#and i know it's gonna be hard for you to not have anything to send me anymore

[ashen-char]

expensive cars never took me where you do

ship: anora mikheeva (anora) x gender neutral reader

summary: being a mechanic dating a stripper is hard because you never get to spend enough time together. so anora spends a day in your garage.

word count: 3000+

notes: requested here. enjoy!

With your respective jobs, your schedules don't allow much time to be together. Not much overlap when you're in the garage from 8-6 every week day, while Ani's out from 5pm to the late morning stripping. Weekends, your main time for relaxation, were HQ's busiest times. As such, you had to make the most of the time that you did get. No more meal prepping for Ani when she gets home, for example. You took it upon yourself to whip stuff up for her to take to work in her trusty Tupperware, saving you two some much-needed cuddle time. Plus, you loved the awed look on her face whenever you made her favourite meals, the way she'd dance and hum happily when you let her taste-test it.

The train blares its horn, rattling Ani's entire room as it passes by. Cheap rent, Ani had explained the first time you stayed over and jerked awake to the sound, startled by the sudden noise and movement. She hadn't even opened her eyes, just stayed cuddled up on your chest. She's used to it. Even after months of dating her, it wakes you up everytime, which makes Ani laugh, teasing and calling you 'Princess and the Pea' for being so sensitive. So right now you're wide awake, checking your phone to see if she'll be home soon.

wifey💕: on the subway now! keep the bed warm 💋

You smile, sending back a kiss of your own. "stay safe," you type.

It's 4am when Ani slips into the room. Her harsh expression (or resting bitch face as she sometimes refers to it as) softens when she sees you, and she quickly sheds her coat, scarf, and beanie as well. "Why are you still up, dummy? You're gonna fall asleep on the fuckin' job, I swear..." she chastises.

"Sorry, babe," you whisper, stretching and shifting over to your side of the bed to let Ani into the sheets. "I knew you were coming home soon is all. Wanted to see you come in."

Your sleep shirt, like most of your clothes really, has these distinct splotches of oil on them. Made worse by your bad habit of wiping your hands on whatever's around. After years in the garage, you've learned to not bother with trying to keep clothes looking clean. The very worst of them get turned into rags or purely as sleep clothes since you don't like wasting anything. 'Waste not, want not' is a deeply-rooted mantra from when you didn't have the money to dispose and replace things so easily.

"I'm just saying." Ani shrugs, slipping the rest of her clothes off too. Fluid in her movements, as if her commute clothes were made to be taken off just like her HQ attire.

Your eyes trail over her frame appreciatively, taking in the rose tattoo at her ribcage that makes you smile, or the slight muscle of her core and arms. She's fit. She needs to be to work the pole like that, but can't put on too much muscle to turn away the knuckleheads that frequent Headquarters. Stupid but it brings in the dough, as Ani would say.

"Don't blame me if you smash your finger in a door again 'cause you weren't paying attention," she says, giggling when she throws her tank top at you. You catch it, give it a deep sniff. "God, you're so gross!" Ani complains. There's that laugh you were looking for.

"I'm not that clumsy." You frown, but it's hard to keep on when she's giggling like that. "It just clipped me, I didn't lose a nail or anything."

After slipping one of your larger shirts on - which almost comically swallows up her frame - she finally slips in beside you. You kiss Ani's cheek, and let her cuddle into you. Even if you know you smell of grease and gasoline and she's gonna cuss at you and say you need a shower. Burrowing her nose into the crook of your neck, she inhales you deeply, letting your scent fill her lungs. With the way she hums, you know she's content. Soothed. Letting the night melt away, all the pressures of the club or the bullshit from Diamond. She doesn't have to be on, not when she's here with you.

"Some of your body glitter's still on ya," you tell her. Your finger dabs at the corner of Ani's neck, which must have been missed by her makeup wipes.

She shivers at the contact. You used to be insecure of the fact that your hands feel like sandpaper but Ani sure seems to love it. One time she told you it was weird that you've never seen her as 'Ani'. The way she is in the club, she meant. No makeup, no heels, no cute little outfits. Of course, she likes to glam up when you two do make the time to go out on dates, but it's not similar to what she puts on for the club. Doesn't have to think about balancing the right amount of cling to show off her assets with the ease of removal.

With you, Ani said she felt like the girl she was before all this. Before the club, before Vanya, before the glitter and glam. There's nothing sexy about your lives, really. Both of them working shit jobs, living paycheck to paycheck. But for some reason, she found it comforting.

"Well, I missed you."

She's so tired. Never enough sleep, always on the go. But your body is warm and solid and she can relax. Just for a bit. "I missed you too," she mumbles. "Even if you fuckin' stink or whatever."

Ani lifts her head to look at you, eyes soft. "What time you gotta be at work?

"In a few hours," you answer in a groan. You didn't want to be reminded of it. You hate leaving before she wakes up, hate the way her body always tries to cling to you by instinct. Feels wrong, even if you know it's necessary. "The new apprentice, Jon, he still needs to be trained. He keeps texting me dumb ass questions. Like, dude, change the oil, you don't need my permission!"

"Mm I getcha. Like sometimes I show new girls the ropes. I remember Lulu being the newbie once actually," your girlfriend shares. "Poor thing. She was scared shitless when she mixed up a song request and didn't know how to play it off like a pro yet."

Ani tells you about the 'fresh meat' sometimes, how they're usually gone within the month when they realise the gig's not their thing. Usually 18-21, the type of girls that got told they were pretty enough times to want to make some coin off of it but without any dance training to speak of. The established girls do their best to make the space inviting and fun. To guide them to the right classes, how to manoeuvre around the club and look impressive on the pole without getting hurt. But ultimately it's their choice. Leave or stay.

Mostly, your definition of 'training' is trying not to yell at the poor kid, unless it's a safety concern obviously. He's an idiot and fixing his mistakes is a pain in the ass, but you don't want him quitting. It'll be more annoying to find a replacement since you've already spent the last few months making sure he can do shit without your supervision. The garage is small, started off as a glorified chop shop that you converted with some friends,

You must have gotten lost in your thoughts for a while, because Anora laughs at your scowl and shoves you. "Geez, who pissed you off? You're not even listenin' to me now huh?" she complains from her spot on your chest.

"Sorry, sorry. Just the apprentice. Broke a 10mm bolt today."

"Boooo. Speak American. What the fuck is a millimeter." Her eyes roll at the excuse and the metric system, and her sheer... Anora-ness makes your bad mood lift and a smile crack.

Which is where the idea comes from. "Do you have any days off soon?" you ask.

Anora shrugs. "Yeah, this Thursday. Why?"

"I want you to visit the shop! Come on. Didn't you always say you wanted to come and 'see what I do all day'?"

Her nails scrape up your arms, and her words are mumbled and muffled against your chest. A vibrating sensation that tickles you. "What would I even do there though? No offense, I'm sure it's riveting, but you can't exactly entertain me if you're working. Plus, when I said I wanna visit I meant I wanted to drop in sometime, give you coffee or something. Not... what, sit there and look pretty?" Anora laughs at the image, shaking her head against you. It's clear she thinks she'll just be a burden if she comes, that she'll do more harm than good.

"For one, I'd be a lot less stressed explaining myself over and over to him if you were at the shop. I could pretend I'm explaining to you," you say, trying to convince her.

Honestly, the idea of Ani 'sitting there and looking pretty' has already won you over. Who wouldn't want their gorgeous girlfriend there to impress with their mad car skills? You've been dreaming of this moment since you were a teen, fixing up a rusted hunk of a truck. Looking back it's embarrassing, but you were convinced that if you got it up and running, your crush would've swooned and asked you to give her rides to school then and there. Explaining your passion to a beautiful girl, showing off your hard work and how you could help her... it's a fucking dream.

Anora giggles. "Oh, I'm sure. You just wanna flex your mechanic brain and your stupid sexy muscles." Tilting her head up, she flashes those big brown eyes at you and you're gone. She's so heartbreakingly perfect like this. No makeup, bags under her eyes, the natural pout of her lips. Tired, from all the hard work and effort she puts into everything she does.

"Come on, please?" you ask, tilting your head down in response so your forehead meets hers. Skin to skin, gaze to gaze. Her nose presses into yours. "I wanna spend more time with you. I wanna show you what I do. Bonus points that it'll help me not scare off the new kid."

Anora nods sagely, like it's a sacred task you're entrusting to her. Her arms wrap around your neck, keeping you pressed against her. She's definitely not complaining about how you smell now. "Alright, grease monkey. I wanna be wowed."

--

"OK, you might remember this one. That's what I attached my cables to when your car wouldn't start," you say, gesturing to the battery, particularly to the red end in case it looks familiar to her.

To you, it's unforgettable how the normally cool and confident Ani was shaking in her leather boots when you told her to clamp it. Like she thought she'd get electrocuted then and there. Anora grasped you so hard, and your heart thumped at the knowledge that she trusted you'd never let something bad happen to her.

Ani leans against the wall, watching you work under the hood of a car. Her arms are crossed, one foot kicked up behind her, resting against the wall. She's putting on her best 'cool girl' attitude, but inside, you know she's fascinated. You know your shit.

"So, like, what's all this stuff do?" Ani asks, gesturing vaguely at the engine. "It's all just metal and wires and shit to me. Rusted shit."

You chuckles, wiping your hands on a rag before taking hers. "Well, babe, this here's the heart of the car. The engine. Makes it go vroom vroom," you teases, revving an imaginary engine.

Ani rolls her eyes but smiles. "Okay, smartass. But like, what do all the parts do?"

You take the time to point to the different components, explaining in layman's terms. The specific car you're looking at is one from a regular customer, so you've run maintenance on it for years. You tell her stories of the parts you had to replace, especially the shitshow last month when you had imported specific parts from Japan and the apprentice misplaced them.

Ani listens intently, asking questions when she doesn't understand. She grins like she's won the lottery whenever you tell her she asked a great question. You involve Jon too - if it seems like something he should be able to handle, you make him answer it. Correcting him when he gets something slightly wrong, or if you wanted a more detailed explanation. It makes you laugh when Jon messes up his words because Ani is just that gorgeous. As for the complicated ones, you're patient, breaking it down so she grasps the basics.

"So, like, this is why it's important to get your oil changed regularly," Ani says, tapping the oil pan. She's squatting down to watch you as you're laid out on the dolly. "Cuz if it's all gunked up, the engine can't, what, lubricate itself or something? No lube is rough, I get it." She sighs, patting the hood like she's empathising with it.

That makes you chortle, never prepared for Ani's crass jokes or references to your very active sex life. "OK, hold on, no lube has always been your idea!" you protest, giving a weak kick from underneath.

"I didn't say I didn't like it~"

"Alright, masochist." Rolling your eyes now, you focus on her actual observation. "And to your previous point, exactly," you beam, proud of her. "See? You're a quick learner."

Ani preens under the praise. "I got a good teacher."

She helps you out from under the Nissan Tiida, sliding you back out. Work's slow sometimes. The city's got a lower amount of people who own their own cars, and you don't like the monotony of working on the same make over and over, so you don't usually go for fixing up taxis or rented cars. This specific one has been a passion project, something you toy around with when there's not much to do. You've wanted to take it home for a while, but you've been holding off. Not until it's perfect.

"Alright. What's, mm, that one?" Anora asks.

Standing up, you come up behind her, your warm breath on her neck as you lean over to see what she's pointing at. "That's the intake manifold. It brings in the air and fuel mixture the engine needs to run. Sometimes it cracks and leaks out more air than it should."

Ani nods, trying to wrap her head around it. "Okay, I think I get it. So, like, if this thing's fucked up, the car won't run right? Or at least the engine will go fucky."

"Pretty much," you confirm, wrapping your arms around her waist now. Jon's off on a lunch break. You make him go pick up burgers at a spot a few blocks down when the shop's quiet like this. Means less time of him hassling you. "But don't worry, I'll always make sure our ride is in tip top shape."

You press a kiss to her hair. The tinsel in it always falls straight down, which is why Anora straightens her hair every day to make it look right. With you, all natural without anyone else to impress? Her hair's got her natural waves, looking healthy and sleek.

Ani melts into your embrace, leaning her head back against your shoulder. "I know you will, babe. You're the best."

The two of you stand there for a moment, just enjoying each other's presence. You can't help it. You wanna tell her everything, there's a compulsion in you. Then you pull away, taking Ani's hand. "C'mon, I wanna show you something."

You lead her to the car you were just working on, opening the driver's side door. It's not flashy, not luxurious or even running perfectly yet. But it's got its charm. The seats are comfortable unlike leather which gets hot quickly, it's surprisingly spacious on the inside, and the wooden look of the interior detailing makes it look and feel cozy.

"What are you-"

"I bought it for us. Out of pocket," you explain, helping Ani into the passenger seat. "It wasn't cheap, but it's been sitting in the shop for months, and I just couldn't let it go to waste."

Ani runs her hands over the dashboard, the textured cream seats. It's not new, but it's been lovingly restored. All by you. No way you'd let Jon touch this. "It's beautiful," she breathes. "Did you do all this?"

You nod. Her awed look makes you push out your chest a little, ego thoroughly inflated. "Most of it. I had a friend look at the AC, but yeah. This is all me, babe."

Ani turns to you, throwing her arms around your neck. "I love it. I love you. You're amazing," she gushes, peppering your face with kisses.

"I figured it was time we had a real car. One that's ours. No more borrowing beaters or taking the subway everywhere. Even if you say it's alright and you like the subway." You return the 'I love you' and pucker your lips for her to kiss.

"Thank you," Ani whispers, cupping your face in her hands. "You're the best partner a girl could ask for. I mean that. Who the fuck fixes up a whole car just to surprise their girlfriend?"

"Anything for you, princess," you murmur against her lips.

"Princess?" Anora playfully shoves you away. "You're fucking high."

But you mean it. You wanna spoil her to the best of your abilities, wanna make her feel like a princess even with your meagre funds and lack of time together. You want to make her feel like the most special girl in the world.

"How about I take you for a spin in our new ride?" you offer. Your hands grip the steering wheel, the polished wood under your hands. "And the best part! No more relying on the subway. I know this isn't exactly rolling in style but..."

Anora shakes her head, taking your hand. It's calloused and rough, but the way she holds it makes you feel like you could be tender in your own way. Makes you appreciate that your hands and hard work is the way you show it, not by blowing cash. "It's perfect," she tells you. "Because you did it, because you wanted to provide. That's all I need."

"Better than the limos Ivan rode you around in?"

Anora rolls her eyes, looking at you like it's a stupid question. Because how could she even compare the two when you're in front of her, giving her everything you can? "No competition, baby. I thought I wanted that, back then, but you're what I was really waiting for."

It's so mushy and vulnerable, coming from her. Just straight from the heart. "I'm nothing special," you attempt to refuse.

"You're the only fucking one who knows what I need. Who gives it to me, no matter what it is," Ani tells you, refusing your refusal. "You've got me. Body and soul."

[jayparked]

heejake + 90

WARNINGS: threesome, cuck!hee, dirty talk, bossy heeseung, heeseung humiliation kink???, jake is kind of a jerk and taunts heeseung, not very bro code of him, brief mentions of oral (f.rec)

WC: 1075 💀

"i wanna watch one of my friends fuck you."

never in a million years did you expect your boyfriend to say these words to you. it was interesting navigating that conversation and discussion boundaries for one another. but it was even more interesting admitting which of your boyfriend's friends you'd like to invite into the bedroom.

and that's how you found yourself here, naked, lying under your boyfriend's best friend: jake.

heeseung sat in a chair in the corner of your shared bedroom, his view perfect to see your face and everything jake does to your body. one of heeseung's specific rules was that jake could not leave any marks on you, whether it be hickeys, bite or scratch marks. but the way jake's hand is gripping onto your right breast while he rhythmically rocks his hips into you has your breath hitching in your throat. there's no way his fingernails aren't leaving little half moon intents on your flesh. even if heeseung notices, he hasn't said anything.

jake moves one of your legs over his shoulder, quickening his pace and moving his hand to grip your waist now. he's biting his lip hard, probably refraining from letting out all the crude things he wants to say to you - another one of heeseung's rules. the only dirty talk that will be happening will come from heeseung himself.

you swallow back a moan that almost let out when the tip of jake's cock hits the back of your walls, your arms shake while you grip onto jake's biceps for leverage, nails digging into his skin like he was doing to yours just moments before. silent tears prick your eyes, feeling overwhelmed as you try to keep your mind on heeseung. but it's hard to imagine he's the one fucking you when jake feels so different, so much more eager and impatient all while heeseung sits a few feet away.

"do you know how much i love seeing you like this?" heeseung groans, his erection clear from across the room. seeing your boyfriend's eyes fluttering to stay open, his neck muscles straining, and the way he desperately palms at himself has you whimpering from the bed, clenching down on jake's cock.

"watch it," jake winces, "who knew you'd be this tight? thought heeseung would've stretched you out by now."

"jake. shut up," you whisper through gritted teeth, chancing a glance over to heeseung to see if he heard.

it's pretty clear he has; his eyebrows knit closely together as he watches you intensely. you're expecting him to go off, to get up and even push jake off of you. instead, heeseung says with a low, commanding voice, "she doesn't like that, by the way."

the calmness of his voice sends chills throughout your whole body. jake's pace stutters and slows slightly. eyes flicking towards the direction of his friend, jake grunts lowly, clearly unsure on what he's supposed to do.

"she doesn't like having her legs that high. and she doesn't like her tits being the main focus. she's a clit action type of girl." heeseung's lips tug into a smug smile, absolutely loving that no matter who has you, they'll never know your body like he does.

"if i'm gonna let you fuck her, at least do it right."

"you have years against my fifteen minutes, chill out dude. plus, maybe if you'd let us talk-"

"absolutely not."

"what? you afraid you're gonna hear something you don't like?" jake's boldness carries from his lips down to his body. he throws your leg off his shoulder, both hands gripping your waist now as he holds eye contact with you. the intensity of his fucked out hazed stare is impossible to look away from. you can't help but let out a soft whimper as jake's pace increases again, his thrusts more determined and aggressive as he uses heeseung as a way to indirectly talk dirty with you. "afraid i'll fuck her so dumb she'll forget your name and say mine instead? think she'll get so addicted to me she'll keep coming back for more?"

you bite down on your lip and close your eyes, desperately trying not to let jake's words affect you the way they are. you know your legs are starting to shake, know your walls are tightening against his thick cock as it continues to drill in and out of you.

opening your eyes for a moment, you glance over at your boyfriend, a silent plea painted across your face. even though it's not his cock pounding into your tight hole at the moment, it's his gaze and presence that has you teetering closer to the edge. for a moment, he gives a warning glance to jake, but other than that, his attention is solely on you and the way your body starts to tremble.

your mouth barely opens before heeseung is answering your unspoken question.

"go ahead and come, baby. it's okay. i'm right here." his soft words of encouragement are all it takes to push you to your climax. jake slows his movements to help you ride out your high, quiet swear words fumbling out from his lips before he can even realize it. you're too distracted with the white heat exploding throughout your body to notice the way jake's eyes darken.

moving quickly before you can even process it, jake pulls out of you and lowers his body until his head is level with your dripping core. flinching as jake's tongue licks a long stripe from your hole and swirling around your clit, you instinctively grab a fistful of his hair, making him chuckle against you.

"damn, heeseung. why didn't you ever tell me how sweet she tastes? i can see why you're so possessive over her now."

"if you want to keep that tongue of yours i suggest you stop talking and back the fuck away from her right now."

before jake is even given the chance to move for himself, heeseung is yanking him back by the shoulders and shoving him towards the door.

"call me!" jake shouts over his shoulder before heeseung slams the door in his face, promptly locking it and turning back towards you where you lay stunned.

veins now visible on his forehead and neck, heeseung cocks his head to the side and takes a deep breath, regaining his composure enough to flash you a never faltering confident smile. "now, let me finish what he could only dream of starting."

♡ for part of my 1k follower celebration ♡ masterlist

[godhandler]

seeing you doomscroll at 2am

nanami would be slightly worried, telling you to think of your health and maintain proper sleep schedules (he is a big fat hypocrite because why is he up at 2am doing paperwork). "if you have time to watch asmr cooking videos you better use it productively, honey." he won't actually nag tho because nanami of all people gets that adult life is hard, if these silly videos make you feel a little happy who is he to deny you that? would offer to work in bed so that he can be near you while also making sure that you do sleep.

gojo is probably working hard mid-mission or creating lesson plans lol. at this point in life he doesn't actually know what time people are supposed to sleep. "ooh, im jealous~ send me any fun reels if you find them, 'kay?" if he has no mission (once in a millenia), he's doomscrolling alongside you, pushing his phone in your face now and then to show you smn like 'cat falls from 10th floor, lands on feet!' or a insta post of a woman in a bikini - 'see that would look good on you. or me. we're good looking <3'

shoko wouldn't know. she's dead to the world the second her exhausted and overworked head hits the pillow. she'd put the pieces together when you're still sleeping the next day till noon with your glasses on and phone in hand. wouldn't care that much tbh. chill girlfriends fr.

toji sees you scrolling in the dark when he wakes up at night to pee, will poke his head in to see judge your the kinda shit you waste time on. "the hell are those white boys putting cat ears on for?" or "how many times are ya gonna watch jay park shake ass?" or "tumblr. loser." toji probably pees at 2-3 times per night. idk why. i just know.

kamo doesn't doomscroll. he just doesn't. thinks it's a nasty childish habit, like vaping or interacting with tiktok in any form. pre getting kicked out the clan, i think it would genuinely lower his opinion of you a bit. it's like, he doesn't want himself or his significant other to be that kind of person who doomscrolls till late and sleeps thru work/classes next morning like a slob. post, he wouldn't like it but he can shrug it off. as long as you still wake up on time next morning.

sukuna "this is so stupid. your recommendations suck. you should watch more educational informative videos, news and shit, learn a language instead of wasting your time like this. egirls are ugly."- all while watching your phone with his head over your shoulder. he has opinions on every reel you watch and will make himself heard.

higuruma "what's doomscroll?" this man is pushing 40 and is an introvert. his knowledge of social media is liking his friends' throwback pics on facebook. he'd be interested if you're shopping online, "love, can you order my woollen socks too? please make sure they cover the ankle and isn't more than 30% polyester. thanks, love." but otherwise he's a big 'phones at night harm your brain' kinda guy.

nobara, yuji, megumi all three forward each other reels on a LINE group chat named smn stupid that yuji and nobara agreed upon after much debate, like 'three musketeers (in english to be fancy)' or 'nobara and the dwarves' or 'diaper gang 😛'. yuji sends stuff he thinks others would like (baby duck vids). nobara sends stuff she likes (xiaohongshu fashion inspo). megumi doesn't reply or send much of anything, will leave the group if the other send too much brainrot content but they keep adding him back in. megumi watches mostly reels talking about recent discoveries in outer space and those carpentry videos where the wood just perfectly slides into place and locks together.

choso is a complete phone addict. see he initially didn't understand a lot of human society stuff so he just googled everything he didn't get cuz he's a proud man who doesn't want to bother people with his questions and ended developing a social media addiction lol. types super fast. knows every trending trend on every sm even though he doesn't post anything. he's doomscrolling harder than you.

[jaydenism]

been thinking about this bug a lot recently...

i want a big kanade arc pls pls pls 🙏 its her turn to go through the horrors ♡

long kanade ramble ahead!!

i think that savior complex of hers is gonna send her crashing down. hard.

we haven't gotten any huge kanade focus events yet, or anything that really progresses her story or builds her character in a significant way, but im really looking forward to see what they have in store for her character arc. im hoping kana5 will stir the pot a bit and get the plot moving.

i feel like overall shes been really mysterious and strangely without much going on, and at first i thought she was a little boring even... but i think that's by design. she doesn't open up about herself much, and generally appears to be pretty put together, maybe aside from her poor self-care. she doesn't talk about many of her own problems, because she doesn't want to have the others worry for her, when her problems are "insignificant" compared to the others, as she says. i think the lack of progression in her story also fools the audience into believing she has her shit together. ena has had her fair share of struggles. mafuyu had her big arc, but shes also been trying to find herself since the beginning. mizuki just went through hell and finally fell apart after the long-lasting growing tension in her story. but kanade? she's been stagnant. unchanging. it makes it easy for her to be overlooked. but that's exactly what she wants-- to not weigh the others down, and to be their support. but she can't keep that up forever. so yes, i admit i wasn't super interested in her character before, but I've now realized that's because they've hardly even started her story yet. as one of my oomfs said, she was always going to be the last wall to fall.

when reading the story at first, kanade has a lot of warning signs you might glance over. ive only recently started to see them more, like just in passing comments here and there that are REALLY concerning and unhealthy. i mean the most obvious sign is that she barely gives herself time to eat or sleep of course, but the more you pay attention to the subtle things, the more apparent it becomes that she's got some serious shit she needs to unpack, or she may just end up crumpling under the weight of it all. i think her undoing has the potential to be huge. catastrophic even. i really wonder what the writers are planning for her, but all this waiting leads me to believe they could have something big planned. like okay, looking back to the card i drew from, the bloomfes kanade card, shes got some wild shit going on... there is nothing normal about that !!!

i also posted abt this on bluesky, but reiterating it here, i felt like her newest card for her mixed focus event kinda seemed like foreshadowing... specifically because of the niigo colored star charms. mizuki and ena's charms are together, facing each other (yippeeeee), but mafuyu's charm faces kanade's, who's charm is not facing hers. mizuenas charms also seem to glow in the light, while kanamafus dont reflect as much light. could just be coincidence, but i know they love hinting and foreshadowing with card details like this. and overall, kanade's expression is unreadable, like a still, empty doll. the card has a bit of a melancholic feel, to me at least. im not sure how soon the next niigo event will be, but it's gotta be a kanade focus, unless they pull a saki. i dont think its the biggest leap to suggest this could be some foreshadowing for the next event.

but anyway, i think kana5 will start building up the tension at least, maybe entering a kanade arc even. i need to see her snap pls pls pls pls pls

if you read all that,,, wow thanks, u get a star ☆ :)) also lemme know ur thoughts and if im off base about anything

[dreamlanderin]

You don't see me, part 4 (Sam x Reader)

Summary: You get a surprising visit, that results in a impulsive decision. Sam reflects. Part 3

Warnings: Swearing, blood, supernatural shit (I feel like this is warning enough), little angst.

Words: 7.4 k

You were still full of car grime, the streaks smeared across your hands and forearms a stark contrast to her near-perfect hair and that stupidly perfect face. When she’d sauntered into the yard, your first instinct had been to stab her with the knife in your toolbox. The thought hadn’t entirely left your mind.

“You’ve got five seconds to explain before I toss you back out,” you say, your voice sharp with annoyance.

Ruby leans against the doorframe like she owns the place, her dark eyes sweeping the garage with casual disdain. “Relax, princess. I’m not here to cause trouble—at least, not for you.”

Your frown deepens. “What do you want?”

“Information,” she says simply, though the curl of her lips makes it sound like something much more sinister. “There’s been… let’s call it activity up north. Weird demon sightings, hauntings. The usual mess.”

You narrow your eyes. “And you thought Bobby would just hand over his intel to you?”

Ruby shrugs, her smirk deepening. “Not exactly. But I figured I’d try asking nicely before he shoots me with rock salt.”

Your arms cross instinctively, your body shifting to block her path to the house. “Why not get Sam and Dean to help you? Or are they finally wise enough not to trust you?”

Her expression falters, just for a second, before she recovers, her tone sharpening like a knife. “Sam and Dean aren’t exactly in fighting shape right now. Not that it’s any of your business.”

That stops you cold. Your grip tightens around the knife you still hadn’t let go of. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means,” she says vaguely, dragging out the words like she’s savoring the game, “I’m trying to clean up a mess before it turns into something worse.” Then, as if catching herself, she glances at you with a knowing smirk. “But you wouldn’t have heard about that, would you? All cooped up here.”

Your glare sharpens, but the thought of demon activity makes your stomach twist. If it had anything to do with you know who, then this could be serious.

“We haven’t heard anything on the scanner,” you say cautiously, though the words don’t feel solid. “So your intel must be lousy.”

Ruby scoffs, shaking her head as though you’re missing something obvious. “Right, sorry—I forgot who I was talking to.”

She steps closer, her smirk turning razor-sharp. “Look, princess, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but you’re not exactly reliable these days. So why would he tell you about a demon sighting?”

Your jaw tightens, the words catching in your throat. She’s baiting you, and it’s working.

Ruby tilts her head, her voice dripping with condescension now. “He doesn’t trust you enough to send you out there. And why would he? You’re not a hunter.”

That’s it. You’re about decimals away from burying your knife in her smug face.

“So be a doll,” she adds with a sugary-sweet tone, “and call him for me.”

You don’t move. Your grip on the knife stays firm, the cool steel grounding you against the storm of frustration Ruby was stirring up. Her smirk deepens as she leans one shoulder lazily against the doorframe, perfectly at ease while you stew.

“What's the matter?” she drawls. “Cat got your tongue? Or is it hitting a little too close to home?”

“Cut the crap,” you snap, stepping forward just enough to block her further from the house. “If you’ve got something to say, Ruby, say it. Otherwise, you can turn around and get out of here.”

She chuckles, low and infuriatingly smug, as though she’s enjoying this more than she should. “Oh, I’ve got plenty to say,” she says. “But let’s not pretend you’re actually gonna listen, huh? That’s your problem, princess. You’re all bark, no bite.”

Your jaw tightens, and you grip the knife so hard your knuckles turn white. “You don’t know a damn thing about me.”

“Oh, but I do,” she counters, pushing off the doorframe with that snake-like grace of hers. Her eyes flicker over you, sizing you up, her tone sweetening in that patronizing way that makes your skin crawl. “I know you’re here because you don’t think you’re good enough to be out there. And guess what? Bobby agrees. Why else do you think he hasn’t let you out of his yard since you got here?”

You feel the jab hit its mark, but you don’t flinch. Instead, you glare at her, your voice sharp. “Or maybe Bobby’s just got enough sense not to trust a demon’s word.”

Ruby scoffs. “Sure, blame me all you want. But deep down, you know I’m right. Bobby’s not keeping you here to protect you. He’s keeping you here because he thinks you’ll get yourself killed the second you step foot outside this junkyard. And honestly?” She leans closer, her voice dropping to a near-whisper. “I don’t blame him.”

The words hang heavy in the air, and for a second, you feel the sting of them sink in. But you shove it down, meeting her gaze with fire in your eyes. “You don’t get to talk to me about what I can or can’t do. You’re a parasite, Ruby. And the only reason you’re still breathing is because I haven’t decided to end you myself.”

Ruby doesn’t even flinch. Instead, she tilts her head, studying you with a mixture of pity and amusement. “Big talk for someone who’s been playing house with Bobby instead of hunting. Face it, you’re out of practice. You’ve been hiding here, convincing yourself it’s just ‘time to regroup,’ but you know the truth.”

You clench your teeth, refusing to let her see how close she’s getting to the truth. “And what truth is that?”

“The truth,” she says, her voice cutting like a blade, “is that you’re not a hunter. Not really. You’re just a liability. That’s why Sam and Dean haven’t come for you. They don’t need dead weight dragging them down.”

Your chest tightens, anger and doubt warring in your mind. You hate her for saying it, for putting into words the fear that’s been gnawing at you since you left. But you refuse to give her the satisfaction of seeing you falter.

“I’m not doing this with you,” you say coldly, turning away to put distance between you and her venom.

“Oh, don’t walk away now,” she calls after you, her voice dripping with mock sweetness. “I’m just getting to the good part.”

You pause, your fists clenched, but you don’t turn around. She takes your silence as permission to keep going.

“Why do you think Sam and Dean keep getting hurt?” she presses. “Because they have to pick up your slack. They’re out there, putting their lives on the line, while you’re holed up here with Bobby. They’re cleaning up your messes. And for what? So you can sit here and sulk about how unfair the world is?”

You whip around, your glare sharp enough to cut. “You don’t know anything about me or what I’ve done.”

“I know enough,” she says, her tone softening, though her words remain sharp. “And so do they. That’s why they’re not here. They’re better off without you.”

Her words hit like a slap, but before you can fire back, she steps closer, her expression shifting to something almost sincere.

“Look,” she says, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial tone. “I’m not saying this to be cruel. I’m saying it because it’s the truth. And if you want to prove me wrong—if you want to show them you’re not just dead weight—then do something about it.”

You narrow your eyes, your instincts screaming not to trust her, but her words have already planted seeds of doubt. “What are you trying to say?”

She smirks, stepping back with a casual shrug. “I’m saying maybe it’s time you stopped waiting for Bobby to give you a job and took matters into your own hands. There’s plenty of action out there if you know where to look.”

You feel the weight of her words sink in, her bait carefully laid. And despite every instinct telling you not to trust her, a part of you wonders if she’s right. If you’ve been hiding. If it’s time to step back into the fight.

Ruby, ever the predator, sees the hesitation flicker across your face and seizes the moment. “But hey,” she adds, turning toward the door. “What do I know? I’m just the parasite, right?”

Ruby's words hang in the air, sharp and taunting, like the hiss of a snake ready to strike. You watch her, every muscle in your body coiled tight. Then, without a word, you move.

“Okay,” you mutter, voice low and dangerous. “That does it.”

You stride over to the corner of the garage where Bobby keeps his shotgun propped against the wall, next to a box of tools and grease-streaked rags. Your hands move with purpose, snatching it up and checking the barrel without hesitation.

Ruby, half-turned toward the door, senses the shift. She glances over her shoulder, her smirk faltering for just a fraction of a second. “Oh, come on, princess, don’t be like that—”

Crack.

The garage echoes with the deafening blast of rock salt. The smell of gunpowder and sulfur fills the space as the salt scatters harmlessly against the far wall.

Ruby was standing just a few feet away near the garage door, her expression caught somewhere between disbelief and irritation. You’d almost hit her. She smooths her hair down absently, her dark eyes narrowing as she studies you.

“Are you insane?” she spits, voice sharp and incredulous. “You could’ve taken my damn head off!”

You don’t respond, at least not with words. Instead, you calmly pull the pump on the shotgun back, the familiar clack-clack reverberating through the space. The sound is unmistakable—a promise, not a threat.

“That first shot?” you say, your tone low and unshaken. “That was a warning.”

Ruby stiffens, her mouth opening like she’s about to snap back, but then she hesitates. For the first time, there’s a flicker of something almost resembling uncertainty in her eyes.

“Okay,” she says, raising her hands in mock surrender, her lips curling into a forced smirk. “I get it. You’re feeling all big and bad now, huh?”

You don’t lower the shotgun. Your eyes lock onto her, steady and unwavering, as you load another shell with a sharp click. It won't kill her but it would scar that pretty face she's so fond of.

Ruby’s smirk falters, her posture tensing as she watches you lift the gun again, the barrel leveling directly at her face.

“Oh, for hell’s sake,” she mutters, her voice dripping with exasperation.

Before you can fire, she vanishes in a blur of dark smoke, her presence evaporating as quickly as it appeared.

The garage door creaks faintly on its hinges, and the space falls silent once more, save for the distant rustle of wind outside.

You lower the shotgun slowly, your pulse pounding in your ears. Your jaw tightens as you take a steadying breath, the adrenaline still thrumming through your veins.

“Damn parasite,” you mutter under your breath, setting the gun back against the wall with a little more force than necessary.

But even as you stand there, trying to shake off the weight of the encounter, you can’t ignore the faint chill left behind in the air. Ruby’s words still linger in your mind, no matter how much you want to deny it.

The sound of hurried, heavy footsteps echoes from the house, followed by the creak of the screen door slamming open. A second later, Bobby bursts into the garage, his own shotgun clutched tightly in his hands, his face a mixture of alarm and barely-contained frustration.

“What in the hell’s goin’ on out here?” he barks, his sharp gaze darting from you to the shotgun in your hands, then to the fresh scorch marks peppering the wall of the garage.

“What’d you do to my wall!?”

✦────────────────────✦────────────────────✦

The low rumble of the Impala’s engine filled the silence, broken only by the occasional hum of tires against the asphalt. Dean tapped the steering wheel in a rhythm that didn’t match the classic rock playing softly on the radio, his eyes flicking to Sam every few moments.

Sam sat in the passenger seat, leaning forward slightly, his elbows braced on his knees. He was jittery, a quiet kind of restless that Dean didn’t need words to pick up on. His fingers twitched against his thigh, his gaze darting from the road ahead to the phone in his hand.

It's been a few weeks since you've disappeared.

Dean finally sighed, his patience fraying. “Alright, what’s your problem?”

Sam’s head snapped up, like he hadn’t realized how obvious he’d been. “Nothing,” he muttered, though his fingers tightened around the phone.

“Yeah, sure,” Dean said, his voice laced with sarcasm. “You’ve been twitchier than a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs since we left. What’s going on?”

Sam didn’t answer right away. His thumb hovered over the phone screen, lingering indecisively. Dean caught the movement out of the corner of his eye, his grip on the wheel tightening.

“What are you doing?” Dean asked, his tone sharp now, more demanding. “You waiting for someone to call, or are you about to make one?”

Sam shifted uncomfortably, his jaw clenching. “It’s nothing,” he said again, too quick, too defensive.

Dean’s gaze flicked to the phone. “Is that her?” he asked, his voice low and pointed. “Or is it…?” He trailed off, but the unspoken name hung heavy between them.

“It better not be. I hope for your sake it’s Bobby you’re about to call”

Sam didn’t answer, but his thumb moved slightly, his finger hovering between two names on the screen. Your name. Ruby’s name.

Dean caught the hesitation, his jaw tightening as frustration flared. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he muttered under his breath. “What the hell’s going on with you, Sam? You’ve been weird for weeks, and now you’re sitting here like you’re-

“Just drop it, Dean,” he snapped, his voice harsher than he intended. Sam’s grip on the phone tightened, his knuckles white

“No, I’m not gonna drop it,” Dean shot back. “You’ve been cagey as hell, and I’m not blind. Something’s eating at you, and I’m guessing it’s got something to do with the fact that you’re still mangled up from that Forest shadow thing” Dean paused, his voice softening slightly, just enough to drive the point home. “And her.”

Sam’s shoulders tensed, his head dropping slightly as he stared down at the phone. His thumb hovered a moment longer before he locked the screen and shoved it into his pocket. “It’s nothing,” he said, quieter now, but no less strained. “Just leave it.”

Dean didn’t push further, but his jaw stayed tight, and his eyes lingered on Sam for a moment longer before turning back to the road. The silence that followed was heavier than the noise had been, filled with unspoken accusations and unanswered questions.

Sam shifted in his seat, his hand twitching toward his pocket before pulling back. His leg bounced nervously, the tension rolling off him in waves. Withdrawal was creeping in, and it wasn’t just the blood he was missing.

He couldn’t be what you wanted if he gave into it. He knew that. But the thought clawed at him, relentless and unyielding. Just once more, his mind whispered, insidious and tempting. One last time, and then I’m done.

But that’s what he always said. Every time. Every drop. And it was never the last. The truth that he didn’t want to admit, even to himself, pressed in on him: he didn’t trust himself anymore.

And it didn’t help that Ruby had left him a supply. A small vial, tucked away in his duffel bag like a whispered temptation he couldn’t silence. She’d paid a visit a few days ago, saying she had some business to take care of and wouldn’t be there for their usual “Sessions”. He hadn’t thrown it away—not down the drain, not into the fire like he should have. It was still there, hidden but present, its weight far heavier than the glass it was made of.

He told himself it was just precaution, just in case. But deep down, he knew better. The truth was sharper, darker: he wasn’t sure he could let it go.

It felt like every time he looked at that damn vial, he could hear Ruby’s voice in his head, smooth and coaxing. “It makes you stronger, Sam. It’s what you need to win.”

But it wasn’t about winning anymore. Not really. It was about control. About the pull that wrapped around his chest like barbed wire every time he thought about using it. He could feel the urge crawling under his skin, whispering the same lie over and over again. Just once more. Just one last time.

He clenched his fists in his lap, his nails digging into his palms as he stared out the window. He couldn’t let Dean see him like this—restless, teetering on the edge. And he sure as hell couldn’t let you see him like this, not after everything.

Atleast they finally knew where you were, at Bobby’s, hed called a few days later to let them know you were safe, but not to come. You had needed time to yourself. Dean wanted to storm over but Sam, he had respected your need for distance. Since then he had tried to stay away from the blood, that when you were ready he would be ready too. But this made his mind drift.

Sam’s mind drifted back to the memory of you under the stars, your quiet voice cutting through his thoughts. “I just don’t let it stop me. I’d never get to have this. Being here. With you.”

And that’s when he stops. This old memory of you, makes him stop whenever he wants to give up.

The memory always came back to Sam in pieces—soft edges, muted tones, like an old photograph that refused to fade completely. It had been one of those rare, quiet nights, camping out under the stars instead of cramming into some grimy motel. The fire had burned low, casting a warm glow that barely reached the edges of the clearing. Dean was stretched out a few feet away, his snoring loud and unapologetic, a constant rhythm against the stillness of the woods.

Sam hadn’t been able to sleep—not really. Something about the openness of the sky above, the unfamiliar quiet, made it hard to settle. He’d been lying on his back, staring at the stars through the canopy of trees, when he’d heard the sound of your footsteps. Light, hesitant, like you weren’t sure if you should be there.

“You awake?” you’d whispered, your voice so soft it barely broke the hum of insects around you.

“Yeah,” he’d whispered back, turning his head to see you standing there, wrapped in a blanket you’d dragged from your sleeping bag. Your hair was a little messy, and you looked tired, but there was something about the way you held yourself—vulnerable, hesitant—that made him sit up.

You’d crouched down beside him, settling on the edge of his sleeping bag, close enough that he could see the faint shadows under your eyes, the way your breath puffed softly in the cool night air.

“Can’t sleep?” he’d asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

You’d shaken your head, hugging the blanket tighter around yourself. “Dean’s snoring could wake the dead.”

Sam had smiled at that, a quiet, easy smile, and for a while, the two of you just sat there in the soft glow of the dying fire, the world around you fading into nothing but the quiet sounds of the night.

“What are you thinking about?” you’d asked after a long pause, your voice barely audible.

Sam had hesitated, glancing at you, then back up at the stars. “I don’t know,” he’d said finally. “Everything, I guess. What we’re doing, where we’re going… if it’s all worth it.”

You’d been quiet for a moment, watching him, your gaze steady in a way that made him feel exposed, like you could see right through him. “You think too much,” you’d said softly, a small, teasing smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

He’d chuckled, the sound low and quiet, not wanting to wake Dean. “And you don’t think enough.”

You’d grinned at that, but it faded quickly, replaced by something softer, more thoughtful. “That’s not true,” you’d murmured. “I think a lot. I just… don’t let it stop me.”

Sam had turned to look at you then, really look at you, the firelight catching in your eyes. “What do you mean?” he’d asked, his voice quieter now, like the moment was too fragile for anything louder.

You’d shrugged, pulling the blanket tighter around your shoulders. “I mean, I think about what scares me, what I might lose, how much I might screw things up. But if I let that stop me, I’d never do anything. I’d never… get to have this.”

“This?” Sam had echoed, his brow furrowing slightly.

You’d gestured vaguely around you, your hand brushing close to his. “This. Nights like this. Being here. With you.”

The simplicity of your words had knocked the breath out of him. You weren’t saying anything big or dramatic, but the way you’d said it—like it was the most obvious thing in the world, like it meant everything—made something in his chest tighten.

For a long time, neither of you spoke. You’d just sat there, the space between you shrinking as the fire burned lower. Eventually, you’d leaned back, lying down beside him, your blanket brushing against his arm as you both stared up at the stars.

He couldn’t remember how long you’d stayed like that, whispering about silly things—what you thought the stars looked like, Dean’s awful snoring, how you swore you’d heard Bigfoot once when you were a kid. But he remembered the way your voice sounded in the dark, soft and unguarded, like the walls you kept so carefully up had been left behind in the warmth of the firelight.

And he remembered the way you’d fallen asleep beside him, your head resting just inches from his shoulder, your breaths slow and even as the night stretched on.

Now, as he sat in the Impala, staring out the window at the blur of trees rushing past, that memory wrapped around him like a thread, tugging at something deep inside. He thought about the way you’d said those words—so simple, so honest. He hadn’t known what to say then, hadn’t known how to hold onto a moment like that.

But he’d thought about it all the time. Before Ruby, before the blood. And that’s why he needed to stop. He needed to stop because it had been keeping him from everything.

They were headed into town now, they’d been driving for a couple of days on a lead about strange weather reports and changes. It was close by Bobby, and in his mind he couldn’t help but hope that he’d see you again.

✦────────────────────✦────────────────────✦

The slam of the screen door echoed through the yard as Bobby stormed in, shotgun in hand, his posture still stiff as you went into the kitchen. “What the hell happened out there?” he barked, his gaze landing on you.

You shrugged, setting the shotgun back against the wall. “Just taking out the trash.”

Bobby’s jaw ticked as he glanced between you and the door. “That ‘trash’ better not be the kind that comes back with friends.”

“She’s gone,” you said evenly, brushing your hands on your jeans like you hadn’t just taken a shot at Ruby in a fit of anger.

“Yeah, well, you also left me with a damn hole in my wall,” he muttered, walking over to the fridge and grabbed a beer “shit�� he grumbled, shaking his head.

You didn’t respond immediately. Instead, you stared at the ground, your jaw tightening as the weight of Ruby’s words pressed down on you like a stone. Bobby noticed the shift in your posture, the way your shoulders sagged slightly, and his sharp gaze softened just a fraction.

“You know I am not mad about the wall, right, kid?” he asked, his voice gruff but not unkind.

You hesitated, your hands tightening into fists at your sides. “I need a case,” you said suddenly, the words tumbling out before you could stop them. “Anything. Just… give me something to do.”

Bobby raised an eyebrow, his expression skeptical. “You’re serious?”

“I’m serious,” you said firmly, meeting his eyes. “I’m tired of sitting around here doing nothing. I’m a hunter, Bobby. I can’t just… stay here, waiting for something to happen.”

“Last time I checked, you were still patching yourself up from that last mess you got dragged into,” Bobby countered, his tone cutting. “And now you’re asking for me to send you into another one?”

“I’m not asking for a favor,” you shot back, your voice sharper than you intended. “I’m asking for a chance. I need to prove that I can still do this.”

Bobby narrowed his eyes at you, he put down the beer his arms crossing over his chest. “To who? Me? Sam? Dean?”

You swallowed hard, your gaze dropping to the ground. “To myself,” you admitted quietly. “I need to prove it to myself.”

The admission hung in the air between you, raw and vulnerable. Bobby’s expression softened, though his voice remained firm. “And what happens if you screw it up? You think putting yourself in danger is gonna fix that?”

“I don’t know,” you said honestly, your voice trembling just slightly. “But I can’t just sit here, Bobby. I feel useless. Like I’m a liability. And I can’t stand feeling like that anymore.”

Bobby let out a long sigh, dragging a hand over his face. “Damn it, kid,” he muttered. “You really don’t make this easy, do you?”

You managed a weak smile, though it didn’t reach your eyes. “Not my strong suit.”

For a long moment, Bobby just stared at you, weighing his options. Finally, he let out another sigh and walked out the room. You thought he'd just left, mid-conversation, but then you heard him rummaging around the room before he returned. His brows furrowed.

 “Fine,” he said gruffly. “But you’re taking a light one. Something simple.”

Relief flooded through you, though you tried not to let it show too much. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” Bobby muttered, pulling out a folder and tossing it onto the table. “This one came in yesterday. Some weird sightings near a small town upstate. Might be nothing, but if you’re hell-bent on proving yourself, you can start with that.”

You stepped forward, picking up the folder and flipping through the sparse details. It wasn’t much—a couple of reports about strange noises and missing livestock—but it was enough. Enough to remind you of who you were. Of what you could do.

“I’ll take it,” you said, your voice steadier now.

“Listen, kid,” Bobby said gruffly, not looking up from the pile of papers he was pretending to sort. “I promised your folks I’d take care of you, and I know you’re all grown now, but that don’t mean I stopped worrying about you.”

You paused, turning back toward him. He still hadn’t looked at you, his eyes fixed on the desk as though it held some answer.

“You go out there, you be smart, you hear me? Don’t go rushing in like some idjit trying to prove a point. Use your head. And for god’s sake, don’t get yourself killed.”

His voice softened just slightly, though his tone stayed sharp as a knife. “Because if you do, I swear to all that’s holy, I’ll drag your sorry ass back here and tan your hide myself.”

A faint smile tugged at the corners of your lips, despite the heaviness in the room. “I’ll be careful,” you promised.

Bobby finally glanced up, his expression unreadable but his eyes sharp and full of something unspoken. “You’d better. You ain’t got much family left, but you’ve got me, and I’m too damn old to be burying anyone else. So, don’t make me regret this.”

“I won’t,” you said softly, gripping the folder a little tighter.

He gave a curt nod, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer before he turned back to the desk. “Alright, then. Get outta here before I change my mind.”

As you stepped toward the door, his voice followed you, low and gruff. “And call me when you get there. Don’t leave me hanging, you hear?”

You wanted to hug him but knew he wasn't much of a touchy feeling type of guy. You paused in the doorway, glancing back at him. “I will.”

Bobby muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like, Damn stubborn kids

✦────────────────────✦────────────────────✦

The vial sat on the nightstand like it had claimed the space as its own, its dark contents catching the faint glow of the bedside lamp. Sam paced back and forth in the cramped room, his long strides eating up the space only to circle back again. He raked a hand through his hair, his fingers catching on a knot near the back of his head, but the dull tug wasn’t enough to ground him. His thoughts spiraled, looping around the same point again and again: the vial.

He’d told himself he wouldn’t touch it, wouldn’t even look at it. And yet, here he was, pacing in circles like some caged animal, his eyes flicking to it every time he turned around. It felt like it was calling to him, whispering in the back of his mind with Ruby’s smooth, coaxing voice.

It’s what you need, Sam. It’ll make you stronger.

He clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms as if the pain might drown out her voice. But it didn’t. It never did.

He stopped suddenly, standing in the middle of the room as his breathing came a little too fast. His gaze locked on the vial, his jaw tightening as an unspoken war waged inside him. Then, without giving himself the chance to think, he grabbed his jacket off the back of the chair and headed for the door.

Dean barely glanced up from his laptop when Sam appeared in the doorway. He was hunched over the desk, the glow of the screen casting harsh shadows across his face as he scrolled through news articles.

“I’m going for a walk,” Sam said, his voice a little too tight.

Dean didn’t look away from the screen. “Yeah, sure. Whatever. Don’t wander too far.”

Sam nodded, though Dean still wasn’t looking at him, and stepped out into the cold night air. The door clicked shut behind him, and the quiet rush of the wind felt like a small relief after the suffocating weight of the motel room.

The town was small, barely more than a handful of streets that twisted around each other like a lazy spiderweb. The sidewalk under his boots was cracked and uneven, the streetlights humming faintly as they cast pools of pale light onto the pavement. He shoved his hands into his jacket pockets, hunching his shoulders against the cold as he walked without any real direction.

Sam’s boots scuffed against the uneven pavement as he kept walking, the night cool and crisp around him. The stars overhead blinked faintly, a distant reminder of how far removed he felt from anything steady or real. His hands were shoved deep into his jacket pockets, his fingers curling and uncurling as if restless energy alone could sort out the tangle in his head.

The blood. Ruby. You. It all churned in him, like a storm that refused to break.

The vial was still sitting on the nightstand back at the motel, a small, unassuming thing with a grip tighter than he cared to admit. It promised strength—clarity even—but every time he thought about it, guilt wormed its way into his chest. It didn’t just feel wrong; it was wrong. He knew that. It didn’t matter how much Ruby whispered otherwise.

But that didn’t stop the temptation.

Ruby said it made him better. Faster. Stronger. He couldn’t argue that—he’d seen it for himself. But it wasn’t him. Not really. It was something else, something darker. Something that pulled at the edges of what made him… him.

And it made him think of Jess.

He hadn’t wanted to. Not tonight. But her face slipped into his mind anyway, unbidden but persistent, the memory so sharp it almost hurt. He thought of how she’d laugh at the smallest, silliest things, how she’d always leave little notes tucked into his books—messages that were never profound, just sweet. Things like, Don’t forget milk, or, You’re going to do great today.

Jess had this way of making the world seem lighter. It wasn’t just her smile, or her laugh, or the way she’d rest her head on his shoulder when she was tired. It was her presence. She just… was. And he’d loved her for it.

When you came along, he hadn’t meant to notice the similarities. It had felt almost like a betrayal at first, this faint echo of Jess in the way you carried yourself. But it wasn’t the same, not really. Where Jess had been lightness, you were fire. Where she’d been a quiet kind of steady, you were all edges and defiance, wearing your scars like armor.

And somewhere along the way, that had pulled him in too.

Sam’s mind drifted, unbidden, to a memory of you that never seemed to leave him. It wasn’t tied to anything extraordinary—no near-death experience, no heartfelt confession. It was just a moment, quiet and unassuming. You’d been sitting on the edge of the bed in a cheap motel room, your back to him as you meticulously untangled the knot in his tie.

It had been after a long day, both of you too exhausted to speak much. He’d tossed the tie on the bed in frustration, grumbling something about it being ruined. But you, without a word, had picked it up and started working at the knot with steady fingers, your brows furrowed in concentration. The lamp beside you cast a soft halo of light over your hair, and for a second, he forgot where you were, forgot what you both did for a living.

You hadn’t said anything, hadn’t made a big deal of it. You’d just handed it back to him once you were done, your lips curving into the faintest of smiles as you shrugged. “It wasn’t as bad as it looked,” you’d said simply, brushing off the gesture like it was nothing.

But it wasn’t nothing. What struck him most wasn’t the act itself, but the quiet way you’d done it, as if easing someone’s frustration was just second nature to you. You hadn’t known he was watching you so closely, hadn’t realized how much that small moment of care had stayed with him. It was something he hadn’t known he needed at the time, and yet, it had settled into his chest, warm and steady.

He’d fallen a little in love with you then, he thought. Not because you were strong or brave or even kind—though you were all those things—but because in that fleeting moment, he saw something more. A quiet tenderness you didn’t show often, and it had pulled him in, as certain as gravity.

Sam stopped walking, his breath puffing out in uneven clouds as he leaned against the side of an old lamppost. Did he… love you? The thought lingered, unsettling and quiet, because it didn’t feel like the love he’d had for Jess. Or even the complicated, twisted thing he’d thought he felt for Ruby. It was something else entirely—something he couldn’t pin down but couldn’t deny, either.

His gaze drifted upward, tracing the constellations without really seeing them. Everything about this felt tangled, like that knot you’d worked so patiently to undo. Only now, the knot was his life—his choices, his mistakes, the blood coursing through his veins like a poison he couldn’t shake. And not even you, with your steady hands and quiet strength, could fix it this time.

You didn’t deserve to get dragged into this. Neither of you did. But here you were, caught in the mess of it all, and he wasn’t sure he’d ever find a way to untangle it.

He let out a long breath, his chest tightening with the weight of it all. Jess. You. Ruby. The blood. Everything felt like it was slipping further out of reach, like he was holding onto sand that kept falling through his fingers.

He wanted to be better. To be stronger for Dean, for himself—for you. But every time he thought about the blood, about what it gave him, the temptation curled tighter. It wasn’t just about the power. It was about control. About finally being enough, about not needing to rely on anyone else to fix what was broken.

But that was the lie.

Sam’s jaw clenched, his nails biting into his palms as he looked down at his hands. The blood made him strong, yes. But it wasn’t strength that felt earned—it was borrowed, tainted. It was a strength that could destroy everything he was trying to hold onto.

His mind circled back to you, to that night under the stars, your voice cutting through his restless thoughts like it always did. “I just don’t let it stop me,” you’d said, so matter-of-fact it had almost knocked him flat.

You hadn’t been trying to inspire him. Hell, you probably hadn’t even realized the weight of your words at the time. But they’d stayed with him. Because in a way, you were what he was trying to hold onto. That defiance. That fire.

But the blood? The blood would burn it all down.

Sam looked back up at the stars, the cold biting at his skin, and for the first time in a long while, he found himself praying.

“Castiel,” he said quietly, his voice barely more than a whisper. The name felt strange on his tongue, like something fragile and unfamiliar. “I don’t know if you can hear me. Hell, I don’t even know if you’re listening. But I… I need help.”

The words felt raw, dragged up from somewhere deep and bruised. “I don’t know what I’m doing anymore. I keep telling myself I can fix this, that I can make it right, but I… I can’t. Not like this.”

He paused, his throat tightening, his hands clenching into fists. “And her—she doesn’t deserve this. She’s out there, and I don’t even know if she’s okay. I know I’ve let her down, just like I’ve let Dean down. I know that. But I don’t want to keep letting them down. I just… I don’t know how to stop.”

Sam’s voice cracked, and he swallowed hard, his gaze still fixed on the stars as though they might blink back with some kind of answer. “Please,” he whispered. “Just… help me be better. Help me keep them safe.”

The silence stretched on, the wind rustling softly through the trees. He waited, his heart pounding in his chest, for some sign—any sign—that he’d been heard.

But none came.

The stars stayed silent, cold and distant, and Sam let out a shaky breath, the weight of the unanswered prayer settling over him like a stone.

“Figures,” he muttered, his voice thick with frustration and something heavier. He pushed off the lamppost and started walking again, the night pressing in around him like it was trying to swallow him whole.

The blood was still there, waiting. But so were you. And for now, that was enough to keep him moving but it didn’t matter where, cause he couldn’t go where he wanted to.

✦────────────────────✦────────────────────✦

“What do you mean she’s gone?” Dean’s voice was edged with irritation, but there was a note of something else underneath—concern, or maybe disbelief.

Sam froze just inside the doorway, his heart skipping a beat at the words. He shut the door quietly behind him, leaning against it as he listened.

“Bobby, you’re supposed to be keeping an eye on her,” Dean continued, his tone accusatory now. “You’re telling me you just let her walk out?”

Sam’s stomach twisted, his pulse quickening as he stepped closer. He couldn’t hear Bobby’s response, but Dean’s expression darkened, his jaw clenching tighter.

“Yeah, well, letting her go on a case wasn’t exactly the smartest move, was it?” Dean snapped, his frustration bleeding through. “She’s still recovering. Hell, we’re all still recovering, and you let her go out alone?”

Sam moved to the edge of the table, his brows furrowed. “What’s going on?” he asked quietly, his voice cutting into the conversation.

Dean held up a hand, silencing him for the moment as he turned his attention back to the phone. “Where is she, Bobby? What case did you send her on?”

There was a pause as Bobby answered, and Dean ran a hand through his hair, his frustration evident. “A town away? That’s it? You didn’t think maybe, I don’t know, to let us know she was leaving?”

Another pause, and then Dean’s expression softened, if only slightly. “Yeah, yeah, I get it. She asked you, and you didn’t want to stop her. But you know how she is, Bobby. She’s stubborn as hell, and now she’s out there, alone.”

Sam stepped closer, his concern growing. “She left on a case?” he asked, his voice tighter now.

Dean sighed, pulling the phone away from his ear for a moment to address him. “Yeah. Bobby let her take a case. Some town not too far from here, but still…” He shook his head, clearly annoyed. “She shouldn’t be out there alone.”

Sam’s jaw tightened, his mind racing. “Why didn’t he stop her?”

Dean raised a brow, as if the answer should’ve been obvious. “You know her, Sam. Once she’s made up her mind, there’s no stopping her. And Bobby…” He hesitated, his gaze dropping for a moment. “Bobby probably thought it was what she needed.”

Sam frowned, the weight of the situation settling over him like a heavy blanket. “Did he at least tell you where she went?”

Dean nodded, putting the phone back to his ear. “Yeah, Bobby. We’ll find her. Thanks for letting us know.” With that, he ended the call, tossing the phone onto the table with a frustrated huff.

“She’s in Green Hollow,” Dean said, his tone clipped. “Apparently, it’s a simple job. Some weird reports of disappearances and strange noises. Bobby says she’s fine, but…” He trailed off, his eyes narrowing. “I don’t like it.”

Sam’s fists clenched at his sides. The thought of you out there, alone, investigating something potentially dangerous—it didn’t sit right with him. Not after everything that had happened.

“She shouldn’t be alone,” Sam said firmly, his voice leaving no room for argument.

Dean nodded, already grabbing his keys from the table. “Damn right, she shouldn’t. Get your stuff. We’re leaving.”

And as he followed Dean out the door, one thought stayed with him: He wasn’t going to let you face this alone. Not again.

✦────────────────────✦────────────────────✦

Ruby stood in the shadows just beyond the tree line, her dark eyes glinting with satisfaction as she watched you wheel one of Bobby’s old bikes out of the garage. Her lips curved into a slow, knowing smile, the phone pressed to her ear as she spoke in a low, syrupy tone. “She took the bait,” she murmured, her voice laced with amusement. Her fingers toyed idly with a strand of her hair, her gaze fixed on you as you adjusted the strap of your bag and swung a leg over the bike. The engine sputtered to life, the sound carrying across the quiet yard, and Ruby’s smile widened.

"She’s headed straight for you"

✦────────────────────✦────────────────────✦

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[nameless-ken]

Bucky Barnes x Reader - part two

The Stranger That Knows Me Best is a heartfelt story about connection, vulnerability, and taking chances on the unexpected. Two introverts discover that sometimes, the person who understands you best is the one you’ve never met.

part one

Word count: 7k

Warnings: the usual angst and fluff, mentions of death

Masterlist

“Okay, so, how are we doing this?” Wanda asks, standing in the doorway of your room with her arms crossed, a playful grin on her face. “Are we going for casual chic or full-on ‘look what you’re missing out on’ vibes?”

You laugh, shaking your head as you fold a sweater and set it in your suitcase. “Wanda, it’s not like that. It’s just a trip to Brooklyn. He invited me so I’m going.”

“Uh-huh,” she teases, stepping into the room and rifling through the stack of clothes on your bed. “You haven’t even told him you’re coming. This isn’t just a trip—it’s a whole moment. You’ve got to be prepared.” She holds up a dress, raising an eyebrow. “This? Too much?”

You glance at the dress, biting your lip. “Maybe a little. I don’t want to look like I’m trying too hard.”

Wanda tosses the dress onto a chair and picks up a pair of jeans instead. “Fine, but you should pack at least one outfit that makes you feel amazing. You know, for the moment when you show up and his brain short-circuits because you’re there.”

“It’s not about that.”

“Sure, it’s not,” she says, grinning. “But come on, you’re not even telling him? You’re just gonna show up at the airport and be like, ‘Hey, surprise, I made it’? Bold move.”

“I just… I don’t want to make it easy for him,” you admit, tucking a pair of boots into the side of the suitcase. “He sent the ticket, so I want to see his reaction. I don’t know, it just feels... more exciting this way.”

Wanda stops sorting through your clothes and gives you a knowing look. “You’re nervous.”

“Of course, I’m nervous,” you confess, sitting on the edge of the bed. “What if it’s weird? What if he regrets inviting me?”

“Not a chance,” she says, plopping down next to you. “This guy has been sending you letters, phone calls, and plane tickets. Trust me, he’s going to be thrilled. And you’re going to have the best time.”

You smile at her, feeling a little lighter. “Thanks, Wanda.”

“That’s what I’m here for,” she says, standing up and tossing another sweater into your suitcase. “Now, let’s make sure you’re packed and ready to knock his socks off.”

Bucky sits on his couch, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. He’s been staring at his phone for the past ten minutes, willing it to buzz with a message from you.

Sam walks in from the kitchen, a sandwich in one hand and a bottle of water in the other. “Alright, what’s up? You’ve been in that same position all morning. Did something happen?”

Bucky sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. “I sent her a plane ticket.”

Sam stops mid-bite, raising an eyebrow. “Wait. You did what?”

“I sent her a ticket to come to Brooklyn,” Bucky says, sitting back and crossing his arms. “She mentioned her fall break was coming up, and... I don’t know, it just felt like the right time.”

“Man, that’s bold. I like it. But judging by the look on your face, you haven’t heard back yet?”

Bucky shakes his head. “Nope. Nothing. I thought maybe she’d at least send a text or something. Now I’m thinking I overstepped.”

“Bucky, relax,” Sam says, sitting down across from him. “She’s probably just processing. You’ve been talking for months, right? She wouldn’t just ghost you over this.”

“What if I freaked her out?” Bucky mutters, running a hand through his hair. “What if it was too much?”

“Dude,” Sam says, leaning forward. “She’s been sending you letters, talking to you on the phone, sharing all this personal stuff. If anything, she’s probably just as nervous as you are. Give her time.”

Bucky nods slowly but doesn’t look entirely convinced. “Yeah. Maybe.”

“And in the meantime,” Sam adds, standing up and patting Bucky on the shoulder, “you should probably start getting this place ready. If she does decide to come, you don’t want her walking into this disaster zone.”

The guest room hasn’t been used in months but Bucky spends the whole week cleaning it out. He dusts off the shelves, changes the bedding, and even picks up a small plant from the store to set on the nightstand.

He moves through the rest of the apartment with the same energy, scrubbing the counters, vacuuming the rug, and organizing the books and papers that have been piling up on the coffee table. Every so often, he glances at his phone, hoping for a message from you.

When Sam walks back in later that night, he whistles, looking around the spotless living room. “Wow, you really went all out. This place actually looks... livable.”

Bucky smirks, tossing the cleaning rag onto the counter. “Hopefully not all for nothing.”

“She’s gonna show up,” Sam says confidently, grabbing a beer from the fridge. “And when she does, you’re gonna be glad you went for it.”

Bucky leans against the counter, the corners of his mouth tugging into a small smile. “Yeah. I hope so.”

But as the night before your flight is scheduled to arrive wears on and the silence stretches, he can’t help but feel a twinge of doubt. 

The airport is buzzing with life—announcements echoing overhead, the sound of luggage wheels, and the chatter of travelers all around. Your heart races as you weave through the crowd, gripping the strap of your bag so tightly your knuckles ache. Every step closer to the arrival gate feels surreal, like walking into a dream you’ve been building piece by piece for months.

You haven’t seen a picture of him, and the mystery somehow makes this moment feel bigger. As you turn the corner to the gate, your eyes sweep the area—and then you see him.

Bucky’s standing a few feet away, holding a small sign with your name on it, the letters scrawled in his handwriting. In his other hand is a bouquet of lilies, slightly rumpled, as though he’s been gripping them a little too hard. He’s shifting his weight nervously, his head turning every time someone walks past.

Your breath catches in your throat. He’s taller than you imagined, with broad shoulders and a scruffy jawline. His dark hair falls slightly into his eyes.

You take a deep breath and step forward, your legs feeling like they might give out at any moment. As you approach, his eyes finally land on you—and something shifts. His body stiffens slightly, like he’s bracing himself, but then his gaze softens. You smile first and his lips curve into a nervous but genuine grin.

“Hi,” you say, your voice a little breathless as you stop in front of him.

Bucky blinks, his mouth opening and closing as if he’s not sure what to say. “You’re… here,” he finally manages.

“I wanted to keep it a surprise. Did it work?”

He huffs out a laugh, shaking his head as if to clear it. “Yeah. Yeah, it definitely worked.”

There’s a beat of silence as you both stand there, staring at each other, the chaos of the airport fading into the background. His free hand brushes the back of his neck, a nervous gesture, and he holds out the flowers awkwardly. “Uh… these are for you.”

Your smile widens as you take them. “Thank you. They’re beautiful.”

“So are you,” he blurts out, then immediately flushes, looking away from your face and toward the ground.

You laugh, cheeks heating up from his admission. “You’re exactly how I pictured you,” you say, cutting off his rambling. “Maybe even better.”

He glances back at you, his smile a little shyer. “I could say the same.” Bucky shifts, stepping to the side and gesturing toward the exit. “Let me grab that for you.” He takes your luggage and leads you toward the exit. 

Once you make it to his car, he opens your door and you thank him softly. He packs your luggage in and starts the drive to his apartment. 

“I hope you’re okay with staying at mine. I have the guest room and Sam comes and goes all the time. I should warn you about him though. He’s excited to meet you.” 

“I don’t mind at all,” you say, glancing at him. “Your letters made it sound like your place has character. Besides, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t curious to meet the infamous Sam.”

Bucky laughs, his shoulders loosening just a little. “Yeah, well, don’t say I didn’t warn you. Sam’s loud, charming, and impossible to ignore.”

You smile, resting your head back against the seat. “Sounds like the complete opposite of you.”

He glances at you briefly, a teasing glint in his eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing bad,” you reply quickly, your tone light. “Just… you’re more calm. Steady. I can tell already.”

He doesn’t say anything at first, but you catch the slight twitch of his lips as he focuses on the road. After a moment, he asks, “What about you? Any quirks I should prepare for?”

You hum, pretending to think it over. “Well, I sing along to music—badly, I might add—especially when I’m nervous. So if I break out into a Taylor Swift song, just ignore me.”

Bucky chuckles, his grip on the steering wheel relaxing. “Noted. Guess I’ll have to test that theory later.”

The conversation flows easily after that, the nervous energy from earlier dissolves. He points out little landmarks as you drive through Brooklyn, like the park where he likes to run or the coffee shop he swears has the best bagels in the city. Each detail is another piece of his world unfolding in front of you, and you find yourself smiling more than you thought possible.

When you finally pull up in front of his apartment building, Bucky turns off the car and glances at you. “Ready?”

You nod, clutching the bouquet a little tighter. 

He steps out and grabs your bag from the trunk before leading you inside. The building has a quiet charm—slightly worn but full of character. As you climb the stairs, he pauses in front of the door, turning to you with a small, crooked smile.

“Just… don’t judge me too harshly, okay? I cleaned, but, you know… it’s still a bachelor pad.”

You laugh softly. “I’m sure it’s perfect.”

With that, he opens the door, and you step inside. The apartment is cozy and lived-in, with mismatched furniture. A stack of textbooks sits on the coffee table next to an empty mug, and a faded poster of a Brooklyn landmark hangs on the wall.

Before Bucky can say anything else, a voice calls out from the kitchen. “Bucky! Is that Y/N?!”

You glance toward the doorway, where a tall, grinning man appears, wiping his hands on a dish towel.

“And that,” Bucky mutters under his breath, “is Sam.”

Sam strides over, his grin widening as he takes you in. “Well, well, so you’re the mystery pen pal. Welcome to Brooklyn!”

You laugh, feeling warmth spread through you at the easy, welcoming energy from Sam. “Thanks. It’s nice to finally meet you.”

“Trust me, the pleasure’s all mine,” Sam says, shooting Bucky a teasing look. “This guy’s been a nervous wreck all week. You’re even better in person, though. He did not oversell you.”

Bucky groans, dragging a hand down his face. “Sam, I swear to—”

You cut in with a laugh, holding up a hand. “It’s okay. I’ll take it as a compliment.”

Sam grins, clearly enjoying himself. “Oh, it was. You two have fun—I’m heading out, but don’t worry, I’ll interrogate you properly later.”

With that, he grabs his keys and leaves, leaving you and Bucky alone again.

Bucky clears his throat, looking sheepish. “Sorry about him. He’s a lot.”

You shake your head, smiling. “I like him. He’s… fun.”

“Yeah, he is,” Bucky hesitates, then gestures toward the kitchen. “You hungry? I figured I could cook, or we could order something. Your call.”

“Cooking sounds good,” you respond, following him and find a stool at the countertop and you sit down. “Show me what you’ve got.”

The morning comes quietly with sunlight slipping through the cracks of the blinds. You stir in the unfamiliar bed of the guest room, the faint hum of city noise filtering in through the window. For a moment, you forget where you are. But then it clicks—you’re in Brooklyn. In Bucky’s apartment.

A smile tugs at your lips as you stretch, the smell of coffee wafting through the air. You pull on a hoodie over your sleep shirt and pad out of the guest room. The living room is quiet, the soft sound of a spoon clinking against a mug drawing you toward the kitchen.

There he is.

Bucky’s standing at the counter, pouring coffee into two mugs, his hair still messy from sleep. He’s wearing a worn hoodie and plaid pajama pants, and you notice the faint shadow of stubble on his jaw. He glances up when he hears your footsteps, his face breaking into a welcoming smile.

“Morning,” he rasps.

“Morning,” your smile mirroring his.

“I wasn’t sure if you’d be up yet,” he holds up the second mug. “Coffee?”

“Always,” you say, stepping closer to take it from him. The warmth of the mug seeps into your hands as you inhale the rich smell.

He leans against the counter, his fingers wrapped around his own mug. “Did you sleep okay?”

“Better than I thought I would,” you admit, taking a sip. “Your guest room is surprisingly cozy.”

Bucky chuckles, looking a little relieved. “Good. I was worried it’d be too… I don’t know, plain.”

“It’s perfect,” you assure him, setting your mug down on the counter. “Thanks again for letting me stay.”

“You don’t have to thank me. I’m just glad you’re here.” There’s a pause, the kind that feels comfortable rather than awkward. 

“So,” you say, breaking the silence. “What's the plan for today? You did send me a whole map, after all.”

“Yeah, I might’ve gone overboard with that.”

“No way,” you say, shaking your head. “I loved it. But I’m leaving the itinerary up to you, tour guide.”

“Alright,” he says, a spark of excitement creeping into his voice. “We’ll start easy. Breakfast at my favorite coffee shop. Then maybe we’ll walk around Prospect Park. Unless…” He hesitates, his brows furrowing slightly. “Unless you’d rather take it slow today?”

“Hmm… breakfast sounds good. But don’t go easy on me, Barnes. I didn’t come all the way to Brooklyn to take it slow.”

“Alright. You asked for it.” With that, he backs away, walking toward his room. “Take your time getting ready. Meet you back out here in a few.” 

“Deal,” you say, watching as he disappears.

As you head back to the guest room to change, you can’t help but feel a sense of anticipation buzzing in your chest. Excited for the day ahead. 

The coffee shop is tucked away on a quiet side street downtown, its brick exterior softened by a canopy of ivy. A small chalkboard sign leans against the brick, announcing the specials of the day in cursive writing. Inside, the smell of freshly brewed coffee and a soft strum of a guitar from the speakers overhead, capture your senses. 

“This is it,” Bucky says as he holds the door open for you. “This place has been here forever. My mom used to bring me and my sister here when we were kids while she did some work. They have the best coffee and muffins. No contest.”

Your eyes wander over the mismatched furniture and the worn wooden floor. The walls are lined with bookshelves, and every surface seems to hold charm—a vintage typewriter on a side table, a collection of postcards pinned to a corkboard near the counter, and fairy lights strung along the windows. 

“It’s perfect,” your voice soft as you take it all in.

Bucky leads you to a small table near the corner, where the sunlight filters through the window. 

“That’s where my mom used to sit,” he says, pointing to another table in the furthest corner. “She’d order the same thing every time—a black coffee and one of those cranberry scones they still make. She used to sit there with her sketchbook and just draw for hours.”

“You never told me your mom was an artist,” you add, leaning your head on your head, catching his eyes.

He shrugs, a small smile tugging at his lips. “She wasn’t, like, a professional or anything. But she loved it. Said it was her way of keeping sane while raising me and my sister.” His expression softens as he glances toward the counter. “She passed away a few years ago. I think that’s why I come here so much now—it reminds me of her.”

“I’m sorry, Bucky,” without much thought, your hand brushes against his on the table.

He looks down at where your fingers briefly touch before meeting your gaze again. “Thanks. She was… incredible. The kind of person who could see the beauty in anything. I think that’s why I like this place and Brooklyn so much. It’s where I felt closest to her, you know?”

You nod, glancing around again, this time with a deeper appreciation. “It’s like a piece of her is still here.”

“Exactly,” his voice is quieter now. After a beat, he leans back, trying to shift the mood. “Anyway, enough about me. What’s your order?”

“I’m not picky. Whatever you’re having is perfect,” you reply, smiling as he gets up to place the order. Watching him at the counter, you feel the weight of his words settle in your chest. It’s clear this place isn’t just a coffee shop to him—it’s a connection to his past, to his family, and to a part of himself he’s letting you see.

When he returns with two steaming mugs and a plate of two muffins, one chocolate chip and one blueberry, he sits down with a grin. “Alright, no pressure. I hope you like their coffee. If not, I might have to rethink everything.”

You laugh, taking a sip, and the warmth of the drink feels like an embrace on this cold, fall day. “Hazelnut. My favorite.”

Bucky’s grin widens as he picks up his own mug, blowing gently on the surface before taking a sip. “I remember you said that’s your favorite flavor. The candle you mentioned in one of your letters.” He glances at the muffins between you. “And blueberries, you said that’s your favorite fruit.”

Your heart flutters at his thoughtfulness. “You actually remembered that?” 

Bucky shrugs with a sheepish smile, his eyes flicking down to the table for a moment before meeting yours again. “Of course, I did. I like knowing the little things about people.”

For a moment, you’re speechless, warmth spreading through your chest. You tear off a piece of the blueberry muffin and pop it into your mouth, letting the sweetness mingle with the hazelnut coffee. “Okay, you’re officially right. This muffin is incredible.”

He chuckles, leaning back in his chair. “Told you. This place never disappoints.”

A few moments pass then Bucky glances toward the postcards pinned on the corkboard near the counter. “See those over there?” he points with his mug. “Customers leave those from all over the world. It started when the owners traveled to Europe and brought back a stack of postcards to decorate the place. Then people just started adding their own.”

“That’s amazing,” you crane your neck to get a better look. “Do you have one up there?”

“Yeah, from Coney Island. I left it there the day I moved out of my parents’ house. It felt… symbolic, you know? Like I was saying goodbye to one chapter and starting a new one.”

You sip your coffee, taking in the sentimental layers of this cozy shop. “Do you ever think about leaving Brooklyn?”

Bucky shakes his head immediately. “Not really. I mean, sometimes I wonder what it’d be like to live somewhere else, but Brooklyn’s always been home. It’s where my family is from, where all my memories are. I think I’m afraid if I leave, I’d lose that connection.”

You take another sip of coffee, letting his words settle in. “I get that. I’ve moved around so much that I don’t think I’ve ever really had a place that felt like home. I’ve lived in Oregon my whole life but never in one place for a long time. It must be nice to have a town you’re so familiar with and never want to leave.”

“It is,” Bucky admits. “But I think home isn’t always a place. It’s more about the people, the memories. Even if you don’t stay in one spot, you carry that with you.”

You smile, touched by the honesty in his words. “That’s a good way to look at it.”

Bucky leans forward, resting his arms on the table as his gaze locks onto yours. “Maybe this can feel like a little piece of home for you while you’re here. You know, if you let it.”

Your chest tightens at the sincerity in his tone, and you find yourself nodding, a small smile tugging at your lips. “I think it already does.”

After a while, Bucky leans back in his chair, his fingers tracing the edge of his mug. “You know, this place isn’t just about my mom. It’s kind of where everything clicked for me, too.”

“Clicked?” you rest your chin on your hand.

“Yeah, I used to come here after school when I was trying to figure out what the hell I wanted to do with my life. For a while, it felt like everyone else had it all figured out, and I was just… stuck. My mom used to say, ‘Bucky, just sit still for a while. You can’t hear yourself think if you’re always running.’ So I’d come here, sit in that corner booth, and just… exist for a bit.”

“That’s when you decided on kinesiology?” you question, not wanting to disrupt his train of thought.

“Kind of. It started with me just doodling on napkins and people-watching. But then I started noticing patterns—how people moved, how they carried themselves. I realized I was fascinated by it, how the human body works and all the little ways it can go wrong or heal itself. It felt like a puzzle I wanted to figure out.” He smiles sheepishly, scratching the back of his neck. “Sorry, I’m rambling.”

“Don’t be,” your voice earnestly. “I like hearing you talk about it. It’s… grounding. Like I’m seeing this part of you.”

His gaze meets yours, and for a moment, the coffee shop and its patrons seem to fade away. “You’re good at that, you know,” he whispers.

“Good at what?”

“Making me feel like it’s okay to share this stuff. I don’t do that much, but with you…” He trails off, his lips twitching into a small, almost self-conscious smile.

You smile back. “Well, I’m not going anywhere,” you break off another piece of muffin and toss it into your mouth. “So you better get used to it.”

Bucky laughs, shaking his head as he leans forward, resting his elbows on the table. “You’re full of surprises, aren’t you?”

“You have no idea,” you tease, taking another sip of the hazelnut coffee.

The crisp autumn air fills your lungs as you settle onto a hill beside Bucky, the grass cool beneath you. The pond below reflects the fiery colors of the trees, rippling gently as ducks glide across its surface. A group of kids toss breadcrumbs from the edge, their laughter carrying up the hill.

“I can see why you like it here,” you pull your knees close to your chest. “It’s peaceful.”

Bucky leans back on his hands and tilts his head up toward the sky. “Yeah, exactly. It’s like… no matter what’s going on, I can come here, and it just makes things feel smaller. In a good way.”

You glance over at him, noticing the way his features soften in the sunlight. “Did you come here a lot growing up?”

“Not as much as I wanted to,” he admits, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “We didn’t live super close, and there wasn’t always time. But when I got older, I started making excuses to come out here. Even if it was just to sit and think. Especially after…” his gaze drops to the ground for a moment.

“After your mom?” 

He nods, his voice quieter now. “Yeah. She loved nature. Said it was the best place to find clarity. I think I started coming here to feel closer to her.”

Your chest tightens at his raw honesty. It’s sort of a different feeling from reading his letters about these kinds of emotions then hearing him speak about them in person. He never shared the details of his mom before so it’s striking to hear his voice waver slightly as he talks about her. “I think she’d love that you still find peace here.”

Bucky smiles at that, his gaze lifting to meet yours. “I hope so.” After a beat, he clears his throat and straightens up, as if brushing off the weight of the moment. “What about you? Is there a place back in Oregon that feels like this for you? Other than that cliffside you sent me.”

You consider it, brushing a stray leaf from your sleeve. “There’s this trail near my campus that I like. It’s not big or fancy, but there’s a bench at a secluded spot near the end of a row of trees lining the trail. I’d sit there with my notebook, trying to write something meaningful but usually just people watch as they walk by.”

He chuckles, eyes crinkling at the corners and you make a mental note of that part of him. “Bet you came up with some good stories doing that.”

“Some,” you admit with a grin. “But mostly I just liked imagining what their lives were like. Where they were going, what they were thinking. I guess it’s my way of trying to understand people.”

Bucky looks at you for a long moment. “You’re good at that too.”

“What?”

“Understanding people. Seeing them for who they are or at least appear to be.” His gaze flickers to the pond, as if he’s said too much. “It’s rare. Most people don’t pay attention like that.”

The sincerity in his tone warms you more than the sunlight ever could. “I guess it takes one to know one,” you reply, nudging him lightly with your shoulder.

He laughs, the sound low and easy. “Maybe.”

For a while, the two of you sit in comfortable silence, the sounds of the park filling the space between you. When a breeze sweeps through, scattering leaves in your direction, you catch one midair and hold it up.

“Think it’s a sign?” you ask playfully.

Bucky leans closer to inspect the leaf, his expression mock-serious. “Definitely. It means we should grab hot chocolate before heading to the next stop on the map.”

You laugh, standing and brushing grass from your jeans. “I like the way you think.”

He grins, rising to his feet and stretching. “Good. Because the next place is even better.”

As you walk back toward the park’s entrance, Bucky falls into step beside you, his shoulder occasionally brushing yours. You don’t need to ask where you’re headed next. Wherever it is, you know it’ll be just as special as this moment—because it’s with him.

The record store feels like stepping into another world—warm and intimate with nostalgia. The scent of aged vinyl wraps around the faint sound of a jazz record spinning in the background. The dim lighting gives the space a cozy glow, and the mismatched rugs scattered across the floor muffle your footsteps as you follow Bucky down one of the narrow aisles.

“You’ve got a pretty solid collection,” you comment on his records displayed at his apartment. “Do you come here a lot?”

“More than I probably should,” he admits, chuckling. “But hey, I’m a firm believer that you can never have too much music.”

You agree, letting your fingers skim over the spines of the records. Each one holding its own piece of history. When Bucky stops abruptly, you turn to see him pulling a record from the shelf, his expression lighting up like he’s just stumbled on buried treasure.

“This one,” he holds it for you to see. “My mom used to play this album all the time when we were kids. Sunday mornings, she’d put it on while making breakfast.”

You take the record carefully, tracing your thumb along the edge. “It’s like you’ve got a little piece of her right here.”

His gaze softens as he looks at the album. “Yeah. It’s funny how music does that—brings back moments you didn’t even realize you’d forgotten.”

You glance toward the corner of the store, where a small listening booth is tucked away. “Should we give it a spin?”

Bucky grins, his eyes lighting up. “Absolutely.”

He leads the way to the booth, opening the door and motioning for you to step inside first. It’s a snug space, barely big enough for the two of you. You put on a pair of headphones, handing Bucky the other pair. He carefully places the record on the turntable. There’s a small crackle as the needle drops, and then your ears are filled with the warm, soulful sound of the opening track.

As the music swells, Bucky leans back against the wall, his arms crossed loosely over his chest. “She used to sing along to this one,” he remembers fondly. “Completely off-key, but she didn’t care. My sister and I would always roll our eyes, but now? I’d give anything to hear it again.”

You admire him as his eyes close and he mouths along to the lyrics. “Sounds like she had a lot of heart. And a lot of confidence.”

“She did,” his gaze is distant for a moment before it flickers back to you. “What about you? Any music your family used to play that stuck with you?”

You think for a moment, the jazzy melody filling the silence. “My dad used to play a lot of Johnny Cash. I didn’t think much of it back then, but now, whenever I hear it, it feels comforting. Funny how the things you don’t pay attention to at the time end up meaning the most later.”

“Guess that’s the magic of music.” 

As the song transitions to the next track, you glance at him. “You should sing along. For old time’s sake.”

He lets out a laugh, shaking his head. “Oh, no. Trust me, you don’t want to hear that.”

“Come on,” you tease. “I won’t judge. Much.”

He smirks, but as the chorus picks up, he hums along quietly, his voice low and a little raspy. It’s not perfect, but it’s full of feeling, and you find yourself smiling so hard your cheeks hurt.

“See? Not so bad,” you stare when he trails off, his cheeks slightly flushed.

“Yeah, yeah,” he mutters, but there’s a small, satisfied smile tugging at his lips. 

The two of you stand there for a while, the music wrapping around you like a blanket. It’s a small moment, your eyes occasionally flutter to each other. When the album ends, Bucky carefully removes the record and slides it back into its sleeve.

“I think you should have this,” he holds it out to you.

“What? No, I can’t—this is your memory,” you protest.

He shakes his head, his gaze steady. “And now it’s ours. Besides, I’ve got plenty of memories of this place. This can be your first one.”

You take the record, your fingers brushing his briefly. “Thank you, Bucky. I’ll take good care of it.”

“I know you will,” he says with a soft smile.

As you leave the shop together, the record tucked securely under your arm, you can’t help but feel like the music isn’t the only thing weaving its way into your heart.

The lights of Manhattan glimmer across the water as you walk along the Brooklyn Promenade, the noise of the city providing a comforting background to your conversation. Bucky leans against the railing. “So,” he breaks the comfortable silence, “How were finals?” 

You let out a small laugh, leaning your chin on your hand as you glance at him. “It was a lot. But I guess it was worth the chaos and sleepless nights.”

“Sleepless nights? I feel like those are just part of the college experience at this point. Let me guess—you pulled an all-nighter for a final project?”

“Guilty. My last paper was due for my literature class, and, of course, I couldn’t stop tweaking it until the last possible second. It’s always the same—I get an idea, and suddenly, I’m rewriting half of it.”

He tilts his head. “What was the paper about?”

“It was a character study on how grief shapes identity in modern fiction,” you explain. “It was personal, so I think that’s why I got so caught up in it.”

Bucky’s expression shifts as his gaze lingers on you. “Sounds like you put a lot of heart into it. Do you feel good about how it turned out?”

You exhale a small laugh. “I think so. My professor will probably tell me I overanalyzed it, but… yeah, it felt like something I needed to write.”

He leans his forearms on the railing, looking over at you thoughtfully. “Sometimes you just have to let it out, no matter how hard it is. Even if it’s just for yourself.”

You turn toward him, resting your elbow on the railing, your faces closer than you realize. “You must feel that way about kinesiology? How it’s become so personal to you.”

Bucky hesitates, his gaze briefly shifting to the skyline then back on you. “Yeah, I guess it does. After… everything that happened with my family, I wanted to understand how people recover. Physically, mentally, all of it. It’s not just about fixing what’s broken—it’s about finding strength in the process.”

“That’s… really brave, Bucky. To take something painful and turn it into something that helps others.”

He shrugs, but his blue eyes soften as they meet yours. “It’s not as noble as it sounds. Half the time, I feel like I’m fumbling through it. Anatomy, biomechanics—it’s a lot to learn.”

You smile, trying to lighten the mood. “Says the guy who casually runs marathons for fun. If you can do that, I’m sure you’ve got biomechanics figured out.”

His laugh is warm, easy sounding, that makes you smile wider. “Running’s just putting one foot in front of the other. You’re the one writing deep papers about grief, love and life. Don’t ask me to do that—I’d be lost after the first paragraph.”

“Fair enough,” you nudge his arm gently with your elbow. “But still, kinesiology suits you. You’ve got that whole ‘helping people’ vibe. Even if you try to hide it under the grumpy exterior.”

“Grumpy?” He raises an eyebrow. “You’re one to talk.”

“Hey!” you protest jokingly punching his arm softly. “I’m not grumpy. I’m selectively friendly.”

Bucky shakes his head and smiles as he stands up fully. “Sure, let’s call it that.”

You both have unconsciously drifted closer, shoulders brushing as your bodies lean against the railing. The city lights dance on the water but the moment feels far more intimate than the bustling backdrop.

“So, tell me more about Sam. He seems like a fun character to have around.” you add. 

He chuckles softly. “Sam. He’s a pain in my ass, but he’s the best. Always has my back, even when he’s giving me crap about, well, everything.”

“He sounds like a good guy. Is he always so… persuasive?”

“Oh, you have no idea,” Bucky rolls his eyes. “He doesn’t take no for an answer. But he’s loyal. He’s been through a lot too, so I think that’s why we get each other.”

You catch the shift in his tone, the hint of something deeper, but you don’t want to push him to open up more. “My best friend’s kind of the same. Wanda, she’s loyal too. When we met, it was kind of like this, an instant connection. Like we knew each other from a past life or something.” 

“Sounds like she’s good for you. Someone who keeps you grounded.”

“She’s the kind of person who always knows when something’s wrong, even when I don’t say a word. Sam seems like that too, from what you’ve said.”

Bucky’s gaze lingers on you. “Yeah, It’s good to have someone like that. Someone who understands without you having to explain.”

You nod in agreement, eyes locked in with his. “Yeah, I don’t know what I’d do without her. When things were rough at home, she was the one who reminded me I wasn’t alone. She’s like a sister to me, really.”

He leans a little closer, his shoulder pressing gently into yours. “Sounds like you’ve got a ride-or-die. Everyone needs one of those.”

“Yeah, she’s my constant,” you welcome his touch, leaning some of your weight against him too. “What about you? Besides Sam, do you have anyone else like that?”

“Probably my sister. Rebecca. She’s younger than me, but she always acts like the older sibling. After our mom passed, we leaned on each other a lot. She’s tough, but she’s got this soft spot when it comes to family. She’s in her junior year of high school, so still at home with our dad.” 

“She sounds amazing,” you state. “I wish I had a sibling to lean on like that.”

“She is,” his voice carries a warmth that matches his words. “She’d love to talk your ear off. She’s always been better at talking to people than me.”

You giggle, turning your head to look up at him. You can’t help but want to push the few strands of hair out of his eyes but you don’t feel brave enough. “I don’t know, you’re doing pretty well right now.”

“Guess I’m getting better at it.” His eyes meet yours, silence spreading between you as you get lost in each other's eyes. 

“Funny how life works,” you add quietly. “How people come into your life when you need them most, even if you don’t realize it at first.”

“Yeah,” Bucky murmurs, eyes glancing at your lips for half a second. He clears his throat and moves his gaze to the sky, trying to hide the heat that rushes to his cheeks. “Sometimes it’s the unexpected people who make the biggest difference.”

For a moment, the space between you feels smaller than ever. Neither of you says anything, just enjoying the closeness of each other. You glance at his side profile, watching the way the city lights reflect in his pale blue eyes. 

Without realizing it, your hand inches closer to his by your side, your fingers brushing lightly. The contact sends a spark through you, but neither of you pulls away. Instead, Bucky’s hand shifts slightly, his pinky hooking gently around yours. 

In that moment, standing side by side with the city stretching out before you, it feels like the start of something you both have been craving for. 

On the way back to his apartment, Bucky pulls you toward a food truck parked on the corner. “Best late-night falafel in the city,” he promises, handing you a napkin as you both stand in line.

The two of you eat as you walk back to his place, walking slowly as Bucky shares his comfort food with you. The falafel is warm and crispy, and you can’t help but laugh when a bit of sauce drips onto your sleeve.

“Told you it was worth it,” Bucky says, grinning but grabs your wrist, wiping the sauce off with his spare napkin.

“I’ll give you this one,” you reply, smirking. “But don’t get used to always being right.”

His laugh echos all around you and it’s becoming your new favorite sound. 

As you both continue walking, the city’s energy buzzes in the background—car horns in the distance and the occasional bark of a dog. Bucky glances at you out of the corner of his eye, his grin still lingering as he tosses the napkin into a nearby trash can.

“You know,” he says, his tone lighter now, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone eat falafel with as much enthusiasm as you just did.”

“What can I say? Good food deserves to be appreciated. Besides, you talked it up so much, I had to see if it lived up to the hype.”

“And?” he raises an eyebrow.

“It’s... okay,” you tease, drawing out the last word.

He stops walking, his hand pressing dramatically to his chest as if he’s been mortally wounded. “Just ‘okay’? You’re killing me, here.”

You laugh again, stopping to face him. “Fine. It was incredible. Best falafel I’ve ever had. Happy now?”

“Ecstatic,” he replies, his smirk widening as he circles your arm around his, surprising you but you don’t protest. 

By the time you reach his building, the city feels quieter, the streets less crowded. As you step inside, the warmth of the lobby washes over you. You didn’t realize how much colder the night got with Bucky beside you. 

As you walk up the few flights of stairs, the silence between you is comforting.

As he unlocks the door, he glances back at you, a small, almost shy smile tugging at his lips. “Thanks for spending the day with me. It was... good.”

“Good?” you echo, raising an eyebrow as you step inside. “I’m pretty sure I made it great.”

He chuckles, shaking his head as he closes the door behind you. “Alright, I’ll give you that one.”

You settle back onto the couch as he heads to the kitchen to grab a couple of waters. When he returns, he hands you a bottle and sinks into the space beside you, the day’s memories hanging between you like a warm blanket.

“You’re not as grumpy as I thought,” you shoot him a teasing glance.

“Selective grumpiness,” he corrects, smirking as he leans back. “You’re just lucky you bring out the better side of me.”

His words, though teasing, carry a sincerity that makes your heart skip. The evening feels like the perfect end to the most perfect day.

Thank you so much for reading <3 please reblog or comment below, I love hearing your thoughts and feedback!

[punctuation-completionist]

okay, so, i just realized i never said this, but if i ever reblog something from you and you want me to take it down, please do just shoot me an ask explaining which post it is and like. try to make it clear that's what you're getting at (ie, if you just send me "fuck you never reblog my stuff i hope you die" i am not going to understand that inherently as a request and more of as a dick move)

because, genuinely, i don't wanna be reblogging something that you're uncomfortable with and if i ever fail to read the room, it's probably a mistake and i would love for you to tell me that i made one.

[dreamlogic]

aye can i get a fuckin uuuhhhh

break. on my burger

[itsalwaysdark]

i like overthink everything now it makes me feel so dumb. i used 2 be able to just talk 2 ppl but nowadays every single thing im like Is that actually going to make them hate me. Yes probably. and then i just dont respond which makes ppl hate me. this is how it is

[sucktacular]

I miss the days where existing online was a fun thing for ppl with social anxiety to make friends on instead of like Life 2.0 ya know

[s-ccaam-era-crepe]

Oh wow !! My first anon hate yippee!! /neg

[crumbledstatues]

❤️

[the-kipsabian]

hey. immortal fears

on the sideblog

on ao3

[tenwhiteandalusians]

pertaining to the idea of tenax’s band of strays i do think it’s touching that the kids are the ones who saved him and waited outside the door to make sure he’s okay. for all tenax claims to be harsh and cruel it’s a fine indicator of his character that the kids won’t rest without him and are there every time he’s in danger.

[aaron-is-comatose]

I saw a 12:34 on the clock just now, that was for you

[girlcrushau]