything had its own dedicated site, with its own special pack of weirdos that you probably wouldn't find anywhere else. Home grown fandom, sprouting from the cement sidewalks of the freshly paved internet like so many weeds with pretty little flowers on top. So, let's take a little stroll down memory lane and visit one of the oldest fan sites with Archive.org's "Wayback Machine."

Ahh, just like I remember it. This here is "Harvest Moon Farm." 'course, we just called it HMFarm, like the URL did. This used to be the place to be. The prime progenitor of all farmin' fansites in the English speaking community. Maybe not the literal first, but up until around 2005, this was where you would go if you wanted to know anythin' about digital farmin'. It truly was a magical place to visit.

This screenshot isn't the oldest design, but it's the one I fondly remember. The majority of my time using the site was during the lead-up to A Wonderful Life, which was probably also when it was the most active as an information source. Seeing the screenshots, checking the forums, speculatin', wonderin', dreamin'... It's a warm feeling. I can't really describe how it felt to look at these shots for the first time. Granted, they were mostly sourced from various places like IGN or Newtechnix, but who wanted to go to THOSE messy sites when all the info I wanted was right here? IGN wasn't telling me how to revive the Vineyard in Harvest Moon 64 while I was waiting for AWL news either.

Our first look at the character we would come to know as Muffy, the sheer novelty of being able to go into the townsfolk's glorious, 3D-rendered rooms, the apparent misidentification of flowering tomatoes... The webmaster, Gamergirl87, would caption each one as well. Some of the captions of those screenshots ended up not being exactly true, but it was the closest thing to on-going coverage we really had. Who else was there to trust?

It's a little off topic, but I think at one point after learning about the GBA connectivity, I must have dreamed about this very gallery and seeing a screenshot of a Gamecube-ized Popuri with the caption that Mineral Town villagers would visit after connecting the GC and GBA together. At least, I'm pretty sure it was a dream. I've met some people who claim they saw the same thing, but none of us have been able to find that screenshot or comment again.

The one that would most catch my attention was the one on the left here. I didn't have a PlayStation 2, so I was coming fresh off of the GameBoy and Nintendo 64 when going into A Wonderful Life. The pond, the mysterious glowing plants, the mood and ambiance of their lighting, the little tree on the door... Naturally, I mirrored it on my first day the remake was available.

It's a real shame that the message boards are poorly preserved, since it doesn't look like there was a news post about the pre-order plush cow. I was hoping to find the name of whoever it was that convinced me to commit my first ever preorder. I still have the receipt, but without the forum post it's really only tangentially related to HM Farm.

'course, just learning about existing games and upcoming games wasn't the only good thing HM Farm was for. As I alluded to, there was a whole community here! While it's a shame that the message boards aren't well preserved by the Wayback Machine, you know what is?

The "ideas" list! This incredible time capsule was one of the first "interactive" parts of the site, starting in the year 2000. It's kind of fun to see how many of these ideas actually happened. Obviously, new characters and personalities were probably expected, but Animal Parade would eventually feature a honeymoon, several games have clothing and other customization, a mall, city, and pig would be added as soon as GBC 3, a goat would be in A Wonderful Life... It's actually amazing how prescient a lot of the suggestions are.

I'd share the whole thing, but the amount of e-mail addresses involved gives me pause. Still, there's a couple I wanna highlight:

Considering how often I still hear about people wanting to marry the moms and people attributing it to just "the fans getting older," it's funny to see Laserion lay out that, no, we've always been like this. Right down to using Manna's unhappy marriage and Lillia's husband never returning as valid reasons they should be available.

Tuan145, on the other hand, I just find extremely amusing because of the specific "2002 Escalade" part. Yes, this is clearly the ideal vehicle for all farmers in the Story of Seasons universe. This is now accepted headcanon. The boat was added in GBC 3 too, so obviously a 2002 Escalade is going to be added any day now.

Another thing that's amazingly well preserved is the site's fan art section. There's a few missing images here and there, but for the most part the entire thing is open to explore. People of basically all ages and skill levels happily submitted their creations, including original characters, digital art, traditional art, crossovers with popular series like Sailor Moon, a liiittle bit of drug use... Y'know, all the kinds of things you'd expect to see in a fan art gallery of the day.

Even better, some of the artists are still doing art today! Looking around, I quickly discovered one of my favorites, Rina Cat, is now on Blue Sky. I made sure to ask for permission to repost their art before including it here. Reaching out to everyone would be a bit much though, so I'll just encourage you to just browse the gallery using the Wayback Machine yourself. There's poetry and fanfics too!

There's a lot more to the site, including useful bits of history like keeping track of release dates for games, pre-release screenshots, and information that was only available on Japanese websites at the time, but I'll leave it at that for now.

Unfortunately, though the site continued to be updated until 2010 and stayed online until 2021, it's no longer available on the regular internet and the URL doesn't seem safe to access anymore. I wanted to include an interview with the former webmaster as well, but all their readily available contact information was tied to the website and I haven't had any luck so far in finding other means of contact. If I have any success, I'll be sure to make a follow-up! If you have any memories of HMFarm, or other fan sites, I'd be happy to hear about it.

[evoscancelled]

I saw you do vi nsfw headcannons can we get Caitlyn nsfw headcannons please

of course bimbosbutterflies2026! <3

men dni!

caitlyn kiramman x reader

content: AFAB/fem!reader, fluff, nsfw/smut, mentioned to prefer fems, breeding STRAP but not literally breeding since we lesbian asf, spanking, overstim, fingering, spit, crying

characters: caitlyn kiramman

writers note: been waiting for this one!!

—

caitlyn kiramman sfw & nsfw headcanons

—

—

SFW -

ugh she’s so sweet, she’s just the prettiest lil thing

she’s so touchy and loving— she definitely has the most motherly touch ever. like when you cuddle or hug you, you feel genuinely safe

she’s such a sweetheart, I feel like despite it all she’d prefer a femme over a masculine woman, she would love seeing you in skirts and cute tops.

I feel like this goes hand in hand with this ^^ but you would share clothes, she would loveeee when you wear her clothes.

she thinks you are adorable when she gets home from work or when she sees you wearing her shirt or some of her pajamas.

so extremely clingy. she must be attached to you as if she is apart of you

loves being a genuine girly girl with you— but don’t get me wrong, not in a friendly way.

she wants to paint her nails and then MAKE OUT.

she’d love being the little spoon but she really couldn’t care either way— just as long as ur touching in any way she couldn’t care less. she js fucking loves you

she’s the type to still kiss you if your sick— she doesn’t give a FUUUCK what you have, she’s kissing you.

her love languages are physical touch, words of affirmation, and acts of service

bro the key to her heart is of course physical touch,

but if you like.. do the dishes? or mop? or like take care of her while she’s sick or smth like that she’s fucking…— she goes crazy for you.

she’s really into kissing, she loves both receiving and giving them. forehead kisses, cheek kisses, neck kisses, she loves it.

she’s possessive and protective, but juusttt the right amount.

she would get jealous fairly easily, I feel like

cheap ramen dates even though you and me both know she can afford so much more

which of course you’ll have fancy dates often

but couch nights where you just share a big ass bowl of buldak

she’s cultured and she’d try to get the same noodle so you and recreate the lady and the tramp scene

her parents love you btw

her mom was hesitant at first because she’s cassandra kiramman but yk

her dad loved you IMMEDIATELY. accepted you as his daughters girlfriend asap

her mom got around to you but yk how she is

I mean she never disliked you but YOU KNOW WHAT IM SAYING !!

anyways

doesn’t matter what you cook or how well you cooked it (as long as it’s edible) if you made it for her she will eat it, and she will tell you its amazing

I’m so sorry but I had to bring this up—

I CANNOT stop thinking about how fucking sexy her british accent is

she knows you love her accent so she’d say certain things a “certain” way sometimes just to get you blushing n stuff.

like let’s say your cooking or something and she’s like “can I put it in now?” referring to an ingredient

I love her and she’s perfect and I love her and she’s perfect

moving on to nsfw!

NSFW -

a tease, thanks for coming

high sex drive

everyday for her is ovulation day

fuck.

like I said, she can be pretty possessive— will NOT share you. she wants you all to herself

caitlyn— I think we have all agreed upon— is a dominant leaning switch.

she can get pretty rough in bed, your cervix is usually bruised and you are usually all fucked out, but I’m sure you don’t mind

definitely has a breeding strap and has actual literal genuine urges to get you pregnant

takes her work stress out on you after a long day.

just walks in the door and puts her hand up ur skirt/down ur pants, kissing on ur neck and running her fingers through your hair as she strips you

fucks you like the sole purpose of ramming into you is to prevent you from walking

“yeah? letting me take my anger out on you? such a fragile little thing, hm?”

“look at your legs, they are shaking, love. all for me?”

“you can take it, can’t you, darling?”

“such a good little slut for me.”

she needs to know that what she’s doing is making you feel good

which usually you have no problem doing since she literally makes you cry out of pleasure sometimes

but she needs to hear you. she needs to hear your moans and whimpers and whines.

spanks you when you make her jealous

gets REALLY jealous whenever men flirt with you, it pisses her off so bad.

of course she still gets angry when a woman does it but when a MAN does it.

^^ caitlyn will fuck you until you are crying and exhausted

sometimes by the end of the night you literally cannot feel your hips

she’s so mean :(

won’t let u cum :(

she’ll let you cum after a few hours..? yes, plural.

but when she finally lets you cum, she overstims you.

“c-cait.. I— can’t.. fuck..! please!”

“awh, yes you can, darling.”

“mmm, isn’t this what you wanted?”

“wanted to cum for me so bad, didn’t you?”

bosses u around as if she owns you

“spread your fucking legs.”

“what a whore you are.”

spits on your pussy

let me elaborate on the spanking—

spanks you til you cry

“i said count.” as she lifts her hand and places a harsh slap to your ass.

“a-ah! …tw-“ you wince, “twenty four.. thank you…”

“good,” she smirks “then you can take ten more, hm?”

you nod as tears stream down your face

“what was that? couldn’t hear you, darling.”

“yes..— yes ma’am—“

“what a good little slut, yeah?”

occasionally ties u up, placing a vibrator to your clit as she coos at you, kissing your forehead

“mmmh, you’ve been so good for me..”

“that feel good?”

“fuck.. look at those tits.”

loves eating you out, it’s fucking blissful for her

it’s honestly for her pleasure too—

your clit on her tongue is heaven for her

the little sounds you make too, and the way you dance and squirm as she sucks on your clit.. fuuuuckkkkk.

her motivation to get up in the morning is the taste of ur cunt in her mouth

loves it when you eat her out too

tugging on your hair and bucking her hips into ur mouth

“fuck— darling, so good.. mmm.. don’t stop..”

“yesyesyesyes!! haaah— gonna make me cum.”

marks you

leaves little bite marks and hickeys on your inner thighs, hips, n neck.

wants all of piltover & zaun to know your hers

may be a mean dom at times— but there is a difference between fucking n making love, kay?

slow thrusts as she whispers how much she loves you in your ear

“ur doing so good,” as she places kisses all over your face, “love you so much, darling..”

holds you while she fingers your cunt

“sweet girl,” she tells you, “cmon, cum for me, okay?”

she loves you so much, she just has to remind you… uhh— aggressively? sometimes?

————

I would be so happy to do a part two of this, i absolutely adore sharing my headcanons— nsfw or sfw. love u cait (my wife)

remember— u can request anything! :))

[scoutofmymind]

hey loved your fics you are incredibly talented. i have a scene picture some angst reader is kinda like jo march if u watched little women and luigi is laurie in that one hill scene. basically reader prioritizes acads because of her upbringing - high achiever, academic validations, the whole package and luigi somehow is the same but he compels the reader in a magnetic way because luigi gets to be so carefree and awesome about it and turns out luigi and reader have a common thread and it's turning out rlly good but then reader is slightly scared of commitment in a relationship dare i say? because it was all acads for reader even though there were dreams of having a relationship, it all seemed abstract and unreal!! and the angst comes when luigi confesses to reader and reader reacts very defensive i suppose spitting out word vomit enumerating reasons why luigi shouldnt like her and how he's too good for her and luigi just shuts reader up by pinching their cheeks and holding them steady saying i want you all of you all that sweet stuff...this is just a thought i want to say i admire you heavily your writing is pivotal

Content: SFW, angst, yearning, pining, best friends, purest love, summer, unrequited, lowkey gut-wrenching (sorry)

W.c: 6,843 (I could not stop writing)

Notes; Before we begin, I have to say, anon, I very much enjoyed writing this!! And thank you so much for sending me this request! ✨ there are only a couple bits of dialogue that match the hill scene, but I wanted to throw them in there!

This is lowkey a mini-fic, so enjoy!

Side note: If anything is badly edited, I will likely come back to do some cleaning up. But maybe not. Also I’ve started picking songs to include in requests wherever they may fit in. I want to mention too that backstory is something I just simply can’t leave out when it comes to angsty or emotional scenes, so I’m sorry I literally can’t shut up.

The cicadas weave their summer hymn through the gentle lap of water against stone, your body stretched across whisper-soft grass beside the reservoir.

This spot holds years of you both — echoes of skinned knees and bruised elbows soothed by cool spring water, of childhood dares and teenage secrets.

"You never swim with me anymore." Luigi's voice carries no accusation, just a quiet observation that somehow makes it worse. You can picture his expression without looking —that gentle, knowing thing that always sees too much. "All you do now is torch yourself in the sun."

Your back peels away from the grass, elbows bent to prop you up. Through his borrowed sunglasses — because of course you forgot yours back at the house, and of course he had a spare —you study him.

He's summer personified: water-darkened hair curling at his temples, shoulders golden in the early evening light, wearing a smile easy as breathing.

"I just don't want to get my hair wet, Lu." You say it with the comfortable certainty of someone who's had this exact argument a hundred times before.

"Well, don't then." His retort is quick, familiar. He moves through the water with an easy grace that somehow makes the old reservoir look more inviting than it ever has, though you'd never admit it.

Your shoulders are painted with freckles from all these summer days — chasing chickens in the fields, racing bikes into the city with him riding at your back, his presence as constant as the seasons.

"But then when I get out, I'll be cold." The words float between you like lazy dragonflies, and Luigi just shakes his head, spattering droplets that catch the light.

He pouts, but not like you do.

Where your pouts are theatrical productions, his is a quiet thing — eyebrows drawn together in thought, bottom lip pulled inward instead of jutted out dramatically. His gaze fixes downward at his feet beneath the crystal-clear water, methodically toeing one stone over, then another, like the placement of each pebble might solve some grand puzzle.

You watch him wage his silent war of reorganization, using nothing but his ten toes as construction equipment. It's such a Luigi thing to do — finding the smallest tasks to occupy himself instead of splashing around like he usually does, trying to tempt you in.

"Bet the water feels incredible," he murmurs, more to the stones than to you. His toes have created a perfect semicircle now, a tiny amphitheater beneath the surface. "Like that lemonade your mom makes — you know, the one with mint?"

You do know.

The kind she only makes when the temperature crawls past ninety, when the air feels thick enough to chew. Like today. You can almost taste it — tart and cool and perfect — which is exactly what Luigi intended with that particular comparison, the sneak.

"You're not as subtle as you think you are," you inform him, but you're already sitting up straighter, your legs beginning to tingle from staying still too long in the sun.

The grass has left impressions on your skin, tiny crosshatched patterns that Luigi always says look like secret maps, his fingers drawing lines upon them.

He doesn't look up from his underwater construction project, but one corner of his mouth quirks upward. "Never claimed to be subtle. That's your department, avoiding the water like it's personally offended you."

"The water hasn't offended me," you say, though you draw your knees up to your chest, putting another inch between you and the shoreline. "We have a mutual understanding. It stays there, and I stay here."

"Mhm." Luigi abandons his stone circle, wading a few steps deeper until the water laps at his knees, stood there in his trunks, the cobalt blue ones that hit just above his mid-thigh. "And how's that working out for you? Enjoying your dusty patch of grass while I'm out here living like a king?"

The problem is, he does look a bit regal out there, all long limbs and easy grace, like he was born for summer days and spring water.

You've known Lu since you were both gap-toothed and gangly, but sometimes — like now — he seems to have grown into himself while you weren't looking.

Yet, your own limbs still feel too long, too awkward, like you're wearing a costume that doesn't quite fit.

Meanwhile, Luigi wears summer like a second skin, all easy movements and natural grace, as if the universe decided to polish him up while leaving you in your perpetual state of stumbling through doorways.

"A king of minnows, maybe," you counter, but you're already uncurling, letting your feet stretch toward the water's edge. Not to join him, obviously. Just to... test the temperature.

"Ah," he says softly, watching your toes creep closer, his voice taking on a funny narrators tone, an accent thrown in that sounded similar to his fathers. "The snail emerges from her shell."

"Shell-less snails are just slugs," you inform him primly, but dip one toe in anyway. The water isn't as cold as you expected — it never is, but that doesn't stop you from putting on this show every single time. "And I'm neither."

"No," Luigi agrees, dropping the accent but keeping that amused lilt in his voice. "You're more like- like one of those hermit crabs. The ones that think really hard about switching shells but then just stick with the same one anyway."

You splash water at him with your foot, and he doesn't even try to dodge. "Fuck, Lu —That's the worst analogy I've ever heard."

"Is it?" He takes a few steps backward, deeper into the water, like he's laying out a trail for you to follow. "Because you're still sitting there, thinking about coming in, just like you do every time.“

Luigi could easily remember all the days spent here, in this very body of water together — the secret collection of precious gems that were really just polished river rocks, the fossil that turned out to be an old bottle cap, and that infamous river snake from an overturned stone that had you shrieking and refusing to dive under for weeks.

"Can't be thinking about doing it if I'm already doing it, Lu." You roll your eyes, your shins now lapping gently with clean, cool water. The trees droop overhead like nature's own parasol, their leaves casting dappled shadows that dance across your shoulders.

He's quiet for a moment, watching you with an expression you can't quite read. And then. “Remember when we thought we found actual dinosaur bones here?"

"You mean the plastic fork?"

"A very convincing plastic fork."

The water feels like silk against your skin now, and you find yourself wading deeper without really meaning to. It's muscle memory, maybe — your body remembering what your mind keeps second-guessing.

"At least I wasn't the one who tried to sell it to the museum.” you remind him, the water now swirling around your waist. Each step stirs up tiny clouds of silt that disappear into the clear water.

He splashes in your direction, grinning. "We were tweleve! And Mrs. Henderson at the museum was very nice about it."

"She gave you a cookie and a lecture about scientific integrity."

"Exactly. A win-win."

You're deep enough now that you have to lift your arms to keep them dry, though you're not sure why you're bothering. Your bikini is already clinging to you, and that familiar weightless feeling is starting to take over — the one that always made you feel brave before.

"You know what your real problem is?" Luigi quips, but this time his voice is gentler. "You forgot how to play."

The words hit harder than you expect, maybe because there's no teasing in them now.

Just truth, floating there on the surface like a leaf.

"I didn't forget," you say quietly. "I just- I put it away somewhere."

The look in his eyes tells you exactly what's coming, but muscle memory kicks in before you can retreat, your arms already up in defense position as he sends a massive splash your way, the arc of water catching sunlight like scattered diamonds before it hits you full in the face.

"Luigi!" you shriek, but you're already laughing, already moving. Your soul remembers this dance even if your mind's been trying to forget it, and the water parts easily as you lunge toward him, years of practice making your movements swift and sure.

He tries to dodge, but you know all his tricks — the way he always feints left before going right, how he can't resist staying just within splashing range.

The water battle that ensues is immediate and fierce, both of you laughing and gasping, sending waves in every direction, limbs smacking into each other at times, your body trailing away from his while he charged closer.

"See?" he manages between splashes. "The Queen of minnows!”

You're about to respond when your foot slips on a smooth stone, and suddenly you're going under.

For a split second, panic flares — but then the tranquility and silence envelops you, and it feels like greeting an old friend, your eyes open underwater, seeing the filtered sunlight create shifting patterns all around you, and suddenly you remember why you used to love this so much.

When you surface, pushing wet hair from your face, Luigi is watching you with a grin, his sunglasses pushed away from his face and atop his head instead, nestled in his damp black curls. “You got your hair wet.” He gives you one last gentle splash, his grin so carved into his features it may as well be everlasting.

Luigi, the son of Marco Mangione, whose genius lay in transforming his grandfather's modest Milan carpentry shop into Mangione Artisan Living — now a name whispered in the same breath as Fendi Casa and Bottega Veneta's home collection.

When Marco married Sofia Bernardi in the 80’s, a celebrated interior designer, they moved to America, the local papers painting it as another wealthy foreigner's passing fancy — this modernist villa rising among cornfields and weathered barns.

But Marco had seen something in these hills that reminded him of Tuscany, in the calloused hands of local woodworkers that echoed his grandfather's.

The Mangione Mansion stands like a slice of northern Italy transplanted to American soil, with its stark geometries softened by groves of imported olive trees and terraced gardens.

It's a world away from your family's farmhouse, where the paint peels in honest patches and the screen door creaks a familiar welcome, yet Marco moves between these worlds with effortless grace, discussing the merits of different wood grains with your father across the fence line, or clearing out your mother's farmer's market stall of preserves, declaring each jar Perfetto, just like my Nonna's! with the same genuine warmth he uses to greet European royalty.

Luigi, who could have been pressed into private academies and dinner jackets, groomed for Ivy League legacies and country club memberships, had instead grown up alongside you in public school — though his future was cushioned by both financial security and natural brilliance.

You can't remember a time when academic excellence wasn't your north star — every assignment a stepping stone, every grade a battle in the war for your future.

Being a veterinarian wasn't just a dream, it was your escape route from the endless cycle of farm life that had worn your father's hands to calluses and bent your mother's back.

Perfect attendance since kindergarten, straight A's through AP Biology, even showing up on Senior Skip Day — just you and Lacey Williams, the would-be neurosurgeon, bent over your textbooks in an empty classroom.

Now here you both are in the water — you with your scholarship letters and student loan applications waiting at home, him with acceptance letters from Harvard and Yale gathering dust on his desk.

Two lives that should never have intersected, meeting in the middle of sun-warmed water, your shared freckles catching golden light, limbs tangling as Luigi feints another playful attack.

•

Summer buzzes by your eyeshot like a cicada in a hurry, the season winding down with cooler, longer nights and shorter, blazing hot days.

August comes barreling through like it always does, hot and sticky air clinging to your skin as you sit with Luigi upon the sloped side of the barn, a Birds Eye view of the farm, this very spot the first place the two of you had tried smoking weed, the very first time you ogled at a traumatizing porn everyone at school was talking about — this spot, worn from years of shared moments together is the very place you create some distance.

For the first time.

“I think I want my own party this year.”

The words land like a stone in still water, ripples of hurt crossing Luigi's face before he can master his expression.

For a moment, he looks eight years old again, standing in the tall grass with his first American birthday cake — the one your mom made because his parents were still learning that birthdays here meant homemade frosting, not elegant catered affairs and grand garden parties.

"Oh," he says, and it's the smallest you've ever heard his voice. "Yeah, of course. That makes sense. We’re turning twenty-two. Not eight anymore.” His smile doesn't reach his eyes, hands fidgeting with the bracelet you’d made him years and years ago — the same nervous tell he's had since childhood. "Actually, Ma’s been saying I should do something more — you know, formal this year anyway."

The lie sits between you like a third person.

Luigi, who once convinced his parents to move his elaborate garden party to your barn because you had the flu has never cared for formal anything.

You can see him rebuilding his walls, brick by careful brick, protecting himself the way he never had to with you before.

"Send me pictures though?" he adds lightly, but there's at least fifteen years of shared candles and off-key, bi-lingual singing wrapped in that request, fifteen years of your mom's chocolate cake and his ma’s tiramisu side by side on the same table.

"Luigi, it's not-" you start, then pause, because it is exactly what he thinks it is. A separation. A gentle fracture. "I just need to figure out who I am without- without being part of a matched set. Does that make sense?"

The words feel clumsy in your mouth, inadequate to explain this need that's been growing since your acceptance letter arrived.

You watch him nod too quickly, the way he does when he's processing something that hurts.

The same way he looked when Benny, one of the milking cows had passed three summers ago, or the way he looked when you told him you couldn’t go on the Mangione trip to Italy, desperately needing the vet clinic hours.

"My party's probably just going to be pizza with my study group anyway," you continue, trying to make it sound smaller than it is, even though you've already planned every detail — your first real birthday party that isn't shaped around accommodating both your worlds. "And you should do something spectacular. Twenty-two is a weird number, but you could make it your thing.“

He laughs, but it's his polite laugh, the one he uses at his father's business dinners. "Maybe I'll rent out that new rooftop place in the city," he says, playing along with this sudden pretense that the two of you haven't spent months quietly planning your joint party like every year before. "Very grown-up."

The space between you fills with unspoken memories — dual parties with increasingly ridiculous themes, the year you both got chicken pox and celebrated in quarantine together, or the year his mother hired a magician who pulled you both on stage as assistants.

Fifteen years of wishes and synchronized candle-blowing, and you’ve put an abrupt end to it, with not so much as a warning.

"You're not mad?" you ask, even though you can see he is — not angry-mad, but hurt-mad, the kind that makes his shoulders tight and his smile too careful.

He stands abruptly, brushing invisible dirt from his shorts. "Mad? Nah, come on. We're not kids anymore." The words come out just a touch too fast, too light. "Actually, I should head back. Papa wanted to discuss something about the company tonight."

It's barely seven, and Marco's in New York City until Thursday — you both know this. But Luigi's already stepping back, that practiced social smile firmly in place, the one he uses when he needs to retreat but is too polite to say so.

"Night," he calls over his shoulder once he scales the side of the barn down to the grass again, hands shoved deep in his pockets.

You watch him walk away, his usual easy stride now stiff and measured, leaving you alone with just the sound of the bullfrogs near the pond, and the chickens settling in their coops for the night.

The sunset feels colder somehow, and you wrap your arms around your knees, trying to convince yourself this is what growing up looks like as you sit there until the mosquitoes start biting, watching the space where Luigi disappeared and wondering if this is what independence is supposed to feel like — this hollow victory that tastes nothing like freedom and everything like loss.

•

The late August evening slowly begins to melt into night, the air carrying whispers of autumn though summer still reigns.

You breathe in deep — catching hints of hay being baled in distant fields, leaves just beginning their subtle shift from green to gold, and lake water evaporating off sun-warmed skin. The pontoon boat hums steadily beneath you, loaded with friends sprawled across every available surface, their laughter echoing across the darkening water.

You'd done your best to prepare them all, carefully explaining the separate celebrations to avoid awkward questions.

But Luigi's absence feels like a shadow you can't shake — in the pause after every joke, in the empty space at the boat's stern where he always sat, in the way conversations drift and fade without his easy charm to bridge them.

You're learning that some people leave gaps too precisely shaped to fill, and you catch yourself waiting for sounds that aren't coming —the full-bodied laughter that usually ricochets across the lake, the constant stream of Luigi's commentary that made even silence feel alive.

No one's standing at the boat's edge, goading others into increasingly ridiculous diving contests. The absence of these things sits heavy in your chest, like missing the last step on a familiar staircase.

"Good for you for doing your own thing this year," Mia offers, wine sloshing in her solo cup as she gestures vaguely. "Must be nice not having to compromise on everything for once."

Not really, you think.

The evening settles into dinner in the back garden, strings of lights casting warm halos over familiar faces — relatives, neighbors, friends who'd trickled in as the day aged and as if on cue, the peaceful scene splinters at the sound of tires on gravel and a booming voice that makes your stomach drop.

"Where's Luigi?!"

Cousin Tony's borrowed truck sits askew on the path, driver's door still swinging open like an afterthought.

He bounds toward you, one arm clutching what's clearly a wine bottle wrapped in what looks like yesterday's newspaper, his face bright with the anticipation of seeing his favorite duo.

The sight makes something in your chest twist.

He’s always treated you both as his own blood, never drawing lines between family and chosen family.

You're crushed into a bear hug before you can dodge it, his familiar cologne mixing with engine grease as you try to breathe through compressed lungs, but he’s still calling for Luigi over your head, each shout making the other guests shift uncomfortably in their seats.

"He's somewhere in the city, Tone," you manage to wheeze out.

Your phone burns in your pocket, where Luigi's latest Instagram story sits unopened — some rooftop view you're deliberately not thinking about.

"What'da ya mean?" His grip loosens just enough for you to see his face fall, confusion creeping into his features like a slowly spreading stain.

"We're... trying something different this year," you say, words feeling clumsy as you glance over your shoulder at the laden table — a spread that still unconsciously includes all of Luigi's favorites alongside your own. The sight of his mother's recipe for stuffed shells sitting next to your grandmother's pierogies makes your throat tight.

"Well, is he at least comin' later?"

"No." The word falls between you like a stone. "He couldn't cancel his reservation without losing the booking fee, so I just told him it was fi-"

"No, no, mia cara," Tony drags his hands through his hair, face crumpling like you've just told him the world is ending. "Potrebbe essere l'ultimo!" The words tumble out in his rushed native tongue, his distress making him forget himself.

"You just said that in Italian." Your voice sounds far away, even to your own ears, like it's coming from the bottom of a well.

"Shit — It could be your last time, cuginetta." Tony's sigh seems to come from his bones as he pulls out his phone, cursing when he sees the no-service icon.

"My last time?"

Tony lifts his head slowly from his phone screen, eyes finding yours with a weight that makes your stomach drop. "What — oh, Dio — do you mean to say he has not told you?"

"Told me...?” You brace yourself, chest aching with a sudden, sharp regret for all those breakfast lessons with Luigi's nonna, her patient voice guiding you through pronunciations you'd carelessly let slip away between coffee and lunch.

"He got big'a job in the big city," Tony's hands sweep upward, as if trying to encompass the vastness of a metropolis that stretches far beyond any gesture could capture. "Saying bye-bye forever to smelly farm." His hands fall, and his expression softens into something dangerously close to pity. "Sorry.”

"Leaving? Like — he's moving there?" The words feel strange in your mouth.

You're standing in the same garden where you and Luigi once buried treasure maps at age eight, where you learned to cartwheel together at twelve, where you shared your first illegal beer at sixteen — and suddenly it all feels like archaeological evidence of something that's already gone.

"That's where zio Marco is now, making sure Princess Luigi has all the things he need there for — uh—" Tony lapses into rapid Italian, but you've already stopped listening, the rest of his words fading into white noise.

You're hung up on the present tense of it all — Luigi’s father is there now, apartment hunting, setting up a brand new life while you stand here in your shared history, surrounded by people who apparently knew more about Luigi's future than you did.

The realization hits very suddenly.

Luigi was moving away, and he spoke not a word of it to you.

Tony manages a plate of food before borrowing your landline, desperate to track down Luigi in the sprawling city and when his truck finally crunches back down the gravel path, you feel it like a physical wound — as if he's taking a piece of you with him, torn straight from your core, yet, you maintain your composure with award-winning precision, a smile fixed firmly in place as guests filter away into the darkness.

You go through the motions, accepting kisses on cheeks, graciously receiving gifts labeled with just your name - no more Dynamic Duo or Thing 1 and 2 scrawled in familiar handwriting.

You help clear the garden, stack chairs, wash dishes that held food Luigi would have fought you for the leftovers of. You kiss your father's cheek goodnight, and tell your still-bustling mother you're heading out for some stargazing.

It's not entirely a lie.

You do end up beneath the stars, though you hadn't exactly planned to collapse here by the waterfront, where the distant dock creaks its lonely song, the splash of jumping fish and the bold croaking of nearby bullfrogs barely register — sounds that would normally make you jump now feel as distant as satellite signals.

You're lost in the undertow of your thoughts, barely noticing the warm tears tracking down your neck until your t-shirt is damp with evidence of a grief you didn't know you needed to prepare for — the silence holds you, envelopes you, and you’re almost convinced you can disappear here until-

"Hey, stranger."

His voice cuts through the cricket symphony like a knife, and you freeze, tears still wet on your face.

You don't turn around — can't turn around — because you know exactly what he'll look like: silhouetted against the moons full and distant glow, wearing that stupid designer jacket he bought last month that suddenly makes too much sense.

Big City boy.

The grass whispers beneath his feet as he approaches, each step measured like he's greeting a spooked animal.

It's funny — he used to just crash down beside you, all elbows and laughter.

When did you become something he had to be careful with?

"Tone called me," he says softly, still standing. "Said he found you but couldn't find me." There's a pause, heavy with unspoken words. "Told me other things, too."

The lake laps at the shore, a steady rhythm that used to calm you both on countless nights like this.

Now it just sounds like a countdown.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Your voice sounds small against the vastness of the lake, broken and confused, betrayed and disbelieving.

"Would it have changed anything?" His words come sharp, defensive. "Would you have suddenly decided to stay?"

"That's not fair."

"Fair?" The laugh that escapes him is bitter and unfamiliar. "You want to talk about fair? I watched you apply to every college more than fifty miles away. Watched you light up talking about leaving, about getting out. Never once asking—" He cuts himself off, his gaze turning up instead at the trees that sway and rustle in the midnight air, a chill taking your spine.

"Asking what, Lu?”

"If I wanted to come with you." The words hang in the darkness between you. "If maybe I had dreams too, ones that didn't involve watching you disappear."

"I never said you couldn't-“

"What do you think I was going to do, wait around forever?" His voice cracks at the end, brittle and broken. "God, I've spent my whole life orbiting you like a personal Pluto. I don't even remember my life before you." He paces now like an agitated zoo animal behind a sheath of thin glass, just out of reach. “And yet, you expect me to stay here without you? While you go to college, make your own dreams come true?"

The moonlight catches his face as he turns, and you see something break in his expression. "I would have waited. I would have always waited, but fuck—" His hands tremble as they rake through his hair. "You've pushed and pushed and pushed me away. Every college application, every excited story about your future somewhere else, the party -“ he watches as you stand, your posture ridged and nervous, but attentive.

"Lu, please -“

"So what do I do?" His voice drops lower, trembling. "I have to think of myself too. I have to accept that we won't always be this way." He watches as you scrub your hands over your face, your unsteady legs carrying you off the dock.

The cool, damp grass beneath your feet becomes an anchor, something real in a moment that feels anything but.

He follows, his body angled toward yours like a compass finding north. "But it didn't have to be like this." His voice softens to barely above a whisper, his dress shoes crushing the grass with each step.

"Well, what exactly did you expect?" You whirl around, wiping furiously beneath your eyes, moonlight catching the tears on your cheeks that refuse to be unseen. "We were going to play in the river forever? Did you think we'd just find our way without ever trying?" The words come out harder than you mean them, sharp with the kind of anger that's really just fear in disguise.

"I- you-" Luigi's voice breaks.

His eyes are bloodshot, the bridge of his nose red from earlier tears hastily wiped away in the party bathroom. In the half-light, he looks both younger and older than your shared twenty-two years — a boy trying to hold onto something slipping through his fingers, a man facing his first real loss.

"You know, maybe it might have been that easy for you, Lu." Your eyes drift to the Mangione Mansion, its windows gleaming like jewels against the dark hills, an anomaly among the endless cornfields. "You never had to lift a finger — it always just..." You gesture vaguely, bitterly. "Fell into place."

The words taste like copper in your mouth, sharper for how unfair they feel.

Because he's always shared everything.

Those lavish family dinners where his mother insisted you sit next to her, those delicate necklaces from Rome that he'd drape around your neck with careful fingers, those shopping trips where his nonna would press dresses into your arms with a conspirator's wink.

He's never once made you feel like charity.

But there are some things that can't be shared, some advantages that run deeper than generosity.

While you pieced together credits between evening classes and online courses, fighting for every inch of progress, he'd come home rolling his eyes at another Harvard letter, another Yale recruiter calling.

You take a deep breath, feeling the summer air fill your lungs, and air that smells like it always has, like corn silk and cut grass and the all-consuming night. "Did you think we'd just stay here in our bubble, Lu?" Your voice softens despite yourself. "The only place we've ever known?"

All he can do is stand there, helpless, caught between a nod and denial.

His expression crumples into something raw and pleading — such a far cry from the boy who, just last week, had painted patterns across your skin with river mud, both of you laughing until your sides hurt.

The same boy whom you could communicate with without even speaking to, who knew exactly how you took your coffee, who was born the day before you, and who could read your silences like a book he'd memorized; yet now he's looking at you like you're written in a language he never learned to speak.

"No." The word propels you forward, feet moving before your brain catches up.

His face softens into something unbearable — like watching a star collapse in slow motion, finally understanding that this isn't just another one of your theoretical late-night talks about the future.

His carefully constructed composure crumbles, leaving behind something young and scared and achingly real.

"I love you." The words fall from his lips like muscle memory, like breathing, like the thousands of times before — whispered against your hair during movies, shouted across parking lots, mumbled sleepily during long car rides. But now they land heavy between you, a weight pressing against your chest until it hurts to breathe. "I always have, and I always will—"

"No. No, Lu." Your voice cracks on his name, and your pace quickens, bare feet crushing grass beneath desperate steps.

But he matches you stride for stride.

“My life has been so intertwined with yours, when you began to pull away - I- I panicked,” He was rambling now, quick and out of breath but keeping up with you nonetheless, the two of you navigating the vast property, moon and starlight the only thing guiding your path. “I settled on what I knew would be easiest,”

“That’s the problem.” You stop again to look at him, your chest heaving. “You don’t need to settle, Lu — you’re brilliant, you’re so fucking brilliant-“ he grabs your wrists gently, taking several steps to close the gap between you.

"I have never settled on you." Luigi's voice goes rigid, cracking in the middle like ice breaking over deep water. Each word carries the weight of years — shared secrets, dreams whispered under blanket forts, and promises made in tree houses. "You have always been my first option."

You catch your breath, the familiar warmth of his hands on your wrists suddenly feeling like shackles.

Your head shakes, slow and deliberate, as you try to pull back — but his grip steadfast remains. "How would you know of the other options?" The question comes out softer than you mean it to, weighted with everything you've both been too scared to say. "Do you know yourself without me?”

"I don't want to know myself without you."

"Luigi. Please stop-“ You wrench your wrists from his loosened grip, your feet carrying you forward through the night but he follows, like an echo you can't shake, like a shadow that refuses to fade with distance.

His words tumble out faster now, chasing the shrinking space between you and home, visible through the wavering corn stalks like a lighthouse warning of rough water ahead. "I know I'm not — I know I'm not Matthew Williams, or that guy that works the stables near the Bradshaws. And I know I’m not a perfect man, but—"

You stop once again, so abruptly this time he nearly collides with you, turning to face this strange new version of Luigi — one you've never seen before, one who wears his insecurities like an ill-fitting suit.

He's brave, you'll give him that, but he's also terrified in a way that makes your chest ache.

This boy who's never had to compete for anything in his life, suddenly listing off names like entries in a contest he thinks he's losing.

"You stop that." Your finger jabs at his chest, connecting with the expensive fabric of his jacket. "You are the most-the most magnificent person I have ever met, Luigi. And you're not perfect, no-“ You swallow against the rising bile, against the irony of having to defend him to himself when you're the one walking away. "But you're honest, and you're good — a goddamn great deal too good for me."

The last part comes out like a confession, like something you've carried so long it's carved itself into your bones — the real reason you're running, the fear that someday he'll wake up and realize it too.

The night holds its breath around you, your ragged exhales mixing with his in the space between heartbeats, and the trees shiver their leaves like witnesses to your undoing, crickets falling silent as if they too understand the gravity of this moment — this closing act.

"But-“ You step into his warmth, drawn forward like a moth to flame, even now, knowing it would burn. You’re close enough to catch the familiar scent of his cologne mixing with fresh-cut grass and summer sweat. Close enough to see the moonlight catching in his eyelashes. Close enough to break both your hearts properly. "I can't love you the way you deserve to be loved."

The words tear themselves from your throat like barbed wire, each syllable drawing blood.

Your stomach twists inside out, acid creeping up your throat again, "I can't love you like that. I’m - I’m so, so sorry, Luigi — I just - I can’t,

His hands find your face with the reverence of a prayer, thumbs brushing across your cheekbones like he's trying to memorize the geography of your skin. "Listen to me," he whispers, his voice thick with desperation. "Listen."

The tenderness in his touch nearly breaks you — the way his fingers tremble against your jaw, the gentle circles he traces beneath your ears, the familiar callous on his right thumb from his tree-climbing habit.

His forehead drops to rest against yours, and you can feel his breath hitching, unsteady and warm against your lips.

"You've already loved me better than anyone else ever could," Luigi's voice cracks, splintering like ice in early spring. "You love me exactly as I am — not the heir, not the prodigy, not the Mangione name." His hands slide into your hair, “You have loved me even though I can’t remember to help feed the hens, but I can recite every constellation. And you’ve loved me even though I name every cull cow — even though you think it’s cruel.”

He pulls back just enough to meet your eyes, and the raw hope in his gaze is almost unbearable. "Please," he breathes, the word more air than sound. "Please don't decide for both of us what kind of love I deserve." His thumbs catch the tears you didn't realize were falling, smearing them across your cheeks like war paint. "Let me choose.”

“Then choose someone else!” You shake your hands at him, helpless and wishing to disappear. “I - I’m so unsure of myself - every goddamn thing I do, Luigi. I break everything, I’m useless at being a homemaker. I’m awkward, I’m a black sheep, even all the way out here.”

You aren’t made for the big city like he is.

The moonlight catches in his dark eyes, turning them to liquid as they search yours. "I don't need perfect love. I don't need textbook romance or fairy tale." His voice breaks, raw with honesty. "I just need you. But - but I can’t live like this forever" He’s speaking faster than you’ve ever heard the smooth-talking, easy going Luigi say anything.

You try to turn away, to escape the weight of his words, but his touch holds you steady — gentle but unwavering. "Luigi — let me the fuck-“

"No," he breathes, the word ghosting across your lips. "No, don't push me away because you think you're protecting me. Don't make decisions about what I can handle." His fingers thread through your hair, cradling the back of your head. "I choose this. I choose the messy parts, the broken parts, the parts you think are unlovable. I choose all of it."

I am stopping this here. Love you 💕

[slut4christopherr]

—GHOSTFACE— 👻

MATTHEW STURNIOLO

pics by : @sturnlsstuff

warnings: unprotected p in v(don’t do this!!!), riding, cumming, aftercare, smuttt, pussy eating

(if i missed any please lmk!!)

summary: matt sneaks into your room at night, wearing a ghost face costume from the horror/gore movie ‘scream’

what happens will make you wet.

a/n: ive only just started writing, so anything i need to improve please lmk and also comment if you wanna be added onto my taglist! i’m tagging my moots atm 😞 i hope you guys enjoy! this is a 1 part story‼️

you talking = white

matt talking = blue

as i finish the food i just made, i place my plate into the dishwasher and close the door, the audio from the tiktok i’d left playing.

“so you got a boyfriend?”

“why? you wanna ask me out on a date”

“maybe? so, do you have a boyfriend?”

i pick the phone back up, seeing matt sturniolo, the guy who adores eating my pussy, getting edited with clips of ghost face.

i couldn’t lie, it did turn me on.

i clicked the repost button and set my phone down on the couch.

i walked into my bedroom. swearing id shut the door as it was open a little bit but i’d must of imagine shutting it

i turn on the LED’s that wrap around my walls, to a red colour

as i’m about to get in bed, i scream as i feel a pair of cold, large hands wrap around my waist

“shh ma, don’t need t’be screamin’ jus’ yet”

i recognised the voice almost immediately

“matt. i told you to stop sneaking into my fucking house!”

matt chuckles as i turn around, he holds a voice changer upto his mouth through the mask, speaking into it, his voice came out all static and raspy

“and i said i don’t care, ma, so whatcha gon’ do? hm”

the way his voice came out from that stupid little box made my legs feel weaker and weaker every word he said

“and also, why the fuck you wearin’ that? take it off.”

he points at my t-shirt, his hands grip my shoulders ever so slightly and move me back toward my mattress, i flip down onto my back as he grips the hem of the t-shirt and rips it over my head.

i go to grab his mask and pull it up and over his head and throw it across the room, the black cape over him and his jawline, making him look so good in the dim red lighting of my LED’s

his eyes darken as he focuses on my breasts, one cold hand going to cup one into it.

he rolls my hard nipple around between his thumb&pointer finger which makes me let out a quiet moan

“mmm, i fuckin’ love the sounds you make for me ma”

his pants grow tighter by the minute and he groans and slaps my tit, making me squeal.

he gets onto his knees on the wooden floor, gripping my thighs and pulling me towards the end of the bed.

i look down at him as he looks up at me with hunger written all over him

his fingers hook into my shorts and panties, as he looks up at me again, asking for permission

i nod quickly and he pulls them down at a very, very slow pace

“matt, please.. please..”

you aren’t looking at him but you can tell he has that shit eating grin on his face

“use your words ma, what do you want?”

i let out a shaky sigh

“please matt, finger me”

matt slaps my thigh as he lets my shorts & panties pool at my ankles

he rubs a finger up my slit, groaning at how wet i already am

“m-matt, stop teasin’ baby”

he takes a deep breath before diving into my slick folds, his tongue diving into my head as his perfect nose applies pressure onto my sensitive clit

i let out a moan

“mmm fuck-fuck don’t stop!”

matt doesn’t stop, all that can be heard is my moans, his groans and the slurping sound of my pussy being eaten by a man who looks like he hasn’t eaten in days

i felt a knot form in my stomach

“matt i’m gon- oh fuck- i’m-“

my words get cut off my the knot snapping as he laps my clit with his tongue, making my hips buck into his face, pushing him deeper into my heat

5 mins later…

i bounce up and down on matts large, hard cock, i used the precum as lubricant, knowing you didn’t need to use it as my pussy was literally dripping wet.

matts slender fingers dug into my skin, making sure to leave bruises

the only sounds heard is the hum of the cars driving outside, skin against skin slapping and both of our moans

“mmm- ma, m’so close”

my pussy clenches around him in response as he grips my waist and pulls me down harder onto to him

i moan as the knot in my stomach snaps for the 2nd time, my juices running down matts cock.

i feel his balls tense and his cock twitch then, hot strings of white cum colour my walls

we stay like this for a minute, catching our breath until he pulls me off of him and gently puts me on the bed and stands up, walking to the bathroom to grab a damp cloth to clean me up

“your still not allowed to sneak into my house matt”

he grins in response

“yeah? sure ma”

a/n: tysm for reading! and this was so so rushed 😭 any ideas leave them in the comments

with lots of love and big tits - mia!

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[mysoftboybensolo]

Things I Don't Understand of Audiences Reaction of Nosferatu 2024

Complaints of how this is a ripoff of Dracula, and I am like, of course it is! The original 1922 film is the most famous ripoff in the history of cinema, but it is also one of the best ripoffs ever. Maybe know your history just a bit.

Why are people saying that Ellen dying was stupid or unnecessary? Firstly, that has been the ending in the 1922 and the 1979 film, this wasn't just anything Eggers pulled from nowhere. Secondly, people don't seem to understand that the Gothic genre never not one that allows it's characters to walk away unscathed, whether it is physical damage or mental damage. Blood is demanded, and hardly a truly happy ending is found, at best a bittersweet ending or at worst an ending where everyone is unhappy. I think not only is it true to the films this one is based on, but also the only satisfying ending. Ellen wouldn't have been truly happy if she had survived, because she still will be a seer, she will still have darkness looming inside, and Thomas is either incapable or unwilling to accept it. He's belief that killing Orlok will bring a reset to everything, even bringing Ellen back to how she was before, but the Ellen she was before was still suffered. He brushes aside her nightmares without comfort, he doesn't take into account how she views their marriage (when she insists that she doesn't need material things but he acts as if he knows better), and when she tries to express her suffering, he would prefer her to suppress it. She would never be truly free, but to die doing a good thing, to have control over her death the way she didn't in life, it's an empowering end, if bittersweet.

People complaining about the pace of the film, saying it starts off fine but then drags in the middle? I think the film flowed wonderfully, there was never a moment when I was thinking how much longer to the end or felt it rushed in the story. I personally cannot wait until we get the extended version, but I am happy with how it came out.

Where are people getting "Orlok groomed Ellen" from? Grooming is when someone goes after a minor and gets them to be emotionally attached to them for a long period of time in order to achieve some sort of goal (often times sex). People have been saying Ellen was a "literal child", but we don't know that for certain. Yes, Ellen described herself as a child, but it seems that the term child is used more as a synonym of "inexperienced" or "young". Also, we are not sure how old any of these characters are. If we were to go by actors ages as guidelines, Lily-Rose Depp was 24 when filming this, and all we get in between the first scene to the present day is merely "years later". That can mean two years or ten, we cannot be sure. And while Lil-Rose Depp can look younger than her age, no one better try and say she was playing a 12 year old or whatever in that first scene, because there is no way you can convince me she is as young as that. Also, Ellen hadn't been emotionally attached to Orlok between the years to make it grooming. I can make a better argument of grooming in another famous Gothic movie the 2004 "Phantom of the Opera" then I could with "Nosferatu".

Listen, this movie won't be for everyone, that is fine, but what I have an issue with is saying people are dumb or evil for thinking Ellen x Orlok is interesting/has romantic elements to it. One person commented on another's post about saying that the cast are dumb for seeing this as a love triangle, especially Lily-Rose Depp for not seeing Ellen as a victim. The director, who also wrote it, wanted this version to play up the Death and the Maiden themes, that was their vision, and I don't think it's right or fair to say they are dumb because the original movie wasn't a love triangle. If we were to be really anal about it, so many pieces of media we have we wouldn't be able to enjoy because it's origins are not the same. Sorry Disney's Hunchback fans, you can't enjoy the happy ending because the original was a downer. Sorry Wicked fans, it's nothing like "The Wonderful Wizard of Oz", so it shouldn't be enjoyed. See how ridiculous it sounds? You can debate if whether or not they managed to achieve their goal, but you can't deny that was the intention and say people are dumb for picking up what they had intended.

I also feel that it's quite hypocritical of people to say that the relationship between Orlok and Ellen is evil and creepy, but then go off and say that the scenes where Friedrich has sex with Anna's corpse as "romantic" and Thomas' couch scene as "hot", when both deal with dubious/no consent at all. Just admit it, you are fine with dubious stuff so long as it's a hot guy doing it. The couch scene was quite uncomfortable for me, Ellen is clearly not in her right mind, even if not by some kind of possession, but emotionally, and it didn't sit right what Thomas did. I am not saying he raped her, but she wasn't in the right mind space to have this be a passionate moment. And he wasn't doing because of love or passion, he was doing it because he didn't like hearing Ellen say how he couldn't please her like the Count could. We had seen what they are like when they are in a good head space and the feeling mutual, as we saw in the den of the Harding's home. I feel like this scene wasn't meant to be a hot and sexy moment, but a incredibly distressing moment when two individuals are acting at their worst.

I don't understand how people feel that this film isn't a feminist film. I've seen people claim that the movie shames Ellen and that her not finding out how to stop Orlok is robbing her of her agency. Here's the thing, yes, many characters shame her for what she feels, but the narrative doesn't. As the audience, we feel sorry for her, feel bad for everything she is going through, and given the time period, of course there would be many people (mainly men) who will shame her passions or deny her darkness in favor for a more "womanly behavior". We are meant to see how the human world would never understand Ellen the way Orlok would understand her, why she would have called out a force that is inhuman, because humanity has turned her away. What's fascinating is that Ellen has control of Orlok, being able to call him, speak to him as an equal, and get him, a powerful centuries old being, to admit that she is his affliction, his weakness, and in the end, it's proven right. This mortal woman is able to defeat a supernatural being, all the while him loving her, how is that not awesome and feminist?

In regards to her finding the cure; true, in both the '22 and '79 film, Ellen figure out on her own what needs to be done to stop Orlok, but that doesn't mean '24 Ellen isn't smart or in charge of her own actions. We've seen Ellen say what the future holds multiple times, so it isn't crazy to believe that she would have seen what her fate would have been as it drew closer, and her need to talk to Von Franz read to me as her knowing the cure. When Ellen walks Von Franz to his home, she says that she knows what must be done, and they work together to make this happen, with him promising to keep Thomas away. Out of all the men, Von Franz had been the only one to take her feelings and thoughts seriously, and he does so here, including her in the plan (where Thomas had refused her to help), even giving her the chance to be stop Orlok without interruption. He isn't denying her agency, he's keeping others at bay so she can be the hero.

I like the moustache, just like a Romanian nobleman would have had, exactly what the director wanted. After leaving the theatre, my friend and I were discussing the film, and of course the design of Orlok was brought up, and she said "I liked it, especially the moustache, very Vlad the Impaler". She isn't a massive Dracula fan but she understood what was the inspiration behind it. Y'all are just uncultured swine.

In the end, I love this film, and wanted to just share my two cents.

[treatbuckywkisses]

hello I am HERE :))

Still as alert as ever, the looming threat of danger is never something that will leave him; but he no longer needs to worry about being unsure of himself in this small bit of his routine. The cart appears right in front of him quicker than he expected, his walk seeming all too short when you’re not there to enjoy it with. - the subtle shift you've given him to be alert without being afraid is so so so so so personal to me

Everything seems to remind him of you. Lovely and nothing short of exquisite. It would be sinful if Bucky didn’t buy these– you’re deserving of something almost as telling of your effervescent glory. - I'm sick over this I'm going to think about this paragraph for DAYS

There was never a defining title placed on it, but hell if he’d let that stop him from claiming something so necessary for once in his damn life.  - this is so mushy :(( HIS GIRL im sick

Bucky could already die a happy man from the overwhelming thought of you, grabbing for the bouquet with the most precious of hands, smiling down at the soft peach petals then up at him with those eyes– like he just handed you the damn keys to every castle in the world. - this part is oh so soft to me and that is so very precious 

But you weren’t. And how was he meant to explain to a person he had no interest in revealing any part of himself to that his angel was the very strength powering the flow of the waters of the earth; the very life twinkling, lighting the night sky?– That reducing her to a “pretty special beauty”, while undeniably true for every commoner to see, was the closest thing Bucky could think to being an insult? -, paired with No. You don’t understand– she’s not… she isn’t a pretty special beauty. That’s lazy. Words can’t describe what it’s like lookin’ at her, bein’ near her. Bein’ looked at and loved by someone so divine. She’s not… there’s no preparin’ yourself for her. She is beauty. - is CRIMINAL YOU MAKE ME SICK HOW COULD YOU WRITE SOMETHING SO SOFT AND MAKE ME LIVE WITH THIS I am unwell and it's all your fault 

Maybe, his girl and all the violent thoughts he has surrounding her– how she’s the embodiment of radiance, the very definition of the most torrential depths of beauty– is just enough for Bucky. And he plans to worship the feeling of knowing your beauty for the rest of his days. - why are you doing this to me he is perfect :( 

His hand drifts up your side, caressing the figure he reveres as nothing less than shattering to capture your face. Bucky’s certain he’ll faint from the thrill of feeling you, from the need to keep tasting you– drifting, spinning, floating. It warms you both from the inside out, numbing the sound of the outside world and replacing it with the pulse of need rushing through your veins. It’s so good– forever needing more, more, more him.  - oh my God I need to be adored this way I'm so speechless this is literally just so perfect the ideal love :( mir 

Your writing is something so deeply personal and special to me I hope you always know that<3 you write so beautifully vivid and clear. The way you write bucky (especially in love) is so unmatched, nobody is doing it like you baby!!!!!! This is so mushy and soft absolutely the kind of love we deserve! Thank you so much for sharing this with me 🫶🏻❣️

I was just re-reading you deserve a soft epilogue, my love and this popped up on my pinterest home page:

https://pin.it/1gHYpch

and I thought if Bucky was roaming the farmers market by himself, these looked like the type of arrangement he’d get for you when he stumbled across them 🥰🌹🌸🌷🌻🌼💐 and if it’s in the beginning he’d be all shy giving them to you.

in layman's terms

beefy bucky x f!reader (you deserve a soft epilogue, my love AU)

warnings: slight angst, entirely too much fluff

wc: 2k!

a/n: this is the first thing i've written in months. i'm feeling a lot of emotions, i really thought i'd never share something on here again– but i'm thankful my brain let me think on the sweetest boy for a brief moment in time. and a special thank you to my Col for always encouraging me and being the best cheerleader ever <3

𝐢 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞, 𝐜𝐨𝐩𝐲, 𝐨𝐫 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤. 𝟏𝟖+ 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐝𝐧𝐢

The uneven cobblestone streets seem just a bit more solid under Bucky’s heavy boots.

Walking swiftly through the once frightening streets of Bucharest, his careful gait grounds him steady along the known trek, and the low bun laced with your hair tie bounces against his neck as an annoying reminder of the heat– just a couple more errands and he’ll be home with you. A few loose tendrils tickle his skin as his feet briskly carry him towards a cart he remembers you stealing glances at, several times, during your countless walks together.

The smell of honey and loaves of fresh bread swirl by him as he strides past more meaningless produce and knickknacks alike, pondering why you’ve never asked to grab a quick bite and stop to actually admire the flowers now directly in his line of sight.

The crowding of somewhat blurry and familiar faces doesn’t seem to bother him the way it used to– no reason to cause him to cower, to keep his head down with the threat of being seen.

Bucky has you to turn to, to encourage him when he needs reminding of who he is. He has you to go home to. He never imagined walking so weightlessly.

Still as alert as ever, the looming threat of danger is never something that will leave him; but he no longer needs to worry about being unsure of himself in this small bit of his routine. The cart appears right in front of him quicker than he expected, his walk seeming all too short when you’re not there to enjoy it with.

The sun beats down on him with a cool breeze, kinder than it’s been in a very long time– maybe, that’s why a faint smile has been stretched across his lips since he left his apartment. Maybe, that’s why he doesn’t pay any mind to the kids playing a rough game of tag or the loud arguing of the people just behind him. He feels a calm kindness meant for him; Bucky breathes along with it.

The breeze follows his content steps and at the prospect of one of your “secret” joys– one where he finds himself alone and able to indulge in his own selfish desire of loving you–, the flowers and stems you always gleam at, bustling with their vibrant hues of corals and luxurious creams, immediately caught his eye.

The blush of the petals reminds him of the sound of your honeyed laugh; the ghostly whites nestled between an almost neon green array of garnish indulge him with the fuzzy feeling of melting inside your sweet embrace.

Everything seems to remind him of you. Lovely and nothing short of exquisite. It would be sinful if Bucky didn’t buy these– you’re deserving of something almost as telling of your effervescent glory.

Even now, walking alone, the small walkways between seas of overbearing people and bruised fruit now sound of only delicate fingers held tightly in his; of soft whispers nestled just behind his ear only for him to hear; of those hidden kisses teasing at his neck, crashing against the life of his pulse.

Bucky reaches for the arrangement without a doubt in his mind.

“And who might these be for?” the smirk rests playfully in the florist’s brown eyes before Bucky even notices someone standing right there, watching him. It wasn’t meant to be patronizing, but embarrassment and something naggingly familiar floods his chest. The sudden swell is all too warm and somehow, anxieties of being questioned by an unknown person aside, it’s welcomed.

Almost as if he was a 14-year-old boy again. Almost as if he felt his ma’s voice taunting him while she stood over the stove, stirring his favorite afterschool soup in her dented pot and prodding him about the crush she heard him and Steve giggling about.

“My girl. Uh, well my gir– she…”

Girl? His girl?

Did he really say that out loud?

But that wasn’t what had Bucky’s brain diving headfirst 100 miles per minute into the depths of his chest trying to revive the unrelenting muscle.

No, it wasn’t girl. It was the two-letter guarantor of possession sitting right before it.

My.

What were you? Surely, he was yours– wholly and completely.

But what were you?

Looking at the delicate velvet petals brush against his glove– a lot of things, Bucky realizes.

Sunrise and sunset. Understanding. Fresh air. Relief. The bundle of pale petaled softness tucked safely within his black leather gloves. An angel. His angel– his girl.

There was never a defining title placed on it, but hell if he’d let that stop him from claiming something so necessary for once in his damn life.

“They remind me of my girl. And she’ll love ‘em.” His confidence hardly surprises him– these flowers reek of you. How you lay nestled against him at 3 in the morning under cream sheets with the pale white of the moon dusting the tops of your cheekbones, your hands tracing shapes along the scars of his back. How your eyes crinkle looking right at him and that calming, gentle sound that fills the air as you tell him all about your dreams, your fears, your joys.

Bucky could already die a happy man from the overwhelming thought of you, grabbing for the bouquet with the most precious of hands, smiling down at the soft peach petals then up at him with those eyes– like he just handed you the damn keys to every castle in the world.

“Must be a pretty special beauty then, huh?”

Bucky could feel the boyish pink flooding his stubbled cheeks, out of his control and entirely too revealing. And for once, his flustered state doesn’t deter him from looking an intrusive stranger in the eye.

Maybe if you were there with him, that blinding light and stunning glow that seemed to follow you and infiltrate every last molecule of the very air he breathed, he’d find his words.

You’d be there, looking up at him while he stumbled through the sludge of muddled thoughts and feelings, gracious fingers stroking soothingly at the nape of his neck as he laid his heart out for you and only you.

But you weren’t. And how was he meant to explain to a person he had no interest in revealing any part of himself to that his angel was the very strength powering the flow of the waters of the earth; the very life twinkling, lighting the night sky?– That reducing her to a “pretty special beauty”, while undeniably true for every commoner to see, was the closest thing Bucky could think to being an insult?

With a quiet sniffle and a shake of his head, Bucky’s tearful smile told the kind stranger all he couldn’t seem to articulate with words.

No. You don’t understand– she’s not… she isn’t a pretty special beauty. That’s lazy. Words can’t describe what it’s like lookin’ at her, bein’ near her. Bein’ looked at and loved by someone so divine. She’s not… there’s no preparin’ yourself for her. She is beauty.

His ma would be out of her mind with emotions– Bucky knows now, looking into the knowing eyes of this stranger. It’s all she ever wanted for him.

The florist only smiles, handing Bucky the perfectly paper-wrapped bundle with a quick “It’s on me, hope she enjoys them.”

His walk home has an extra incentive of speed in his step. The colors of garments people wear blend together in a frantic flurry with the elements of nature around him, everything a blur but the ingrained compass guiding him home– the promise of his girl waiting there for him.

Milling over every possible way he can present these flowers to you, the most pathetic attempt at showing you a fraction of the way you plague his every breath– there’s no right way to hand these to you.

No. Bucky wishes he could piece together his thoughts eloquently enough to offer his love in the way he so desperately wants to. If he could place his words as well as he’s learned to with his emotions…. Maybe, between the distant scribbles of things he quickly jots down as fleeting memories of a distant time, Bucky could find himself writing the words this beauty of his has gifted him.

Feeling.

Bucky’s no poet, not much of a talker, either. But you make him feel things with the clarity of crystal glass.

Delicate, fragile, sparkling things. Maybe, feeling is just enough.

Maybe, his girl and all the violent thoughts he has surrounding her– how she’s the embodiment of radiance, the very definition of the most torrential depths of beauty– is just enough for Bucky. And he plans to worship the feeling of knowing your beauty for the rest of his days.

The gods above only know the tenderness your soul has granted him. The understanding that there’s more to life than pain; finding that self-healing he’s been able to strive towards with your patient encouragement.

Bucky has no more time to think about how he’ll offer these to you. You open the door the second you hear his hurried and frantic stomps bypassing the elevator, rushing the many flights of stairs 4 steps at a time.

“Bucky what’s–”

“I love you,” never have words been so easy, so heavy and at home in his chest. He exhales them so certainly, hoarse and breathless forming so perfectly between the pink plump of his lips. “I’m so in love with you. And I saw these and needed you to have ‘em.”

He never gets the chance to bashfully feel the weight of actions, doesn’t get to admire the love swimming in your eyes, the tears threatening to spill with that gaze you know there’s no controlling when it comes to him– you rush forward, capturing his lips in a kiss that nearly launches his anxious heart straight into the sanctuary of your palms. Breath escapes him for more reasons than one, melting under your honest passion and the need to have him– to love him as he is. His metal arm latches around your waist, pulling you as close as you can get while standing in his small doorway trying to protect a bouquet of flowers from being crushed.

His hand drifts up your side, caressing the figure he reveres as nothing less than shattering to capture your face. Bucky’s certain he’ll faint from the thrill of feeling you, from the need to keep tasting you– drifting, spinning, floating. It warms you both from the inside out, numbing the sound of the outside world and replacing it with the pulse of need rushing through your veins. It’s so good– forever needing more, more, more him.

How is it never enough?

Cradling his world between his fist, Bucky tilts your head, his restless lips hungrily breathing in you despite the fact you’re both dizzy, on the verge of collapsing and only still standing because of the other. His gloved-metal thumb swipes away the few tears that have fallen, brushing tender strokes into the high point of your cheek.

Soft moans rumble low in his chest, rising and rising to plead for more– the need to always feel your soft lips move so desperately against his, warm tongues claiming the unbridled desire to never stop– he’ll tell you he loves you with every breath he breathes, or the ones only you could steal from him so sweetly.

When you reluctantly break away his lips move to chase yours, and the red flush staining his flustered love-dazed face is enough to make you cling tighter to the back of his neck, pulling him back down to press kiss after kiss over his shy, boyishly babbling face.

“Bucky… they’re absolutely beautiful, baby.” Oh, he knows. He knows all too well– and the breathless way your voice calls for him, those eyes rendering him the most helpless-in-love man of all time– well. He’s an earnest devotee of this fate.

“You’re the beauty in life, angel.”

💐