faiszt

[faiszt]

you're so right about the "hidden problematic behaviours in fics" cause i've lost the count of how many sexist rafe fics i saw. like how are we okay with that idk. im not really sure about other fandoms but there are a lot of problematic rafe fics. and sometimes they say "he would really act like that." WHAT?! —im sorry i needed to get this out of my chest cause not a lot of people are talking about this. and your new theme?? it looks sooo good 😭. i love you mai <3

i totally get you on this. i know people say this is just “pretend” and i literally didn’t bother anyone about it ’cause people do what they want with their own lives and blogs, but i really can’t understand the whole point and pretend i’m not seeing it even when i don’t want to. 😭

i hate to think that i might be the friend who’s too woke rn, but i really can’t see where the romance is in writing about someone being discriminated against and suffering microaggressions from their boyfriend or husband... if he’s not sexist at all, then why do you label him as sexist...? this has been bothering me for the past few days, really, i was even more disturbed after i saw a mutual talking openly about how rafe would 🍇 a girl and i unfollowed them immediately, there’s no way this is seen as “okay” and it scares me that no one wants to talk about it.

it’s okay to get this off your chest ’cause we’re both feeling the same thing right now, so you’re definitely welcome here. and thank youuu, i love you too, irissss!!! ‹3

[faiszt]

YOUR NEW THEME IS SO PRETTY !!

THANK U, SWEETHEART! i was so excited about this new theme. 🥺

[faiszt]

wake up, wake up, i have a new theme!!! 😿

⠀

⠀⠀⠀·⠀ ♡⠀ a cocktail fit for a quitter: ꒰ she’s ur deeply ⠀⠀⠀⠀ ˚⠀⠀˳ ⠀⠀.⠀ nightmare ꒱ come here, gimme a kiss!

♥゙ ֶָ ݀ ✴ navigation ꜂ writer ’nd rules ꜄⠀c.ai &. requests

꒰ ♥︎ೃ ⋮ the devil works hard, like mai’s liver. pepsi cola with a lemon on it: 𓏲⠀ 05’ sainzpiastri girlie!⠀ タバコの空想⠀ . ˳ ˳ . ⋅ ॱ ॱ ᐧ lewis pullman ’s filmography connoisseur

know me well .꜄ 🎸 💬 ׅ ᤱ ⸱ ᜔𓂂 driver princess in red race cars.⠀mike faist’s sweet wife.⠀tate mcrae’s lovely babie. ꒰ side blog⠀⠀https:// cemaitery .com ꒱ ♡ miss brazilian

sendin’ kisses. 𓂅 don’t copy my work! faiszt, 2O25.

⠀

[faiszt]

✧ ྅ ˚ . ᯇ * reader beating TWITCH STREAMER!RAFE in mario kart : .

❝clip that❞ : bold text is stream chat! 💬

“alright, she’s in the other room, so we’re going to get started in a second. is your mic working?” rafe told the viewers, then asked you.

there was a moment of pause before your voice sounded, “i think so? you can hear me, right?” it was your first time using equipment like this and rafe helped just a second ago but you think you pressed something on accident.

user: no user: yeah!! we can user: give her a second guys she’s new to this user: my bet’s on her winning

“yeah, you’re good. now, just saying. . you know i really like you, but i don’t lose in kart.” rafe said, adjusting his headset, leaning back in the chair.

“yeah, alright. i’ve only played a few times so if i’m not great, don’t say anything.” you watched as rafe picked the map and speed.

user: you just drive car user: just joined can i get a recap

“uh, just got the new switch so we’re playing mario kart. my girl is in the other room but you can hear her mic. we didn’t start yet, though. alright, pick your character.”

you went for toad, the cute little guy, then randomly picked a kart and parasail. it didn’t matter to you the abilities, you just liked how they looked.

rafe picked baby mario then took a second to choose his kart.

user: why is he reading user: alright wrap it up user: wait is she here?

rafe finally picked his kart, responding to chat. “yeah she is, do you want to say hi, baby?”

“hi,” you said through your mic. rafe chuckled. “yeah, there’s your hi. okay, i’m starting it.”

the races went by, rafe more stunned by each round as you continued climbing up the score board. when the last race finished with you in first, you were shocked to silence at your own skills. rafe was silent, staring at his screen, hand poised over his mouth.

user: clip that user: thought you don’t lose 🙏 user: that’s so funny user: by your own girlfriend is crazy work

“i got inked that last round. .” rafe tried to defend himself.

user: just stop bro

“wait, i feel bad,” you giggled out. “do you want to go again?”

rafe shook his head, exiting to the menu screen. “nah, ’m proud of you. that was a good game. fun.”

“what is your chat saying? i hope they’re being encouraging.”

user: hahaha L user donated $5: here you go buddy feel better user: i can’t wait to watch this again in your vod user: and she doesn’t even have much experience

“m hm, yep. i mean, we can go again. not for like redemption, but just to play again.” rafe responded to your previous question. you nodded off camera, “yeah, let’s go again. winning feels good, i’ve never won before.”

user: buddy this hurts to watch user: that’s a devious line

“i have no problem muting chat,” rafe muttered, starting up another round.

user: oh so we get punished because you lost

[faiszt]

do your little symbols for your tags mean anything like

“ ๘ೌ಼⠀♥︎⠀__ __⠀.⠀ೄ⠀ ͡꒱ ” and “ ⋆ .˚ ︎ /ᐠ⠀dad's gonna catch u⠀. ✦ ˚ * ”

not exactly, i just use different tags so i can differentiate the fandoms when i’m making the bots! i know some of these symbols are letters and/or numbers in other languages, but i’m not really sure which ones, i usually just make my own tags in the unicode pad. ‹3

there’s a lot more to it than that, but if you don’t know unicode pad, you should!!!

[faiszt]

RODEO BRUISES .ᐟ

summary: It took only a few seconds for you to fall down that horse. Legs, hips, back and the aching feeling of bruises already forming on your body. And Dodge, your boyfriend, is worried. But a massage and some fingering later, you both end up relaxed.

pairing: dodge mason x afab!girlfriend.

cw: +18. mdni. 2.8k words. praise. overstimulation. fingering. multiple orgasms. dirty-talking. aftercare.

taglist: @blastzachilles, @lvve-talks, @jordiemeow, @222col, @soulxinxthexsky, @diyasgarden, @jinxedbambi, @lexiiscorect, @religionlost, @bluestrd, @jclolz22, @museboos, @imperishablereverie, @lovefaist, @shahabaqsa0310, @prismozo, @jesuistrestriste, @grimsonandclover, @nozhdyved, @artstennisracket, @yardofbrunettes, @hangels, @sweetheartfaist, @lacelottie

You should’ve seen the fall coming. The way your horse twitched under you, the crack of something in the trees, the second of stillness before the storm. But you didn’t. One sharp jolt and you were airborne—then earthbound. Shoulder first. Hip second. The wind punched out of your lungs like a slap to the chest.

Now you’re lying on your stomach in Dodge’s bed, your body aching in a dozen places, skin flushed warm from the hot bath he insisted on drawing for you earlier. You’re wearing only an oversized t-shirt—his—and a pair of soft cotton panties. The arnica oil sits on the nightstand beside you, and he’s rubbing it into your sore muscles with quiet, focused intensity.

“You scared the shit out of me,” he mutters, kneeling beside the bed as his hands press gentle circles into your lower back. “I thought—I don’t know what I thought. You weren’t moving.”

“I’m okay now,” you murmur, voice muffled by the pillow. “Thanks to you.”

His thumbs press along your spine, just enough to stretch out the ache without pushing too far. Dodge’s hands are warm, rough in all the right ways. You can feel the calluses catch on your skin now and then, but they don’t hurt. They remind you of who he is—of how many times those same hands have steadied you, cupped your face, tugged you close like he didn’t trust the world to keep you safe.

“Can’t believe you’re still lettin’ me touch you,” he says softly, like the guilt’s still pressing into his chest. “I should’ve kept a better eye on you.”

You exhale a sleepy sound. “You weren’t the one who spooked the horse.”

“Still.”

His touch lingers at the small of your back. The room is dim—sunlight gone, leaving only the amber glow of the bedside lamp. You hear him open the oil bottle again, feel the warmth of it as he rubs it between his hands.

He starts again, slow and purposeful. First at your shoulders, then your back, kneading the soreness from your muscles in long, deliberate strokes. But this time, he doesn’t stop there. His hands slide lower—tracing the curves of your hips, then down, until his palms are resting over the swell of your ass. He does it in a way that you know is not sexual.

You shift slightly, breath hitching, still. Because it’s Dodge, and every little attention coming from him makes your body boil. Hot like summer, heat pooling inside your stomach without permission from your brain.

“Still okay?” he murmurs, low and close to your ear.

“Yes,” you whisper, and your body betrays you by arching into his touch just a little.

His thumbs move in careful circles across the soft flesh there, rubbing out the tension like he has every right to touch you this way—and he does. It’s tender. Reassuring. But there’s something else behind it too, simmering slow. The edge of want.

“You’ve got the prettiest ass I’ve ever seen,” he murmurs like it’s a confession. “Soft, even when you’re bruised.”

You let out a shaky laugh, still face-down in the pillow. “You’re not helping me rest, you know.”

“You want me to stop?”

You shake your head. Of course you don’t.

Dodge hums like he already knew the answer. His hands glide over your thighs, up again, then closer—until his thumbs brush along the crease where your thighs meet your core. The fabric of your panties is thin, barely separating his hands from the heat of you.

“You’re warm here,” he says quietly, almost reverently. “Real warm.”

You bury your face deeper into the pillows.

“You’re blushing,” he teases softly like he knows without needing to see your face, and he’s kissing the back of your thigh. “What, just from a little massage?”

“It’s not just the massage,” you mutter, and he laughs against your skin—low and fond.

He’s careful as he touches you, rubbing slow circles over your clothed pussy. One hand slips under your shirt again to rest warm on your lower back, grounding you. The other moves between your legs, teasing along your slit through the dampening cotton.

“You’re wet already,” he murmurs, voice dipping even lower. “All this just from me touchin’ you like this?”

You nod against the pillow, your breath shuddering.

“You’re so fuckin’ soft, baby. You always get like this when I take my time with you.”

A soft whimper escapes your throat, hips twitching as he touches you through your panties with maddening patience. He presses a little harder over your clit with his thumb, the pressure slow and steady, and you make a strangled sound into the sheets.

“That’s it,” he praises. “Let me take care of you.”

He slides the fabric to the side then, baring you to the warm air of the room. His fingers glide between your folds, wet and hot and already pulsing for more. When he dips a finger just against your entrance, you whimper.

“God, you’re so ready,” he groans. “So fuckin’ wet for me.”

His fingers stroke back up, teasing around your clit again before he leans down, breath hot over the curve of your ass. “You make the sweetest sounds, you know that? Every little cry just for me.”

You cry out again as he presses a finger inside—just one, slow and steady. It slides in easy, thanks to how wet you already are. You clench around him instinctively. “There we go,” he whispers. “That feel good?”

You nod, moaning into the pillow. “Yes. Yes, Dodge—”

He adds another finger, stretching you carefully, curling just enough to make your thighs tremble. The hand on your lower back strokes comfortingly, holding you in place as he fucks you slow with his fingers.

“You’re squeezin’ me so tight,” he groans. “So fuckin’ needy tonight.”

“I c-can’t—” your voice cracks as you try to hold still. Your hips grind back into his hand on instinct. “You can,” he coaxes, voice going impossibly soft. “You always can for me, baby. Give me that first one. Let it out.”

It rises fast—so fast your breath can’t keep up. You come with a cry muffled in the pillow, your body shaking as you fall apart under his hand when his fingers hit your spongy spot multiple times. Tears slip down your cheeks and Dodge catches them with his thumb.

“Good girl,” he whispers, kissing the dip of your lower back. “That’s it. So fuckin’ good.”

He keeps going—slow, unrelenting—and the overstimulation hits like a wave. You whine, writhing against the bed as his fingers work your soaked cunt. “You’ve got more,” he whispers, low and certain. “Don’t hide from me.”

“I—it’s too much—Please—More…”

“It’s perfect,” he counters, and his voice is full of something warm and molten. “You’re so fuckin’ pretty when you cry.”

The second orgasm crashes over you, harder than the first. You sob into the mattress, trembling as he talks you through it, rubbing slow circles over your clit with his free fingers as your cunt pulses around his digits.

“There she is,” he murmurs. “That’s my girl.”

You lay there panting, body shaking. He slows, finally withdrawing his fingers, and you hear the wet sound of it, slick coating his hand. He presses a kiss to the small of your back, then one to your thigh, then higher. “You alright?” he asks quietly, hand smoothing over your back.

You nod, still breathless. “I’m so good.”

He kisses your shoulder. “That was the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen.” You let out a laugh, exhausted and floaty. “You’re gonna kill me with compliments.”

He chuckles, laying down beside you and resting a hand on your lower back. “Only if it gets you to cry like that again.”

You’re still trembling beneath him, cheek pressed into the pillow, your body limp and warm with the afterglow of two back-to-back orgasms. Your skin feels tight and glowing, like you’ve been cracked open and poured full of honey. Dodge’s hand is now resting between your shoulder blades, gentle and grounding.

“You alright, baby?” he murmurs again, his voice a little hoarse with want.

You hum a breathless yes, too gone to say much else. But your hips twitch when his palm trails back down, between your thighs again, where you’re slick and aching. He groans softly at the sight.

“Goddamn,” he says low, reverent. “You’re even more soaked.”

You bury your face deeper in the pillow, embarrassed—but it only makes him smile. He leans over you, kissing the back of your neck, your shoulder, the warm patch of skin just behind your ear. “Don’t go shy on me now,” he teases softly. “Not when your pretty pussy’s beggin’ for more.”

You shiver, and your legs part instinctively as his fingers return. He strokes along your folds again—slow, lazy, just enjoying the feel of you. You let out a soft sound, half-whimper, half-plea.

“You want more?” he asks gently. “You gotta say it.”

“Please…” Your voice is rough, sweet with exhaustion. “More.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

He pushes two fingers back inside you easily, curling them deep. You gasp, your hips rolling down into the bed, your thighs twitching. “Still so fuckin’ tight,” he murmurs. “And you just came twice.” You moan, the pressure of him filling you again like a balm and a brand. He adds a third finger slowly, easing you open with care, watching your body stretch around him.

You gasp, the stretch bordering on too much—but just barely. Your muscles clench, trying to adjust, and Dodge strokes your back soothingly, kissing your spine.

“Shh, I’ve got you. Just breathe through it, baby. You’re takin’ me so well.”

He works them slowly, twisting and curling until your thighs begin to tremble again. You feel full, stuffed, stretched in the most tender way—your hips pinned to the mattress, your whole body reduced to sensation.

“Feels good,” you whisper, voice cracking. “So full, Dodge—”

“I know,” he croons. “You’re doin’ perfect. Always so sweet for me.” You sob into the pillow, overwhelmed by the heat pooling in your belly again. You didn’t think you had anything left, but the pressure’s building fast, sharp and hot and electric.

“Don’t fight it,” he whispers, pressing kisses between your shoulder blades. “Give me another. Come for me again. Let me see you fall apart.”

You try to hold it, just for a second longer—but it slams into you without warning. You cry out, hands clutching the sheets as your whole body tenses, shudders, and breaks. Your thighs are soaked now, his fingers working you through it until you’re gasping for air.

Tears wet your face, hot and steady. Dodge strokes your hip, coos into your ear like he’s trying to settle a wild thing.

“There she is,” he whispers. “There’s my girl.”

You don’t know how long you lie there, panting and shaking, skin flushed and nerves blazing. Dodge is still behind you, still touching you—gentle now, tracing circles into your skin with the pads of his fingers. His lips ghost along your spine, your shoulder blades, your ass.

“You still with me?” he asks finally.

You nod, still face-down in the pillow. “I’m here.”

“Did so good,” he says, voice thick with awe. “Let me fuckin’ ruin you without even movin’ you.”

You laugh weakly. “I don’t think I can walk anyway.”

He laughs too, kissing your hip. “Good. You ain’t goin’ anywhere.” You can feel his hard cock pressing against your thigh through his jeans, but he hasn’t taken his own pleasure—not yet. He’s too focused on you. Always has been. “Want me to stop?” he asks, even now. Always checking. Always careful.

You shake your head, arching weakly into his touch. “Don’t stop. Just… slower.” He hums, satisfied. “You wanna give me one more?”

You gasp, half-laughing, half-delirious. “I don’t even know if I can.”

“That’s alright, baby,” he whispers, settling back between your thighs, his hand already moving again—slow and purposeful, dragging your pleasure out like he has all the time in the world.

And Dodge?

He’s gonna make sure you remember it with every inch of your trembling body.

The room is quiet again, save for the sound of your breathing—still a little unsteady but settling, and the soft rustle of the sheets beneath you. Dodge stays close, his lips brushing your lower back, his hands warm where they rest on the swell of your hips.

You hum, soft and dazed, face still turned into the pillow. You’re boneless, stretched out and melted, your skin tingling everywhere he touched. You can feel your thighs still wet and sticky, your panties damp and clinging to the side, your body flushed with the aftershocks of everything he gave you.

But Dodge doesn’t rush. He never does.

"Alright, sweetheart," he murmurs into the small of your back. "Gonna get you cleaned up. Don't move, I’ve got it."

You feel the bed dip as he gets up, hear him padding across the room. The sound of a faucet running, a towel being wrung out. His care is quiet, reverent. Like he’s handling something precious.

When he comes back, he slides down beside you, and you flinch at the first contact—the towel is warm, wet, and soft as he eases your legs apart just enough to wipe gently between them. He murmurs something under his breath when he sees the mess, but it’s not dirty, not crude. It’s wonder. It’s pride.

“Look what you gave me,” he whispers, thumb brushing the inside of your thigh. “You were so good for me. So damn perfect.” You blink, eyes glassy from overstimulation and tears. Your lips twitch into a lazy smile.

He’s so careful as he cleans you, wiping you down with slow, tender strokes. He presses kisses to the backs of your knees, your thighs, the curve of your spine. And then, with the towel tossed aside, his fingers return—but not to tease, not to start anything new.

He starts massaging you again.

Same as before—like it’s still about your fall, still about the tight muscles and tension from the saddle and the ground. He starts at your ankles, kneading slow and steady. You sigh, letting yourself go limp all over again.

“You weren’t lyin’ earlier,” he says softly, voice full of affection. “Took a hell of a hit.”

“Mm,” you hum. “Was worth it.”

He chuckles under his breath. “Don’t say that. I’d rather you keep your pretty bones in one piece.”

His hands glide up your calves, thumbs pressing into the flesh, gentle but firm. You twitch a little when he hits a sore spot, but he kisses your ankle in apology, smoothing the tension with a few more careful passes. "You like me takin’ care of you like this?" he asks quietly.

“Mmhmm.”

“You deserve it,” he says simply, like it’s fact. “Deserve to be touched real nice. Spoken to sweet. Made to feel good.”

Your chest tightens at that. There’s so much love in his voice it makes you ache.

He continues the massage, now at your thighs, avoiding your sore hips but stroking the surrounding muscles with steady care. The sensation is grounding. His touch, worshipful. There’s no rush now—no teasing, no game. Just love.

He kneads the small of your back, gentle over the spot that took the brunt of the fall. When you flinch a little, he pauses, kisses the ache, and moves around it. “Gonna need to ice that tomorrow,” he murmurs. “But for now, I’ll be your heat pack.”

You let out a sleepy giggle into the pillow.

He eventually stops massaging and shifts up the bed beside you, slipping under the covers, arms sliding around your waist. You’re still on your stomach, too dazed to flip, but he just wraps himself around you from behind, chest to your back, one hand slipping beneath the hem of your oversized shirt to stroke your waist.

“You know I love you, right?” he murmurs.

You nod instantly. “Yeah. I know. I love you too.”

“Good,” he says, brushing a kiss to your cheek. “’Cause I do. More than I know what to do with, sometimes.” You press your hand to his forearm where it’s draped over your side, squeezing lightly.

His voice dips lower, soft and sure. “Next time you fall off a horse, don’t wait for me to come find you, alright? You come to me right away.”

You smile against the pillow. “You’d always take care of me like this?” He laughs, husky and low. “Girl, I’ll take care of you like this every night if you want.”

“You’d wear your fingers out.”

“You’re worth it,” he says without missing a beat. “Every damn second.”

You turn your head just enough to see his face—his messy hair, his sleep-heavy eyes, the soft curve of his smile. He kisses your forehead, your temple, your cheek, and finally the corner of your mouth. “Sleep now,” he whispers. “I’ll be right here when you wake up.”

And he is. Always.

[faiszt]

i’m gonna change my theme today, so say goodbye to the pink and green fairy thing... ‹/3

[faiszt]

i rewatched alice in wonderland yesterday!!!!

really?????? that’s so nice, i love alice in wonderland so much :( you’re gonna make me rewatch it

[faiszt]

grasping at ur toes

i’ll dream about it tonight

[faiszt]

Hey lovely, I just saw your post about the hidden problematic behaviours in fics and I was just wondering what you meant by that? Like I’ve seen some and I’m not sure if I’ve seen exactly what you have but it is kinda scary to see especially some of the ones I have :(

hi, sweetheart! i’m talkin’ about the whole thing happening in the obx fandom here. i’m not really on it, but since i follow rafe cameron’s tag, these things come up for me.

and yeah, it’s pretty scary, i’m horrified by some of the things i’ve read and how people have just started to think it’s okay to normalize and romanticize discrimination just ’cause it’s all made up. like, we are living in such a difficult time for all minorities and your “contribution” is to defend this type of behavior on the internet? i get very confused, just ’cause it’s online doesn’t mean it’s just make-believe, people don’t romanticize racism and sexism even in rpgs, why would they do that in writing...?

i hope this madness stops, but i doubt it a little since this is the second or third time i’ve seen something like this happening in a short time within the obx fandom.

[faiszt]

i didn’t know that we started to normalize problematic behaviors hidden through fics and characters assuming that it’s all made up... like, this is a little scary if we stop to think about the global context we’re living in, but i guess some people just prefer to only see themselves.

[faiszt]

hello (‘m like super bored rn)

hiii, love. i’m super bored as hell, so i guess you should tell me about anything you want ’cause i like getting your asks

[faiszt]

ong name twin and sainzpiastri girl

we’re both mai’s, we’re both nineteen and we both like sainz, this can only be destiny, i know

[faiszt]

YAYYY I POSTED PART 3 OF MY BUCK FIC

that needs a masterpiece certificate. everything you do is so wonderful that i wish i could stick it in my brain... and, please, add me to your taglist i’m begging you !!!

[faiszt]

★ ⎯love, remembered

part iii. the calm before the storm.

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x reader. 40s!Bucky x 40s!reader. Bucky Barnes x fem!reader.

Tags: TFA!Bucky. Boyfriend!Bucky. Fluff and angst. Sergeant Barnes.

Synopsis: Time slipped between your tired fingers. Your heart wasn’t the same with Bucky so many miles away. After he is rescued, you get to see him one more time. Too bad good things never last.

Warnings: possible grammar and spelling mistakes. Not proofread. No use of y/n. Canon divergencies. Violence, etc.

Tags: @balladofareader @lovethornes @viqwxcs @raineraspberries1 @urmumsfan @bloodwrittenletters @tellybearryyyy @princess-luka @wonwoosthetic @hiraethmae @cluvsya @sumplys

I do not consent for my work to be uploaded onto other platforms or translated. Reblog to support. Comment to be added to my taglist!

The lines between the days you had spent without James Buchanan Barnes were blurred together into a sea of sameness. Brooklyn was eerily quiet without him, the hustle of the city wasn’t actually absent; it was your will to care that was.

What use was noticing the birds that gently landed to pick at the tiny crumbs of bread that the owner of the hair salon had accidentally dropped if Bucky wasn’t there to chuckle along to your remarks, endearingly appreciating your love for animals?

What use was going out, dancing, taking walks along Coney Island and other New York locations if Bucky wasn’t there to twirl you around, slide some ridiculously charming remark, and seal it with a kiss that felt like his mouth had been made to lock with yours?

You tried not to think much about it, though, you had lost enough sleep over the possibilities already. The wooden night stand next to your bed supported many things; your jewellery box, a candy, a dandelion that had dried weeks ago that had been a random gift he had given you, and you had not yet had the heart to throw out.

However, the object that occupied the most space, the one that you wouldn’t let a single drop of dust fall over, was a paperback copy of ‘The Hobbit’.

Bucky had told you to read it a year ago. You had laughed, telling him that maybe one day you would. Before you could even notice, he was gone and the book remained untouched. You tried to pick it up one night, heart swollen with longing.

Your fingers gently traced the cover, and you opened it. On the first page lied his name ‘James Buchanan Barnes’ with that handwriting you would recognize anywhere. The one he had been using to write you letters until not too long ago.

That was another problem. The letters. They had stopped not too long ago. You tried to take deep breaths, to tell yourself that perhaps they had got lost on their way back from England, that there was nothing you should worry about.

Until Steve’s letter arrived. Right, Steve. He, too, had left. He had taken some serum that had turned him ridiculously tall as he followed Peggy Carter into the frontliners like a lovesick pup.

That, perhaps, made everything harder. Your best friend and the love of your life were miles out of reach.

Steve’s letter had certainly made a wreck out of you. First he began by saying Bucky had gone missing along with the rest of the 107th. Your heart had stopped, fearing the worst. Good enough for you, Steve had been stubborn enough to disobey direct orders and had taken it upon himself to find him.

That was the last straw. All the months of fear, of missing him—you were going to do something about it. Was it reckless? Most certainly.

Through some wit and conversations with a few friends of yours who served as nurses, you managed to make your way to your one and only love.

Steve knew about your plan, and had proudly kept the secret for days. Bucky had been revising some maps and plans for the upcoming attack on the HYDRA train. His mind was loud—ever since he had been captured by HYDRA, he had been feeling odd. Not like he would let anyone find out, though.

His mind kept flashing to that chair he’d been tied up on, repeating his Sergeant number over, and over again. The only thing strong enough to keep those monsters at bay was replaying in his mind the memory of that one time you had told him he had a ‘warm smile’. It had not been any major love confession, yet something about it had struck him.

And then, just as if the universe itself had been listening to both your prayers, he saw the impossible. His blue eyes locked into the figure in front of him. They widened, impossibly so.

All the tiredness leaving them in a second. He didn’t know how to, but he ran. He wasn’t in control of his body, emotion acted instead.

His body collided with yours, his arms wrapping around your waist without second thought. His head went to burry itself in the crook of your shoulder. A breathless chuckle escaped his lips, his eyes opening and closing in disbelief.

“What in the—” the breathed out, his hand sliding from your middle to clutch your back, keeping you closer to him as he lifted his head away from your shoulder. Bucky took you in for a couple of seconds his head still not being able to process the sight in front of him.

“Hi, Jamie,” you smiled, ever so sweetly. Smiled like warm summer afternoons and warm kisses. Smiled like everything he wanted. Smiled like everything he had missed. The hand that wasn’t busy holding your back went to cup your cheek.

His thumb traced gentle motions through the soft skin, contrasting with his now calloused thumbs. His gaze turned to Steve, who was leaning against a tree with a sneaky smirk.

“You knew about this,” and it wasn’t a question, rather, he was remarking his friend’s involvement in the scheme. “Sure did, pal.” Steve walked past the both of you and patted Bucky in the shoulder affectionately, “go make the most of your girl before our mission.”

Now with Steve gone, he titled his head to the side and placed a hand on your neck, where it met your head, just like he had done so many times before.

Without second thought, he brought you closer, and sealed your lips with his. And that one kiss was everything.

Everything as in all you needed. Everything as every word you could use to describe a kiss. It was soft, it was gentle, it was passionate, it was firm. It poured all the pent-up longing, all the fear. All the nights spent worrying about one another. All those moments as kids. A rare glimpse of hope in the midst of the carnage.

You pulled away for air, and he let you. Only to, however, press a row of other small kisses to your lips until he had you chuckling and moving your head back, “Jamie, stop! It’s not appropriate to do this here,” you laughed—how he had missed the sound—, pushing his head away.

“C’mon, doll, it’s not like Captain America is here to scold us about ‘proper soldier behaviour’.”

That managed to loosen your reluctance enough for the time being. He pressed one final, punctuating kiss to the corner of your mouth before moving to swing an arm around your shoulder and walk with you.

You lifted your head in his direction. He looked tired, not because of the lack of sleep, but because of something darker. His hair wasn’t completely combed, and wasn’t completely dishevelled either. It was something else, something in the middle. Just like he felt. Not completely himself, not completely taken by HYDRA.

“Jamie?” He blinked a few times, pushing the thoughts away. Replacing his slightly spaced-out face with a smile, leaning down to peck your head. “Doll,” he retorted, using the same tone as you. “I won’t even ask how in the world you got yourself into a military base.”

“Good, that’s probably for the better,” you laughed, hiding the barely noticeable nervous edge in your voice.

Bucky didn’t notice—or perhaps he chose not to do so. Not to question how his girlfriend had managed to find transportation and be permitted to be in such place.

The bar was filled with drunken soldiers, who sang and drowned their trauma as if it were the simplest thing ever. It was a rare kind of night. It was quiet in the sense that most had let their guard down. The chatter was a comfortable kind of sound.

You sat by the bar, Bucky stood next to you with one hand on your waist, rubbing circles with his thumb. To your other side was Steve, who smiled down knowingly on his two best friends.

“I’m glad we get to be like this, us three, even if it’s brief.” Steve broke the silence, earning a smile from both Bucky and you. “It’s not the same, though. I don’t have to push the bullies away from you any more,” the Sergeant added, taking a swing from his drink with a certain glimmer in his eyes.

Steve rolled his eyes, knowing it wasn’t the first time he made such a joke, and that neither would it be the last. “You two are good together,” he added. “It was torture seeing you run around one another and never truly get together for so long, let me tell you that.”

“We’re not good, we’re perfect,” Bucky nudged Steve, glancing at you for approval. “Speaking of perfect romance,” you grinned, nodding towards one Peggy Carter. Christ, if she wasn’t a vision. Dressed in a striking red, with a necklace hung around her neck.

“Captain,” she greeted the star-struck Steve, who replied with “Agent Carter.”

One swift conversation later, and they were on to their own thing. “Guess that makes the two of us, then, dollface.” Bucky was grinning. In a way he hadn’t smiled in a long time. Wide, happy, his blue eyes crinkling in the corners.

Not his usual charming smirk, but a genuine, deep smile. “God, I love you,” he blurted out.

“What was that for?” you asked him, leaning a bit closer. “No reason at all. I just do,” his voice was almost a whisper, warm, and only meant for you to hear. “Well, I love you, too.”

“When this is all over… I will… make moves, alright? As in down-in-one-knee kind of moves,” he added, his eyes searching for a hint of reluctance in your eyes. “Good,” you nodded. “That means you have to come home to me, Jamie.”

“I always will.”

[faiszt]

Everytime I see your profile picture I keep thinking it’s Taissa Farminga and not Tate McRae. Both are gorgeous thoughhhh.

- 👁️

i love them both!#!#!!! taissa is my american horror story queen (and probably my crush), and tate... i don’t even need to talk about how much i love her with all my heart 😿

[faiszt]

I’m doing okay! A bit worried about a few different things, like I have to move really soon but haven’t found a place yet(but got something figured out incase) and I feel like I’m juggling so many different things. Also it’s been boiling recently and I’m not a big fan of the heat so I’m hoping it’ll cool down soon, and I really wanna rewatch the HTTYD movies cause I used to love them as a kid, and now that the live action came out, it feels like a good time.

- 👁️

i understand the thing of juggling multiple things on your mind at the same time — it’s pretty exhausting, but i hope everything works out for you soon and you can rest your mind. whenever you need to vent a little, you’re totally welcome here! ‹3 plus, yeah, heat sucks, no matter where in the world we are, heat is always a problem 🥲 and httyd was one of my favorites when i was a kid, you made me want to watch it all over again too... i’m looking forward to watching the live action!!!