Never Done This Before - Tumblr Posts
I made a patreon! :]
Like, 6 hours ago lmfao
I've never had anything like this before, so bear with me as i learn how it works!
I'm also not working on anything right now due to burnout, but I'll do my best to get out of it ASAP<3<3
That is all
Have nice day :]
Yo! I'm doin' commissions!
shattered illusions - leon kennedy x reader
<><><>
his skin is paler than it’s ever been, cheeks rosy but hollow, hair flumping in wet strands over his forehead, where a sheen of sweat glistens as younear his bed.
“leon?” you whisper, fingers ghosting your lips.
“sweetheart?” he responds, eyes still closed. “is that you? i’m... not dead?”
“no,” you murmur. “you’re still here.”
“with you,” he sighs, but it doesn't sound like relief.
“you didn’t tell me,” you say, but it comes out more like a question.
“what was I supposed to tell you?” he retorts, voice quieter than you can bear to hear. “that my uncle got me addicted to that shit? now I can’t quit? now I'm stuck lying here pathetically, like this?"
“i could’ve helped,” you say, heart clenching in your chest. “i could’ve done something.”
“you couldn’t have,” he replies, shaking his head slightly, as if the very motion pains him.
“you’re not dying,” you say, more urgently, as if trying to convince yourself that if you say it enough times, he'll stay, as if it's in his hands.
“i am. and since I'll die here, i hope the eyes of heaven forgive me.” fluttering eyelashes open slowly, exposing the azure gems that are his eyes. “i hope whoever is up there forgives my sins, so when you die, i can live the rest of my days with you.”
you stare at each other for a bit longer, the steady beeping of the machine and the gentle whooshing of air playing peek-a-boo with the curtains the only sounds in the room.
“me?” your voice cracks, like you're just growing up, like the moment will forever be hung in time, but the grief that threatens to overwhelm you is stronger than the realization that he loves you.
“yes, you.” he chuckles, voice hoarse. “i did the wrong thing. i’ve done so many bad things. i know that. you don’t… have to stay.”
“i’m not leaving,” you say quickly. “i’ll be here.”
“we lost so much time,” he says faintly, staring up at the moldy ceiling. he cranes his neck to check you're still there, and the expression on his face is a mix between hurt and regret. “i should’ve said something, hm?”
“you dumbass,” you say, unable to alternate between sobs and laughs.
“don’t cry,” leon hushes, his right hand lifting to cup your cheek, calloused, rough fingers wiping at the corner of your eye. “don’t cry for me.”
“i’m not.” you blink once, hard, fast, trying to keep him in this moment with you, scared that if I close your eyes again, he’ll be gone.
“sleep,” he says soothingly, as if reading your thoughts. “i’ll be here when you wake up.”
and with that string of a promise, you lay your head down near his torso, covered in the flimsy blanket, and drift off to sleep.
<><><><><>
this is to prove to that one anon in my inbox that's been waiting for a week im sry girl i have a lot of shit going on but js know im getting there. i love you sm for sending in ur amazing request <3333
i'll make a part two if u want just let me work on other shit <33
Thanks for the tag @madame-fear <3
coffee or tea • canon or fanfiction • batman or superman • hot or cold (depends) • meadows or forests • lakes or the sea (as long as they’re clean) • water w/ ice or water w/ no ice • baths or showers • black or white • soup or salad • gold or silver • jewelry or no jewelry • money or power • kindness or respect • apples or oranges • flowers or succulents • digital notes or handwritten notes • science or history • ancient greece or ancient rome • jeans or sweats
Got nobody to tag lol
Tagged by @deanbrotherfuckerwinchester yo thanks for thinking of me
coffee or tea • canon or fanfiction (it depends) • batman or superman • hot or cold • meadows or forests • lakes or the sea • water w/ ice or water w/ no ice (my friend bullies me for this but I don’t like feeling it against my lips) • baths or showers • black or white • soup or salad • gold or silver • jewelry or no jewelry (I’ll wear it if it’s from something though) • money or power • kindness or respect • apples or oranges • flowers or succulents • digital notes or handwritten notes • science or history • ancient greece or Ancient Rome (depends) • jeans or sweats (sweats are an always, I only like jeans when they’re baggy)
I’m tagging @lord-kaira, @samsblush, @sweetpapercroissant, @disartrous, @tigirl-and-co, and @fandomheathen but don’t feel pressured to respond if you don’t want to :)
🎀 Yours Truly🎀
Lana Del Rey instrumental + intense love making = Shit... maybe I do care about him ...
the trajectory, the rawness, the palpable vulnerability between the two, the depth, intensity, feelings, emotions. this is simply wonderful and mesmerizing, is so beautiful the way you write and describe your characters.
perfect mix between desire and angst. with that spiceness that *ex*DBF Bucky can bring. I love it. I'm exited for another part 🤍
hello! could you do angst prompt 2. “Hey wait a minute is -is that blood?” with Bucky ?
you are awesome btw & I’ve loved reading the other requests you have written for so far! :D
Pairing: DBF!Bucky Barnes x F!Reader
Summary: In one of those moments in life when all you wished for was to be left alone to lick your own wounds and think about every way in which things can be unfair, the person you least expected to find you pays a visit to your home. When Bucky Barnes, a family's long-term friend, sees the blood on your cheek, the night takes a turn for the unexpected.
A/n: Feedback is really important to me. Tell me what you think and I’ll adore ya forever :)
Word count: 6k
Warning(s): HEAVY angst. Mentions of domestic violence, aggression; Reader gets slapped by a family member. Age gap (Reader in her 20s, Bucky in his late 40s.) Pre-smut? Lots of unresolved sexual tension. I do not allow for my work to be copied, translated, or re-uploaded anywhere else.
— play with fire —
When you rush home with your head weighing a thousand pounds the left side of your face burning as if someone had grabbed you by the back of the head and smacked you against a wall, all you wanted was to lick your wound, drink a whole bottle of wine, and maybe cry yourself to sleep.
There should be no one home. Your mother was away on a business trip, any employee of the house would be gone by 4pm, and you were free to rage inside with all your shame and pain and process it.
You'd forgotten about Biscuit. Her cat.
About the fact that you no longer lived here, so she'd need someone else to take care of it.
It's only your luck that the person she chose for the task is him:
Bucky Barnes.
His existence made you fussy since you were too young to think too much over it.
You'd never paid it no mind—back then, Bucky was only around for long enough that you could hear him talking to your parents or someone else; you two never interacted much whenever he came to the trips and parties held at the Lake House every end of the year. All that you knew was this:
Bucky was your father's best friend since college.
He worked at the same company as your mother, though, and ever since your dad brought her to his circle of friends, she'd won them over so bad that now she was considered a close friend to many of them. You knew he was charming, had a wonderful smile, was intelligent beyond words, and, above everything, Bucky's exterior did very little to show how sweet and kind he could be on the inside.
All that grumpiness in his brows, serious face, five o'clock shadow always making him look older.
In reality, his voice was soft-spoken.
He was nice. You were never around much and could probably count on one hand how many interactions you two had over the course of the years, but that much you knew.
That's probably why when your father and mother divorced, Bucky chose your mother's side.
Went from 'dad's best friend' to 'mother's best friend', and never once spoke to the man he thought he knew.
When you asked your mom, surprised by the sight of Bucky at the end of the year's party, all she said was, "Turns out at least one of your father's friends had no excuses for finding out he 'slipped' sometimes and slapped the shit out of me. I should've known. James was always nice."
James was nice.
He was also a greek-god look-alike, had more depth than an ocean, and made you realize that you definitely were into boys.
After being away for most of your childhood living in Russia for business, he came back to stay, and when he picked your mom's side on the whole feud, you saw him more and more through your rebellious teenage years. He was around for summer sometimes, and you wanted to go to him, tell him you read the book he was reading, or that he knew about the thing he was talking about unlike your mother's other empty-headed friends, but you never did. Consequently, you never got more than a wave or a shrug from him.
Until a couple of years ago when you had your party to leave for college, you two had never shared more than a few sentences with one another.
That night of the party you remember seeing the realization hitting him that you were becoming a woman, all because your mouth was too loose and your blood too sweetened by all the wine you had.
Bucky had asked you why did you never tell him about how much you adored ancient civilizations, and you had laughed.
"Bucky, c'mon."
"C'mon what? I never knew. I would've given you some books I have on the topic if I did. I know you're a shy girl, but I thought you'd be a little less shy with me of all people."
"Really? You wanted me to be less shy around my mother's cool, 'lived in Russia' handsome lawyer sidekick who's got nicknames and all?"
"What?! Don't make me sound that cool—I'm an environmentalist lawyer who's got back pain and loses in bowling to his artist friend that's 5"6, Y/n."
"Yeah. And you go to rallies, got arrested twice for peaceful protesting, and some people call you White Wolf. I'm already shy, what d'you think happens when I'm shy and a little starstruck? Forgive me for being smitten or whatever."
"What?"
"Uh—what?"
"Sorry—I'm just. You said 'smitten'. ... Don't be silly. A clever and stunning young lady like you doesn't get smitten by your mom's trashy old buddies."
"... Sure thing, Bucky."
The twinkle in his eyes that day never left your mind.
You two standing on the balcony, Bucky drinking his scotch with a hand in his pockets and his eyes on you, properly looking at you, then averting away like he was staring at something he shouldn't.
You left for college with a hook sunk in your stomach, and the bitter knowledge that you'd be single until your thirties because a Brooklyn guy with blue eyes had raised your standards too high before you even knew the bar was being made.
The second you hear the door being open, your mind blasts every alarm possible.
First, you think: fucking great. Awesome. Robbed on top of everything.
Then you hear:
"Biscuiiiiiiiit!"
Fuck.
James Goddamn Bucky Barnes.
You swallow the rest of the wine glass in three gulps and you start calculating how fast and to where you'll escape.
"Come 'ere, pretty. Psssss psss psss," his voice calls from the living room. You hear Biscuit meowing, more talkative than he was when you arrived. It feels like he's ratting you out. Traitor. "Hiii. I know, you missed me. I was only gone for a day, buddy."
You hate the way he talks to the talk.
Honey-sweet, so familiar and loving all over.
You wonder if you can jump the fence from the pool.
"C'mon, let's turn on the music and see if that damned thing has eaten anything. Shedding your whole skin must be tricky as fuck," he's saying to the cat. Right. Your mother's pet snake, Janora.
Bucky must be here often if he can take care of Janora too.
You're almost out through the laundry room when after a second of heavy silence, you hear something that almost makes you halt:
"What's this... oh." The image of what stopped him flashes behind your eyelids, and you mutter 'fuck' under your breath. How can you escape if you left your jacket and all your shit is thrown all over the couch? Stupid. Stupid, stupid— "Y/n?"
Well.
"Fuck," you mutter again.
Louder, Bucky tries again. "Y/n?" His footsteps are approaching, and you know there's no way out of this now that he knows you're here.
Maybe you could run upstairs and try to shower before he sees you? You feel your eyes stinging and you're looking from side to side in desperate search of an escape route that seems unexistent. "Uh—I'm..." gonna shower? Naked? Please don't come here, please don't—
Bucky's frame enters through the kitchen door and your body turns away instantly.
"Hey—oh." He pauses with your abrupt turn. "Y/n? You okay?"
No. "I'm—yeah. Yeah, I'm fine. I just..." am a shitty liar. Fuck, fuck, I can't think of anything. Clearing your throat, you try to turn with your right side only. "I was about to go upstairs for a shower, d'you mind if I just—"
You see it's too late when it's already too late. Bucky's eyes drop to your lips and his face darkens, and he's putting Biscuit on the floor in a split second. “Hey, wait a minute is—" he starts coming closer. "Is that blood?”
With your heart pounding, you stand there frozen in your spot.
In four steps, he's crossed the kitchen and the next thing you see, Bucky's tall and broad frame is towering over you.
Sometimes, you forget how big he is. How wide are his shoulders, how much back he's got, and how beefy he is underneath all the smart clothes and suits. Then, he stands next to you and you're reminded.
His hands reach up until they touch your face, and your eyes are on the eye level of his chest, which you can see heavy breathing.
"Y/n." His voice is strained. Bucky's movements are a contrast to everything—his hands touch your jawline and move your head so gently that they feel like the ghost of a touch. "What happened? Please tell me. All I can think of are murder or calling the police right now—"
"It's nothing," you tell him, finding your voice at last.
He shakes his head. "Please don't say that when you've got blood on your face." He's looking at you now, you can feel it. "Who did this?"
The one you once called a best friend. You swallow thickly around the words. "I was stupid to have gone in the first place," you confess. Then, you look up into his eyes. "I should've known he had an agenda. He always has an agenda, doesn't he?"
Bucky takes in the words slowly, but his brain connects the dots easily.
"No..." he starts. You wonder if he's aware that he's still holding your face.
"I don't think calling the cops on my dad will do much good considering how cozy he is with half of the department," you chuckle bitterly.
Bucky shuts his eyes so hard that you see the wrinkles in their corners.
"Fucking hell," he mutters. He then opens his eyes and looks at the blood drying on the corner of your lips. "Y/n... Fuck." He sighs deeply. "Can I—Let me help you clean this at least. Is that what you were about to do?"
I was about to run away from you, actually. Instead of that, what you do is lift the bottle of wine you snatched before trying to run away and give it a wiggle. "Priorities."
Bucky looks down at the bottle, and a chuckle escapes him. "Right."
Finally, he lets go of your face.
You feel like you can breathe again.
"Can I help?" He asks again.
It's a wonder of nature how this man can make you so tongue-tied. You have to force the words out, no matter how long it's been. "Sure."
Bucky moves through the kitchen with the familiarity of someone who's home. He grabs ice, puts it inside a plastic bag, and then secures that bag inside a cloth.
Sitting on the aisle's bench in the middle of the kitchen, you observe him move around.
Even though you see only the shadow of his face, you can sense Bucky's anger. He's properly angry.
"Here," he says when the ice pack is made. He comes to sit next to you, and for a second, you think he's going to be the one icing your wound, but of course he delivers it in your hands. "Does that need an antiseptic?" He asks, pointing at the cut your father's left on your bottom lip.
That brings a smile to your face. "My immune system's not that shitty." The ice pack feels good against your heated cheek, and Bucky's eyebrows lift.
It hits you that he's not used to hearing you curse.
He's only used to hearing how you are around your mother.
"Should I go kick his ass?" Bucky asks after a heartbeat of light silence. He's sitting on the bench in front of you, leaning his upper body on the granite aisle and you have trouble looking away from all his gorgeous details. "I stopped Steve from kicking his ass once."
"That's a shame," you snort. You lick inside your mouth, face distorting at the horrid taste of blood all over. "You don't have to."
"I kinda want to," Bucky laughs humorlessly. "This is—" He stops himself, sighing again. Both his palms go to rub his face, and Bucky looks tired for a moment. "I don't get how he can just do this. How he can hurt someone he loves. How he can hurt you."
The way Bucky emphasizes the last bit washes away some of the bad taste your father has left in your night and your body. Like the tide erasing every trace of human tracks on the beach by the end of the day—with one heartfelt sentence from him, things don't feel so grim anymore.
"He's just a shitty man, Bucky." One who hides it well. "And I was stupid to think he might've changed."
Immediately, Bucky shakes his head. "Don't say that," his voice is firm. "Don't call yourself stupid when he's the one that lacks brain cells. If anything, he's a dumbass."
"Yeah."
Bucky's gaze fixes itself on your cheek again, and you can see his jawline sharpening. "I'm not gonna ask what happened, but..." He looks back into your eyes. "I'm here to talk about it if you want to."
If he was one of your friends, you'd laugh obnoxiously loud and say I'd rather shit in my hands, then clap, but this was Bucky. Not a single bone in your body could be that smartass with him, especially when he looked at you so earnestly.
"Thanks. I'd rather just... forget it happened," you laughed, humorlessly as well. Looking around in search of a change of subject, you see Biscuit rubbing himself on Bucky's calf. "You were about to take care of her mini zoo, right?"
Bucky looks down too. "Yeah. Wanna help?"
"Only if you finish this with me afterward," you wiggle the wine bone a little higher up.
Bucky eyes the thing with a bit of distaste, and it takes no genius to figure out this isn't his go-to choice for a drink. Before you can add anything else though, he sighs and puts on a smile.
"Did you know your mother got a turtle now too?" He asks.
"What?!"
"Oh, yeah," Bucky laughs. "C'mon. Hold that thing close and watch every animal in this house love me more than her."
The words are said in a playful manner, but as he moves around your house, that's exactly what happens.
As it turns out, Bucky's very easy to talk to.
Easy to follow around while answering — and even asking, a rare thing for you — a bunch of questions. He feeds Biscuit while asking you questions about life here versus life in another city, and then you two go to the living room so he can take care of Jenora.
Biscuit follows him.
Bucky has no issues picking up your mother's pet snake to change her water in the same breath he asks you about your degree and how did you enjoy college all around.
"I barely saw you before you left, but I still could feel your absence in this house, you know?" He asks.
"Really?"
"Yeah," he nods, putting the snake back inside her terrace. "You know your mom and I host pizza nights whenever we're lucky enough to be in the same city for longer than a few months, and while I don't have a lot of memories, I do remember you eating pizza like it was your job."
His laughter is so bright and unexpected that you blush at the sight and the sound of it. It feels a little surreal to see him like that at first — during your party was the closest you two ever had gotten at a conversation, and even then Bucky laughed behind the rim of his glass, almost as if hiding from the whole thing — but it's a nice and welcoming change.
"You two are good at it. What am I supposed to do?" You shrug.
"Oh, exactly what you did," there's another laugh, and he nods at you seriously. "Don't worry. That was amazing," his wide smile stays intact. "But really—apart from 'quite nice and more educational than you thought', was did you think of your course?" Bucky asks, looking at you. "You got what you wanted out of it, you think?"
You're taken aback by how meaningful his inquiry is before your love for your area kicks in and you start rambling in his ear a little.
He looks like he has no problem with that.
Bucky only gets up and nods for you to follow him, but his eyes stay attentive, and the way he pays attention, looking at you, nodding along with all the right parts, and placing a clarifying question here and there, it almost makes you feel bashful.
You follow him to meet your mother's new turtle and then find yourself asking him questions in return.
Things like, 'do you miss traveling as much as you did? Mom always mentioned how much you love it' and 'but do you think that having a meaning is necessary for everything?' when Bucky mentions his divorce and some other experiences he had left him reeling about his life in ways he never expected.
It's... a lot.
You feel a certain whiplash, going from the saddest you've been in a while to a state of trance where it feels like you're in a parallel universe. A movie, perhaps, where things like this happen, and coincidences lead you to sit at the edge of the pool drinking another bottle of wine while Bucky sips on the scotch he poured from your mom's bar.
It's a lot, and you love it.
The only problem is—alcohol makes you bolder.
And Bucky's undivided attention on you feels electric.
Sets fire to all the ethanol running in your veins.
He sits right across from you on one of the white chairs and keeps talking about anything and everything as if he can't see the way your eyes sometimes lose your brain's battle and drop to his lips.
At one point, you're enjoying the silence.
Even the silences are easy.
How dare he?
"Can I ask you something?" Bucky breaks the silence.
You look up from Biscuit, and wonder if your chairs were always touching. "Sure." Did you move yours? You feel like you might've. "What?"
If Bucky leaned in on the armrest of his chair and you leaned in on yours, you'd be a single breath away from him.
He throws a rock at your wonderings when he asks, "Was he always like this? And did I just... miss it?" He's looking at the left side of your face. There's so much pain in his eyes that one could look and think somebody personally offended him.
"Bucky." At the sound of his name, he looks into your eyes. "No." There were good times—you remember there were. But people are more complex than that. "My grandpa loved him when he was alive, Buck. My father could be a charming, fun guy. My mom talks about it. He just—my father let the worst parts of him eat his insides 'till there was nothing left instead of taking care of those... things growing inside him," you explain, feeling choked up at the words. "Some feelings and thoughts can be diseases. And if we don't take care of them... it changes your chemistry, your thoughts. Who you are. He was always blunt, and strict, but I remember when I was really young, he was never violent. It started after his 'habit' of alcohol became another disease, and..."
Your mind does a loop around all the results of it.
Suddenly, you feel a weight on top of your hand, and when you look down, his hand has covered yours.
"You're really fucking smart, Y/n," he says. "I mean it." His eyes do say he believes in it. His smile saddens, and he adds. "It's not easy to think through the kind of pain that sort of stuff can cause us."
"It's really not," you agree, a little breathless.
He nods. "I'm sorry he did that," his hand holding the glass points at your face, and you see his jaw tensing again. Every time he looks at it, Bucky looks a little murderous. "Should've never stopped Steve," he whispers, smacking his teeth.
I stopped Steve from kicking his ass once.
You laugh. "Nah, you shouldn't have."
Bucky's next sigh sounds like he's letting go of the annoying balloon that is your father and all he entails, he takes the last sip of his scotch. "You know what tonight needs?"
"What?"
"Some desert. D'you want desert? I'm craving something sweet, and we deserve it," Bucky says all of it in almost one breath.
Something sweet and you? Let's see if my heart can take it. "I don't think my mom has even sugar in this house."
"I know a bakery that stays open 'till 11. Which means we've got—" Bucky stops to look at his clock, and you hate yourself for finding the sight of the whole ensemble hot. Who the fuck wears watches anymore? "Sixteen minutes," he announces.
"You think we can make it?" you ask, feeling the giddiness taking over you.
Bucky smirks. "I can make it in seven."
"Please don't kill us."
"I'd never. I need at least half a bottle to get even tipsy, doll. Don't worry. Let's go?"
Doll.
"Uh—yeah. Yeah. Let's go."
If Bucky notices what he caused, the explosion goes unnoticed in the dust rising of you two getting ready and leaving in less than two minutes.
Shoes on, wallets and phones in hand, a bottle of water you snatched from the fridge quickly for yourself but end up offering to him as he drives—you two are ready for some dessert.
Desire and beauty are two different things in your opinion, but they walk and share a very thin line.
Seeing the beauty in something could happen without desire as a result, but desire, in its rawest form, only happened when you saw beauty. Were deeply attracted to it.
Bucky was gorgeous, from head to toe, and all through the car ride, while he grabs his order of cake and açaí for the two of you, until the ride back home, you knew he felt the desire seeping from your pores, oozing like pheromones, probably.
It would be useless even trying to hide it.
What was the point when a simple smile of his could make you lose your train of thought?
When his voice, low and trapped inside the tight metal walls made you lose your focus on anything sometimes?
That was without even mentioning his smell.
Bucky knew.
He was just a gentleman enough to not poke fun at it.
When you two sit in the parking lot waiting in the car line after making your orders, waiting for them to be delivered, he's talking to you about how his job sometimes made him feel distant from the people that mattered the most, and how hard he was trying to be better at displaying to them their importance.
He mistakes your silence following his explanation as you distracted, and goes, "What?" searching all over your face if he lost you.
(Again.)
Shaking your head, you hop your feet on the dashboard of his car and look out of the window. "No, nothing," you laugh.
"Oh, god, take your feet off my car," he slaps your lower leg and you put it town. "And spill. You got that look on your face."
"It's nothing bad. I'm just—" your shoulders hunch, shrugging dramatically. "Just thinking."
"About..." he prompts, tone teasing.
You breathe in deep. "About... how nice it is. To see someone making an effort to do things differently." It ends up coming off in a whisper, and you know that the first place Bucky's mind goes to is earlier this evening, but at that moment, you mean more than just that. So you continue. "I think it's paying off." You look back at his face. "Your efforts. Don't know if anyone's told you before, but you're really good company. And... it's very visible when you care."
Bucky's eyes blink slowly, and he seems to take in the words one by one.
Finally, he says. "Thank you, Y/n." It's earnest. You wonder if you're the first one to compliment his diligence, certain that you're not the only one who knows about this. "Means a lot," he says.
"Just the truth."
"Well—I hope you know tonight wasn't just an effort to make your day less shitty," he says.
"It wasn't?"
"I mean—not just that," Bucky clarifies. "You're a great company, too. I like talking to you. I learned that at that goodbye party your mom threw for you—d'you remember that?"
Of course I do. "Yeah, I do."
Bucky smiles. "That's when I realized..." his words trail off, but you already know what he realized back then. You saw it happen. When he looks at you to finish, you can almost see him picking his words one by one with a pincer. "That you turned out... incredible."
You're thankful for the low lighting inside the car because hiding your blush at those words would be way worse than hiding any embarrassment over the stupid words that slip out.
"Thank you." You exhale a breath you weren't aware you were holding.
"But lemme know if there's anything else I can do, ok?" Bucky asks. "More cake. Pizza. Beating up certain people."
It makes you laugh, at least. "Stop offering or I might take you on."
"I'm trying to convince you to!"
"I don't need that. It'd be an ugly and sad fight—one punch and bam, he's down." You scoff at the thought. "There is something you could do, though."
The words only register after they come out of your mouth, and you curse the bottle and a half of wine for your stupid boldness.
Shut up, shut up, shut up— "What's that?" asks Bucky.
The half of your brain that's still sober yells: I know EXACTLY what you're thinking about and it is a terrible, irreversible idea. Shut up. Just consider shutting the fuck up!
But the tipsy, wine-laced half that's sitting more present and looking too deep into blue eyes turns your brain into a lilac mush, and goes: Well, too late now.
"Honestly?" The sober half goes: You're on your own after this, you dumb bitch. "I could really use a hug."
Bucky blinks in surprise, and even his mouth opens and closes like your words reset a part of his brain.
Then, the confusion is gone, and in its place, there's only a corner-of-the-mouth smile and his arms opening.
"C'mere, then."
A terrible idea, and yet...
Such a great one.
Wrapping your arms around his middle and feeling Bucky enveloping you in his arms is the warm shower that eases all your knots after a whole day spent outside your home, walking and stopping by several different places. It's the smooth, scolding heat of something so right that melts away the stiffness in your body, and on top of it all, it smells so fucking good.
You have to fight the urge to rub your face all over his chest.
Have to fight tooth and nail for your body to stay still there in its puddle of honey and cozy warmth, while your brain is overridden by the sensation of his beard on your temple and the perfume on his neck right there underneath your nostrils.
When he squeezes around tighter, the sting in your eyes is a good excuse to get a little bit drunker in him.
You clean your eyes on his shirt, and get even more of Bucky all over your face.
Might as well get drunk on more than one thing tonight.
When you pull back, the sight of his Addam Apple's bobbing is like the Universe's gift to you: look, it says. He's affected too.
And Bucky is.
The lighting might be dim, but with the two of you standing precisely underneath the tiny spot of yellow light on his car's ceiling, you see some color on his cheeks.
It stays there for a while.
Bucky's good at playing cool. "Feeling better?" He asks, as if he doesn't know.
"Yeah." You pat your own cheeks, thankful for the excuse of your tears. "Thanks."
"No problem."
The food chooses that moment to arrive, and you two drive home diverting the talk back to easier things.
Once drunk, though, it's impossible to go back.
At home, it's harder to look away from Bucky's lips.
The more painted in purple that they get from the açaí, the more you want a bite out of it.
He tastes like cake now, your mind provides when Bucky's talking and pouring himself one more glass of scotch. Chocolate and strawberry. Açaí... Now scotch. You should taste it. It sounds delicious. Delicious. Delicious—
"—heard him talking about it?" his question catches you off guard, and you feel both like a dick and like a madwoman trying to focus on all these things at the same time.
Bucky smiles like he knows exactly where your mind is and pats the chair next to his.
You two go back to the same position you were before, each one sitting on a chair that's glued to one another in front of the pool, only now, you have one last glass of wine that feels like a clutch to sanity and a dooming curse at the same time.
He takes pity on you and asks the question again.
You're able to answer him, but the next silence is harder to escape when the two of you are aware of the air vibrating a little thicker between your bodies.
Bucky might be nice, but he isn't blind, and tipsy you is not subtle at all.
Sober you had left exited your mind palace at the car almost an hour ago and sat in a corner, cursing you and watching everything with a cigarette between her fingertips.
"D'you have plans of looking for work in your area here in the city?" Bucky sips from his glass.
You put yours down on the floor because his attention now doesn't need to be split and you forgot for a moment how hot it makes you feel. "That's the plan."
"I remember you telling me at your party that you had no idea what you wanted to do," he comments with a chuckle.
Uh. Dangerous topic. "I didn't," you laugh too.
"All you said was that you thought you wanted to live in New York, maybe."
"Yeah, that's until I figured out how expensive rent is," you say.
Bucky laughs. "I told you that back then."
I remember. "I'm stubborn," you answer in a teasing tone. "I also found out how the city's just... not for me," you continue. "I mean—it's super fun. I like the city. It's great to spend some time in and all, but—that's it, I think? I don't think about living there anymore."
"That makes sense. I can see you going there on your vacations to spend time with your friends. Cause some chaos," he adds with a wicked smile. "You made many friends in Columbia?"
That makes you smile. "A few. But good ones."
"That's better than many," Bucky smiles back. Then, after another sip, he freezes your heart for a beat with the question: "D'you remember what you told me that night at the balcony?"
I remember everything we ever talked about if I think about it hard enough. "That was our first proper conversation, you're gonna have to be more specific," you laugh, trying to evade the growing static in your blood.
Bucky mouths the words 'our first proper conversation', nodding along, like 'okay'. He sips again. "You said... what d'you think happens when I'm shy and a little starstruck? Forgive me for being smitten or whatever."
You think: wow. Vertabim, but saying so would denounce how you also remember every single word.
"Yup," is all that you manage to get out.
"I'd think that going to college would've made your taste a little better," Bucky adds in a lower voice, looking at you meaningfully.
"Bucky. If anything, going to college cemented my incredibly high standards. And I'm thankful for it, I don't care how dateless it leaves me," you laugh.
He takes a deep breath, and looks away from you with a smile that he seems to be fighting. He shakes his head with eyes on the pool. "I am suddenly very happy I left when I did that night." He looks back at you. "I would've done something stupid if I hadn't."
"Really?"
"Really. And you know that."
"Is that why you were hiding from me the whole night?"
Bucky's smile widens. "You were looking at me like that," he points at your face, sucking his bottom lip between his teeth. "What was I supposed to do?"
"You were wearing an all-black suit and only a stubble," you throw back at him, boldened by all pretenses being thrown out of a window. "What was I supposed to do?"
Bucky exhales. Then he looks down at your lips. "I would've really regretted it back then," it's said in a confessional whisper, and you only notice how close you two had gotten because you feel the words tingling your face. "I would've really missed these," he adds with his eyes set on your lips.
Your brain says You should try them right now, but it's your body who conveys the words.
You lean in closer and, with eyes already closing, you only breathe your lips close to his. They brush in a feathery touch, and that's the only pause you give him to back down before you hear his next exhale of,
"Fuck,"
and then his lips are on yours.
You groan against his mouth, kissing him back just like you pictured many, many times.
Bucky sets his glass to the side and with one hand, he holds your neck, while the other holds the side of your face.
Your lips move on one another in a series of short, close-mouthed kisses, but when you feel the wetness of his tongue brushing your bottom lip, it's all gone.
Desire and beauty walk hand in hand, even if in parallel lines, and when a man you desired with every bone in your body tilts your head back with a groan deep in his throat, looking like a sculpture by Bernini, your moan and surrender happen at the same time.
Bucky groans again with how open and welcome you are to what he has to offer.
Your hands, free to do as they please, can only hold on tight on his shirt, because your mind is foggy and all your thoughts are busy, swimming in the taste of him.
His moans mingle with yours as the kiss deepens, but never speeds up.
It's almost like savoring the slice of cake with added spoons of açaí earlier on—so mind-blowingly delicious that you want your whole mouth drowning in the taste of it.
It's only when Bucky's pulling you upwards to sit on his lap that you remember you have the rest of your body.
So you use it to sit on him.
You get up on wobbly legs and all but drop your body on top of his, legs straddling each one of his thighs.
Bucky's mouth goes back to yours and nothing could derail your mind from believing this is the best kiss ever.
His taste makes you drunk.
The noises coming out of him are starting to wake up feral parts of your hazy brain—the need to scratch, and bite, and—
oh.
Bucky bites you, and the taste of blood is unmistakable, even in the sugary ocean you two are sharing, and along with your wince, it feels like a reality crash.
Bucky pulls away, but the damage is done.
You two stare at one another, lips and pupils red and blown, and it sinks in when your bodies squeeze all around each other.
You're both fucked.
A/n: So... heh. Part two, anyone?
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I’m not sure how this works but I guess anyone can ask me some of these questions. However, I might not remember or be able to choose an answer, lol.
In honor of TMNT's 40th Anniversary, here are 40 questions for people to send you about TMNT!
~~ Background ~~
1.) What was your first exposure to TMNT?
2.) What was your first exposure to [TMNT iteration]?
3.) What was your first impression of [TMNT iteration]?
4.) When did you become a fan of TMNT?
5.) Which iterations are you familiar with?
6.) Do you own any TMNT merchandise?
~~ Favorites ~~
7.) Which iteration is your favorite?
8.) Which turtle is usually your favorite?
9.) Who is your favorite version-specific turtle?
10.) Which version of Leonardo is your favorite?
11.) Which version of Raphael is your favorite?
12.) Which version of Donatello is your favorite?
13.) Which version of Michelangelo is your favorite?
14.) Which version of Splinter is your favorite?
15.) Which version of April is your favorite?
16.) Which version of Casey is your favorite?
17.) Which version of the Shredder is your favorite?
18.) Who is your favorite villain?
19.) Who is your favorite ally?
20.) Which theme song is your favorite?
21.) What is your favorite story arc?
22.) What is your favorite kind of pizza?
~~ Fandom ~~
23.) What is one of your favorite TMNT fics?
24.) What is one of your favorite TMNT fan comics?
25.) What is one of your favorite TMNT AUs?
26.) What is one of your favorite pieces of TMNT fan art?
27.) What is something you love to see in TMNT art/fics?
28.) What is one thing you would like to see explored more in TMNT art/fics?
29.) What is one headcanon that you have?
30.) What is one common headcanon that you reject?
31.) What is one piece of TMNT canon that you dislike/ignore?
~~ For Artists/Writers ~~
32.) What was the first thing you've made for TMNT?
33.) What is your favorite thing you've made for TMNT?
34.) Which character do you write/draw most often?
35.) Which character relationships are your favorite to write/draw?
36.) Which character do you have the hardest time writing/drawing?
37.) Do you write/draw for one specific iteration, or multiple?
38.) Do you generally stick close to canon, or diverge from it?
39.) Do you have any TMNT OCs?
40.) Do you give the turtles tails?