#this is probably the most open i've ever been

[leashybebes]

fic: blue and gold (28/28)

here we are, folks! @bucktommyfluffebruary day 28 prompt is wedding proposal and my fill is here and below

thank you to everyone who's read along with these snippets and huge huge thank you to @aesthetictarlos for putting on this lovely event. look away, uncharacteristic sincerity incoming: i've never really participated in a fandom event like this before, and the response has been overwhelming in the best way. i love it here. i love you guys. you make me so happy. (okay gross, don't look at me, go read the fic.)

The food goes over well. Tommy goes nuts for the sandwiches and the salad especially. Buck gets to kiss frosting off the corner of his mouth. Tommy showers him with compliments and thanks. They talk about their days - Buck spent most of his cooking so he doesn't have much to add, but he's happy to listen to the rundown of Tommy's calls. Tommy got to fly a lot, got to spend time in the air like he loves. He's happy and loose as he leans back on his hands, talking Buck through a rescue he worked with Lucy.

It feels like a good omen that Tommy had a fun shift and that Buck got to spend the day doing something he loves, for someone he loves.

"Sounds like a good day," Buck says, and despite how confident he felt on the drive to Harbor his throat feels a little dry now. Nervous, not anxious, though. He takes another beer from the cooler and twists off the cap, handing it over to Tommy.

"Thank you, baby."

"You want a cookie to go with that?" Buck offers.

"Maybe later," Tommy says. "I'm stuffed."

Buck nods, shuffles a little closer. "You like those beers?" he asks.

"Yeah," Tommy says, taking a glance at the label. The light's too dim to make it out properly so he tilts the bottle towards one of the LED candles to read it. Buck takes advantage of his distraction to reach into another pocket in the cooler, palming the box he's hidden in at least five different places in the last month. Thankfully, the light's gone out of the day quick enough that Tommy probably can't see the little tremble in his hands as he pulls his sleeves down so he can hide the box inside his cuff.

"Champagne beer?" Tommy glances up at Buck. "Cute. Are we celebrating something?"

"Always," Buck says, squeezing his hands together to stop them shaking. "I always feel like I'm celebrating with you."

Tommy's face softens, smile lines chasing across his face. "You're so sweet," he says.

"Tommy," he says, and something in his tone must tip Tommy off because he looks at him with wide eyes.

"Evan…"

"Let me," Buck says. "You make me so happy. You try harder for me than anyone ever has. I want this forever."

Tommy's frozen, but not like he was that time that Buck tripped over himself and his feelings and pitched moving in together before they'd even said they loved each other. This time it's like he's holding his breath, like he's trying to crystalize this moment. Buck's already smiling when he opens the ring box, because he knows the answer. He really, really does.

"Tommy. Will you marry me?"

"Yes," Tommy says. "God, yes. Evan. Yes. Yes."

"Yes?"

"Yes. I love you. Yes. Yes."

It's like he can't stop saying it, his lips still shaping the word when Buck kisses him, the feel of it immediately becoming his favourite thing in the world.

[harmless-variety-of-garden-snake]

Day Twenty-Six?? Is already here?? Picnic Date time! Part of this has the cheesiest (positive) thing I've ever written, but I was encouraged to keep it in. So now you have to endure it, too. You can read this on AO3 over here. Tagging @bucktommyfluffebruary

When Evan knocks on his door, Tommy gives himself a second before he answers. He doesn’t want it to be totally obvious that he’s been hovering by the door ever since his boyfriend texted him that he was on his way.

He opens the door, and Evan’s already smiling, and Tommy feels like his heart is caught in a constant loop of melting and exploding. He tugs him in with a kiss and a soft greeting, and Evan holds on tight and returns the kiss. They haven’t seen each other in two weeks, because they only had a few hours here and there where their shifts weren’t overlapping. Those hours had mostly been in the middle of the night when they were both sleeping or close to it, so the most off-shift time they’d been able to get was over half-asleep FaceTimes.

“I missed you,” Evan says into his neck when he hugs Tommy.

Tommy skims his hands over Evan’s back and inhales the smell of him. “I missed you, too.”

They stand there for a long moment before Evan takes a half-step back, his hand sliding down to grasp Tommy’s.

“You want to skip lunch?” Tommy asks, and Evan shakes his head. “You sure?”

“You said you had a surprise,” Evan reminds him with a teasing lilt to his voice. “Surprise me, big guy.”

They can’t get sidetracked, there are temperature-sensitive things in the literal picnic basket on his coffee table. He deserves another medal around his neck for resisting grabbing Evan and pulling him into the bedroom. Tommy does spread his hand over Evan’s lower back and flick his eyes down to his lips, enjoying the way Evan’s eyes dilate when he meets his eyes again.

“Stay here,” Tommy says, leaving a lingering kiss on the corner of his mouth and going to the living room so he can grab the basket, blanket, and small cooler that he’s able to loop over his arm. When he comes back, Evan looks surprised and then happy. “Shall we?”

“We shall,” Evan agrees, taking the cooler from his shoulder. “Don’t worry. I won’t peek.”

They start walking out, and Evan heads toward Tommy’s truck.

“No, we’re staying local,” Tommy says, nodding toward the left. “C’mon.”

They walk the few blocks it takes to get to the park by his house. Tommy had taken the kids to it once recently, but Evan had been home sick with a nasty cold while Tommy babysat. He’s pretty sure that unless he took a roundabout way to get to Tommy’s, Evan’s probably never noticed it before.

“Aw, this is cute,” Evan says as they approach. It really is. There's a couple of families clustered with kids who are climbing on a playground, several dogs are being walked, and there's a guy walking near some trees with a pair of binoculars.

“Table or grass?” Tommy asks, nodding toward the picnic tables.

“I mean, you grabbed the blanket,” Evan points out. “Let's use it.”

They settle under a lone tree so as not to interfere with the birdwatcher. Evan's been threatening to get into birdwatching again, which had been a nice excuse to go on walks with him and eat trail mix, but every photo that was texted to him for a month had been a new bird. It had taken Tommy a while to get over the disappointment of seeing the word “tits” in a text preview only to get a picture of a couple of gray-brown birds instead of his boyfriend's chest. Evan had made up for it with a series of pictures, at least.

The food is pretty typical picnic food: sandwiches, fruit, chips, dip, cookies, chicken salad, pasta salad, potato salad, and beer. Evan makes appreciative noises and moans, because Tommy told him to shift his cheat day back one day so he could eat everything on offer.

“God, you have the best ideas,” Evan says around a mouthful of potato salad. “Also, why haven't we gone to this park? We always run the other way.”

“Because then I wouldn't be able to check on the cats,” Tommy points out. He runs past a food and water station he and a neighbor set up for the feral cats in the neighborhood, because Tommy isn't home enough to have it outside his own house. He also checks on as many cats as he can see, tries to spot new ones, texts his neighbor if she's not home so he can find out if she needs traps or anything for the new ones he does see, and talks to her about them if she is home. The house is two blocks over and a block down in the other direction from his house, so they always go that way instead.

“It's cute,” Evan says, wiping his face with a napkin and settling back on the blanket with a happy squint up into the tree where a squirrel seems to be hopping around. “I wish I had a good park near my place.”

The opening is gift-wrapped. Tommy opens his mouth, but then he freezes. He shovels two cookies in his mouth instead.

It's when the food is gone and they're laying on the blanket and watching a very large dog and a very small dog get walked together that Tommy rolls onto his side and reaches out to rest his hand on Evan's belly.

“Hm?” Evan hums, looking over at him with a smile on his face. It hasn't left since they arrived. Everything about him makes Tommy ache, it has since that first night he kissed him, and it’s only gotten worse since they got back together. It used to scare him to death. It still scares him, but he’s gotten better about pushing it aside.

Evan Buckley has all the power in the world to destroy his heart, but Tommy knows now that it's not in him to do that.

“Can I ask you something?” he asks. “And it's probably going to be ironic, coming from me. So feel free to get a little angry. You earned it.”

“What?�� Evan says, his face starting to pinch a little in confusion, but he's still smiling as he sits up. “What's up?”

“Do you want to move in with me?” Tommy asks, feeling like the words are being ripped out of him because this could fuck everything up.

But Evan's reaching for him, his eyes filling with tears, and he chokes out a shocked laugh. “What? Are you—really? You mean it?”

Tommy sits up, too, his heart pounding in his chest as he nods. “I know we've only been back together for—well, just over six months. But I—”

He's cut off by Evan kissing him, and Tommy is kissing him back, but it's difficult because Evan is smiling so much.

“God, yeah,” Evan whispers, and Tommy's face finally unfreezes into an answering grin as Evan nods. “Yeah.”

“Yeah?” he confirms, and they laugh at the absurdity after Evan’s just said it twice. “You started talking about your lease renewal and I didn't want to wait another year to ask. You were right before. I know I don't say it enough, but you were right.”

“Why be apart when we could be together?”

Evan was smart. So much smarter than Tommy. He hadn't been great at articulating it at the time, leaving out half the reasons he wanted them to live together, but they've talked it out since January. And Tommy's never been able to deny that Evan was right.

Everything about them works. It all fits together, molds around each other, fills in the cracks in the other person. And it's like a klaxon has been going off in Tommy's head every time one of them has to leave the other's place or if they're stuck talking on the phone when they're both off and on their respective beds because they're too tired to drive or the other one has a shift that starts in just a few hours.

Keep him by you, keep him with you, what are you doing, Kinard? You're wasting time, he's right there, he's your other half and he's right there.

His boyfriend presses their foreheads together as they tangle together as much as is acceptable for a public park near where they'll be living.

“I would've moved in by February,” Evan admits. “Maybe earlier. Like the day we got back together. I didn't want to scare you.”

“You still scare me,” Tommy confesses. “But I know I can trust you.”

Evan nuzzles their noses together and smiles. “Yeah. I—you know that poem?”

Tommy huffs out a laugh. “Gonna have to be more specific, sweetheart.”

“‘I carry your heart in my heart’ or something.”

That—Evan can't know. Tommy's never told anyone. Once again, Evan’s stumbled his way into a direct path to Tommy’s heart.

“It's cummings,” he says, swallowing around a sharp lump in his throat. “My mom used to read it to me. When she got sick.”

Evan’s fingers tighten on his arms, and he draws back, concern etched in his face. “I—”

“‘Here is the deepest secret nobody knows,’” Tommy quotes softly, his mind going to the last part even though he knows the whole thing. “‘Here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud and the sky of the sky of a tree called life; which grows higher than soul can hope or mind can hide. And this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart. I carry your heart. I carry it in my heart.’”

There’s a bubble of silence that follows, and then Evan cradles his face in his hands and leans in to press a soft, sweet kiss to the corner of his mouth and then another on Tommy’s lips.

“Yeah,” he whispers. “That. That’s—yeah.”

Tommy hugs him close, and Evan buries his face in Tommy’s neck. He imagines he can feel Evan’s heart against his own, that they have to be beating in sync with one another. If he closes his eyes, he can see their hearts fitting together, beating in sync and cradled together in each of their chests. He might paint it, as grotesque as two actual human hearts pressed together would be. It doesn’t have to be displayed, it can just be for him to show Evan so he can say: “See? This is us, this is for us, this is us.”

He tips his face down to hide it in Evan’s shoulder, and he feels Evan’s breath puffing against the side of his jaw.

“Right here,” Evan says, his hand slipping between them to curl against Tommy’s chest, right over his heart. “I’m right here.”

Tommy nods and lets out a shaking breath. “I know.”

“And you’re right here.” Evan turns his hand to press against his own heart, and Tommy covers it with his hand and gives him a teary smile as he nods again. “Forever. Us living together is just the next natural step toward that. We do this, m-maybe we get married—if you want.”

“Yeah,” Tommy says, his voice coming out hoarse. “I want that.”

I’d marry you tomorrow.

Tommy knows he might have to wait a little longer than that. But he knows it’ll happen. He knows it’ll happen, and he knows that if he’s brave enough, he might put this moment in his vows. He knows that Evan will make him brave, that it’ll be nothing at all to hold his hands in front of their family and tell him and everyone else that on a picnic blanket in a park next to their house, Tommy knew that he would marry Evan Buckley.

[d-adpool]

really? it always feels like work with you. it's probably the hardest relationship i've ever been in and we're only two months into it.

and i don't think that's a bad thing. it actually makes me want to put more into my other relationships. because with you it's like. worth it. like really extremely worth it.

i don't know. i think some things with you are easy. like, it's easy to talk to you. it's easy to love you. i'm, like, thoughtlessly open with you. i will just spill whatever thoughts come into my head most of the time. and maybe i shouldn't. that's a different conversation.

but when we're together, i feel like... like you challenge me. and i need that. i need the enrichment in my enclosure. the- the shift in my perspective.

and that's what makes you right for me. that's what makes you complete me. which sounds gay as shit when i say it out loud. you complete me. fuck. slap me on a greeting card.

*wade swings by the motel six. not literally swings, unfortunately. he didn't keep the web shooter and he wouldn't know how to use it even if he did. he does drop by literally, though. it's hard to come through a portal with your hands full, and he gets a little wibbly-wobbly as he tries to find his footing.*

*peter hears a thud outside his hotel room door.*

don't worry! *wade shouts.* it's just me. i'm not here to kill you. this time. i don't think.

@d-adpool

*The lock cliicks open,but Peter hasn't left the bed.*

*The room it thoroughly lived in, with empty takeout containers and soda bottles, and not a small amount of empty liquor bottles and vape cartridges, littering the surfaces.*

*Peter's sprawled out and watching Star Trek reruns on cable. He's looking more rested, less hallow. He's wearing a black hoodie and sweatpants in a suspiciously liquid sheen.*

You don't think. You're lucky I let you near me, maniac.

*he rolls his eyes, smiling playfully at Wade."

[demonpoppyseed]

“I love making you whimper and whine,” Armand said. “So fucking pathetic for me.”

“Daniel?” Louis asked, brow creased with that facsimile of concern that always made Daniel suspect that this whole endeavor was nothing but pointless play acting. Daniel blinked rapidly.

“Uh,” he said. Armand was staring at him. Daniel looked quickly away from him and shook his head, trying to clear it.

“Haven't been sleeping,” Daniel said. He crossed his legs surreptitiously and cleared his throat. “You were saying something about –”

“The clubs we used to frequent in San Francisco,” Armand interjected. “Perfect hunting grounds. I'm sure you're familiar with them.”

“Yeah?” Daniel said, strategically casting his gaze somewhere to the right of Armand’s face. “You’re so sure I'd be familiar with the underground BDSM clubs in San Fran in the 70s?”

Louis bit back a laugh, looking away towards the windows in an effort to avoid breaking. Armand stared straight at Daniel, eyes bright and unblinking.

“Yes,” he said.

Daniel met his eye then, giving him a look over his glasses that lived somewhere between reproach and acquiescence.

“Fine,” he said, looking back down at his laptop. “If I remembered anything from the 70s I'd probably remember the underground BDSM clubs. But since my memory of my twenties is swiss cheese, you'll have to enlighten me.”

“They were wondrous things,” Louis said dreamily. “Melting pots of desire where a man could seek out the company of other men without drawing the least bit of attention, and a vampire was only another fantasy to covet. We were open about what we were in those days, in much the same way we had once been open at the Theatre des Vampire.”

“Yeah,” Daniel snorted. “Let them think the fangs are prosthetics, the biting’s a fetish thing. Sure. What do the kids call that these days? Informed consent?”

“Our victims craved death, Daniel,” Louis said. “They went down on their knees in the dark and begged for it.”

Aching knees on hard cement. Flashing, colored lights. The press of a crowd.

A boot hitting his stomach, hard enough to send him sprawling on his back, all the air forced from his lungs.

Pain.

“Please, Armand,” a voice mocked, high above. “Please, please, please! What is it you think you are begging for?”

“ – most ethical hunting I've ever done,” Armand said, laughing.

Daniel didn't bother trying to patch together what he'd missed. He didn't need to hear them praise themselves for killing a bunch of gay kids with leather fetishes and undiagnosed depressive disorders. It was only dumb luck that he hadn't been one of them.

“More than dumb luck,” Armand said.

“Stay out of my head,” Daniel shot back automatically. “Is there a point to this fun little side trip? Just wanna remind me that you fuck? Congratulations.”

His head was seriously aching. When had that started? He found it disconcerting, the way pain curled up in the corners of his body, never entirely gone, just waiting to stretch its legs and take up more space.

“I can fetch you some aspirin, if you like,” Armand said.

Daniel ignored him.

“Louis,” he said. “Where are we going with this?”

“Just giving you some context,” Louis said, shrugging. “What our lives had become by the time we met you that night at Polynesian Mary’s. We had, perhaps, thrown ourselves a little too enthusiastically into that world. Or at least, I had. Armand found it all a bit…”

“Distasteful,” Armand finished.

“You?” Daniel said skeptically, peering at him over the top of his glasses. “You found it distasteful.”

He glanced between the two of them. Then, suddenly, he laughed.

“Oh, I get it,” he said. He pointed at Louis, but directed his accusation at Armand. “He was putting out all over the city and you weren't getting any.”

Armand glared.

“Our relationship was… strained during those years,” Louis said, with the cadence of an admission, as if it weren’t obvious to anyone with eyes and a brain that their relationship had never not been strained.

“I think that's enough context. Don't you agree, mon amour?” Armand said with a strained smile.

Daniel grinned at him.

Gotcha.

Armand’s lips parted slightly. Daniel’s grin faltered.

“Perhaps,” Louis said, either oblivious or pretending to be, Daniel wasn't sure. He smiled ruefully at Daniel.

“I know I take advantage,” he said. “Sometimes I lose myself in the retelling, and forget that the point of this endeavor is not my catharsis.”

“I think we're pretty far past that at this point,” Daniel said. “But who fucking cares? Readers love catharsis. They get off on it.”

“Do you get off on it, Daniel?” Armand asked.

“Oookay,” Daniel said. “I think that's my cue to fuck off. You two can go ahead and dig up your marital issues without me. Trust me, I'm not gonna have any useful advice. I have what my daughters call a 100% divorce rate. You'd be better off having that bitchy hallucination of your ex as your marriage counselor.”

He glanced over Louis’s shoulder, just to fuck with him. The look of shock on Louis’s face made Daniel think he'd accidentally hit a bullseye. Jesus Christ.

He realized at that moment that he would now have to stand up. He glanced involuntarily at Armand and caught him smiling at him like a hungry cat.

He shut his laptop with a loud clack, stacked his notes on top of it, forcing himself not to hurry, and held the stack in front of his crotch as casually as he could as he made a beeline for his room, only barely restraining himself from running.

He needed a break. He needed to jerk off.

He needed Armand to take a long walk off a short volcanic rim.

As he gratefully neared his bedroom, a soft laugh fluttered in his mind.

That's not the sort of rim I was thinking of, Daniel.

Face hot, Daniel slammed the bedroom door behind him, dropped his laptop and notes on the bed, and hurried in the direction of the en suite shower, as if he could outrun the demon’s long fingers as they reached for his mind – those long, beautiful, elegant fingers that he ached to feel –

He closed his eyes and thumped his head against the tiled bathroom wall.

He was so fucking screwed.

[lunanoc]

dare i say…..1, 6, 8, and 17 for the ask meme?

ohh please do, i have so many opinions about dmbj. that being said, obligatory disclaimer, all of these are very much my subjective opinions, not fact. fandom discourse ahead, you’ve been warned

for the ‘choose violence ask game’:

1. the character everyone gets wrong

if i had to be completely honest, my hot take would be that technically a distressingly large portion of the vocal dmbj fandom gets pretty much all the characters wrong to the point it’s actually kind of concerning, but if i had to choose one character in particular, it’d have to be xiaoge.

and look. i understand that a number of people have only watched the dramas and aren’t particularly inclined to read the books because of the time commitment that comes with so much material to get through, and that’s fair. but it’s very telling when someone only goes off of the dramas to shape their characterizations (and even then, i could have a hotter take that the dramas, exceptions aside, all have the broad strokes of the characters down with only details that change, so there’s really no excuse) because in the books, xiaoge is repeatedly described as being indifferent and very much disinterested and untouched by what goes on around him. xiaoge choosing to invest himself in something or someone is very much something noteworthy coming from him. and it doesn’t mean he doesn’t have emotions, but it does mean he’s a very nuanced character to explore when it comes to them and how they’re displayed.

it’s incredibly frustrating to see how many people, often times for the sake of a trope or a ship dynamic, make him one dimensional. either he’s a cold, almost brutal s*x predator, or he’s a tortured angsty soul that’s meek and emotionally vulnerable the moment he trusts someone enough, or he’s dramatically waxing poetic in his head about his feelings for X Y or Z, or possibly worst of all, he’s a mindless one-fit-for-all doll that caters to whatever ship he’s been placed in.

it’s not like i’m the authority on characterization, everyone has their biases, myself included, but the key to understanding xiaoge is to remember that he’s an old soul, disconnected from the world and people around him both through his particular circumstances and through the way he’s been consistently dehumanized practically since he was a baby. his sense of self is in shambles, and only begins a slow (re)construction through his slow-growing friendship with wu xie and pangzi. of course he has his doubts and fears—the whole evolution from ‘i have no connection to this world’ to ‘my one connection to this world is you’ doesn’t come out of nowhere—but those doubts aren’t expressed in conventional ways, just like any love or affection he might feel will never be thought of or expressed in grandiose or over the top ways. a lot of the things he feels just are, and it doesn’t make them less true or complex just because xiaoge isn’t one to overanalyze things and accepts and is secure in them so long as he’s been made aware of them. he’s also assertive in his judgment of things in general. i could go on and honestly i’m not sure i’m even touching the tip of the iceberg as far as fandom treatment of xiaoge goes but just. yeah.

6. which ship fans are the most annoying

this. is a very loaded question with a very loaded answer. i keep feeling like i need to make disclaimers before i say things like “if you like this it’s fine” because yes it absolutely is. i’m not telling anyone a ship is bad. but if i have to point fingers, there’s a group of people who happen to be very into particular ships with whom i’ve had. less than great interactions. so this isn’t a judgment of the ships so much as it’s a reflection of my experiences with a lot of people who happen to be vocal about liking them.

and in my time in the dmbj fandom, no group of people has been more aggravating to me than ls shippers and lc character shippers in general. and tbh i can extend that to the people who make shipping every possible character combination under the sun their entire personality. again it’s fine if you like any of these things. but that i’ve personally experienced, too many of these people manage to often offer the unholy combination of being extremely pushy about their preferences even when someone politely expresses they’re not into them, and having the worst takes imaginable on any given character they claim to like. it’s to the point where while i initially had no particularly strong feelings about ls as a character, i genuinely do not like him now and do not want to hear about him in general. and tbh by extension i’m not the biggest fan of lc and his characters just because i unfortunately associate him with these people and their behavior. you can imagine how much i enjoy the fact that these are also the group of people who’ve effectively silently bullied a number of other people out of fandom spaces enough that they’re now the face of the dmbj fandom on a number of platforms.

8. common fandom opinion that everyone is wrong about

once again this could apply to so many things. but i think the one thing that gets me the most is the very widespread opinion that dmbj as a canon is inconsistent and full of plot holes and makes no sense. i’ve had people tell me that dmbj canon doesn’t exist because the canon is so incoherent and incohesive, and that the fandom likes it that way because it’s more fun. and that’s just a preference for fanon over canon that’s being justified by passing it off as a fact for some reason.

it’s fine to have preferences, but i draw the line at intentional misinformation. and once again, at the risk of sounding like a broken record, it’s telling of people having largely engaged with the dramas over the books, because the books, while imperfect and sometimes leaving things unanswered (and even then that’s becoming a moot point seeing as npss is tying up a lot of those loose ends in the more recent arc of the story that predictably over half of the fandom is unaware of because it hasn’t been adapted), very rarely end up having major discrepancies. the books, which sorry to say are very much the definitive canon, are actually very cohesive both for plot and characters, and the loose ends, while frustrating, are never to the detriment of the plot. nothing is openly contradictory, or rarely. and with such an extensive source material that doesn’t hand you answers on a gold platter, it also requires some close reading of seemingly innocuous details that become relevant down the line, which can get complicated given the sheer amount of information.

so while it’s not necessarily easy, no dmbj is not full of ‘pits haha’. people only think that because a) they’ve only watched the dramas which are an absolute mess and b) it makes them feel justified in considering dmbj like some free-for-all chinese tomb raiding themed dnd game they can remix ad infinitum, when i honestly don’t understand why that even needs justification. you can enjoy fanon without dunking on both the canon and the people who enjoy engaging with it idk.

17. there should be more of this type of fic/art

this is honestly a great question and i had to think about it for a bit, so i’m going to offer two (ish) options. the first kind of general one is i wish there were more book-centric fics instead of drama-centric ones, because while i enjoy the shows for different reasons, i love the books and the specific vibe they have, and just overall i prefer them by a fair margin. i’d specifically love fic about anything post restart but that’s a pipe dream tbh.

the second is i wish there were more gen fics about the main characters? i know there are a number of gen fics out there, but a lot of them tend to include or focus on minor characters i don’t particularly care for, and so much of the fic involving the iron triangle specifically tends to either be shippy, or even when it’s gen is still flirting a very close line to shippy that’s gen only in name and hinges on the fact it doesn’t include s*x or kissing or explicit mentions of relationship status. but i want the gen fic where it’s just wu xie and pangzi goofing off over a beer, the gen fic where it’s just pangzi trying to get a rise out of xiaoge by telling him ridiculous dirty jokes as they clean xilaimian’s kitchen while xiaoge stays impassive and eventually wu xie comes back from wherever he was and digs at pangzi for it. i want the gen fic where it’s just wu xie and xiaoge on a walk in the mountains, no talking, just enjoying each other’s presence and the peace the silence brings.

special mention to i would also like for ship fics that include one pair in the iron triangle to not write off the other member for very obvious reasons. like shipping pangxie and conveniently taking xiaoge out of the picture by writing him off as ace (which is a hc i vibe with but not when it’s a poor excuse for excluding him). or like shipping pingxie and just not including pangzi in situations where he very much would be. romance and friendship are different types of relationships but both are as valuable and can and should coexist without invalidating each other.

[intuitive-revelations]

Ok so... that episode. Mixed thoughts. First half I felt was really strong. The second half...well.

As usual I'm going to kind of vomit my thoughts out as bullet points. It'll be quite rough though, as I'm way too tired to break these down more carefully right now, and just want to say my piece before I go to bed:

LOL at UNIT being so out in the open now. Couldn't help but think of all the big bold 'secret' signs from the classic series when I saw that.

The Vlinx is a really odd addition... did anyone else think about Splinx (from the Mines of Terror game) when they heard the name?

MEL! I did find it curious that some of the reporting on her appearance was ambiguous about when it would be, so I guess that explains that. Kind of an odd choice for a UNIT / Toymaker story, but establishing her as a character at UNIT works fine.

Now that I think about it, wasn't POTD specifically written with awareness of who / what RTD would be using in the specials? If so, I guess that explains why Mel didn't play a part in the plot.

Speaking of which, they're definitely going for this UNIT spin-off aren't they? I mean... makes sense. It seems they're building off what we saw in POTD anyway.

Trinity Wells coming back was a fun surprise, given how long it's been since we've seen her.

The political commentary of 'being right' is kind of perfect. Between this and the trans representation in The Star Beast, it kind of feels like RTD is laying out this thesis for the next few years.

I kind of like how they did the Toymaker in this one? Though he's perhaps a little too flamboyant and 'Master'-y for me, I do think the stuff with his accents etc was quite clever. I also think there was clearly some thought about the more dated racial stuff with the character, which that line about the weather kinda felt like it was hinting at?

I liked all the little ways they hinted at the Toymaker's "crystal guardian" backstory, with him sitting outside of "Chaos and Order".

Speaking of which... did he imply he beat the the Black and White Guardians? Cause if so...

Not gonna lie, when the Doctor started talking about a mistake he made when he was young, a part of me really genuinely thought they were about to mention Divided Loyalties. The line about the 'face' the Toymaker wore didn't help.

I'm also glad we got the Celestial Toyroom stuff, as I wasn't sure how much we were going to get in this episode? I think the creepiness with modern effects was great. I kind of wish we got to spend more time there though, ala the original story.

Conversely, I also feel like we could have gotten a bit more out of the idea of the Toymaker escaping into the universe? We got a glimpse of that in 'realistic' terms with the outer world, and a more campy fun vibe inside UNIT, but I would equally love much more focus on the world going mad, both mentally, but also physically. I dunno, it feels like there's two ambitious stories you could have gone with, but the episode kind of half-and-halfed it.

The stuff with Amy, Clara, Bill and the Flux. I needed that. Seriously. As someone whose literally spent all last week thinking about how it's all been one line of tragedies for the Doctor, connected from one to the other, getting that acknowledged in text was great.

The twist with the Master getting trapped too was a bizarre addtion, and honestly unnecessary. It felt like that story (I can't remember which, sorry EU fans, an EDA I think) which offhandedly implies both the Master and Rani are dead. I feel it could have worked a bit better if it was another major character we haven't heard of in some time, like Rassilon or someone, instead of someone we saw just a few episodes ago.

I will say the games were disappointing. I get there's only so much you can do with recognisable simple games, but I definitely wish we got something a bit more complex than "biggest number wins" and "catch". This is a story that really needed a good resolution, ideally based on the Doctor outwitting the Toymaker, and we didn't really get that. I'm not upset about it, just felt weak.

That being said, the focus on rules with regards to 'best of three' was perfect. Exactly what I wanted more of tbh.

I'm surprised by the "One Who Waits", after being teased in marketing as referring to the Toymaker, actually being someone else. RTD's been doing a surprising amount of sequel hooking actually...

I'll get more into the mechanics in a second, but I do like the resolution being about the Doctor's own mental health? It feels like the right conclusion, not just based on the past couple episodes, but also based on Thirteen's character arc, as well as everything that happened before her. I'm sure fans will (rightfully) eat that up and talk about it a lot.

Ok, so let's seperate out the BIG thing, and my thoughts on it. Warning: I'm about to get uncharacteristically negative for me:

I had seen the leaks about the bigeneration, and am really disappointed at how accurate they were, though I had kind of accepted it based on the accuracy of The Star Beast's leaks.

Funny enough, I genuinely do quite like ideas of weird stuff to do with regenerations in terms of splitting etc. I genuinely have had some thought before about the idea of it from an assimilation kind of view, merging together, kind of a more horror-y take on the Master's plan in POTD.

But... did we have to do this with Tennant? I mean, don't get me wrong I love him and have genuinely loved what he brought to Fourteen, distinguishing him from Ten and giving him the feel of that extra history since then... but did he really need to be the Doctor to get a life after regeneration? After all, Ten is the one who 'didn't want to go'. Granted him such a thing really feels like it's going against not just the 'embrace change' message of DW in general, but even Ten's own arc specifically?

(This is a thought I had after writing everything else here, but it's also kind of messed up that he's the one to get this conclusion, when we literally just had a whole arc about 13 and Yaz not having enough time together because of 13's incoming regeneration...?)

I don't think I need to spell out the issues of having two 'current' Doctors, not just in-universe, but also out of universe, and the shadow that now hangs over Ncuti's series, whether or not we get more with 14. The TARDIS splitting was really bad too.

That being said, there is one saving grace, in that it's seemingly implied that the rest of 14's life still comes before 15, somehow, based on what the latter said about being better because 14 will take the time to rest, recover and reflect on everything that's happened?

This is the one thing that doesn't make me want to throw the resolution away, as it does seemingly provide some clarity. If RTD sticks by that line, it would suggest it's less that there's two whole new Doctors, and more that 14 has been given some grace of having a bit more time before he turns into 15. That there's still technically a linear progression of Doctors, it's just one gets to hang around a little while to give the new one a cleaner mental slate. How on earth that would work however, is a whole other question...

I mean... couldn't we have just done this by time travel instead? Rather than introduce this whole new, kinda show-breaking concept? You could still get your hypothetical Tennant and past companions miniseries (which seems like it'll be a thing) or whatever alongside 15's own debut. Just let it be non-linear, and let us meet and travel with 15 before we get a peaceful, recovered 14 regeneration?

Also... if we ARE going play fast and loose with the ideas of regeneration... why didn't Tennant's face coming back play into this? Like... what a weird choice to make that the 'mystery' of the specials, throw in a crazy regeneration sequence... then just suggest it's a bit of a subconscious message. If we are going to get crazy with what regeneration can do, why not go all in with stuff like the Guardians of the Edge, or the Valeyard or something? Have fun with the internal identities lore of regeneration?

So yeah, to summarise my thoughts on the bigeneration... I really think RTD might have gone a step too far this time. I spent a little time after the last episode talking about how the lack of resolution on the Flux was one of my bigger complaints about the Chibnall era, but this writing decision feels even more baffling. If Doctor Who is going to have a 'jumping the shark' moment, we might have just witnessed it.

That being said, as someone who hates being too negative, I did find a silver lining in that the dialogue implies he's planned ahead how to get out of some of these issues, with regards to two concurrent Doctors etc. It just doesn't feel good being in this situation at all, when it wasn't needed in the first place.

Overall thoughts

I didn't hate the episode. In fact I was very much in to most of it! There were a lot of good ideas, across the Toymaker, the Giggle etc. although I do feel some were woefully underused within the episode. It's just that they're all kind of marred by that one big bad idea at the end.

Like I said, the stuff focusing on the Toymaker and the Doctor's history, plus his time since he travelled with Donna was great. The Giggle was a fun satirical concept, if again underused, and the Toymaker's argument for targetting Earth was pretty great. The resolution of forcing the Doctor to settle down, for a little while, and be with friends is decent too, and a nice conclusion to come to, even if the way it came about was a mess.

I suspect, and hope, we might get some more details not just about how this will all work (or maybe just opening up the question without getting too specific), but also about any possible plans for spin-offs and whether or not they will overlap with the stuff in this episode, which may or may not alleviate my worries.

But for now.... yeah, I'm concerned, sorry.

[kenzan-kiwami]

(screenshotting the replies and posting because i feel weird replying from my main <\3 hope you don't mind the ping @startledpixel )

i never even thought about it happening that way... haha... excuse me while i go scream in a corner for a couple of minutes

it ties in really well to the sort of recurring motif i see through his life that the only time he's allowed to be truly happy with himself and his place in the world is after his "death" and recovery. kazama is a very complicated character to think about when it comes to his motivations and his relationships with the people he's close with - i don't think he's very good at prioritising his emotional investments (nishiki being the obvious example, but also the way he doesn't send any letters to kiryu in jail until the last day before his parole), so to add an extra layer of tragedy to the whole thing i like to think that he hadn't been making as much time for kashiwagi towards the end than he maybe could have been. not in a premeditated disloyalty sense, of course, but he's got his hands more than full with the whole embezzling 10 billion yen from the tojo coffers gambit... kashiwagi being the way he is though would be all the more desperate for reconciliation, and to then not get it before kazama kicks it would be the icing on the shit cake

but yeah KNOWING adachi was in the building with everyone else must have been like reliving his second-worst nightmare... meeting this man he thought he'd be able to settle down with for the first time in sixty odd years but still constantly having to worry after him. i still adore no idling as an exploration of those feelings after the fact & i find myself coming back to it an awful lot as someone who doesn't generally read fiction more than once or twice unless i'm trying to find something specific (if you may allow me my nerd moment)

it's something i would love to explore more myself, but i don't really feel i have the means to do it in a way in which i'd enjoy the end product... but i suppose that's what commissions are for!

ANYWAY, apparently, everyone kiryu meets in his side story gives him some kind of reward, and i'm having A Time thinking about what he might get from kashiwagi. i'm trying not to set myself up to be disappointed by what happens, but there's a big part of me that hopes kashiwagi pulls "suzuki" to the side and leaves whoever else on the bar for a while so they get a chance to actually catch up. i think at this point both of them really need something like that, because i doubt there's any way kashiwagi didn't get the news that kiryu "died" in 2016

the other big thing that's got me physically shaking is the idea they might finally namedrop him. and uuhhh if they still let us karaoke at survive then i hope judgement gets its own cinematic. : )

[weisshapt]

hello! hope you dont mind me asking but can you tell me random facts about ilithiya? i'm so interested in her!

mind? do i mind? do you mind that i'm about to run headfirst through your walls to shake you by the shoulders? no? fantastic. in all (semi-)seriousness though, this ask brought me so much joy my hands shook.

putting this under a cut because even though you said random facts i definitely got carried away.

ilithiya was primarily the result of watching the amc mayfair witches show while i had bg3 brainrot and the answer to the question "what would a mayfair witches sort of situation look like in baldurs gate?" and since then i've devolved and lost control of a good 37% of my faculties.

ilithiya, as i've said in one of her edits, is the seventeenth generation of de vryes warlocks (technically sixteenth to bear the surname), all of whom have kept a pact going with the same age old demon, taltos. the pact was originally made and bound in blood: the blood of the first warlock, ayana, and the blood of the demon himself, drops of which were both poured into the locket that's become a sort of talisman for each de vryes "heir." and by heir i mean the warlock of the next generation that taltos himself would communicate with and show himself to (and was likely somewhat present during the conception of, but that's a whole other thing). through their pact, each generation has made the family stronger, wealthier, more powerful, all the while making taltos grow the same. the family itself is a bit.....complicated. somewhat targaryen-esque at times. i've been working on casting and planning for a massive family tree edit that i'd like to make soon but i can't promise how soon it'll actually be posted.

as for ilithiya herself, she's almost entirely what you'd expect a noble rich girl to be. spoiled, selfish, unused to hearing the word no in any serious capacity. she's still a bit of a troublemaker in her family, especially when compared to "perfect, pretty, proper licinia" (her older sister), but she can also be precocious and clever and curious, and she's more than just a little talented. or at least, she was pre-tadpole.

i do want to eventually post more in depth analyses of ilithiya and her relationship with taltos but you asked for random facts and i've blathered on enough so! now for some random bits and pieces:

when ilithiya was young, and taltos asked her, as he does every year and has done to every heir before her, what she would wish for for her birthday, she asked for a pony. on her birthday, she was presented with a jet black yearling horse, whom she called nemetes. throughout her life she has constantly snuck out to go riding, loving nothing more than the feeling of freedom gained from the near flight of a horse running at full speed.

something i think might set her apart from some of the past generations of her family is the particular nature of her relationship with taltos. i will say it is definitely and unavoidably a sort of grooming situation (he's been with her her entire life, whispering in her ear, endearing himself to her, molding and shaping the woman she's become) but ilithiya obviously isn't going to see it like that. she's particularly fixated on him, if not outright partially in love with him. it's something the devil on her shoulder seems perfectly content to encourage. this could also stem from the fact that the binding ceremony wherein an heir fully accepts their role and their connection to taltos is a bigger event in the family than their wedding, complete with a pseudo-wedding night. all her life she's been told she'll one day marry, but that her, in essence, marriage to taltos would always come first.

i haven't decided yet who ilithiya will romance in-game, because there are just. so many good options. the fact is she was nabbed on her way to meet a potential groom, so she's of the mind that it's high time she did her duty to her family, even if she's terrified of losing taltos once he chooses the next heir. on instinct i'd say astarion would fit her the most in terms of personality as they both seem very blase about helping others and both have a distinct want for power, as much of it as they can get their hands on. but again. she's looking to have a child eventually, and as far as i'm aware, that's not something she could do with a vampire. still, the allure of vampirism itself is something she finds herself thinking about often, until, that is, she's informed of how rarely a vampire allows their spawn to become their equal. gale would only be an option because she can tell he's of both powerful magical and noble stock which is exactly what she'd be looking for, but their personalities would clash too much. wyll, on the other hand, is a sort of dichotomy i'm incredibly curious about exploring. the warlock that desperately wants out of his pact versus the warlock who's petrified of losing hers almost to the point of it driving her mad (especially now that she can't feel or communicate with taltos due to the worm and she's never been without him before). the way the two could interact intrigues me and it's something i've been thinking about a lot.

other than her horse, she also has a cat named nasir.

[petrichorpetals]

Due to a series of circumstances, I ended up going through my old Facebook and I really don't get how I managed to not change in ten years lmao. I made the exact type of posts I would make today. Really expected to go back and find myself cringy but nope. RIP to those of you that found your younger selves cringy but I'm built different. 😅

It's weird but I'm strangely glad that I haven't changed. I even remember ten years ago going through some of my old stuff and remarking the same thing. I've never deleted any of my old stuff to try to let it be a mark of progress and I'm glad. Yeah my writing and interpersonal skills have improved, but I've not fundamentally changed as a person. I might not have gotten everything right the first try, but I did my best with the information I had at hand. At the end of the day, I'm still recognizable as me.

[minkoq]

hmmmm angry fuck w bakugou listennn hear me outttt yall was arguing it’s heated nd turned into an angry fuck

🍓 𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔

angry sex with katsuki bakugou; fem! reader (aged up)

warnings: nsfw, insults, mean! katsuki, facefucking, deepthroating, impact play, degradation kink, 69, spitting, breath play, fingering, squirting, overstimulation, p in v, mating press, dirty talk, dacryphilia, creampie

a/n: most filthy smut i've ever written. enjoy :D

⋮ ⌗ ┆˚₊‧꒰ა 🍓 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

first of all, katsuki doesn't get that mad at you. and when he does, he usually wants to communicate his problems with you properly than to just bottle it up and then to snap at you. but today was way different.

you both walking through the front door, he was walking in front of you as you walked behind him with your gaze to the floor. "katsuki, i'm sorr-" he cut you off with a sharp glare before speaking up himself, "shut. up." his voice was on edge, "sorry won't cut it this time."

he was seething, and you knew it. "i told you there was a villain in the area, and you still decided to come to my agency! are you stupid?" he didn't mean to raise his voice, but he was so fucking worried about you. "you would've been dead by now if i wasn't there!" the thought of anything happening to you made his heart ache.

you bit the inside of your cheek as you listened to his words, "i just wanted to see you.." your voice trailed off, katsuki's eye twitched in annoyance. "and i told you to stay home! we see each other everyday, are you so dumb that you can't realise any dangers?"

these were the last words he said to you before going upstairs to your shared bedroom, to cool off probably. when the sun began to finally set and the moon came up you decided to go to sleep, and apologise to him. properly. he must've been so worried about you, you're his fiancé, he's literally planning on marrying you, and you still decided to be this reckless.

you opened the bedroom door ever so gently, closing the door behind you with a soft click. you stood awkwardly at the door, eyeing his back as he sat on his side of the bed, you took a deep breath in. the mattress dipped underneath your weight as you sat beside him. "i just missed you all day."

you probably shouldn't have said that, this just made him angry again. reminded him of how stupid you are sometimes, just when you wanted to lean in to kiss him he grabbed your chin softly. his sharp eyes gazed over your face. "missed me?" he scoffed out, "is this what this is all about?"

your cheeks heated up when he finally found you out, "are you such a stupid slut that you need to come to my agency to get your filthy pussy filled?" he asked you as he got up from the bed, towering over you as your chin was still in his grasp. his jaw clenched at your silence, "answer me."

"yes," you whimpered out, "dumb fucking girl." katsuki shot back at you, "i'll give you what you wanted right now, how does that sound?" he asked you as he slowly undid his belt and unzipped his pants.

you just nodded shamelessly as your beady eyes looked up at him, "words," he just hissed out. "sounds good, y.. yeah. yes." you stumbled over your words, it made him smirk. you were amusing him. "good."

and this is how you ended up sprawled naked on the bed whilst his meaty cock thrusted into your mouth, he gave no regards to how rough he was being. he parted your legs with his hands as his hips slammed down onto your chin and mouth. your gurgles and suffocated moans sounded truly filthy, he pressed his whole cock down your throat as his balls sat perfectly at your nose. "fuck," he groaned out as he rubbed your leaking pussy with his fingers.

"this is what gets your stupid pussy wet? having my fat cock fucking your throat? disgusting." he spat at you as he picked up his pace once more, he didn't even give you time to catch your breath properly as you downed his cock. his breath was fanning over your heated pussy, your clit twitched. "fuck, she's leaking." katsuki raised your hips as he slowly dragged his tongue down your cunt.

you moaned onto his cock, you could barely taste the salty pre cum from how fast his girthy cock thrusted into your throat. he raised his hand and roughly slapped your pussy. you choked on his cock, the numbing pain got to your head. your cunt aching from the pain but you wanted more, needed more. and he knew it too by how much your pussy continued leaking.

his hips stuttered as he felt himself close, but he picked up his pace once more before shooting his load down your throat without warning. your eyes rolled to the back of your head as you squealed onto his cock, which was muffling every noise. you choked as his semen spurted into your mouth, barley being able to breathe.

he took his hard dick out of your mouth, so you could finally catch your breath. you wheezed as he changed positions and kneeled down beside you, his length still stood proud and stiff between his legs. his left hand was roughly kneading your tits as his right hand assaulted your cunt. "such a fucking slut, huh?" he spat out in a mocking tone.

your moans were strained as his fingers found your entrance, roughly spreading your pussy as he thrusted two of his big fingers in. you squirmed and squealed on his fingers, your pussy clenching down onto him and never wanting to let go. "you're so desperate," you could just nod your head stupidly at his words. your legs were shaking at his rough treatment.

you felt the knot in your stomach snap and your pussy was gushing out all the clear liquid, his pace didn't go down, even when you squirted like a fountain. your high pitched moans were truly music to katsuki's ears. he wouldn't let you calm down once tonight.

your orgasm quickly turned into overstimulation, your head was thrown back in pleasure. "makin' a mess? gross." he hissed at you with a mocking laugh, your cunt was all wet and puffy, your clit twitching. he removed his fingers from your used pussy and smacked his hand down on it once more.

you couldn't even form a coherent sentence, your mouth spilling with whimpers, moans, groans, squeals. oh, you were being so loud. katsuki shifted once more, he kneeled down on the wet spots on the bed. his fat cock slapping against your wet core. "let's see if she can handle this one." he groaned out.

and with that he thrusted his whole cock inside your twitching pussy, reaching to your cervix as your hands gripped the sheets. you cried out, you babbled dumbly as he forced your ankles up over his shoulders and slowly leaned down. he pressed your ankles onto the mattress beside your head.

somehow his cock reached even deeper, his tip kissing your cervix with every shove. "k.. ka.. katsukiii..!" you gasped out, your spongy walls were quivering under his abuse. "shut the fuck up." he hissed out as his balls slapped against your plumpy ass.

being folded in half like this made you see stars, his whole body was pressed on top of you as he basically split you in half on his cock. your pussy could only squirt in return, all your liquid shooting onto his cock, just making everything sound way more lewd. plap, plap, plap.

your mouth hung open, by now tears were streaming down your face. you weren't sure how much more your poor pussy could handle, but you needed to find out. this all was so overwhelmingly great, no need to think of anything besides this fat cock breaking your pathetic cunt.

"gonna fill this stupid girl," he groaned out as his thrust grew harsher, "yes.. yes. oh, yeah, yes!" you moaned out stupidly, he gave your pussy a few rough but slow thrusts as he shot his second load into you. "fuck," he groaned out as he rode out his orgasm. his cock twitching as his cum spurted into your puffy pussy. he took his cock out, many strings of semen connected him to your abused cunt. he smacked it a few times as his white sticky cum dripped out of your pussy onto your asshole. you were quivering, "let's stuff this one too, yeah?" katsuki laughed out as he smeared his cum onto your asshole. you just nodded dreamily.

[witchywithwhiskey]

this time of year

pairing: friend!steve rogers x female reader

summary: you've kept your feelings for your friend, steve rogers, quiet for years—but when you're at the holiday market with your whole group of friends, some things come to light, and you don't think you can keep pretending you don't desperately want him anymore.

warnings: 18+ content (minors dni!!!), fluff, light angst, smut, oral sex (m and f receiving), piv sex, protection, fingering (f receiving), nipple play, multiple orgasms, kissing, making out, dirty talk, praise kink, pet names (sunshine), aftercare, happily ever after—this is probably the most vanilla sex i've written in a while but it's still porn with feelings.

word count: 11.9k

a/n: my first entry for @the-slumberparty's december daze challenge, and it's technically still december 1 where i live (just barely)!!! i used the prompt "Can I put my cold hands up your sweater for warmth?" and had an idea i really liked and just ran with it! i promise most of my december fics won't be 10k+ words—mainly because i don't think i'd survive it 😅 but i hope y'all enjoy this soft and sweet and smutty start to december!! ♡

december daze challenge masterlist

Teasing tingles of chill danced across your skin as the crisp December wind brushed against your cheeks, making you huddle deeper into the warmth of your winter coat. You pushed your hands deeper into your pockets, but it didn’t do much. You’d forgotten your mittens, and your fingers felt nearly frozen. 

It didn’t help that you and your friends had been meandering through one of the city’s holiday market for more than a few hours, the cold of the evening sinking deep into your bones. Unfortunately, there were only so many cups of hot chocolate one person could consume before they made themselves sick, and you’d reached that limit. 

Still, you were having fun—too much fun to complain about the cold or to try to beg off early. That was why you smiled as you watched your best friend, Yelena Belova, duck into one of the market stalls, her green eyes going wide as they raked over the vendor’s display of knives.

You trailed a little slowly behind the rest of your friends—Natasha Romanoff, Bucky Barnes and Steve Rogers—beneath the pop-up tent, distracted by the chill in your fingers as you rubbed them against your body through the material of your coat, trying to get them warm.

The wintry wind cut through the market again and, despite the trembling of your body, you smiled as you breathed in the scent of it. Beneath the pine smell from the evergreen trees being sold at the big tent near the entrance and the swirling richness of buttery baked goods, there was a fresh scent that made you turn your face upward.

Gray clouds were rolling in overhead, blotting out the deep navy of the evening sky, and you knew, deep in your bones, that it was going to snow. A smile curled the edges of your lips and you let your eyes fall closed as you breathed in that fresh scent of oncoming snow. 

You loved this time of year because you loved the snow. 

Everything about it conjured up memories of sitting by a crackling fire, wrapped in a cozy blanket, watching the beautiful flakes fall from the sky and dust everything in a perfect wintry cloak. You could spend hours sitting by a window, watching the snow come down, and you were suddenly looking forward to doing just that once you got home that evening. 

When you finally opened your eyes and turned away from the sky, you found Steve lingering in the entrance of the tent where your friends were browsing, an intensity in his gaze as he looked at you. He didn’t look away when you caught him staring, simply held your gaze, letting you see the heat swirling in the depths of his bright blue eyes.

That heat had begun appearing in Steve’s eyes more and more when he looked at you, and you knew it had started after a certain night at the bar your friends frequented a few weeks prior. But you’d been determinedly ignoring that look in Steve’s eyes ever since that night—just like you’d been ignoring what exactly had happened between the two of you. 

As fast as the memory of that night sprang to mind, you shoved it aside, reminding yourself that there was no use in dredging it up. What you and Steve had done that night had the potential to ruin all of your relationships, and no matter how much you might’ve wanted reenact the night at the bar, your friend group was too important to you to risk it.

Even after years of knowing them, you still felt like your addition to the group was precarious because you’d joined so much later. Steve, Bucky, Nat and Yelena had all known each other since they were teenagers, and you’d only met them in your early twenties. You’d sat near Yelena at your first job after college, and it had been best friends at first sight—or, at first snarky comment, anyway. 

She’d adopted you as her best friend and introduced you to the others since you were new to the city and didn’t know anyone. You’d liked Steve from the moment you met him, but you’d kept a tight lid on your crush since you were more concerned about fitting into the group as seamlessly as possible, and you figured following your feelings would unnecessarily rock the boat. 

Still, despite your intention of taking your crush on Steve to your grave, you couldn’t ignore the way he’d grown into himself as you all had gotten older. 

Gone was the boy-next-door blond hair and clean-shaven face of the man you’d first met. Steve’s hair had darkened and he’d recently let it grow long enough that it was beginning to curl at the nape of his neck. He’d also grown out his beard, keeping it thick but neatly trimmed.

Steve had also, somewhere along the way, learned how to dress his tall form—and do it well. 

That night at the holiday market, he’d worn light gray slacks, a dark charcoal sweater that you desperately wanted to rub your cheek against to see if it was as soft as it looked, and a black wool overcoat. It was an outfit that had you nearly drooling when you’d met up with your friends, unable to tear your eyes away from how Steve’s broad shoulders and trim waist filled out the clothes.

Despite the chill of the evening, Steve hadn’t seemed the least bit cold, and you’d caught yourself thinking more than once how warm it would feel to be wrapped up in his strong arms. Your fingers would never have gotten so miserably frozen if you’d snuck them beneath Steve’s coat or in his pockets…

With a start, you realized you’d been staring back at Steve for a long, lingering moment, and heat bloomed in your cheeks. You didn’t want him to get the wrong idea—though, at that moment, you were struggling to figure out what exactly the wrong idea was—so you ducked your head and pretended like you were bundling deeper into your coat as you made to move past him into the tent.

“Are you alright, sunshine?” Steve asked as you passed him, his hand landing gently on your arm. Even through your coat, you could feel the warmth of his touch; it made you pause and glance up at him.

You realized your mistake immediately. You were too close to Steve—far too close. So close you could smell the rich, masculine scent of his cologne and feel the heat radiating off his body. It made you want to bury your face in his neck and inhale deeply, to wrap yourself up in his warmth until your bones didn’t even remember what the cold felt like.

“I-I’m ok,” you said in a shaky voice, more rattled by Steve’s closeness than the December wind cutting through the city, and you dropped your gaze to the gold pendant around his neck. 

It glinted in the soft light of the market stall, and you remembered it had been a gift from his Irish Catholic mother. You used the memory of Steve telling you about the pendant to ground yourself and your voice came out stronger. 

“Just cold.”

“D’you want some more hot chocolate?” Steve asked, and there was a hopeful note in his tone, like he was offering to get it for you, but you were quick to shake your head.

“Any more and I think my body will be more hot chocolate than water,” you joked, trying to ignore the emotions swirling in your chest like snowflakes on a wintry gale.

When Steve chuckled, you couldn’t help but look back up at him, finding his blue eyes sparkling as he gazed down at you, affection clear in the lines of his face. 

Slowly, his smile eased into something else—something heavier, an expression that was almost yearning. It made the fluttering flakes in your chest swirl more frenziedly while a warmth bloomed somewhere lower, throbbing more to life the longer Steve looked at you with those darkened blue eyes. His expression spoke of things you’d never dare give voice to.

For another long moment, you and Steve just stared at each other, standing too close just inside the canopy of the vendor at the holiday market. A tension you refused to acknowledge crackled in the air around you.

Of their own volition, your eyes dropped to Steve’s mouth, his lower lip looking so soft and pink amid the dark brown of his beard. For what felt like the millionth time in the last few weeks, ever since that night at the bar, you imagined kissing him—how soft his mouth would be, how warm and inviting, and the feel of his rough beard rasping over your cheeks. 

“Hey Steve, c’mere!”

Natasha’s call finally broke the spell that had fallen over you and Steve, and you jumped back, only in that moment realizing how close you’d been. Close enough that when you ducked your head and turned away from him, making your way over to Yelena and Bucky, that you missed Steve’s warmth almost immediately. 

You let out a shaky breath, trying to ease the tension and whirling emotions in your chest, and slid between your friends, who were still looking at the knives on sale. Looping one arm through Yelena’s, you rested your head against Bucky’s shoulder, taking comfort in your friends’ warmth, even if it wasn’t as soothing as Steve’s had been.

“Both of you already have too many knives,” you said by way of a greeting. Your comment made both of them snort derisively, which made you smirk since it had been your intention to get a reaction out of them. 

“There’s no such thing,” Yelena scoffed, tearing her eyes away from a double-edged dagger with an engraved handle to glance sideways at you. Her gaze met yours and then slid over your shoulder.

You followed it to where Natasha and Steve’s heads were ducked together. They were standing near a display of jewelry and you figured Nat was helping Steve pick out a Christmas present for someone, though you couldn’t think of who. You frowned.

“When are you going to put him out of his misery?”

Bucky’s gruff question drew you out of your thoughts of trying to remember someone in Steve’s life who he might be buying jewelry for, and you looked at your friend. Without even seeing your reflection, you knew confusion was written plainly across your face.

“What?” you asked, a little sharper than you’d intended, but you didn’t appreciate the implication that you were making Steve miserable.

Bucky cut his eyes to you, then slid them to Yelena, giving your best friend a pointed look. You spun your head around to your other side in time to watch Yelena’s mouth flatten into a reproachful frown. 

Suddenly, you got the distinct impression that your friends were having an argument about you, though you couldn’t even begin to wonder what it could be about, except that it had something to do with Steve.

It took a moment of silent arguing before Yelena and Bucky seemed to come to an agreement. Yelena looked at you, a gentle expression on her face that made your stomach drop with anxiety—which only worsened when she put her free hand on your arm that was still looped through hers. 

However, before she could voice whatever bad news she clearly had to tell you, Bucky cut in.

“You know no one would be upset if you and Steve dated, right?” he asked bluntly, his eyes intense and searching when you turned to look at him. “We all know you like each other.”

If you’d been drinking hot chocolate at that moment, you would’ve spit it out all over Bucky and the display of pretty decorative knives. 

Thankfully, you weren’t. But you still managed to sputter and open your mouth repeatedly while you searched for the words to address the preposterousness of Bucky’s statement.

“I do not—”

Whatever weak protest you were going to utter was cut short when Yelena blurted, “We know you kissed.”

Sucking in a sharp breath, the snowflakes that had been fluttering in your chest when you’d been standing with Steve sharpened into icy daggers of unease. You whirled on your best friend. “Pardon?”

“I saw you guys at the bar that night—I went back to get my scarf…” Yelena explained quickly, having the good grace to look apologetic, both for what she’d seen and for bringing it up. “I know you’ve liked Steve for ages, even if you haven’t said anything,” she rushed on, as if she thought if she spoke fast enough, it would make it easier to hear. “I was so excited it was finally happening that I blurted it out to Nat and she told Bucky—we were just so happy for you both.”

You floundered again, your mouth opening and closing as you processed your best friend’s words. It was almost too much to take in. Not only did everyone know what had happened between you and Steve that night at the bar, but it hadn’t changed anything. You’d told yourself for years that nothing could happen between you and Steve because it would throw off the whole balance of the group, but something had happened and it hadn’t done anything. 

“I—”

Again, you were cut off, though it was seemingly Bucky’s turn, and your head swiveled back to him on your other side, feeling a bit like a broken bobblehead. 

“He’s liked you too, for what it’s worth,” Bucky said. Your face must’ve conveyed disbelief because he went on. “He’s been talking about you since Yelena first introduced you to everyone, but he didn’t know how you felt,” he said, cutting his eyes to Yelena with the barest hint of a glare, “and didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.” 

Hearing that Steve liked you was officially too much for you to bear. The dawning realization that you could’ve been with Steve without risking your friendships with Yelena, Bucky and Nat was like a yawning, desolate chasm waiting to swallow you whole. You’d lost so much time because you were so afraid of losing them all, and it hurt—it hurt enough that it took you a moment to realize Yelena was talking again.

“We thought someone had finally made a move, but then you guys were pretending like nothing happened,” she was saying, and you turned back to her, your mind so overwhelmed that you no longer felt cold, only numb. “None of us wanted to bring it up because, y’know, I wasn’t supposed to have seen it.” She shot you an apologetic grimace before plowing on, her expression turning gentle again. “You know we’d never stop being your friends, even if something happened with you and Steve, right?”

Your heart was racing, the fear of change quickly eclipsing the fear of losing any more time with Steve. You’d been friends with Yelena, Bucky, Nat and Steve for so long that you couldn’t even imagine what it would be like if the two of you started dating—let alone what might happen if you broke up. Shaking your head, you refused to acknowledge Yelena’s assurance. Even if they’d still be friends with you, nothing would be the same. 

“Nothing happened,” you said vehemently, even as you choked on the words, the lie tasting like ash on your tongue. But you couldn’t seem to stop. “We were drunk, it meant nothing.” 

But then Bucky—blunt, too-perceptive Bucky—broke into your thoughts and pulled you up short with another simple question.

“Are you sure about that?” he asked, his tone not unkind.

You opened your mouth to snap a quick answer, but the ‘yes’ died in your throat. Because of course something had happened, and of course it meant everything.

For the first time in weeks, you gave yourself permission to remember that night. 

You’d tried to forget it—forget the softness of Steve’s lips on yours, forget the heat of his tongue as it slipped into your mouth, forget the pleasant scrape of his beard against your skin and the gentle way he’d held your face as he deepened the kiss. 

Your first kiss with Steve Rogers had been glorious and messy and too short and too perfect—and it had meant everything to you.

But then you remembered what had happened after, the way you’d pulled away, even though you’d been the one to initiate the kiss in the first place, and panicked as soon as your mind had caught up with what you’d done. 

The rest of the memory was a blur, the anxiety of the moment softening the edges, but you distinctly remembered extricating yourself from Steve—which had felt a little like cutting off a limb—before telling him it was a mistake and it couldn’t happen again.

Back at the market, you buried your face in your hands, and almost sobbed at the memory. “I’ve already ruined things,” you mumbled miserably into your frozen fingers, squeezing your eyes shut to keep the tears at bay.

Bucky made a humming noise, as if he was considering your words. “Whatever happened between you two, it hasn’t changed Steve’s feelings for you,” he said, squeezing your wrist gently until you looked at him. He stared at you for a long moment, making sure you heard him. “So my question stands: When are you going to put him—and yourself—out of this misery?” 

Your friends let you sit with that question for a silent moment, then Yelena selected one of the knives, claiming it was an early Christmas present for herself and made her way over to the checkout. 

Steve was also apparently buying something, accepting a small wrapped package from the cashier that he slipped into his pocket. You were too overwhelmed by your thoughts to be curious about it anymore though.

You stood with Bucky near the entrance to the tent, waiting for your friends to finish their transactions while your mind swirled. You were grateful to your friend for leaving you alone with your thoughts, though you knew it was only because Bucky was confident he’d made his point.

And he had. Oh how he had.

Your mind and heart were a mess. You’d spent so many years telling yourself that you could never let anyone catch on about your feelings for Steve, because if they did, it would lead to the end of the friend group. But they’d all known for weeks, and nothing had changed. 

Well, nothing except apparently Bucky and Yelena had taken it upon themselves to play matchmaker. And you wouldn’t have been surprised if Natasha had been in on the ploy as well, distracting Steve purposefully so Yelena and Bucky could ambush you.

Still, you couldn’t fully silence the tiny voice of fear deep in your heart that insisted that if you and Steve got together, and things ended badly, you’d lose all your friends. 

The rest of the group had known each other for so long and it had been more than a little daunting to figure out where you fit. Adding a romantic relationship into the mix seemed like a recipe for disaster—and if it ended so badly that everyone was forced to choose sides, you couldn’t imagine them choosing yours when they’d known Steve so much longer. 

But as you watched Yelena finish paying for the knife, her words about always being your friend came back to you. She was your best friend—and you were hers. As if proving the point, she caught your eye and smiled impishly as she caught up with you, linking her arm through yours and tugging you back out into the market. 

In that moment, something settled in you. Without fully realizing it, you’d always been a little insecure in your group of friends, always worried they would kick you out at the smallest infraction. But Yelena had said it plainly—they’d always be your friends, and you owed it to them to believe her, to trust her, because that was what friendship was. 

That was what you had to do to have any kind of meaningful relationship.

As your group of friends wandered further down the row of stalls at the holiday market, you couldn’t help the way your eyes kept straying to Steve. Each time, you found him either looking at you already, or glancing your way within seconds, like he could feel your gaze. 

When you looked at him, really looked at him, you noticed a little bit of hurt in his eyes. There was only a hint of it, like he was trying to hide it from you and everyone elese, but you could see it. 

You wondered, briefly, how you’d missed it, but a part of you knew you’d been seeing it since that night at the bar. You’d just been ignoring it along with everything else swirling in his gaze. 

“When are you going to put him out of his misery?” 

You’d known you were making yourself miserable—of course you had. But the realization that you were making Steve miserable, even as he made a valiant effort to hide it, was what finally made your decision for you about what to do with everything Bucky and Yelena had told you.

No matter how scared you were that things might end badly, and you’d end up getting your heart broken and lose all your friends, you had to trust them when they said they’d always be there for you. You had to trust that Steve knew what he wanted—and that what he wanted was you.

The group came to another stop when Bucky spotted a specialty chocolate vendor and he ducked inside. Nat and Yelena followed him in—the latter giving you a meaningful look as you trailed behind before cutting her eyes to Steve. The message was clear and you nodded, giving her a playful shove that made your best friend cackle as she followed Bucky and Nat.

You stepped toward Steve where he hovered just outside the tent, and he shot you a knowing smile when he caught your eye.

“Still feeling like you’ve had enough chocolate?” he asked in a friendly tone, referencing your earlier joke. His beard twitched like he was trying to hold back a smile and it warmed your heart that he not only remembered the joke, but still found it funny.

The side of your mouth curved up in a lopsided grin, and you inched a tiny bit closer, just barely stepping into Steve’s personal space as you looked up at him.

“Yeah, I’ve had my fill,” you said, keeping your tone light. You took on a considering expression, tipping your head to the side and tapping a finger to your chin as if you were thinking. “For tonight, at least.” 

Both of you laughed, but the December wind cut through the holiday market just then, and it reminded you of how cold your fingers were, especially out in the open. You quickly shoved your hand deep into the pocket of your coat, and Steve didn’t miss the movement, drifting even closer to you.

“Do you have any gloves, sunshine?” he asked in a low, rumbly voice that had warm tingles of delight dancing down your spine, all the way to your toes. 

“No,” you said, shaking your head. Steve had moved close enough that you had to tip your head back to keep looking up at him, and you could feel the heat radiating off his larger body.

His blue eyes were sparkling in the warm, golden light of the market, and you could see the swirl of emotion in their depths that was only there when he looked at you. But there was a crease of concern between his brows, too, and you knew he was seconds away from offering to find you some gloves—or something else that would be chivalrous and perfectly friendly. 

You realized, very suddenly, that if anything was going to happen between you and Steve, anything like what had happened at the bar, you needed to make the first move. Bucky had said Steve had been worried about making you uncomfortable before that night, and you were certain it had only worsened after the kiss you’d shared. 

So, before he could say anything, you blurted the first thing that came to mind.

“Can I put my cold hands up your sweater for warmth?”

Steve’s brows lifted in surprise, and you had to bite your lip to keep yourself from trying to take the words back as soon as they’d slipped out of your mouth. And you were glad you did, because as the moment stretched on, and Steve realized you were serious, his brows lowered and his blue eyes darkened with interest.

“Ya sure about that, sunshine?” he asked, his voice low enough that you knew it was meant for only you. He ducked his head slightly, so he was nearly at your eye level, and held your gaze. “I wouldn’t want you doing anything you might regret.”

The words stung a little, but you knew you deserved them, especially after you’d told Steve that kissing him had been a mistake. So you held his gaze and stepped even closer to him, until there was barely any space left between your bodies.

“I’m sure,” you said firmly, letting Steve see the honesty in your open expression. “I know what I’m doing and I—this is what I want.” You were proud of yourself for only stumbling once, and held your breath as you waited for Steve’s response.

The corners of Steve’s mouth flickered in an eager grin, but he wiped the expression away, like he was worried that if he appeared too excited, he’d scare you away. You felt a pang of regret, and it doubled your determination to show Steve that you weren’t going to panic and run away again. 

Pulling your hands from your pockets, you brushed your fingertips against Steve’s stomach in a silent reminder of your question. 

“Can I?” you asked, your voice breathless with anticipation. 

“Yeah,” he rasped, his eyes molten with heat as he stared down at you. “Go ‘head, sunshine.”

You were cold enough that you didn’t waste any more time, slipping your fingers beneath the hem of Steve’s soft sweater and pressing your frigid fingertips to the warm, smooth skin you found. 

“Fuck, your fingers are freezing,” Steve rumbled, the muscles of his abs contracting beneath your touch like they were trying flee. But before you could apologize and pull away, Steve’s hands flattened over yours outside his sweater, pressing your palms against the hard-packed plane of his abs. “Good thing ya got me to keep you warm, sunshine,” he teased, his voice so full of charm that you melted into him. 

“Yeah, good thing,” you echoed in a whisper, the edges of your mouth curling up into a pleased smile. You shimmied closer to Steve, watching the way his blue eyes sparkled with affection as he held your gaze captive.

He wrapped you up against him, holding you in the loose cage of his warms while your fingertips stroked idly against his smooth skin. You wanted to let them wander further beneath his sweater and explore the wonders of Steve’s bare chest, but you managed to keep the urge in check since you were in public—though it was a near thing.

“You know what I like to do most in the winter?” you asked Steve, breaking the comfortable silence that had fallen over the two of you. The sounds of the market all around you were a distant soundtrack.

“What?” he asked indulgently, squeezing you slightly in his arms.

“Curl up in bed and snuggle on a snowy day,” you said with a sly smile. And then, as if a thought had just occurred to you, you tilted your head to the side. “Hey, is your bed comfy? Do you have a lot of nice warm blankets and good pillows?”

A grin pulled across Steve’s face even though he was fighting it, trying to look like he was taking your questions under serious consideration.

“Y’know, I think it’s very comfy,” he said, giving you a knowing look. He’d obviously picked up on the not-so-subtle cue that you might want him to take you back to his place, and you appreciated that he was sticking to the bit. “But it sounds like you’re an expert, so I think you should come over and be the judge of that.”

An answering grin curved your mouth and you murmured, “I’d like that.” 

Then, before you could let your fear get the best of you again, you pushed yourself up onto your tiptoes, your lips brushing against Steve’s beard as you moved to whisper in his ear. 

You shivered at the physical reminder of the coarse hair rasping deliciously against your cheeks when he’d kissed you and it took a moment to remember what you’d been about to say. When you did, you couldn’t hold in your smirk.

“Did I mention I do my best snuggling naked?” 

“Sunshine.”

The nickname was uttered in a gruff, rumbling rasp, like the sound of a plow on snowy streets. It was so deep and delicious, your toes curled in delight and your mouth pulled into a full-blown grin. 

You barely had time to pull away before Steve was wrapping his hand around the back of your neck and towing you in for a kiss.

Steve’s mouth was wonderfully soft and exquisitely warm and achingly familiar against yours. He wasted no time licking along the seam of your lips, seeking entrance that you happily gave him. 

Your fingers curled around Steve’s sides beneath his sweater, digging greedily into the soft skin at his waist while you kissed him back feverishly, trying to close every gap between your bodies.

“Fuck, how does this feel so much better than I remember?” Steve growled against your lips, his hand on the back of your neck tilting your head just the way he wanted so he could lick even deeper into your mouth. 

Your breathy, delirious laugh was swallowed by his all-consuming kiss, the sound turning into a helpless moan. 

God, he was right, it did feel so much better than you remembered to have Steve’s mouth on yours, and you couldn’t fathom how you’d run away from him before because, in that moment, the last thing you wanted to do was stop. You wanted to kiss Steve for the rest of your life.

“I don’t know, but Steve, please, don’t stop,” you murmured when he finally let you up for air. You tried to catch your breath while he was busy pressing insatiable kisses to your cheek, your jaw, the corner of your mouth, anywhere he could reach without straying too far from your lips. 

Pulling your hands from beneath his sweater, your no longer freezing fingers threaded into the hair at the nape of Steve’s neck, pulling him closer while at the same time pushing yourself up onto your tiptoes again. Your bodies slotted together even more perfectly, and you moaned softly into his mouth as you tugged him in for another kiss.

Steve kissed you harder, holding you tight to his chest like he was afraid that if he let go, you’d disappear on the wintry wind. In turn, you held him just as fiercely, your nails raking through the beard on the underside of his jaw and tugging lightly to bring him closer until he was rumbling a pleased sound deep in his chest.

“Get a room!”

The perfect bubble that had formed around and Steve abruptly popped, the sounds of the bustling holiday market rushing in along with the December chill and you pulled away, your first instinct to worry about what your friends would think. But then you caught the look on Steve’s face. 

He was staring at you with such a blissed out expression, his blue eyes dark and hazy, a pleased smile on his kiss-swollen lips, that you couldn’t help but relax and melt back into him. You took your time to press a sweet kiss to his lips before turning to your friends.

Natasha, Yelena and Bucky all wore matching smug grins. Nat was even popping little chocolate candies into her mouth like she was enjoying the show. 

“Oh no, please don’t stop on our account,” she called to you and Steve, gesturing with her hand for you both to continue. The whole group burst into raucous laughter. 

Cracking up and shaking your head, you buried your face in Steve’s rumbling chest, feeling a little shy about being caught making out so heatedly by your friends. But you felt relief, too, that no one was upset—that all your friends were happy for you and Steve.  

When you’d finally gotten ahold of yourself, you tipped your face up and caught Steve’s eye, giving him a sly smile that had his expression instantly darkening with a hunger that made you pulse with desire. 

“So about that comfy bed of yours…” you murmured, just for him to hear. When he nodded once, quickly, to acknowledge he remembered it, you went on. “I’d love to see it if you’re ready to go?”

The implication of your question was clear and Steve clutched you tighter to his chest, capturing your lips for a brief, hot kiss that did more to warm you from the inside out than any of the hot chocolate you’d consumed that evening. 

“Sunshine, I’ve been ready to take you home for years,” he rasped against your mouth, the honesty in his voice making you smile. 

When Steve pulled away, he tugged you over to your group of friends and told them you were heading home—yes, together, he confirmed. All three of them murmured encouraging words in your ear as you hugged them goodbye, and you could tell by the pink tinging Steve’s cheeks that they were doing the same to him.

Once farewells were said, Steve snagged your hand and laced your fingers together. As you walked to the subway, he tucked your clasped hands into the pocket of his overcoat, and then your other into the crook of his elbow, where he covered it with his palm to keep you warm. 

Steve held you tucked into his side the whole way back to his place while he made idle conversation, asking about the latest books you’d read and movies you’d watched. He only let go when it came time to pull out his keys and unlock his door.

There was a giddy, electric energy between the two of you as Steve helped you out of your coat and hung it up. Your gaze kept drifting back to him while you took off your boots and he hung up his overcoat. Once done, he stepped close, toeing out of his shoes next to where you’d dropped your boots.

“Do you want anything to drink?” Steve asked, his voice rough and a little uneven, like he was nervous. It made you smile, settling your own nerves to know he was right there with you.

You stepped further into Steve’s space, your fingers sneaking beneath the hem of his sweater and giggling when he sucked in a sharp breath. He’d made an excellent effort to keep your fingers warm on the way home, but the December cold had still snuck in. 

It was a good thing Steve was there to warm you up again.

“I think I’d just like to see this comfy bed of yours,” you murmured, pushing up onto your tiptoes and kissing Steve. 

The two of you lingered in the entryway of Steve’s apartment for long minutes, kissing and learning what made each other gasp and moan. His teeth nipped at your lower lip, sinking in hard enough to make you whimper before relenting and soothing the sting away with his tongue.

Meanwhile, you let your hands wander further beneath Steve’s sweater, finding a light trail of hair leading down to the waistband of his slacks. You raked  your nails through it, and relished the pleased sound that rumbled in his chest. 

Warm, wet desire was gathering between your thighs, and it wasn’t long before you squirmed impatiently against Steve, needing more.

By the time Steve broke the kiss and spun you around, his heavy hands dropping to your hips to guide you through his apartment, your panties were damp and you were aching for something only Steve could give you. 

Both of you moved quickly as you let Steve lead you to his bedroom, pausing just inside the darkened room while he flicked on a light.

A soft, golden glow emanated from two lamps set on low wooden tables on either side of the massive bed. Curiously, your gaze roved over the room, taking in the earthy colors and tasteful design.

It seemed Steve hadn’t only gotten his wardrobe and appearance together—he’d also made his home a place that was warm and welcoming and entirely him. 

The king-size bed was swathed in a thick, forest green comforter with dark charcoal sheets, a veritable pile of pillows at the head that looked far too enticing. The rest of the room was furnished with a dark wooden bookcase and dresser that matched the bed frame and side tables. There were even some vintage photographs of Brooklyn decorating the wall, along with some framed pictures on dresser.

Wandering over, you picked up one of the photographs. It was from the first autumn after you’d met Yelena and the others. The group had rented a car and gone to a farm upstate to go apple picking and enjoy all the other autumnal delights the state had to offer. 

In the photo, you were tucked into Steve’s side on a bale of hay, ready for the hayride the group had decided to go on, with Yelena on your other side. There was a blanket draped over your laps, and Steve’s arm was wrapped around your shoulders. The three of you were beaming at the camera. 

“Do you remember that trip?” Steve asked, sliding up behind you and wrapping his arms loosely around your waist. His chin rested on your shoulder while he peered at the photograph.

“Yeah,” you said, nodding. Then you winced as you remembered something about the trip. “Wasn’t this the time I fell asleep on your shoulder on the way home and drooled all over your jacket?”

Steve laughed huskily in your ear.

“It is,” he confirmed, brushing a kiss to your cheek before murmuring. “I didn’t wash it for a month.”

It was your turn to laugh, though the sound was more of a surprised exhalation as you twisted your upper body so you could see his face better.

“What?”

Steve grimaced, wrinkling his nose and scuffing a hand against the back of his neck sheepishly, like he regretted admitting that to you.

“It was more because it smelled like you than because of the, y’know, drool,” he explained, his tone a tiny bit defensive. But then he looked at you, finding your face still frozen in surprise and his expression softened. “I’ve liked you since I met you, sunshine.”

It wasn’t anything Bucky hadn’t already told you, but it still felt like an entirely new revelation coming straight from Steve, and all you could think to say was, “Oh.” 

You turned back to the photo, still held in your hand, and all you could think about was the fact that you had the same one tacked up on the corkboard over your desk. You wondered if Steve liked it for the same reason you did—because it made the two of you look like a happy couple, even with Yelena sitting next to you.

“I liked you too,” you confessed in a small voice.

Steve was quiet for a moment, his hold on you loosening slightly as you stepped forward to put the photograph back on his dresser. But when that was done, he towed you back in until your back was pressed to his chest. 

“Liked?” he asked, enunciating the ‘d’ at the end of the word. 

Your mouth flickered in a smile and you turned around in his arms. Your hands smoothed over his broad shoulders while you leaned into him, your soft curves pressing into the hard planes of his body.

“I liked you then, and I like you now, Steve,” you said, holding your breath as you stared up at him. Even knowing he felt the same way about you, it was still scary to lay your heart bare for the first time, and you waited eagerly for his response.

An exhale gusted from Steve and you couldn’t help but note the relief in his expression, even as he grinned wide.

“That’s good to hear, sunshine, because I like you, too.”

“Good,” you said with a grin, dragging Steve down for a too-brief kiss. “Now, will you take me to bed already?”

Steve’s laughter was muffled as he kissed you again, guiding you around and walking you backward until the backs of your legs hit the bed. He didn’t break the kiss as he lowered you to the soft mattress and helped you slide up the bed until your shoulders settled into the pile of pillows at the head.

Your arms wrapped around Steve and you pulled him down on top of you while he braced himself so he didn’t crush you. One of his legs slid between your thighs and he lowered himself down on top of you until his bulge pressed into your stomach. Your belly swooped with excitement and your pulse thrummed with desire.

Hiking one of your legs up around his waist, you writhed beneath Steve, grinding your hot core against his thigh through your jeans. 

You couldn’t seem to stop touching him, your hands sketching the exact measure of his body, and he seemed to be doing the same. Steve’s hands couldn’t stay still, sliding up and down your sides before finally pushing beneath your sweater.

His warm, calloused fingers stroked covetously over your skin, and you felt extra sensitive wherever he touched you, his every caress sending shivers of pleasure racing through your body. 

“Steve,” you whined, wrenching your mouth from his to drag in a much-needed breath. Even still, you craved more and your body rocked up into his, grinding against his thigh while his bulge pressed insistently into your belly. 

“You feel so good, sunshine,” he rasped as he kissed a trail along your jaw and down to your neck. The scratch of his beard against your skin had you shuddering beneath his big body. “Can I…?” he asked, his fingertips teasing along the edge of your bra beneath your sweater.

“Yes—please,” you gasped. Your own fingers curled into the soft fabric of Steve’s sweater between his shoulder blades and you tugged on it, trying to pull it over his head.

Steve chuckled into your neck before he sat up and yanked his sweater off for you, baring the broad expanse of his chest. You caught glimpses of soft brown hair dusted across his pecs and endless swaths of golden skin before he was helping you out of your sweater. 

You grumbled disgruntledly when your view of Steve was cut off as he tugged your sweater over your head, then as he leaned close to unclasp your bra and toss it somewhere in the room. You only dragged your eyes away from Steve’s perfect chest when he made a low, almost anguished sound.

He looked a little dazed, his eyes staring down at your bare breasts. Your chest was heaving slightly, making them bounce gently, and Steve looked almost hypnotized by the sight. 

Snorting to yourself, you curled your fingers around his firm biceps and tugged him back down on top of you, whimpering when your nipples brushed against the hair on his chest. They pebbled as pleasure spiked through your body, settling heavily between your thighs and making even more wetness soak into your panties.

The movement had broken Steve from his trance and he began kissing from your neck down your chest. The rasp of his beard over your clavicle sent a delicious shiver down your spine, making you keen and tremble beneath him.

“Fuck, you’re so soft,” he rumbled gruffly into your skin. He buried his face in the valley between your breasts, groping your supple flesh in his big hands while pressing teasing kisses and gentle bites to your skin. “You’re so perfect, sunshine.”

You whined a needy sound, reacting to his touch as much as his awe-filled words, and threaded your fingers through Steve’s soft hair. You held him tightly to your chest, wordlessly pleading for more, and he enthusiastically indulged the request.

Steve wrapped his lips around your nipple and sucked deeply, drawing so much of you into his hot mouth, it felt like he was doing his damndest to devour you. You were already so sensitive for him that it felt like there was a direct line connecting your sensitive peak to your clit, and you cried out in pleasure, your spine arching up off the bed and pushing your chest further in Steve’s face.

He grinned, doing a poor job of hiding his self-satisfied expression in your soft tits, but you didn’t begrudge him the smugness—not when he nibbled at your hardened nipple so good, it made your hips buck up from the bed. A whine slipped from your lips when you realized you no longer had his thigh to grind against, your legs kicking restlessly at the sheets.

After giving the same torturous treatment to your other nipple, wringing even more whimpering whines and desperate keening sounds from your mouth, Steve began kissing his way further down your body. He nipped playfully at your belly before lifting his head to catch your eye. 

It took you a moment to blink them into focus enough to see him clearly.

“I’ve been dreaming about your taste for years, sunshine,” he rumbled, hooking his fingers in the waistband of your jeans and tugging just enough that you knew he was asking if he could take them off. “Please, can I…?”

You were already nodding, your fingers fumbling over the button of your jeans. Steve seemed just as eager as you, gently pushing your hand aside and taking over as he thumbed it through the hole in the denim and pulled your zipper down. Then he was peeling your jeans down over you hips and thighs, taking your panties off at the same time.

In only a few seconds, you were stripped bare for the first time in front of Steve Rogers, and if it wasn’t for the shuddered exhale that gusted past his lips and the sizable bulge twitching in the front of his slacks, it might’ve occurred to you to feel a little insecure. 

But before those thoughts could even begin to creep in, Steve was dragging his hands up your thighs and spreading your legs with a reverent look on his face, giving an appreciative rumble deep in his chest as he raked his eyes up the naked length of your body. 

“You’re so fucking beautiful, sunshine,” he rasped, pressing his face between your thighs and taking a deep breath. 

Heat bloomed in your cheeks, but you didn’t have time to wonder at how you smelled because Steve was licking his tongue into the seam of your pussy, groaning like he’d eaten something delicious. 

“Fuck, you taste even better than I imagined,” he growled before diving in deeper, burying his face against your cunt and eating you out like he was a dying man and you were his last meal. 

In no time at all, he had you crying out, your hips bucking up off the bed as pleasure swirled through your body. It was all you could do to try to stop yourself from humping against his handsome face.

Steve’s thick biceps banded around your thighs and he held you spread open while he feasted on you, his eyes staring up past your quivering belly and heaving chest to watch your reactions. He sucked and nibbled and flicked his tongue over your sensitive clit, paying attention to what had you writhing and moaning your pleasure beneath him.

He licked into your pussy, fucking you with his tongue until you were squirming and panting on the bed, your thighs tensing and trembling with your building release. 

Needing something to hold on to, you threaded your fingers into Steve’s hair, holding his head against your greedy pussy and rocking your hips into him. You moaned loudly, unabashedly, grinding against his mouth and beard as you neared the edge.

“Oh god, Steve, ‘m so close, please—please, don’t stop, ‘m gonna come,” you babbled, your spine arching up off the bed as you threw your head back into the pile of soft pillows. “Fuck, please, please, please!”

It was clear that Steve was a quick study when it came to your body, and he put what he’d learned to good use, sucking hard on your clit and flicking his tongue over it, steadily driving your pleasure higher until, finally, it crested. And then he pushed you right over the edge.

Your fingers fisted in Steve’s hair and you humped shamelessly against his face as you came with a cry of his name—“Steve!” Your body tightened, and then loosened as wave after wave of pleasure swept through your limbs, making you shiver intensely while Steve’s mouth worked you through your release. 

When the pleasure began to ebb, you melted back into the soft blankets on Steve’s bed, a dazed smile curving your mouth. Steve eased you down with gentle sweeps of his tongue and soft kisses to your inner thighs, murmuring sweet words to you about how good you tasted on his tongue.

It wasn’t until you whimpered from overstimulation that Steve stopped. He pressed one last kiss to the top of your mound before pushing himself up. His happy grin when he saw the sated, content expression on your face made your heart skip a beat in your chest. He was just so damn handsome. 

“Good?” Steve asked, though you knew from the self-satisfied look in his eye that he already knew the answer to his question.

Still, you nodded. “So good,” you purred, stretching and reaching for him. Your fingers curled into coarse hair on the underside of his jaw and you tugged him up your body for a kiss.

You could taste yourself on his lips, and his beard was so drenched in your juices, it made your own cheeks damp. A groan worked its way up your throat at the filthiness of the kiss, and you pulled Steve closer, letting him muffle the sound as his tongue slipped into your mouth. 

Even though Steve had just made you come harder than anyone else in your entire life, renewed desire was beginning to bloom in your core, the heat of your arousal already building again. Distractedly, you recognized that you’d never felt the way you did for anyone but Steve—insatiable, unwilling to let the night end just yet. 

When Steve’s hard bulge knocked against your hip, a devious smirk curled your lips and you wasted no time trailing your fingers down his bare, golden chest to grope his cock through his slacks. He was hard and heavy in your hand, and an excited thrill raced down your spine at the thought of taking him in your mouth. 

Steve groaned against your lips, his big body shuddering when you squeezed and stroked him through the thick material of his pants. So you did it again, rubbing him with your palm until you felt his hard length jump against your fingers, like his body was just as eager for your touch as the rest of him.

“We don’t have to do more,” Steve said, his voice a little breathless. “I-I mean, you don’t have to return the favor or anything. I’m good to just go to sleep if that’s what you want.”

Steve’s words were honorable, but you didn’t want to sleep. 

You pushed at his larger body until he flipped onto his back. Following after him, you kissed down his chest, taking a moment to nuzzle in the soft hair scattered across his pecs before you lifted your head and caught his eye, letting him see the desire in yours. 

“I bet I’ve dreamed about sucking your cock just as much as you dreamed about eating my pussy,” you whispered huskily, holding his gaze determinedly while you shifted down his body until your face was level with his bulge. You mouthed at his hard length through his slacks. “Please, Steve, can I…?” 

“Yeah—yes—fuck, sunshine, you can do whatever you want,” he rasped, helping you undo his button and fly, his fingers trembling. Then he lifted his hips so you could pull his pants down.

You felt like you were unwrapping the most perfect Christmas present as you tugged his slacks and boxer briefs down his thick, toned thighs. You even let out a little gasp of delight when Steve’s cock bounced free, marveling at the sheer masculine beauty of it.

Impatiently, you pulled his clothes the rest of the way off, pausing only to kiss his thighs, enjoying the softness of his leg hair against your lips and cheeks, before returning to his cock. 

Taking him in hand, you circled your fingers around the thick shaft and gave him a loose pump, watching how he bucked his hips into your fist from just that little bit of touching. Steve’s hands were fisted in the blankets on the bed, like he was holding himself back from touching you, and you decided you want to make the man—your man—lose himself in pleasure, just like he’d done to you. 

You ducked down and licked the tip of Steve’s cock, humming in delight as the salty, musky taste of his precum burst on your tongue. The vibrations made Steve groan and you hid a self-satisfied smirk against his cock, before refocusing on your task.

You pressed wet, open-mouthed kisses up and down Steve’s shaft, staring up his hard, firm body while he watched you worship his cock. His cheeks were tinged pink, a light sheen of sweat dotting his brow and his eyes were so dark, his pupils blown so wide, they looked like the navy blue night sky on a winter evening. 

When you ducked down further, taking his balls into your mouth and suckling greedily, Steve’s gaze widened and his cock twitched in your hand. 

“Sunshine,” he rasped, the nickname sounding like a plea for mercy as he groaned loudly. “Ya keep sucking my balls and I’m gonna come way too soon.”

With a smirk, you gave his sensitive sac one last little suckle before letting it fall from your lips, then you licked up the length of his cock.

“Can’t have that,” you quipped, shooting him a smug grin. You pressed a kiss to the tip and wrapped your lips around the head, taking him into your mouth and sucking hard enough to make his hips buck up off the bed. 

Another anguished sound wrenched free from Steve’s lips. 

“Oh fuck,” he moaned as he settled back down, one of his hands coming to rest on the crown of your head—not pushing you down or pulling you away, just holding you like he couldn’t help but touch you. 

For a moment, you focused on Steve’s cock, pulling back before taking him deeper into your mouth, using your tongue to swirl around the head and trace the veins decorating his shaft while your fist stroked him. But when you flicked your gaze up to Steve, you found him watching you with adoration in his eyes.

“You’re amazing, sunshine,” he rumbled when he noticed he had your attention, one side of his mouth pulling up in a lopsided grin. “You’re gorgeous—and you look so fucking hot with my cock in your mouth.” 

The corners of your mouth flickered in a pleased smile as his praise washed over you, and you closed your eyes, soaking it in. When you opened them again, you redoubled your efforts on Steve, bobbing up and down on his length at a steady pace while you pumped him in your fist. 

You lost yourself in the pleasure of sucking Steve’s cock, and before long, you could feel yourself growing wet all over again. Your inner walls clenched pathetically around nothing while your mouth was filled with his big dick, but you didn’t want to stop. 

However, before you could make Steve come down your throat, his hands gently gripped your head and he pulled you up off his cock. With his considerable strength, Steve hauled you back up the bed and rolled you over onto your back beneath him, bracing himself on one hand while the other slide between your thighs. He bit off a curse when he felt how wet you were.

“Christ, sunshine, ya got this wet from sucking my cock?” he asked, a note of teasing in his tone that had heat coursing through your body. Before you could respond, though, his mouth found yours for a kiss. 

You were certain he must’ve been able to taste himself on your tongue, but he didn’t seem to care. He was too determined to devour your lips and swallow your moan while he speared you open with two fingers, capturing your cry of pleasure.

“Oh god, Steve,” you mumbled against his mouth, your hips rocking into his hand and fucking his fingers. “Please, I need you—I need you to fuck me.” Your hand was fisted in Steve’s soft hair and you clung to him, your entire being straining to get closer while still taking all the pleasure his fingers offered.

“Thank fuck—I need you so goddamned bad, sunshine,” he groaned, easing his fingers from your dripping hole and rolling onto his back so he could reach for something. 

A moment later, you heard the sound of a wooden drawer snap closed and he rolled back on top of you, the square foil packet of a condom held in his fingers.

“Ya wanna do the honors?” he asked, his grin so charming and so like the Steve you’d known for so many years that it took your breath away. 

But there was a comfort and an ease to the moment because you were there with Steve—your Steve—and you laughed at his silly offer. You were shaking your head even as you took the packet and tore it open, tossing the foil aside and making quick work of rolling the condom onto his cock. 

When you were done, you gave the base of his shaft an affectionate squeeze and Steve chuckled, capturing your lips in a kiss while he shifted on top of you, pressing his knees between your legs and spreading your thighs to make room for his big, broad body. 

You opened happily for him, kissing him back while your legs hooked around the backs of his thighs. Together, you lined your bodies up until Steve’s cock lay heavily against your mound, kissing lazily all the while.

After a moment, Steve broke the kiss, pushing himself up with one hand while the other fisted his hard length and held himself away from the place where you ached for him to fill. He stared deep into your eyes and gave you a serious look, a little bit of anxiety swirling in his gaze.

“Are you sure about this?” he asked, his eyes roving over your face like he was searching for any hidden remnant of hesitance on your part—any sign that you might run, you realized. “Because I’ve wanted this—I’ve wanted you for so long, that if you tell me tomorrow this was a mistake…” Steve paused, his adam’s apple bobbing in his throat as he swallowed, “it’ll break my fucking heart, sunshine.”

Steve’s voice cracked a little on the pet name and it made your heart split open in your chest. You didn’t know if you’d ever forgive yourself for hurting Steve the way you did, for saying those things you didn’t mean and trying to push him away when all you’d wanted was to pull him closer. 

You decided then and there to make it up to him—and that began with being honest with him. Always. 

So you threaded your fingers into Steve’s beard until you were cupping his face and you stared him directly in the eye as you answered his question. 

“I’m sure, Steve,” you said firmly, certainty resonating in your tone. “I was scared before—I’ve wanted you for so long that the thought of finally having you was terrifying.” You gave him a tremulous, apologetic smile, and his expression softened. “But I’m sure about this,” you said again, your voice stronger. “I’m sure about you, and I’m sure about us.”

When you finished your confession, Steve’s eyes closed and he exhaled a long, relieved breath. You pulled him down for a kiss, and it was a gentle thing—tentative as you both savored the vulnerability you shared, physically and emotionally, thanking one another for the trust that took. 

It was only when the kiss ended and Steve pressed his forehead to yours that he pushed inside you for the first time, his thick cock sinking deep into your pussy with one determined, inexorable thrust. 

Your arms and legs were wrapped around him already and you clung to Steve as you cried out, tears of emotion pricking at the backs of your eyes even as pleasure radiated through your body.

“You ok?” Steve asked softly and the question—so gentle and genuine—had a tear spilling onto your cheek. He brushed it away. 

“This is the happiest I’ve ever been,” you admitted in a thick voice, tugging Steve’s mouth back to yours, kissing him deeply. 

Together, you gave yourselves over to your instincts. Steve pulled his hips back until only half of him remained inside, and your heels dug into the backs of his thighs, urging him to plunge deep into you again. He slid home, and both of you moaned. 

Steve rocked into you with slow, thorough thrusts, but when you moaned for more, he drew back more each time and thrust harder. It wasn’t long before he was fucking you in hard, deep strokes that hit all the most perfect spots inside you, his mouth kissing your cheeks and neck and anywhere he could reach while he held you pinned to his chest, his hips working his cock deep into your cunt. 

With every hard thrust, you clung more tightly to Steve, holding him with your arms wrapped around his shoulders, fingers buried in his hair, thankful he’d grown it long enough that you could grip it tight in your fists. Your body writhed beneath his bigger form, using your legs draped around his thighs to meet his thrusts. 

For what seemed like forever, you and Steve were nothing more than two writhing bodies trying to get closer, deeper, tighter together, like your hearts were straining to become one. And you were so consumed with pleasure that it wasn’t until you were right on the precipice of your release that you realized you were close.

“Steve,” you gasped, trying to tell him you were going to come, and just then he changed the angle of his hips, stealing the words from your lips. 

He was driving his cock so deep into your cunt and grinding against your clit so exquistiely that you saw stars. Your body shook under a deluge of pleasure and the coil of tension twisted tighter in your core.

“Come for me, sunshine,” Steve rumbled, fucking you hard and deep and so perfectly you knew you were forever ruined for any other man. “Be a good girl and come on my cock before I fucking explode.”

His filthy words were your undoing. 

You shattered apart, sharp, sparkling pleasure devastating your body and mind while you screamed Steve’s name as you came. Your whole body clenched tight, clamping down on Steve’s cock hard enough that he grunted into your neck, then you succumbed to the pleasure as it dragged you under its thrall, whimpers and moans spilling from your lips mindlessly.

Steve’s hands gripped your hips tightly, and he rutted into your clenching pussy with wild thrusts as he chased his own release. He found it only a moment after yours, groaning your name against your cheek while his hips stuttered and shunted forward, burying himself balls-deep in your fluttering pussy while he came, his cock throbbing deep in your cunt. 

You held each other close as you came down from your releases. Your fingers stroked through Steve’s soft hair, the strands damp with sweat, and twirled around the gently curling ends. Meanwhile, his hands were petting up and down your sides, his face buried in the pillow beside your head while he rumbled muffled words of praise in your ear. 

Eventually, Steve sat up, pulling his softening cock as gently from your body as he could manage, watching your face closely for any hint of pain. You were a little sore, but when he pulled free, your body mourned the loss of him more than anything else. 

He quickly disposed of the condom and wrapper in his bathroom, then came back with a warm wet washcloth. He cleaned you up with gentle caresses, pressing a kiss to your hip and nipping playfully at your belly until you were giggling and pushing him away, your body too tired and sated and oversensitive for such treatment—but you were grinning all the same.

When he was done, you rose from the bed and went to the bathroom while he padded to his dresser. After you were done, you found Steve relaxing on his bed in only a pair of lounge pants, his chiseled chest deliciously bare and biceps bulging with his hands tucked behind his head. 

You paused, raking your eyes over his gorgeous chest, only catching his gaze when he made a deep, rumbling sound of good-natured warning. 

“You better put on some pajamas, sunshine,” Steve started, his blue eyes heated and a playful smile flickering at the edges of his mouth, almost hidden by his beard. “Unless you want me to fuck you again.” 

The threat in his tone was flirtatious and you almost took him up on the offer. But you knew that if Steve fucked you again, you’d be sore the next day, and you didn’t want that. Huffing a petulant sigh, you moved to the pile of folded clothes Steve had left on the corner of the bed.

The heat in Steve’s eyes didn’t abate as he watched you pull one of his shirts over your head, tugging the hem down until it covered your ass and part of your thigh. You didn’t have any clean panties, so you crawled into bed like that, your eyes finding Steve and watching as the heat of desire softened into the warmth of affection.

The two of you slid beneath the blankets and you curled up at Steve’s side, your head on his chest. You fell asleep quickly and easily to the sound of his gentle breathing, and the steady drumming of his heart beating beneath your cheek. 

The next morning, you woke to snow flurries drifting past the windows of Steve’s bedroom, the flakes having covered his neighborhood in a blanket of white while you slept. You pressed a happy smile against Steve’s sternum, the expression deepening when you felt his heart skip a beat at your closeness.

“So, is my bed comfy enough for you, sunshine?” he asked in the deep rasp of a man who’d just woken up. Using his arms looped around your waist, he pulled you on top of him, his mouth finding yours for a decadent good morning kiss before he let you answer.

“Hmm,” you hummed playfully in thought, smiling against his mouth while you pulled him closer with your fingers curled into the scruffy, coarse hair of his beard. “It could use a few more pillows—and maybe a nice throw blanket.”

“Consider it done,” he murmured, rolling you beneath his broad body and sliding his hips between your thighs. His morning wood brushed against your bare core and you moaned into his mouth. “Anything you want, you just tell me, sunshine,” he rumbled in between slow, drugging kisses, his hips rolling leisurely against you. “I want my girlfriend to feel comfortable here.”

“Girlfriend?” you gasped breathlessly, your heart beating harder with excitement while he pulled away to kiss down your neck. You could feel Steve’s grin against the side of your throat before he pressed a kiss against your thrumming pulse. 

“You wanna be my girlfriend, don’t ya, sunshine?” he asked. 

It was only because you’d known Steve for so long, and were so determined never to hurt him again, that you heard the tiny thread of anxiety in his tone. You squeezed him tightly in your arms and rushed to answer, eager to put his worry to rest.

“Yes!” you cried happily. “Yes, I want to be your girlfriend, Steve.” You twisted your fingers in his soft hair and tugged his mouth up from your neck. “Now kiss me, boyfriend,” you murmured and Steve, obligingly, crushed his mouth to yours in a blissful kiss. 

You and Steve reveled in your new relationship, spending a long time in bed just kissing and exploring each other and making up for lost time before your growling stomachs finally made you get up.

After breakfast, Steve seemed to remember something and he padded to the entryway, coming back with the box he’d acquired at the holiday market the evening before. He handed it to you, saying there was no way he’d be able to wait until Christmas to give it to you.

You opened the present, finding a simple silver chain and a stunningly engraved sun pendant within. You were so overwhelmed with happiness that tears sprang to your eyes and you had to hastily wipe them away.

“A little bit of sunshine for my sunshine,” Steve murmured against your temple before pressing a kiss to your skin. 

At your insistence, he helped you put the necklace on and you thanked him graciously—with words and kisses. Then you towed Steve back to bed, and the two of you gave in to the pleasure of your bodies until you collapsed, sated once again.

All day, you couldn’t stop smiling. You were doing one of your favorite things, snuggling on a snowy day, with one of your favorite people in the world—your boyfriend. And you were making plans for the future, talking about what you were going to get your other friends for Christmas and arguing about how to best decorate Steve’s apartment for the holiday. 

The whole time, you couldn’t help but think about how Christmas would always be extra special for you from that year on. It was a wonderful holiday but, more importantly to you, it was when you and Steve Rogers finally admitted your feelings for one another and took the first step toward a forever together. 

So, this time of year would always be your favorite time of year.

december daze challenge masterlist

[enhaeil]

SOON AS I GET HOME! ☆ 박종성

"soon as I get home, I'll make it up to you. baby, i'll do what i gotta do."

soon as i get home - faith evans.

c/w: suggestive!! yet extremely soft. husband jay...wow i love jay

you had a good man. an amazing man even. the best man a woman could ask for. and you've been neglecting him.

when he tries to hug you, it only lasts for a second before you push him away. when he tries to give you a kiss, you barely reciprocate back. when he tries to initiate sex, you brush him off, telling him you're "too tired" to be touched. it's noticeably put a bit of a strain on your marriage, and you feel guilty.

you decide it's time to ignite the fire in your marriage again. remind jay why he married you in the first place. since he's always busy with work and so are you, you decided you would call off work the next day and spend it planning something special.

you hop out the tub and wrap a towel around you before starting your hair and makeup. you decided to wear it down because you remembered how much jay liked it. for makeup, you go with a natural glam with some red eyeshadow.

—

you slip into the lingerie and dress you bought, buckle up your heels, and check yourself out in the mirror one more time. "yup. i still got it." you say to yourself before you head downstairs.

the time is currently 6:30. jay is already off work and is probably on his way back. you use this time to set the food up and pour up some wine. you also lay out some chocolates and light some scented candles. and of course, you had some old school jams playing in the back. lord, if he didn't put a baby in you tonight, it'd be a pretty close call.

as time gets closer, you decide to hide behind the wall so when he walks in, you can suprise him.

around 7:02, you hear some keys jingle and the door opening.

"baby, i'm home. i got some take-out if you're hungry. baby..?"

you can't help but feel your heart swell at your husbands voice. even through your dry spell, he's so sweet. you take this as an opportunity to step out.

"hi jjongie.."

his mouth opens so wide you're scared a moth might fly out of it.

"do you like it..?" he gave you a look as if you just asked the silliest question on earth.

"baby. like it? 'like it' would be disrespectful. you look amazing, y/n."

you giggle and help him take off his work jacket, giving his shoulders a soft massage, feeling the tenseness from his shift today. his head tips back with a sigh. "did i forget something today, love?" he says, trying to scan his mind for any event that could've happened.

you grab his hand and drag him into the kitchen where all the food is prepared. "you're my husband. and I've been neglecting you. so i wanted to show my appreciation for all you do." you say pulling out a chair for him.

"baby...you don't neglect me. we've both been busy with work." he says still holding on to your hand.

"still. when's the last time we had sex, jay?"

"a few days ago, right?" he says trying to see where you're going with this.

"exactly! remember? when used to go at it like animals? one day out of the week would've scared us a few years ago." you say with a small giggle. "now eat up. i dont want the food to get cold!"

you guys spend some time talking about your week and enjoying the meal you made. it felt so nice to have this moment with your husband. you guys rarely ever got to eat real meals together.

"wow, y/n. you really went all out." he says finishing his last bite.

"there's leftovers in the fridge if you get hungry again." you say getting ready to put the dishes in the sink.

he stands up, coming behind you and wrapping his arms around your waist. "how could i ever repay you?"

you turn around and give him a look. "jay. you have been the most perfect man since the day i met you. i can't remember the last time i touched a door or a bill since our first date. you've done more than enough." you say pressing a peck on the corner of his mouth.

you dry off your hands before you turn back to him. "now, I have one more surprise for you upstairs. come on~" you say excitedly before dragging him up the stairs.

you finally make it to your bedroom and point his attention towards the bag in the middle of the bed. in it was a new cologne, a new tie and jewelry. as he opens the bag you dash into the bathroom to take off that tight dress and reveal what was underneath.

"baby, you didn't have to get me any of this. i'm so grateful, thank you. god, this is so cool." he says, examining his new items.

you finally step out the bathroom, heels still clicking as you call out his name.

he brings his attention up and his mouth is left open for the second time that night.

has he seen your body in ways you wouldn't even think was possible? yes. but everytime he did it felt like the first time.

you slowly make your way towards him before he reaches out his hands to touch you as if you'd dissappear right in front him.

"wow, i married a goddess. even years later you still make me feel like a teenage boy."

your eyes begin to water at his words and his touches, feeling like it's been an eternity since you've been touched like this. your hands begin to roam his body too, feeling underneath his shirt and caressing his stomach, your fingertips grazing the roughness of his happy trail.

"i love you jay. and i'll do whatever i can to make up for time we might've lost." you say leading him towards the bed so you can straddle him.

"we've grown a lot since we started dating, y/n. it's okay if sometimes we are too busy to do things with eachother. but even if we go months without touching eachother, i promise i'll always love you the same way I did back then."

and with that, he pulls you into a kiss, which leads into a night full of passionate lovemaking.

a/n: im foaming at the mouth.

[cheriecoke]

౨ৎ ˖ ࣪⊹ SAFEGUARD — dazai, chuuya, akutagawa

summary . . . they save you after you've been injured and captured by an enemy.

contents . . . sfw, f!reader (chuuya & dazai) and gn!reader (akutagawa), violence / blood, threats, injuries, hurt/comfort, angst, established relationship, and it's pmboss!dazai bc i can't help myself — 3.5k total

notes . . . i got this request so long ago lol. not my best work, but i have been in the worst writing slump ever and just wanted to finish something. i've also never written for akutagawa before so pls be nice <3

𝐂𝐇𝐔𝐔𝐘𝐀 . . .

there are very few times that chuuya feels he’s been outsmarted. he knows he’s not the mastermind of the port mafia, but he certainly isn’t a fool. when it comes to you and your well-being, though, his mind short-circuits, half of his intelligence draining away while his emotions take hold. 

your relationship isn’t a secret to anyone in the port mafia, which means that it isn’t a secret to your enemies either. and while most people know it’s hard to land a finger on chuuya directly, his pretty little girlfriend doesn’t have the power of a god nestled inside of her.

the rage sparks through him, growing fiercely into the blaze of a forest fire, until all he can think of is getting you home safely. he thinks of your sweet smile as he rips the door of the enemies’ base off the hinges, crushing it into a million pieces with the force of gravity. 

the men are quick to react, but chuuya hurtles the crushed door towards them, knocking three of them to their feet. another group charges at him, but their guns do little against his skill. after years of fighting some of the strongest ability users, simple criminal organizations are as easy to step over like ants. 

chuuya kills them all — except for one.

the man’s knees are wobbling, hand shaking around the gun as he realizes that these will be his final moments. there is fear in his eyes, brown ones that rest wide open, and chuuya almost hesitates. his remorse doesn’t last long, though, before he’s wrapping a hand around the man’s throat, thrusting him backwards. 

“where is she?” chuuya asks, voice sharp and commanding. 

he can feel the man swallowing. 

chuuya knows that backup is probably on the way, but it won’t matter whether they show up or not. he’ll crush the rest of his enemies just as he’s crushed the last twenty men. the poor soul in his leather hold seems to know that as well. 

“i-i’ll take you to her,” he rasps, dropping his gun to claw at chuuya’s hand. 

he drops him, lets him take a few heaving breaths and coughs, before he’s kicking at him, forcing him back to his feet.

the young man takes him up the elevator, weaves him through a hallway as chuuya leaves a scattering of bodies in his wake, not hesitating to kill a single man that gets in his way. there is nothing that can keep him from you. 

how fiercely and loyally he loves you — it drives him to near insanity. 

finally, with blood coating his face and his clothes, the young man enters a room, locked with a code, revealing you. 

chuuya’s rage is almost as blinding as his corruption, as he gazes at the sight of you. bloodied and bruised, tied up in a chair, so visibly harmed. his hands clench into fists. “get the fuck away from her,” he says to the man who seems to be monitoring you.

“what are you doing in here?” the men left in the room panic, but they don’t have time to react before chuuya throws them back at the wall, so quickly, with so much force, that their spines snap. they hit it with a sharp crack, skulls shattering against the plaster, the wall crushing beneath the weight of them. 

limply, they fall to the floor. 

chuuya rushes over to you. 

the young man that led him here disappears, but chuuya isn’t worried about him. he’s a coward; he’ll likely flee from the country and never look back. the men that truly hurt you are already dead, and he’ll burn this building to the ground once he’s gotten you away from it. 

“hey,” chuuya says, cradling your cheeks gently, trying to coax you back awake. he’s not sure if it’s exhaustion, blood loss, or the obvious head trauma that caused you to pass out in the first place. but you’re still breathing, so he counts that as a blessing. 

“hey,” he whispers again, kissing your forehead, like it will heal all your ailments. “wake up, baby. we gotta get you out of here, okay?” 

it takes you a few seconds to come to, eyes glazed over and shell-shocked as you blink at him. “chuuya?” you say; your voice is so hoarse it makes chuuya want to keel over and vomit. “is it really you?” 

guilt gnaws at him, almost crushing, at the fact that thirty-six hours passed, and you’re delirious enough not to recognize him. you probably haven’t eaten, either. 

he should’ve been there. no one should’ve ever had the chance to hurt you, yet…

“it’s me, i’m here,” he says, kissing your lips, your temple, brushing your hair away from your face. the strands are sticky with blood. “shit,” chuuya nearly shouts, pulling a knife from his pocket, sawing through the thick ropes around you as quickly as he can. “i’m so sorry, i’m so sorry.” 

he can’t get you free fast enough, and you smile at him, drowsy, your eyes fluttering shut once more. “it’s okay, chuuya,” you say, leaning your head on his shoulder. “you’re here now.” 

“you have to stay awake,” he says desperately, realizing your head is still bleeding. he doesn’t know how hurt you are. chuuya’s no expert when it comes to medicine, but he’s smart enough to know that internal injuries could be even worse than the external ones. 

“stay awake for me, okay, honey? i’ll get you back to the boss and we’ll find you a doctor. you’ll be just fine.” 

“okay, chuuya,” you hum, weakly gripping his back. seconds of silence pass before you mutter, “i just want to go home.” 

"i know." his heart pulls, and he almost lets out a cracked sob. but he refrains, knowing that there is plenty of time to drown in his sorrows later. 

finally, he gets the ropes under, lifting you from the chair. you’re so much lighter, weaker, and it makes him sick as he carries you. “let’s get you home.” 

𝐀𝐊𝐔𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐀𝐖𝐀. . .

the call comes just as akutagawa is getting ready to head home for the evening, his tasks completed, eyes heavy with exhaustion. 

normally, he doesn’t stick around to say any goodbyes, sneaking off into the darkness of the night like a shadow, blending right in. but, something about the evening, so gloomy and drizzly with spring rain, feels off. 

with a heavy knot in his chest, so much different than an incoming fit of coughs, akutagawa heads back up to mori’s office, if perhaps to only ensure that everyone else’s jobs had been completed. he’s a lot of things, but he’s never been a slacker; and he’ll do what it takes to ensure that his position in the mafia is eternally secure.

though, he doesn’t have the opportunity to get all the way upstairs before he run into the boss, who is calm, but with an air of irritation clouding him. 

he explains the current situation to akutagawa in a clipped tone, bored — an enemy group has kidnapped you, holding you hostage. 

“how rude is it to bother a man, just as he is getting ready to go to sleep?” mori says, sighing histrionically.

but what is a minor inconvenience to mori sends an entire wave of dread through akutagawa, his entire body feeling as if it’s been dipped in ice. he can’t explain the horror that washes over him, not really, because he shouldn’t feel so panicked. it is rare for him to get worked up about the danger his subordinates find themselves in, save for his sister, of course. 

but you… you’re different. 

“can i trust you to diffuse the situation?” mori asks, impatiently glancing at his watch as if that will change anything. “i can call someone else, but they will not be so quick.” 

akutagawa doesn’t even think before he accepts the job, hating the way he sounds pathetically desperate for more details. his hands flatten the edge of his cloak, as if his ability is going to take on a mind of its own. 

he calls for a driver, calm but breathing so heavily that an aching cough rises up in him. his throat feels as if it may begin to bleed, but he swallows, glances away from the driver and gets himself under control.

there’s a ransom — bring them the money and they’ll return you, mori had told him. you’re only a lower ranking member of the mafia, and someone that makes for a pretty poor bargaining chip, so the motive is questionable. 

mori probably would’ve let you die, akutagawa knows, his teeth gritting together, so much so that a splintering sound comes from it. but the boss, in his infinite, concerning wisdom, seems to also know that his loyal dog has an soft spot for you. 

as regrettable as that may be.

akutagawa has no doubt that whoever the enemy is, they are no match for him. still, a twinge of anxiety settles in his stomach, fingers jittery as the driver, despite the decreased traffic of the hour, seems to drive impossibly slow. 

“are we not in a rush?” akutagawa snaps, leaning forward.

“apologies,” the driver, says, not daring to even look at akutagawa from the mirror. but the car speeds up, enough for akutagawa to be able to notice, at least. it cools the simmer that has already begun deep in his chest.  

even so, the car seems to go at a snails pace, minute upon minute flying by, with you in the clutches of an enemy. 

akutagawa doesn’t care who they are. he doesn’t care why, or how they captured you. he wants them dead. he’ll rip them apart, easily, and he’ll make them suffer — they’ll be alive for all of it, for every second that he peels the skin from their bones, ripping the smaller ones out of their sockets. 

what he feels for you… well, it’s too hard for him to admit to himself. he has no experience with what it means to care for another person, doesn’t even know if that’s his goal. he just knows he wants to protect you.

and he can’t do that if you’re dead.

finally, the car pulls up to an old warehouse, one at the very outskirts of the port, beyond the docks and the shipping carts. it’s tucked far back, an obvious lair for some villainous organization that doesn’t want to be found. 

akutagawa gets there, but there is nothing. he hears nothing, feels no signs of life as he trudges through the puddles left behind from the earlier rain. 

a small string of panic begins again, as he wondered if maybe the call that mori had told him was only a ruse. maybe this entire time had been a distraction, a way to lure him away. there are other skill-users in the mafia, but none quite as dangerous as him. 

though, he hears it, then. a small little sound, muffled and hoarse, full of pain. 

he ducks into another corner of a warehouse, and you’re there — bound with chains and a gag across your mouth, one of your eyes blackened with bruises, your nose bleeding. 

his heart aches. never in his life has he so quickly made his way over, used the sharp edges of his ability to shear through the chains, falling to his knees as he unbinds the cloth from your lips. 

“where are they?” he rasps, mouth opening and closing, hating the sound of his own voice. he recognizes his desperation, his anger, but the affectionate sound that clips at the end is unfamiliar, as he shakily pulls himself closer to you. 

you glance up at him, eyes glossy and wide, and though you are scared, hurt, he’s so thankful you are alive. his heart flips once, as you grasp at his cloak, the material that has the blood of so many staining the threads. 

“gone,” you say, throat chalky, words nothing more than a note against the wind. “they fled when they heard it was you coming.” 

“and left you?” he asks, jaw clenching, as he hopes that the emotions aren’t as visible on his features as he thinks they are. “were you not a ransom?” 

“no,” you swallow, hard, as if in pain. he notices bruises around your neck, the shape of fingerprints indented there. “i was bait.”

anger rises up in him like a wave, engulfing him, wholly and relentlessly. he is no stranger to that, like he is the kindness you show him, the way you look at him as if he is your protector, rather than a bringer of destruction. “i’ll go after them. where are they headed? they’ll pay, i’ll slaughter—”

“ryunosuke,” you say, reaching for him as he stands, expression pleading as he backs away. “stay.” 

he has half a mind to ignore you — the enemy escaped, after all. but your voice. your eyes… you look so small sitting there, bloodied and bruised and broken. 

“please,” you try again, near tears, and though he has never been good with obvious displays of emotion, something within him snaps at the desperation in the word. 

he nods, slowing his pace as he returns to you, lets you wrap yourself in him, cling to him. his hands fall, naturally, to your waist, somehow knowing where they belong, even if akutagawa never has a clue what he’s doing with you. 

“i’ll call hirotsu,” he says simply, before pulling out his phone, not bothering to untangle himself from you. 

𝐃𝐀𝐙𝐀𝐈 . . .

dazai is not a forgiving man, and will never learn to be. forgiveness is not a luxury he is often able to indulge in in his line of work, and his heart has hardened enough that until the end of time, those that are branded his enemies will remain his enemies. 

though, in his blackened heart, one soured over the course of time, you have carved out your own little space, lit it up with golden rays of light that are fiery enough to melt the stone casing of his chest. 

his only love — his only weakness. but it is a weakness that his enemies know about as well. 

dazai tries his best to keep you safe. he always has, and he knows that, sometimes, his grasp on you can be a little too tight. that the way he tries to keep you under his watchful eye can sometimes be stifling, frustrating. 

but he can’t always be there to protect you. and it is in times like these, that he regrets letting you go without a bodyguard. he regrets that he listened to your insistence that you could keep yourself safe. 

he should’ve at least told you to take a friend. 

“boss,” his subordinate says, bowing his head, his voice pleading, desperate. “i’m so sorry. your wife—”

“if anything… anything happens to her, you will be the one responsible, do you understand?” dazai says, his eyes cold as he glowers down at the man, only a few inches shorter than him, but feeling so much smaller. “i will personally see that this act does not go unpunished.” 

“of course, sir,” the man says, and he, at the very least, has the decency to sound resigned. to accept his fate and suffer the consequences, for allowing the boss’s wife to get herself into such a situation. 

and dazai means it, every last word; if he finds you in a state closer to death, anyone who put you in harm’s way will be torn apart from the inside out. he isn’t able to think of anything but bringing you home safely, his hands shaking with rage as he sends more than enough people out on a search to find you. 

with all the strings he’s able to pull as the mafia boss, it doesn’t take long to find you, for those that have bravely — or stupidly — used his wife as bait to come forward, and offer an attempt at some sort of negotiation. 

there’s little of the conversation that dazai remembers on the phone, even less that he remembers after that. the anger bubbles up in him and grabs hold of his conscience, the emotion directing his movements with a mind of its own. 

he’s already sent out every last one of his people into the field, ensuring that the organization that had the gall to threaten you is wiped off the face of the earth. deleted from every corner of the world, buildings flattened to the ground. by tomorrow, they won’t have ever existed. 

today, he doesn’t care what happens as long as he finds you alive. 

you’re held hostage by two men — so completely beaten that they’ve given up on any restraints. whatever they wanted from you, you seemed to refused to have given up, lip bleeding, eyes swelling so badly that you can’t even open them. 

dazai doesn’t hesitate before pulling the trigger on the first man, then turning to the other, shooting the hand that holds the pistol. the man recoils, shouts, and drops the weapon completely, as dazai lands another bullet to his knee, causing him to fall. 

slowly, dazai walks up, firing again to his other arm, a loud snap echoing throughout the room. the man winces, trying to crawl to the gun, one last desperate attempt to stay alive. 

he kicks the gun away, watching, as, pathetically, the expression in the enemy’s face changes — any of his remaining hope vanishes. 

“you told me she was unharmed,” dazai says, bending down, his coat flaring out behind him as he squats. 

the man coughs, gasping for air as the blood seeps out of him. “we lied.” he smiles cruelly, and though he shares the same sort of darkness as those in the port mafia, there is something even more twisted in his smile. 

dazai hums. “you the leader?” 

the man doesn’t give an answer, but the slight twitch of surprise on his face is all dazai needs. he’s no one — just a grunt whose life was put on the line to guard you. 

“didn’t think so.” dazai shoots him once, straight through the forehead, instantly killing him. but he is vindictive, angry, and the man he truly wants to destroy, the one who took you, is nowhere to be found. another bullet lands, tearing apart the flesh of his temple, then another, and one more, his skull beginning to cave in from the force of it all. 

dazai heaves, letting the gun clatter to the ground as it runs out of bullets, and then he realizes, all this time, you’ve just been watching him. the ugliest side of him — the worst side of him. 

you’re no stranger to it, of course. how can you be, when you’ve shared a life with him for years? but that doesn’t mean he wants you to see it, see how bloodthirsty he can become. 

he stumbles over to you, where you’re still sitting on the ground, your wrist in your lap, bent at an angle that he knows isn’t right. bruises are littered across your skin, and your hair is matted from the blood that pools at your temple. 

it takes every ounce of restraint he has to stay calm, a million feelings swirling under his skin. ones that he was never familiar with until he met you. 

“i’m sorry,” he says, taking your face in his hands so, so softly, worried that he’ll hurt you even more. “i’m sorry, darling. i should’ve — i should’ve been there.” dazai notices his hands are shaking and he balls them up into fists, leaning back. “fuck. fuck — i’ll kill them all, just tell me who it was. anyone who laid a finger on you. i’ll cut them down one by one.” 

“osamu,” you say, and your voice is raspy, cracking, as your unbroken arm reaches for him, squeezing his shaking hand. “i—”

you open your mouth to continue, but only tears come streaming down your cheeks, over your bloodied lips, saltiness soaking your jawline. no words don’t leave you, but a soft sob chokes itself up your throat.

“hey, hey, hey.” dazai’s voice softens, every muscle in his body relaxing as he draws you nearer to him, into his chest with a touch that’s barely there. “you’re safe. i’m here, okay? they’re not going to hurt you again, sweetheart.” 

you sniffle, barely making a sound, but he can feel the tears drop onto his clothes, soaking the material.

“can you walk? are you hurt anywhere else?” 

you hesitate for a moment before answering; he’s not sure if there’s a reason you only answer the first question. “i can walk.” 

dazai nods, and though the rage is still bubbling there, underneath the surface, there is a coolant streaming through him at the vision of you alive. the men who did this will pay the price, but he still has you — and that’s all that matters.

thank you for reading !!! ❤︎

[gothwineaunts]

Well hello there, readers!!

So, I have been lurking on our socials and in the webtoon comments of Nevermore's finale episode and have picked up some very subtle hints that y'all want to know when we're going to drop Season 2. Firstly I do want to let all the smarties who guessed we'd come back on Halloween based on our Ulalume quote know that they were onto something. When we originally left that hint for you, we were indeed planning to return in late October, but some unforeseen setbacks over the summer pushed our production schedule back. Still, I wanted to say congratulations for getting the hint right! We were impressed so many of you figured it out.

As for the updated launch of season two? While I don't have a specific date to share yet, I can tell you it'll be in January.

I know, I know. Trust me, I wish it was sooner too. I can't tell you how much Flynn and I miss updating weekly. Y'all make creating this series so exciting for us with your energy and excitement and creativity!! The talent I've seen in this community is off the charts. We feel unspeakably lucky to have readers like you along for the ride, and can't wait for you to see the episodes we've been working on.

If you're new to Flynn and I, it might not be common knowledge that we always do the absolute most all the time, compulsively, without stopping ever (save us, ahahhaa). And let me assure you that the opening episodes of season two? Are very most. A lot of most. Super long. Really, extra pretty. I wish I could post them now but I think webtoon might um. Be upset with me if I did that, so. Just trust me, ok? One thing I can share in th emeantime is some of the S2 character concepts. A few characters are getting minor glow ups. See if you can spot the differences!

Okay, well! We'll see you in January!! Or before, if you hang around our socials. I mean we're not disappearing. We'll be here, just. Plodding along on buffer in the background. If you're dying to spoil yourselves with wip streams you can hit up our patreon but I almost wouldn't recommend it on account of. You'll be so confused, at this point. Lmfao. Like. Wow, it would be a really weird time to join a wip stream with no context. This sounds like a shameless plug but I'm being serious when I say it's probably best you don't hop in at this particular moment?? But I mean. I'm not a cop. I'm just your weird goth wine aunt. 🍷

Cheers, Kit Trace

[mirohlayo]

F1 DRIVERS SLEEPING WITH YOU

FOR THE FIRST TIME

( include piastri, norris, leclerc, sainz, hamilton, russel, verstappen & ricciardo )

warning : none, full of fluff

note : cutest thing I've ever written (I say that to every fics I write)

─ OSCAR PISTRI

Boy is half excited and half nervous. He's already dreading the moment, imagining all the possible scenarios in his head. What is he supposed to do? Stay on the side of your bed? Wrap his arms around you? Tangle his legs with yours? He's beyond stressed, and the very idea that you don't feel comfortable makes him panic even more. But the relief he felt when you just snuggled up to him. It was just... natural. His arms naturally wrapped around you as he gently stroked your hair, your head on his chest. He was soothed, and couldn't hold back a slight smile, feeling his body warm up, feeling his heart overflowing with love.

─ LANDO NORRIS

He plays it cool, confident, but inside he can't deny the fact that he's slightly panicking. Since the very day he met you, being head over heels for you, he has imagined this scenario hundreds of times. Obviously, he dreamed of finally sleeping with you, feeling your body fit perfectly with his and just being able to cuddle you all night. So when the day finally arrives, he tries to act as he imagined in his head. Both lying on the bed, he didn't wait a single second before pulling you against him, holding you tightly so that you couldn't escape. His cheeks are probably very pink, but it's adorable, just like the way you fell asleep. In each other's arms.

─ CHARLES LECLERC

He comes out of your bathroom after changing into his pajamas, and ends up finding you already ready for sleep, lying in your bed, which is now getting ready to be shared with your boyfriend. This is the first time you're going to sleep together. This information seems to paralyze Charles, who remains planted against the doorframe, not knowing if he should come join you now. You giggle weakly, seeing him completely lost and... a little embarrassed. When he sees you open your arms to encourage him to come join you, he is already nestling his head in the crook of your neck the next second, his arms around your waist. Oh and, no need to add that it was the best night of his life.

─ CARLOS SAINZ

You are already lying in bed, side by side. It must have been a good 5 minutes since you moved, not really knowing what to do. You would love to snuggle up against him, but maybe that's too much for a first night together? That's definitely not what Carlos thinks, who noticed that you were, well... not comfortable in your own bed. He slowly turns towards you, smiling softly at you, as if you were the most beautiful wonder in the world, before pressing your head against his chest, with a gentle gesture. Your body presses against him naturally, as he begins to caress your back lightly. He places a quick kiss on your hair, wishing you both a good night.

─ LEWIS HAMILTON

His heart melts just at the thought of finally being able to sleep with you. To be honest, you were looking forward to this moment, and he too could only think about that. He can't help but think about it every second, until your bodies are finally inches apart, under the warm duvet. Lewis can't wait any longer, sleep already overtaking him. Just your simple presence soothes him. Then, it is in a peaceful silence that your bodies finally touch each other, seeking each other's affection. You quietly close your eyes, relaxed, as he inhales your scent, already feeling himself slipping away into dreams. Best night ever, for sure.

─ GEORGE RUSSEL

The bed is all ready, the sheets are clean and the duvet freshly laundered. You burrow under the covers first, smiling softly at your boyfriend, who in turn slips under the duvet. You are neither too close nor too far, a reasonable distance but your faces close. Enough that you felt the heat coming from each other's bodies. You don't dare disturb the other person, or make the situation uncomfortable, so it's in these positions that you fall asleep. However, George's body ends up unconsciously searching for you in his sleep. His arms ended up wrapping you in a comforting embrace, his head finding a place in the crook of your neck. And a little smile appeared on his face during the night.

─ MAX VERSTAPPEN

He was the one who practically begged you to sleep together. He wanted to spend as much time with you as possible, and above all he wanted to be able to hold you in his arms as long as possible, even at night. So when you were finally free from work and could sleep with him for the first time, he almost jumped for joy. As soon as you set foot on your bed, he had already trapped you in his arms, peppering your face with kisses here and there. It's not even embarrassing, it's just pleasantly adorable and warm. As if you had always slept together since the start of your relationship. And now that your first night together has passed, there won't be another night where he sleeps alone. It's him and you, or he doesn't sleep.

─ DANIEL RICCIARDO

This man is literally always in a good mood, and never really seems stressed. Except when it comes to you, and especially your first night sleeping in the same bed. His heart is pounding, and he can't hide his nervous expression no matter how hard he tries. You can't deny the fact that you're also somewhat stressed. After all, this is one of your first intimate moments. He could tell you were nervous just like him. And that's why he immediately knew how to lighten the atmosphere, by joking about the situation. All your stress is gone as you laugh until you cry, and your boyfriend laughs out loud, savoring the sweet melody of your laughter. And so, tired from laughing too much, you fall asleep deeply, snuggled up warmly against each other.

[hcneymooners]

dad’s best friend ambessa perhaps ..? :3 i love ur age gap fics ur so talented

⋆ come, and be my baby.

dad's best friend!ambessa x f!reader. men & minors dni. synopsis: you've always been a troubled, searching girl. ambessa, your father's long-time best friend, is your self-ordained solution. cw: age difference, older woman/younger woman, reader is implied to be between 22-24, emotional hurt/comfort, dom/sub, dom!ambessa, sub!reader, you're a little bit of a conniving bitch still love you tho, unhealthy relationship dynamics, codependency, slight emotional manipulation, listen you had to lock in, non-sexual intimacy, pleasure dom!ambessa, rough body play, manhandling, pet names, lesbian sex, dildos, vaginal sex, implied penetrative sex, implied strapping, oral fixation (ambessa), praise kink, mommy kink (specifically mama), implied exhibitionism, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, squirting, begging, spanking, impact play, face sitting, desk sex, you guys are definitely freaks but you love love love each other.

notes: hi, honey baby. this might be the most erotic questionable thing i've ever written. i hope you're happy with it. i went a little overboard and a bit non-conventional with the trope. i adore you & thank you for requesting, mami.

two things in this world reigned absolute: that you were glad your life would only be lived once, for you couldn't do this again, and that you were ambessa medarda's favorite girl.

the medardas were a family heavy with conflict, and perhaps that's why the matriarch and your father were best friends. they both were volatile people, sometimes prone to cruelty, with soft spots for certain people that were darkened with rot at the edges—perfumed with the sweet notes of their rage.

you were both of their favorites, and therefore, when your parents got divorced, you'd acted through the narrow scope of a confused and aching little girl and chose your father. once you'd shed that naive nature, you traced your way back to your mother in secrecy. you indulged in hushed phone calls in the middle of the night, timing your exits from your room with the fading beat of your father's boots as you left.

every month, she promised to get you.

the glass would fog with your breath as you waited in that tall, flaking phone booth, each passing car's headlights casting long shadows across your face. you memorized every crack in the booth's floor, every water stain on its ceiling, until they became as familiar as your own disappointment.

you wore the same outfit: thick, wool tights in burgundy tucked under the gleaming straps of your mary janes and layered underneath the dark denim of your favorite jeans. you cradled yourself into a black turtleneck, your hair tamed into two plaits that rested against your neck underneath the fabric. your eyes would be wide and searching, one hand gripping the curved handle of your brown leather suitcase and the other shaking around your well-loved copy of prozac nation.

she never came, but you showed up every time.

one night, a maserati did skate up to that ancient meeting spot, and you straightened from where you'd been dozing standing up. an overly tinted window rolled down, and you were met with the strong gaze of ambessa medarda, whom you hadn't seen since your early days. you didn't remember much, just yellow-tinged memories of being spoiled by her and being picked up and tossed into the bright sky above the farm she owned.

she must've moved back.

at first, she said nothing, just cataloged your most recent iteration of your "going with my mother" outfit and worked her jaw. finally, she leaned over and popped open the door before leaning back and letting you make the choice. embarrassed and teetering on the edge of emotional collapse, you slid in and shut down as she pulled away. this was how you met her again. seventeen and sobbing, emotionally wrought and disappointed from all angles. you probably came off unbearably young, dreamy, and unprepared for the challenges of real life.

it was only later that ambessa revealed that her first thought was that you needed a mother, that you needed her. that you were a girl abandoned and fighting your best against the more experienced hands of life.

⋅˚₊‧ 🕯୨୧ 🦪 ‧₊˚ ⋅

from then on you were her newest daughter, until you weren't. you noticed how 'miss' became 'dear' became 'darling,' each new endearment a step closer across the chasm between you. the way she said your name changed too, softening at the edges like butter left in sunlight.

by nineteen, you were practically sequestered to her house by your personal desires, curling at her hip as you grew into yourself. even now at an older age—still far younger than her—you came home from university only to lay all of your belongings in the warm wood of your makeshift bedroom (the guestroom, really). she taught you to appreciate aged whiskey, watching with amusement as you struggled not to grimace at the burn.

"small sips, little one," she'd say, her hand warm against your lower back.

you learned to love the taste, if only because it meant sharing these quiet moments in her study, the leather of her armchair creaking as she leaned forward to pour you another finger's worth.

you and mel even developed a soft friendship that lessened the tension between her and her mother, tall arguments tempered by the agreement that they would not aggravate your ptsd from the divorce days. sometimes you caught mel watching you both with worried eyes, but you'd grown tired of other people's concerns.

you'd rather have this - ambessa's fingers absently playing with your hair as she read reports, the way she automatically ordered your coffee exactly how you liked it, the subtle possessiveness in how she introduced you to her colleagues.

regardless, you knew that you and ambessa's relationship spun on an axis that could be labeled uncomfortably intimate, maybe even imbalanced. for all that everyone said, you couldn't find it in yourself to be concerned. you regarded her as all that you had, something that wouldn't leave.

she indulged you, kissing your forehead when she came in from a day at work or texting you about what replacements you had wanted for certain items on the grocery list. she rarely called you by your name, always coaxing you forward with firm, warm pet names. they were swollen with affection, a doting '(my) sweet girl', 'baby girl', or 'little one.'

your favorite one was invoked from a spontaneous trip to paris to meet an art collector she'd purchased from, only to return bearing handcrafted soaps and a penchant for calling you 'chouchou.' that stopped about two weeks later, but you wrote it down under your list of desired tattoos. what didn't stop was the way she'd buy authentic silken scarves to tie around your neck with careful precision, her fingers brushing against your pulse point in a way that sent you shivering.

the shift was gradual, like watching shadows lengthen at sunset. one evening, as thunder rolled outside and rain lashed against the windows of her study, she pulled you closer than usual. ambessa’s fingers traced patterns on your skin as she read, and when you tilted your head back to look at her, she met your gaze with an intensity that made your breath catch. the thunder cracked again and the peeking champagne of your bra strap slipped down your arm. still, neither of you moved.

the moment was eventually broken by mel’s surprise of coming home for the weekend. you pulled yourself upright, intending to put together a small plate for her. before you could leave, ambessa strolled up behind you and adjusted the strap, so that it was firm and held tight to the delicate bones of your shoulder.

for a moment, you thought you’d felt her lips right beside it.

⋅˚₊‧ 🕯୨୧ 🦪 ‧₊˚ ⋅

"you're not a little girl anymore," she murmured one night, weeks later, her voice carrying the weight of aged whiskey and unspoken promises.

you were curled in your usual spot beside her, but everything felt different - charged with an electricity that made your skin prickle. you couldn't remember when the maternal comfort of her touch had transformed into something more, but you knew there was no going back.

"i haven't been for a while," you replied, your voice steady despite the way your heart hammered against your ribs. her hand found your chin, tilting your face up to meet her gaze, and you saw in her eyes the same hunger that had been growing in your own.

your fingers traced the rim of your whiskey glass, ice long since melted. the study had grown dark save for the amber glow of her desk lamp, catching the silver in her hair like moonlight on water.

you'd noticed her watching you more lately, her gaze heavy with something between concern and desire.

"you remind me of her sometimes," she said quietly, breaking the silence. "mel, when she was younger."

the comparison should have stung, but you knew better. you'd learned to read between her lines, to understand the weight she carried. you were not mel's replacement - you were something altogether different, more dangerous.

you set your glass down carefully, the crystal making a soft sound against the carpet.

"i'm not her," you said, voice steady as you rose from your chair. "i won't leave."

the words hung in the air between you, heavy with promise and threat. her laugh was low, throaty.

"no, baby girl. you're nothing like her at all, are you?"

she spoke the endearment deliberately this time, watching how it made you shiver. you'd both been playing this game for months - you with your calculated vulnerability, her with her careful restraint.

you moved to stand behind her chair, hands resting on her shoulders. through the silk of her blouse, you felt her tension, the way she stilled like a prey animal. but ambessa medarda was nobody's prey, and you both knew it.

"i need you," you murmured, the words leaden. you were trying not to sound as crazed as you felt . "and you need someone who needs you."

her hand came up to cover yours, her gold rings dense and cool against your skin.

"you're very clever," she said, something like pride coloring her voice. "i should send you away."

"but you won't." you pressed your lips to her temple, breathing in the scent of her perfume - something expensive and french. mango wood and black rose if you remembered correctly, discovered during your illicit investigations of her bedroom. "because you understand me better than anyone. because we're the same."

she turned then, catching your wrist in a grip that walked the line between gentle and controlling.

"the same?" her thumb pressed against your pulse point, counting out the rhythm of your wanting. "you're barely older than my daughter."

"age is just a number," you said, and then laughed at how young it made you sound. "no—that's not what i mean. what i mean is that we both know what we want. we both know how to take it."

the silence stretched between you like spun sugar, delicate and sweet. outside, leaves skittered across the gravel drive, and somewhere in the house, a clock chimed eleven. you watched emotions play across her face - desire, concern, resignation, hunger.

"if we do this," she said finally, her voice rough like aged bourbon, "there's no going back. no playing innocent. no running away when it gets hard."

you smiled, all teeth and triumph poorly disguised as submission.

"i told you," you said, sinking to your knees beside her chair, resting your head against her thigh like you had a hundred times before - but different now, charged with intent. "i'm not going anywhere."

her hand found your hair, nails scraping gently against your scalp.

"my clever, terrible girl," she murmured, and you could hear in her voice that she'd surrendered to this animal between you. "what am i going to do with you?"

you turned your face into her touch, lips brushing against her wrist where her heart copied yours, beat for beat.

"keep me," you said simply. "just keep me."

the study grew quieter still, the only sound was your shared breathing and the distant whisper of wind through bare branches. you'd won, you knew, but then you'd been winning since that first night in the maserati, since you'd looked at her with calculated tears and let her save you. you loved her - truly, deeply, with all the fierce possession of your young heart - but you'd learned from your mother's absence that love wasn't enough. you had to learn how to hold on to what you wanted.

and oh, how you wanted this - wanted her, with her silver-streaked hair and elegant hands and eyes that saw right through you and wanted you anyway.

her fingers tightened in your hair, and you looked up to find her watching you with an expression that made your breath catch. the lamp clicked off, and in the sudden darkness, you felt rather than saw her move. her hand cupped your cheek, thumb brushing across your bottom lip.

"stand up," she commanded softly, and you did, letting her guide you until you were perched on the edge of her desk. the wood was cool against your thighs, a sharp contrast to the heat of her body as she stepped between your knees. "are you sure about this?"

your answer was to reach for her, fingers curling into the cotton of her blouse.

"i've never been more sure of anything."

the clock struck quarter past, and the last autumn leaves rattled against the window as she leaned down to kiss you, tasting of whiskey and an affection hard won.

you kissed back lazily, squeezing your thighs together as one of her hands came to direct you by the base of your neck. she slotted the two of you together, lips sliding and grasping at each other between soft inserts of tongue. your teeth seemed to buzz with unnamable energy as she leaned forwards, hands bracing around you, so close to cupping your ass.

you needed her touch, needed to know whether your fantasies had been well-conjured or only pathetic in their imaginings. you’d spent nights tucking your fingers into yourself, trembling quietly as you pictured the shape of her mouth and how it would fit over you.

as if reading your mind, ambessa firmly spread your legs apart with a forceful hand and came closer to you. you let out a weak moan as her teeth scraped your neck, a hand coming to press down on your stomach as if to see how much space she had to fill.

you were so immensely grateful for the flimsy structure of your sleep shorts, the fabric tugged easily down your legs by only one of her fingers. she used that same finger to feel out the shape of your clothed cunt, her throat trembling with a low sound of satisfaction.

you were wet and desperate, wrapping an arm around her broad shoulders so that you could grind against what was now two fingers.

ambessa moved your panties aside with no great effort, sliding a finger into your tight heat. gradually, she built a rhythm inside of you until you were bucking where she held you. after a minute, she slid it out and into her mouth.

“mmm,” she said consideringly. “my babygirl is so sweet for me.”

you’d swallow a boat of fucking blackberries if you had to, choke them down despite your allergies and sealing throat if that meant she’d taste you again.

“ambessa.

she laughed and you saw her eyes glittering in the dark, the light brown so bright with want they seemed gold. it was then you realized you’d never said her first name alone before, and she must’ve realized as well because her hand suddenly clenched around your throat.

“do you remember when you turned twenty and got drunk with those miscreants from the town over?” your mouth twitched at her avid disgust. she could be quite classist. you’d work on that. “you don’t because you practically drank your body weight, but i do. do you want to know why?”

you gasped out a ‘yes’ as she used her free hand to grope the peach of your ass before switching to thumbing at your pebbled nipples.

“i remember that birthday because you stumbled into my room and climbed into bed with me.” you felt dread rising. “you bumped against my back, like a little bunny, and worked yourself into quite the state. and the whole time you kept apologizing. you were saying ‘sorry, mama’, all slurred and saccharine, over and over till you finished.”

you were so hot with shame you could’ve set the house burning. she smiled, slow and teasing, as she pinched your nipple hard. you let out a high moan.

“i liked that.”

you were squirming now, two of her massive fingers back to stretch your pussy.

“i liked it very much. i had to make sure not to wake you as i fucked myself.”

your eyes widened, like two coins, as the words registered. ambessa laughed again and lowered to her knees, yanking you forward so your ass hung off the edge of the desk. she was still tall enough to tower over you, shadowing the sopping mess of your cunt.

with an annoyed roll of her eyes, she pulled her fingers away and reached behind you, returning with a pair of scissors. with two efficient cuts, your panties were hanging in tatters around your hips. your pussy was exposed in all of its pink glory and it pulled apart with a soft squelch as she pushed your thighs up and out, guiding your hands to hold them for her.

she tugged a hair tie from around her wrist, drawing her gray mass of curls into a loose bun. several strands fell around her face, but she only pushed them impatiently behind her ears. you slapped your hand around blindly, eventually flicking on the bright desk lamp.

“i want you to see me,” you breathed, and she cupped your cheek.

“i’ve always seen you.”

and with that, she went down. she started with a long, luxurious lick up your cunt, her lips suckling around your clit as she reached the top. you moaned loudly and dropped your hands from your thighs, raising them to tug and pinch at your tits. she kept your legs open by sliding the bulk of her back between them, sliding back down to lap at your hole.

for someone as rigid as ambessa could be, she was messy when eating you. she didn’t care to savor, not right now. she’d wanted you for what felt like forever, and you wanted to black out beneath her.

she further spread you open, thrusting her tongue into your heat and feeling you clench. back and forth she went, slobbering over the pink of you until you were tearing up. she suctioned her mouth over one of your lips, large and gleaming, pulling away so that it slid from her mouth with a wet extended ‘pop!’. you clutched at her head, rocking yourself into her unforgiving hold. she blew gently over your hole, watched as it fluttered.

“mama, please.”

tenderly, she grazed her teeth over your clit, soothing the sting with her tongue as she sank three fingers inside of you. ambessa fucked you hard and fast, your tits bouncing as you whimpered with a hand over your mouth. a hand came down like thunder on your ass, the crack hard and hot. you wailed and clutched at her, begging her to go faster, to mark you, to swallow you whole.

“there you are, baby girl. tell me what you need.”

“mama, wait—” you shuddered around her crooked fingers, the world turning white as your head grew hazy. “wait. mama.”

“hmm?”

you scrambled at her, pushing her until there was enough space to slide from where you’d settled at her wrist. wobbling, you turned on your hands and knees, pushing your ass up into her face and falling into a brutal arch.

“like this please.”

“anything for my girl,” ambessa said and you shook because you couldn’t see her face but you could feel her voice.

her fingers dove back into you, her mouth joining the effort. you were floating, only briefly aware of the consistent slaps to your ass through the pain ricocheting pleasantly through you. you pushed back, fucking yourself the way you wanted. she let you, steadying you when you began to lose rhythm.

“bessa, i can’t—i can’t see you,” you slurred and she hummed into your weeping pussy.

your stomach grew tighter and tighter, the world narrowing down to the way she slurped and worked into your cunt. you gripped the opposite edge of the desk, extending yourself as your orgasm began to boil over. quickly, ambessa swung herself under you and brought you down on her face. her arms flexed around your stomach, the corded muscle circling you as she moaned into your cunt.

the vibrations set you off. you felt like you were flying, like you were fucking free.

“oh shit, mama. fuuuuckkkk.”

your voice was unrecognizable to yourself, cracking and raspy. time stretched and winded. you knew your legs were shaking, that you’d squirted over her and yourself.

you didn’t know how, but ambessa was undressed now and rearranging you like a doll. you were back up on your knees, but she was draped over you with her heavy tits branding your skin with their warmth and weight. her hair was down and around you; it smelled like her shampoo, a curtain of coconut and cinnamon.

she bumped her hips against you, caught the silicone tip of a dildo again and again against your loose hole. you turned your head and opened your mouth like a baby bird so she could spit into it, stuff her fingers in.

she began to break into you, bullying your cunt into accepting her cock. you did what you always did. you pushed back and let her in.

you only ever gave her what she needed.

⋅˚₊‧ 🕯୨୧ 🦪 ‧₊˚ ⋅

morning light filtered through dense curtains, casting the bedroom in baby pink. you watched your rings catch the light as you stretched - the marquise diamond throwing prisms across egyptian cotton sheets, your simple gold band warm from sleep.

you'd chosen them together - ambessa insisting on the marquise cut for the engagement ring (something as unique as you, sweet girl) while you'd wanted the classic simplicity of the wedding band, a quiet echo of forever.

the bedroom remained your favorite place - all cream linens and dark wood, familiar as breathing. in the mornings, you could pretend time stood still, pressing chapped kisses against her strong bare arms in the quiet before the day began. sometimes you climbed on top of her, sunk as far as you could into the broad helm of her body.

despite the passing years, she remained your most fortified sanctuary.

"baby girl?" ambessa's voice carried from the en-suite, still commanding even wrapped in morning softness.

you could hear the water running; a bath being drawn.

“coming, mama.”

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