#me and sam are cooking right now as per usual :>

[vaperarmand]

this is what it looks like when armand says “louis can sometimes act out. i protect him from himself. always have”

[jakeyt]

Covet: Chapter 8 (Part 1 of 2)

Pairing: Jake Kiszka x f!Reader

Covet Summary:

Life was good. No, life was great. 

Was. 

Until.

Jake Kiszka crashed into the picture.

You welcomed him into your life—your home. 

Yes, he was your best friend’s twin. But, he was also the one who would end up disrupting your whole world with his attitude, his troubles, and the annoyingly natural way he lured you in. 

Jake Kiszka came with so much you really didn’t want.

At least that’s what you tried to convince yourself.

Warnings: MINORS DNI (18+); smut (!!); unprotected sex (p in v); vivid recollection of forgotten childhood trauma; feelings of betrayal; jealousy; anxiety; panic attacks; mentions of therapy; mentions of an absent parent; sam is an idiot; abandonment issues; light mention of being under the influence of weed (lmk if i missed anything that is triggering to you!)

Chapter Word Count: 16.6k+

-🌼🌼🌼-

a/n: much to my disdain, this chapter has to be chopped in half. :((( ugh. the last part of this chapter has been a mf monster to write, and since i already finished up this entire first half today (a little more than half, actually), i figured i might as well post it. so, without further ado, here is the first part of chapter 8. . .

thank u to my girls @joshym & @alwaysonthemend for putting up w my ass. you two are the realest aaaand ilysm 😭

Please enjoy the playlist as you read 🖤

-🌼🌼🌼-

Two Weeks Later

Friday, August 26, 2022

The wound-up ball of tension in your tummy was about to let loose. 

His thrusts were getting desperate, his heavy breaths were mixing with yours. And you couldn’t help but look between you, where your bodies met. . . it made your heart beat even more rapidly in your chest, seeing you connected in such a way. It looked so right. You felt full. You felt whole. In your drug-induced haze, your thoughts couldn’t help but wander as you thought of the final step to feeling close to him. 

Fuck.

As soon as the thought entered your brain, you had to throw your head back in ecstasy. It was almost too much to imagine. 

Your mind was so fucking cloudy– nothing sounded better in that moment than to feel him fully.

You wanted it. Needed it. And you knew this time might very well be the last. And you had to feel him in that way. Just once. You’d get a Plan-fucking-B in the morning. It was worth it to feel him in that way. 

Just this once. This one last time. It would be the perfect ending to this beautiful chapter of your life. 

-🌼🌼🌼-

Present Day

Saturday, August 13, 2022 

“Yeah. Not too bad,” you shook your head, as if it were nothing. But you knew your expression was still sunken and weird.

He studied your face for a bit after you’d spoken, his expression said he wanted you to say more. 

But you weren’t going to, and he knew it.

“What if I make you dinner, then we watch a movie or something?” He requested, his brow raising at the prospect. 

He’d do what now? Your tummy did somersaults at the idea of him taking care of you. . .and especially like that. Cooking for you?

Surely he had an ulterior motive. 

“What do you want in return?” You asked suspiciously, your tears evaporating as you squinted at him. 

“What do you mean?”

“You want sex after you cook me dinner or something? An even trade?”

He blanched at that, drawing his head back a bit to observe you. “Even trade?” He scoffed, scratching his chin. “What the fuck even happens inside that brain of yours, y/n?”

Going into defense mode, you placed your hands on your hips to square up. “I’m still learning you, Jake. I don’t know what to expect from you.”

“The worst, per usual,” he said, rolling his eyes and flicking at the tip of his nose with his index. “Your favorite thing to assume about me is the worst. Always.”

“Not true,” you scoffed, flushing. He wasn’t wrong. . .you were regularly unfair towards him. But. . . “You haven’t exactly been trustworthy the entire time I’ve known you. Think back.”

“I don’t have to. I know I was an asshole and I wish like hell that I could take it back,” he revealed, sending earnest eyes your way, swiping a sweet thumb across your cheek, taking time to appreciate your left cheekbone. Then, he moved to bashfully tuck his hair behind his ears, taking a moment to untie the hair tie from his finger to pull his hair into a bun. “I’m sorry about that, by the way.”

You got momentarily sidetracked by watching the action of him pulling his hair up, suddenly wanting nothing more than to run your fingers through it, just as you liked to do.

Then you noticed him, waiting for a response as you drew your eyes from him. 

Clearing your throat, you refocused your thoughts. “Don’t worry about it,” you brushed off, not wanting to harp on it for too long, for fear of putting your foot in your mouth. “It’s whatever. Really.”

“No, it’s not. I wasn’t kind to you at the beginning, and I’m sorry,” he continued, looking you directly in the eye, showing sincerity in his deep brown irises. “I was going through a lot and took it out on you and that wasn’t fair.”

Nodding, you took the bait. “You’re right. It wasn’t fair. But,” you walked a couple steps forward, closer to him. Then, reaching a hand out, you held the side of his face. Suddenly, it didn’t matter what an ass he’d been before. He’d proven that he wasn’t truly like that. And you understood hurt feelings making a person act irrationally. “I get it. I’ve been through some shit, too, and I reacted in ways I shouldn’t have.” Smirking, you looked past him and thought back to your therapy sessions from years ago, reciting a few of your counselor’s words that’d stuck with you. “‘All that matters is that you see it, own it, and then grow from it.’ That’s what my therapist always told me when I was a kid, anyway.”

Swiveling your eyes back up to see his expression, your heart skipped a beat. His eyes had softened significantly at your vulnerability, seeming to take your words in. His eyebrows dipped and lips tilted in concentration. 

It always took you by surprise just how much his eyes showed his emotions. And how interested he always seemed in the things you would say.

“Very wise words,” was his response before he reached out to grip your bicep, giving it a reassuring squeeze. Then he was moving towards the kitchen, calling back to you. “I’m gonna go make some stir fry. Chicken?”

You watched him leave, wanting to follow him wherever he went. 

But you didn’t. 

After responding in agreement to his suggestion, you made your way to the bathroom to take a quick shower and wind down before dinner.

-🌼🌼🌼-

The next morning, you woke up, curled in a fluffy pallet of blankets on the floor. 

Both of you, still in sweats. You, in a t-shirt, him, wearing no shirt (fuck yeah). 

No sex had happened the night before. Jake’d thought it would be a good idea to do dinner and a movie, but you’d had the bright idea to make a pile of blankets to lay on to watch the movies. And, of course, you’d let yourself fall asleep next to him. 

And. . . As much as you knew you shouldn’t admit it, it was fucking wonderful just falling asleep next to him. The act was so domestic that it should scare you. . . But all it did was make you want more. 

More you couldn’t have. 

But for now, you’d pretend you could.

Your head was resting on the same pillow as Jake’s, abandoning yours in your sleep for the sake of being closer to him. 

Though, rather than pulling yourself away, you did the complete opposite. You rolled onto your belly and wrapped yourself around him, one arm over his abdomen, a hand splayed on his chest and one of your legs tangled between his.

You knew it wasn’t a good idea to let yourself feel so tied to him in the midst of your sadness. It completely abandoned the idea of not being emotionally dependent on him. . .

But you also weren’t so oblivious to not see that you’d broken a few rules already. 

And, after your anxiety attack (because that’s exactly what it had been) last night, you decided it was better to just let yourself have this time with him now and not worry too much about the rules.

Rather than stressing about making sure you were following every fucking rule, you figured it would be worth it to appreciate the time you still did have with him. Because this wasn’t going to last forever, you felt it was a good idea to make the most of it while you could. 

It was going to be gone soon (too soon), and you weren’t going to take for granted the time you had left.

So, when you woke up, instead of immediately initiating sex, you took time to admire him. 

You propped your chin on the hand you’d put on his chest. Trying to memorize every freckle on his handsome face, tilted to the side, perfect for your line of sight. You studied him . . .his features, sharp, yet delicate. His tanned skin was perfectly sunkissed from spending the day in the sun at Sam’s AirBnb. His pretty lips, partially open like always. . . 

You’d learned that he didn’t snore a bunch. But, every now and then, like this morning, he’d let out the occasional, slight snore in his sleep. 

Usually, snoring of any kind annoyed you. Elsie was the worst snorer in the history of all mankind, and it always aggravated you. And any man you’d ever slept with who did it was always immediately woken up and kicked out of your bed.

But when Jake did it, it was nothing but endearing to you. It was something that he did that just made him him. 

You pressed your body closer to his- he was so warm. It felt so overwhelmingly natural to be so close to him.

You watched the way his eyes fluttered behind his eyelids as he slept, wondering what he dreamt about. Did he dream? And were they vivid like yours? 

Then, you absentmindedly ran a thumb lightly against his cheek, mesmerized by how soft his skin felt beneath your fingertips. 

Just as your pointer finger went to trace the cupid’s bow on his upper lip, he started stirring, showing telling signs of waking up. You stopped yourself before he could possibly wake up with your damn finger on his lip. 

Don’t want him to think I’m a fucking weirdo, you thought, resting your hand, again, on his chest. And I definitely don’t want him to know I was watching him sleep either. That would be embarrassing as hell.

This time, you laid your cheek on top of it, deciding to feign sleep for the duration of time it would take for him to wake up.

Not too long after, you felt a big breath lift your hand, then you heard his voice. 

“I know when you’re watching me,” he commented, his voice deep from just having woken up. 

You didn’t say anything, just lifted your head, an apologetic look on your face as you opened one eye at him in defeat. 

He had a soft smile resting on his lips.

“It’s cute,” he said, reassuring you, sitting up a bit underneath you to lean his head against the couch, balancing on an elbow. He reached a hand up to come gently through your hair with his fingers. 

“You don’t think it’s weird?”

He shook his head, his face thoughtful as he continued to look at you. “Not at all,” he replied. Then, a smirk grew on his lips. “The morning after we fell asleep in your bed—.”

“What?”

He raised a brow, as if to say ‘really?’ “When you fell asleep on the couch, I got you to lay down and try to sleep. Then, you yelled at me from your room—effectively freaking me out, by the way—and then asked me to sleep with you?”

You blushed, feeling stupid that you momentarily forgot. “Oh. Yeah.”

He raised his brows with a hum, the same grin appearing on his lips again. “I watched you the morning after. You slept later than me that morning, and I was so glad you did,” he watched his movements as he tucked a lock of bed-head hair behind your ear. 

“Why?” 

“Because you look so fucking ethereal when you sleep,” he said. “Not that you don’t all the time. . .but when you sleep? Dammit, you just look so peaceful. And I love that you feel that peace in those moments. Not all of the stress.”

It was your turn to hum in response, completely caught off guard by his kind words. You didn’t know why it still did surprise you to hear him say such things. It wasn’t out of character to hear sweet things leave his mouth, but it still felt like a gentle surprise anytime he did say something like that.

Then, something in your heart told you to open up. Let him in. 

And so, without considering anything else, you did. 

“You know, I don’t always sleep peacefully,” you commented, your hand now tracing circles on his chest. “That’s a sort of new thing. Good dreams. Peaceful sleep.”

His brow raised, questioning your words. 

“I haven’t always been able to sleep so well,” you started, apprehensively. But when his hand kept combing through your hair, and his eyes opened up to learn more, you decided it was safe. He was safe. You could share this. “There are things that happened in my past that caused a hell of a lot of pain, and for as long as I can remember, I’ve carried those painful things into my sleep with me. They’ve haunted me. Another thing my childhood therapist confirmed. The trauma caused me to have restless, terrible sleep.” You paused, remembering some of the nights you were too scared to be alone, sobbing and screaming in your bed, crying for help. Your eyes naturally watered at the memories, your voice wet with your next words. “Some fucking terrifying nightmares.”

You sniffled, trying to alleviate the oncoming tears. You didn’t want to cry in front of him two days in a row. But, here you were. Jake brushed more hair behind your ear, then put that arm behind his head to lean up. The other strong arm wrapped protectively around your waist. He massaged shapes with his thumb, into the hip he held. 

Your eyes closed on their own, relishing the feeling of him reacting so gently to you. 

They reopened when you heard him clear his throat. His deep chocolate irises were shadowed with concern. “You don’t have to talk about it,” he pointed out, continuing to rub your waist. “I don’t want you to feel obligated to tell me anything that may hurt you.”

You considered his words for a few seconds, but ultimately decided what you wanted to do.

“I want to tell you.”

“Okay. I want to listen.”

You’d only ever opened up about all of this to Elsie (because she was there), and then Josh when you became his friend. But the urge to tell Jake about all of it was far too overwhelming to ignore. It felt as though you had to tell him. 

“Where do I even begin?” You pondered aloud. “What do you want to know?”

He hummed, smooshing his lips together in thought for a few seconds, squinting his eyes in thought as he peered up to the ceiling. You tapped your fingers against his chest, waiting for his input. 

“When did the bad dreams start? Can you pinpoint an age or anything?”

“After my mom left,” you replied, curling further into his body. 

He accepted your motion, encompassing you, keeping you close. 

“How old were you?” 

“I was ten. Left me sitting on the front porch as she left in a string of curse words. . . Blaming Els and me for all of it,” you stared into the space just past his head, thinking back on it. You felt brave revisiting it at this moment, for whatever reason. “I can’t recall everything she said that day or before, but what I do remember both from that day and before that day. . .,” you stopped, your face flinching a bit at the dark thoughts. “. . . It’s not good.”

Your skin crawled, and you weren’t liking the feeling. Needing to center yourself, you decided to look at him again to gauge his reaction. 

His face was rather relaxed, keeping a consistent air of calm to support you through your responses. “You doing okay?” He questioned, checking in. His brows dipped in concern for a moment, waiting for you.

Your lips lifted, back in the moment with him. 

This is the present time. He is what’s happening. The past is the past and I’m bigger than it, you recited. 

Some of the words were those advised by your childhood therapist. Truthfully, the lady had had some wise words. Jake’d been right when he’d come to that conclusion the night before.

A quiet, content smile was on your face when you responded. “Yeah. I promise. I want to tell you this.”

“Okay,” he replied, his voice quiet like your smile. “Who did you live with after?”

“My grandparents,” you said. “And Elsie.”

“Stayed with them until. . .?”

“Until I moved out to go to school at Pratt. When I moved here.”

“And you’re going to school for. . .?”

You grinned, appreciating his variation of questions. “Majoring in writing,” you groaned as the last word fell from your mouth. “And minoring in music.”

“Don’t like writing anymore?”

You sat on that for a second, then answered. “It’s not that I don’t like it. . . It’s that it’s not my passion,” you paused your motion on his chest and reached down to grab his hand that held your body. You lifted it up from under the fluffy blanket that covered you both. Holding his hand, you traced his calloused fingertips. “I admire how you went after your passion when you had the chance. I wish I’d gone after my own.”

He watched you, seeming to measure your words. “And yours is music, too.”

“Mhm. . . But not playing it,” you added. “Just listening to it– studying it. Learning more about it. I love writing, but I breathe those melodies.”

He smiled in response to that. “Me too. And I like that you feel that way, too,” he commented, letting your fingers play with his. “But who’s to say you couldn’t combine the two? Become a music journalist? A lyricist?”

For some reason, you’d never considered the latter. But it felt as though a fresh breath of air had been breathed into you. “I’ve never thought of being a lyricist, but that sounds. . .”

“Incredible?” He smiled. 

“Yeah,” you sighed. “I wonder how you get a job like that, though.”

You let go of his hand to fold both of yours on his chest, your chin on top of them. He moved his hand to encircle your waist again. “I’ll help you find something,” he assured. Your belly buzzed. The idea of him helping you with something so personal to you . . . it made you feel everything all at once. “Somewhere. You live in New York City. . .I’m sure the possibilities are endless.”

“I’m sure you’re correct,” you agreed, admiring the way his breaths would lift your chin, the way his bicep flexed as he moved the bent arm behind his head. 

A comfortable silence crept over the two of you, him so obviously watching you– admiring you. It couldn’t be mistaken for anything else. 

His next words confirmed it. 

“Even in the grayness of this morning, you shine so bright,” he said, almost absentmindedly. “You fucking glow, y/n. You’re just brilliant.”

Not sure what to even begin to say to that, all you could utter was, “Thank you.” The sound of tears in your throat, behind your response, was a surprise, though. 

“Has no one ever told you?”

“Well, Josh says sweet things like that. And Elsie is great at encouraging me, too. . . But hearing you say something like that. . . those words. It just feels good. I don’t know,” you shook your head, a tear falling to meet his tanned chest. “And no one has ever said those exact words to me, no.”

“You are all of that and more, my lo—,” he cleared his throat. “You are so many things wrapped in one, y/n. So many fantastic things.”

“Stop,” you sniffed, for the second time that morning. More tears fell onto his chest. “You don’t have to say things like that. I promise I’ll still want to have sex with you if you don’t,” you laughed, wiping your leftover tears. The words sounded funny (true, but still funny) as they left your mouth. 

“I want to tell you those things,” he said, firm in his response. “You deserve to hear those good things. Sex or not.”

“Thank you,” again, was all you could say. 

“But the sex is pretty good,” he smirked as he said the words, his eyes glinting mischievously as he skirted a hand up the back of your shirt, skating fingers along your bare back. His eyes found yours when he got closer to your shoulders. “No bra?”

“You know I don’t wear one when I sleep.”

“So I’m assuming you knew we were gonna fall asleep out here?” 

“Mhm.”

“And you still let it happen?”

I did. . . And even though I shouldn’t, I keep breaking all of my own stupid rules, you thought in defeat.

“Wanted it to,” you remarked.

He hummed, watching you with a curious look in his beautiful eyes. You knew he was most probably thinking the same thing as you. 

But, all he said next was, “Can I ask you more questions?”

“Yeah,” you whispered in the quietness of the morning. The rumbling of thunder outside, followed by the pitter-patter of rain droplets against the living room window made goosebumps grow on your skin. “Nothing better than a quiet, rainy morning.”

“You are correct,” he replied in an approving tone. “So. . .your mother. . . Is it okay if I ask about her?”

“Yes,” your lips quirked. “I’ve already told you as much, silly.”

“I know, I know. . . It’s just a lot, I’m sure.”

You nodded to confirm. “It is. But I want to share this with you.”

“Thank you.”

“For trauma dumping?” You giggled. 

“For trusting me,” he said, serious in his reply. His eyes flicked to every inch of your face, taking you in. His hand, now massaging the tension from your neck. 

Miraculous that he just seemed to know the place where your tension settled. 

Not that it wasn’t a common place for tension to reside. But you wondered if he’d noticed you favoring the bottom of your neck during tense situations, over time.

Your heart hammered at the intimacy of the moment. You were so close to just leaning up and kissing him, but you didn’t want to cut conversation short. It was too enjoyable for you. 

It felt so freeing.

Trying to bring you both back to the topic at hand, you inquired. “What was your question about my mom?”

“Oh, yes,” he refocused, his hand now moving up to massage the roots at the base of your head. More goosebumps grew at the sensation. “Do you still talk to her?”

“Uh, no. Haven’t even seen the woman since she left. She hurt me so bad back then. . .I’ve kind of closed off the fact that she even exists,” you said. “She wouldn’t want to hear from me anyway.”

“That’s terrible.”

“It’s true. I’m just glad for the family I do still have,” you paused, deciding if you wanted to tack on the other words you were thinking. There was no reason not to, you’d already bared so much to him in a span of minutes. “Glad I have those people who want me.”

“I want you,” he wrapped a hand at the back of your neck, cupping the back of your head as one thumb rubbed over your pulse point. His eyes bore into yours, begging you to understand the words.

The next few moments were quiet and filled with everything left unsaid. What it was that remained unsaid, you didn’t know. Or maybe you did know.

He eventually let go, clearing his throat to show he was moving on. “Does Elsie feel the same? Closed off and all that?”

You blinked a couple times before responding. 

“Y-yeah. Pretty much. She and I are on the same wavelength about 98 percent of the time.”

“Imagine 100 percent of the time,” he blew out a breath, his eyes getting big as he stared off. 

“Twin life?”

He looked back at you, a grin on his pretty lips. “Twin life,” he confirmed. Pensiveness painted his features, then he spoke again. “Speaking of . . . Did you meet Josh at the record store?”

“Yes,” you responded. “Almost 4 years ago.”

“I’m jealous.”

“That I had that time with Josh while you missed him so bad?”

“Psh,” he said, rolling his eyes. “No. I’ve spent enough time with that fucker through the years,” he snickered, winking at you. “I’m jealous that he got all that time with you. Getting to know you while I was in Illinois, wasting away.”

Your tummy lit up with butterflies again. But you treaded carefully with this topic. You didn’t need him making any assumptions about Josh again.

There was no reason for him to be jealous. And honestly, you wanted to show him as much.  

“Well, you shouldn’t get too jealous,” you said, moving from laying down. You positioned your legs on either side of his hips, then sat your ass on the tops of his thighs, opening yourself up to him. 

He took in a sharp breath, and smoothed his hands over the tops of your thighs, then slipped his hands past the waistband of your sweats, giving your ass a generous squeeze.

“Why’s that?” He asked, his brow lifting in question. He brought himself up a little more, leaning against the couch. As he moved to sit up, he used his hands on your ass to push your crotch against his hardening cock. 

The wet arousal in your panties pressed against you. You gasped at the feeling. 

His lip curled to show his top row of perfectly straight, white teeth. 

So fucking handsome.

“Well,” you ground your hips against him, his head lolling back momentarily. He got back by bucking up into you, just the slightest bit. It caused a breathy moan to leave your lips. “He will never have me like this, for one,” you wrapped your arms around his neck, bringing his face closer to your chest. “I only want you like this, Jake.”

Fuck. That felt so genuine slipping from your lips. And you wouldn’t tell him this (you could barely admit it to yourself), but you really did only want him. Like, in general. Out of all other men, he was the only one you craved. 

When did that even happen?! Your incredulous thoughts could have taken over had he not effectively distracted you.

He moved his hands up under your shirt, abandoning your ass. His eyes were glued to your hardening nipples as his thumbs pressed into your tummy, massaging your hot skin. 

It was getting harder and harder to believe there’d been a time that you would have stopped this—out of fear and a bunch of shit. Leaving him on his own, and you sulking, feeling conflicted as hell.

Though, these days, you couldn’t leave him. 

There was nothing that could pull you away from him in moments like these.

(And that was a scary thought you could consider later.)

Your body was drawn to him, putty under his touch. Bending down the slightest bit, you curled your hands comfortably in his ever-growing locks. Your nose nestled into the part of his hair right behind his ear. One of your favorite parts of his body was that little crook behind his ear. You didn’t know why. . . 

But dammit— he always smelled so delicious. His cologne held hints of sandalwood and amber. . . And something so delectably Jake.

And God, you loved his hair. The citrusy smell of his shampoo. The softness of the locks. The length.

Fuck, the length.

Silly as it may’ve been, you were so glad he was growing it out. The longer it got, the more his heat scale increased. And at this point, he was getting dangerously hot.

His cock nudged against you, leaving nothing to the imagination underneath the layers of clothing. Anytime you’d move your hips to entice him, his cock throbbed beneath you, making your panties more and more uncomfortable with how wet they were. 

You felt his hands flatten, traveling up your tummy slowly. But just as he was about to touch your breasts, he switched directions, running his calloused fingertips down your back instead. 

“Asshole,” you whispered in his ear. You didn’t even have to look at him to know he was smirking. 

The little raspy laugh beneath you gave him away.

Your skin grew goosebumps at the sensation of his rough fingertips making soft shapes on your back. 

But you wanted his hands headed back in the direction they were before. 

Your nipples were blatantly expanding the fabric of your t-shirt, begging for him. 

And, when you pulled away to observe his face, he was already waiting for you, his eyes burning into yours, all the way down to your heart. 

Though. . .he didn’t stay there for long. He let his gaze travel back down to your breasts, his pupils dilated, filling his iris almost completely black. 

He looked hungry and your hips were moving of their own accord at that point. Every bit of him you got was making you need more, more, more. 

“I love your fucking tits,” he growled, wrapping one strong arm behind your back and effectively placing you beneath him. 

Your breath momentarily left your lungs, making you release a huge sigh as he arranged you so your back laid nicely against the soft blankets and pillows. 

“What do you like about them?”

He groaned, smoothing his hand up your stomach again. His hand cupped the underside of one breast. You sighed at finally feeling his hands where you wanted them.

“I love that they’re yours,” he started, reaching his thumb to rub and pinch at your left nipple. “I love that the color of your nipples is the same color as your pretty lips,” he lifted your shirt the slightest bit, sucking one bud into his mouth, kissing it like he would your mouth. Then, he replaced his mouth with his hand, squeezing your breast as you arched into his touch. 

Finally, he connected his mouth with yours, his bottom lip slipping between your lips to deepen it just a bit. You moaned into his mouth as he did yours. Then, he pulled away, leaning on his forearm. Switching between tits with one hand, he cupped the bottom of each, moving his hand under them enough to watch them jiggle. “And I love watching them bounce as I’m fucking you.”

“Shit, Jake,” you moaned, pushing yourself further into his hand. You were aching for him to be inside of you. “Fuck me so you can see what you like, baby.”

He sat up, slipped his sweats (there having been no underwear underneath, apparently) down his thighs, thick cock springing free. The sight made your belly swirl and your center wet with need. 

Once he was completely naked, he repositioned above you. 

But your skin was itching with the feeling of still being clothed. You needed to feel his warm skin against your own.

“Move,” you motioned for him to back up. You sat up as he took the hint, sitting back on his knees beside you.

His eyebrows wrinkled and his eyes grew worried. “Where are you go—?”

But he went silent as the t-shirt left your body and your bare chest flashed at him. And as you stripped yourself of the shirt, your boobs bounced a little, just as he liked. 

“Fuck,” he groaned, reaching for himself. You watched, your throat tightening, as he looked down at his shaft, his mouth falling open, just slightly, as he gave himself a couple of short, quick pumps. 

Dear God.

But he seemed dissatisfied.

And when you’d normally stop him and tell him to let you do it instead, you didn’t this time. 

But it seemed he still wanted your help.

You just sat in awe as he stretched his hand out to you. You were still as a statue as he gripped your chin, pulling it down the slightest bit. You followed his lead and opened your mouth more with his gesture. Then, you watched as he moved the hand, palm open, in front of your mouth. 

“Spit for me, baby,” he nodded at the hand in front of you. 

You didn’t argue, doing as you were told, heart racing as you spit in his hand. 

After you’d done what he wanted, he wrapped the hand around the base of his thick cock, giving himself a few long strokes from his skilled hand.

Though, as soon as he threw his head back with one particularly generous, tight-fisted move, you decided that it was officially past time to get naked.

You made quick work of your sweats, his eyes flicking up to watch you pull them off in a flurry. Then you hooked your fingers into your soaked underwear, getting them off as fast as possible.

You wanted to be the one to please, rather than his hand. 

You were growing jealous of the fist, as it held his pretty dick the way your pussy was aching to. 

When you were finally just as bare as he was, you laid on your back again. You spread one leg wide to open up for him, keeping the other flat, against your heap of blankets. In this position, he’d be able to see the bottom curve of your ass, your full breasts, and your slick pussy.

He didn’t see you, though, as he’d gone to focus on pleasuring himself, eyebrows drawn and whimpering a bit as he continued to watch his hand work at a steady pace. 

“Jake,” you called quietly, urging him to look at you and come to you. 

As soon as his name left your mouth, he looked up from where he was watching himself work his cock. After one hungry once-over from his dark eyes, he bit his lip.

“You ready?” You asked, slowly spreading both legs a little more for him, reaching two fingers to slide through your wet folds, shivering at the feeling of finally being touched. 

“Want me to eat your sweet pussy, baby?” He questioned, his voice a velvety rasp. 

Ready to please, his hand left his thick cock in order to move the short distance it took to be closer to you. 

“I want that pretty dick inside of me,” you responded, your voice exuding all of the need you felt running through your veins. “Now.”

And in a flash, he was on top of you again. His tip, damp from your saliva, nudged its way to the place it knew so well. 

Before any more words could be spoken, he pushed inside of you in one swift take. The two of you sighed in unison, relief flashing over his face, as you were sure it did yours, too.

He leaned both forearms on either side of your head, keeping his handsome face close to yours as he fucked you, thick cock stretching you well with each deliberate, hard thrust. 

His eyes were trained on your heaving tits, doing just what he wanted them to.

“I was starting to get jealous—,” you paused, whining with one particular snap of his hips, his dick hitting your secret spot. “Of-of that hand,” you said, your voice shaking on the words. 

His forehead was beaded with sweat already, ever-energetic in his pursuits—whether it be playing music or in the bedroom. 

“Don’t be,” he responded, pinning you with a stern look from his eyes, tone firm. “Your pussy feels better than anything else.”

The telling sounds of your bodies connecting only added to the ecstasy of the moment.

“Took-took y-you too long to get the hint,” you panted. 

“It was a few seconds,” he said, rocking his hips extra hard with the last word. 

Your toes curled with a moan. 

“Still too long.”

“Impatient.”

“No, I just know what I want,” you grabbed the back of his neck, bringing his mouth to yours in a sloppy kiss, tongues fighting to lick further into the other’s open mouth. 

With one final swipe of his tongue against your teeth, he pulled away. “You’re high maintenance.”

You were suddenly self-conscious, overcome with a feeling that you weren’t good enough for him. That you annoyed him.

You covered it up with a defensive, haughty tone. “So?”

“I fucking love it.”

Oh.

Your body opened up at that, seemingly on its own. You bent your knees, spreading your thighs even more, letting him sink deeper. 

You grabbed at his biceps, gripping them to give yourself some sort of grounding as he started giving all he had, each thrust of his harder than the one before it. 

It was painful and delicious all at once. 

Fuck he felt so good.

The way he filled you was unlike any man before him. He fit so fucking well, and your center never failed to grip him just right.

“I also love the way your pussy feels,” he said, breathing heavily. “You like how I feel?”

You grinned, feeling drunk on him. Your belly clenched, simultaneous to your center with each rock of his hips. Sighing, you let your hands move to hold onto his strong shoulders. 

“You feel so fucking perfect,” you sighed, looking down to where your bodies met. It was almost too much. When you went to look up, something caught your attention from the corner of your eye. You squeezed his shoulder. “Jake.”

A concerned look painting his features, he stopped, checking you. “What? What’s wrong?”

You smiled softly, cupping his cheek, rolling your hips once, needing the pressure of him moving inside of you. “Nothing at all,” you went to tuck his hair behind one of his ears, reassuring. “Just got an idea.”

He picked up his movements: languid strokes, this time, making you forget about everything besides him momentarily. “And what is that?”

You kept on when you could find the words. “I—uhhh,” you moaned, your eyes rolling back in your head as he moved to lay his belly against yours, knowing the friction would be perfect for your swollen, throbbing clit. “I want to pl—oh!,” you sucked in a breath, seeing stars for a moment. Once you were able, you continued. “Wanna play a record.”

“Right now?” He grunted, making one hard rock of his hips into yours. 

Your toes curled, still feeling the softness of his tummy on your tender bundle of nerves as his tip repeatedly hit your secret spot. “Yeah.”

He came to a slow stop, eyes trained on yours. He stayed there, watching you with an unspoken question in his eyes, eyebrows furrowing like they did when he thought deeply. 

“Is that okay?” You asked, trying to break him from his reverie, nervous you’d freaked him out with the odd request. 

“Y-yeah,” he shook his head, hair effectively falling from where you’d tucked it. “That sounds incredible, actually.”

Butterflies let loose in the pit of your stomach. Of course he’d like the idea. He loved music just the same as you did. 

He pulled out, and you instantly missed him. But you watched him lazily, dreamily as he stood up smoothly, and walked to the shelf of records (now a mixture of his and yours, of course). “Which one?” He wondered aloud.

You sat up on your elbows and watched him as he thumbed through the records, appreciating the view. “You pick and I’ll let you know if I like.”

As he searched through the albums, you let your mind wander with your eyes.

His body was a work of art. 

His thighs, muscular, from the way they flexed when he’d move his body with his guitar on stage. 

The perfectly round ass that was undoubtedly gifted to him by the body gods. 

And those broad shoulders that were strong to match his equally strong personality.

When he turned a bit towards you, his eyes quickly scanning the back of a vinyl, your eyes instantly found his straining dick. His tip, still swollen from being pulled mid-sex. Your clit thrummed and twitched, seeing how it now glistened from your dripping pussy. Dammit you needed him to hurry. 

But most of all, damn this idea for taking him away from you.

Once he turned to you fully, an Aretha Franklin vinyl in hand, you found his eyes. They were questioning, but you looked away from them to admire your most favorite parts of his body. 

His toned pecs and his solid stomach— fuck.

There were truly no words for the way he was built— pecs naturally firm and rounded with lean muscle. 

And his stomach— just a little soft and the perfect finish to it all, complimenting him just right— finishing out his sturdy, powerful stature. 

His aura was compelling. He was utterly beautiful, with his sparkling brown eyes, flowing chestnut locks, and sharp features. And the way he was built matched so well with how he carried himself. Without even trying, he could control any room he was in. 

He was honestly what all of your dreams were made of. . . And in moments like these, you wished more than anything that he was yours. 

But he wasn’t. 

And that bitter thought helped to snap you out of your trance, finally looking at him to answer. 

He was smirking, knowingly. “I love your body, too, Beautiful.”

You flushed, rolling your eyes to play off the way his words made your heart flutter. Glancing briefly at the record, squinting to truly recognize it, you nodded at the choice. “Aretha is always a yes.”

“Agreed.”

He turned to put it on the Crosley, and as soon as the needle hummed against the record, making its wonderful crackling sound, you knew you’d made the right choice. 

The sound added to the bliss you were already feeling on this quiet, rainy morning.

The combination of watching him walk back to you, with some of the most incredible music backing him. . . Shit.

“I hope you don’t mind. I skipped past the first few,” he said as he came back to you, falling to his knees beside you. 

You smiled up at him. “Perfectly fine. This is the best song on the entire record anyway.” 

“I think so, too,” he said, eyes lifting with a grin.

When he went to lean over you to pick up where you left off, you scooted over, motioning for him to lay down instead. 

Without question, he did as you wanted, and as Aretha sang of a man making her feel like a natural woman, you sank onto him, letting him stretch you so well. 

The look on his face when you fucked him was one of your favorite sights. He always watched you so closely. . .whether it be your face, your breasts, your ass, or your pussy that wrapped around him, so tight. He’d scrunch his brows and let his mouth open a bit with certain movements of your hips, and bite his lip at other times. . . 

But, in moments like this one, when one hand would be holding your face while the other gripped your hip, a small, close-mouthed smile on his soft, plush lips. . . His emotion-filled eyes, boring into yours . . .

Your world tipped slightly on its axis when he’d do shit like that. Moments like this made a whole lot of gray in what should have been a strictly black and white situation. 

And, as you listened to the soulful voice flowing quietly from the record player, your thoughts drifted further. . .

When my soul was in the lost and found,

You came along to claim it.

I didn't know just what was wrong with me,

Till your kiss helped me name it.

This song perfectly summed up how you felt about this man. The same man who had been the bane of your existence so recently was now a light on your darkest days.

And, as you watched him, his hips beginning to move on their own, making you feel complete and right. . . You truly couldn’t imagine your life without him. 

And not just because of the sex. It was him. Having him around made you feel . . . whole.

Without evening knowing or trying, he’d been helping you find missing pieces to your puzzle. 

Hidden pieces of your soul that you hadn’t seen in a long time. Some good. Some bad. But all you. 

Pieces you’d forgotten even existed. 

And by just being near you, he made you feel authentic in a way you’d never felt with another man. 

As you rode him, leaning down on your forearms to get close to his face, you gave him a long kiss. A kiss that you hoped said thank you. . . Because, truly, you were so grateful for him. 

But as you separated your lips from his and pressed your perspired forehead to his own, you looked into the deep pools of his eyes that held so much. And you knew you had to say the words out loud.

“Thank you,” you whispered, hoping he’d understand as you felt new tears cloud your vision. Your hips were moving on their own, matching the slow rocking of his hips. You were holding onto him, keeping rhythm with the song as you had this moment.

He held your gaze, a secret smile forming in his eyes as he spoke. “Thank you.”

You studied him seriously, the feeling in his eyes seeming to match your own. Both of you stayed there for a minute, taking the other in. 

You kissed him once more. And, rather than continuing the conversation, you focused on finding a release for you both. 

Just as another favorite of yours came on. 

The opening chorus resonated with you just like every time you’d heard it before, but this time it was different—better—as he laid underneath you, holding you. . . Staring at you with eyes that held the motherfucking world.

Like the sweet morning dew, 

I took one look at you,

And it was plain to see you were my destiny.

With my arms open wide, I threw away my pride.

Feeling everything all at once, you spread your legs wide, thighs stretching out on top of his to get as close as you could to him. Then you bent your legs at the knees, and leaned toward him, laying on top of him and nuzzling into that sweet spot behind his ear. You made yourself comfortable as you knew this would be your undoing. 

It always was from this position. 

And this song was just feeding into the emotions coursing through your heart, intensifying all of it at once.

Your favorite way to finish was in this exact position, and you knew at that moment, that it would take you no time. 

Fucking him at that moment felt extremely dissimilar to all of your times before. The damned music was untying every string you’d used to close up your fragile heart. 

While lost in your sudden wave of thought, he took over, knowing all the moves. He’d grown familiar with this position, just as you had. He knew your body. What you liked. 

He grabbed a hip and a handful of your ass, and moved your body down forcefully to meet him while also thrusting his hips up. 

The contrast of motion and the tugging at your heart helped every piece of you to get the much needed stimulation. And fuck if it didn’t make your thighs shake.

You whined, your toes curling as, simultaneously, his tip hit your g-spot and your clit nudged against the lower part of his tummy. 

“Jakey,” you moaned. 

“I know,” he breathed hotly, not letting up on his motions in the slightest. “I can fucking feel you pulse around me, baby.”

“You like it?” You sighed, still next to his ear, needing to hear the affirmation from him.

“Best fucking feeling in the whole world.”

Your tummy lurched at that, butterflies fluttered their wings. 

That’s how you feel for me, too, you thought.

And with one more strategic move of his hips, you saw stars. You felt every nerve ending light up. Your skin felt like static.

“Oooohhh,” you moaned, your body shaking. 

He groaned, whining a bit. “Y/n—I’m—.”

You felt far away as he tapped your hip, sinking into all things Jake, Jake, Jake.

You jostled back to reality right as he lifted you off of him, depositing you as carefully and quickly as he could on the covers next to you both in no time.

Just as you laid down, he was instantly on his knees, warm seed spilling onto your tummy, right where he’d placed you. 

You blinked and shook your head, registering what’d almost happened. Your thoughts were flying— going crazy. 

“Fuck,” he said, flopping down next to you as he slid a hand down his face. “That was a close one.”

“Yeah,” was all you could mutter, your heart beating hard against your chest.

Before much more could be said, he sealed the interaction with a slow, sure kiss and got up to fix you both breakfast.

Now that you’d had his cooking the night prior, you were really looking forward to the breakfast. You’d learned the man was extremely gifted in culinary— just as he was in music. 

But, even as the bacon crackled and the vanilla-laced smell of fresh waffles wafted in through the open layout of the apartment, you weren’t really thinking about his cooking. 

No; inside your mind, you were swirling back and forth with how close you’d felt to him. How sex was starting to feel so effortless and all-encompassing with him. . . And that coupled with how much you’d been feeling in the moment?

It was obvious he’d carved a place in your heart.

A big one.

But you’d worry about that later. 

Because. . .what was clawing at you more was one particular thought. 

You now had a nagging curiosity of what it might feel like to have him actually finish inside of you. 

How in the hell had you let it come to this?

-🌼🌼🌼-

Every year, it was tradition to have a family dinner at your grandparents’ house to celebrate a new year of school. 

But this year, on a whim, you decided to make it a little different. . . You acted on impulse and invited Jake to it. 

To your surprise (and excitement), he’d agreed with no hesitation.

And before the annoying voice in your head could say anything, you reassured it that him coming with you wasn’t a couple-y thing. 

Not at all.

You’d had time to think back on the way you’d started cracking during sex the other morning. 

And you had already started the process of tying your heart back up, protecting yourself from a whirlwind of unnecessary, surely unreciprocated emotion.

He liked having sex with you, that was it. And it could be that way for you, too. It had to be.

The flash of feelings you’d felt during sex a few mornings back honestly meant nothing— you chalked it up to just being caught up in the moment. You had simply gotten far too ahead of yourself.

As you got ready that night, you thought back on the few times your grandma and grandpa had asked about your roommate. You were sure you’d only thought to invite him, because you’d been subconsciously thinking it would appease your wondering grandparents. 

You also just really enjoyed spending time with him. That much you could come to terms with. And, admittedly, you really wanted him to meet your grandparents.

Of course, you were a little nervous at the prospect of him meeting your them (more your judgmental grandfather than your grandma). But, nonetheless, you were really looking forward to having him there with you. 

And, the cherry on top: Elsie would be there to alleviate any weird tension your grandparents may add. . . So, truly, it was the ideal time to have him come meet them. 

At 5:00, thirty minutes before it was time to leave, he still wasn’t home. You knew he had a few lessons today, but he’d assured you that he would be home on time. 

Though, you couldn’t help feeling nervous that maybe he’d regretted saying yes, and he was going to run late on purpose just to get out of going to dinner. 

Before your thoughts could get too crazy, you got a text from him. 

Jake, 5:10 p.m.: so I’m still working with this fuckin client :( 

But at the sight of the text, your stomach sank. 

I knew it, you thought, downhearted. He’s gonna try to get out of it.

Then, another text came through.

Jake, 5:11 p.m.: and I think it’s the time of day

Jake, 5:11 p.m.: but I’ve had like 3 Ubers in a row cancel on me for my scheduled time

He’s really pulling out all the stops, you thought, feeling your chest tighten, anger coming into play. Just say you don’t want to go.

While you were sulking, you noticed one more text pop up in its gray bubble. 

Jake, 5:12 p.m.: I hate to ask you to do this 

Here it comes.

Jake, 5:12 p.m.: but can you pick me up on your way to your grandparents house? I really don’t wanna miss it

You could’ve sighed with relief. In fact, you did. Watching the screen for a few more seconds, you contemplated waiting a bit to respond. Play the classic ‘hard-to-get�� and ‘make-sure-he-knows-I-don’t-take-this-too-seriously-game’ and keep him on the line. . .

But you couldn’t wait. And probably too quickly, you texted back. 

You, 5:13 p.m.: I’d be happy to. I’ll be there soon. Just send me the address.

And within five minutes, the address was sent as you were scooping Stevie some fresh food in her dish. And as soon as you saw it, you were making your way out the door, hurriedly making your way to the car. 

Why am I so anxious to see him when I literally just saw him this morning? You thought, as you started the car, hearing your soul music playlist take over the car’s stereo. Calm the fuck down, y/n.

But you couldn’t help it as you pulled quickly out of the parking lot, buzzing with excitement at the thought of seeing him again.

-🌼🌼🌼- 

When you pulled up to his client’s house, you suddenly saw the appeal of the private lessons. You were sure he got paid good fucking bucks to give lessons to whoever it was that lived in this mansion of a place. 

You were busy admiring the giant home, when you felt your stomach flutter at the sight of him, carrying his acoustic guitar case. 

Though, your gaze didn’t stay on him for long as you caught sight of the beautiful woman with flowing, jet-black locks, walking out of the door behind him, her pristine black dress. Her full ass, big tits, and small waist accentuated perfectly in the outfit. You saw her blatantly checking him out and saying something as she followed behind him. 

Whatever it was she was saying, it made him laugh. Truly laugh. His dimples were showing and his mouth was open wide, then he said something back. 

But he was seemingly oblivious to her glances at his ass as he continued walking ahead of her. The perfectly straight, gleaming white smile on her glowing caramel skin was wide with whatever he said and whatever it was that she was saying in return. 

Your blood was boiling. And it just got worse as you watched her come up behind him and lightly grab his bicep, turning him gently to face her. 

For a few brief seconds, you watched in terror, afraid that you were about to witness a kiss between him and this woman. 

Thankfully, you didn’t. 

But what you did see still made tears climb up your throat. 

You watched him sit his case down, and then saw an extremely genuine, heartfelt hug take place between the two. It wasn’t a quick, friendly side hug, it was a full-on hug. She was grasping him tightly, holding the back of his head as she clung to him. Her eyes closed as she continued speaking over his shoulder.

At one moment, her mouth closed and you saw just how beautifully shaped and plush her soft lips were. She was strikingly gorgeous. Everything about her. 

Was this her house? Was he giving her lessons? Or did she have a kid that he was giving lessons to? 

Whatever the case may have been, you had to swallow back every tear that was threatening to escape as he started walking toward you, case in hand again. 

She stayed on the sidewalk, watching him walk down the steps to the curb where you’d pulled up. 

Right as he got to your car, he turned around to wave at her once more. 

And then, what you heard him say through the closed door made your heart fall to the very pit of your stomach.

“It’s my favorite part of the day!” He laughed heartily, before finally opening the door to the backseat. 

His favorite part of the day? Was it being with her? Fuck.

You turned to face the front of the car, gathering yourself as you stared out the windshield. You were so embarrassed. For a variety of reasons. 

Your hands shook as you held tightly to the steering wheel. 

The back door shut, and you prepared yourself for him being close to you by clearing your throat and reminding yourself of a few important things.

We are not together. I don’t love him. God no I don’t, you shook your head at the idea of that. And he can be with whomever he pleases. It’s none of my business. 

But when he opened the door to the car, all thoughts from before vanished. The musings from your self-mantra and your worries of the girl had dissipated as soon as he spoke in his ever-raspy, sweet tone. 

“Hi, beautiful.”

You glanced over at him, a tight smile on your lips working to mask any worry that there may have been. Working to convince him and yourself that things were okay. 

You couldn’t help but ask. “Is she a client or does she have a child taking lessons?”

He ran a hand through his hair, scratching his nose. “Oh, she’s the client,” he said, his smile matching his tone as he spoke of her. “She’s doing really well. I’m proud of her progress.”

The next question slipped from your lips out of pure curiosity, nothing more. “Does she live in that giant house all by herself?”

“Yep. Single. No kids,” he affirmed. “Crazy, huh? Oh! I almost forgot,” he reached over the armrest and into the backseat to click open his case and get something from it. 

His proximity to you was overwhelming, the intoxicating smell of sandalwood and amber infiltrating your senses.

Please want me more than you might want her, you pleaded silently. 

When he was sitting in his seat again, he lifted to reach into his back pocket, getting his wallet out.

“What did you almost forget?” You inquired, trying to mask your ridiculous thoughts with a plain tone.

“This,” he held up a guitar pick, before opening his wallet to put it inside. “My lucky pick. I always use it at my lessons. Forgot to put it back in my wallet today. Got carried away talking to her.”

Fuck. 

Then, without meaning to, you caught his gaze. The a/c blowing against your hair and face, cooling you off from your distressing thoughts.

But your bearings were almost lost again with the sincerity you found in his eyes, and with the hand that fell to squeeze your thigh as he leaned over the console to kiss your cheek. 

Closing your eyes momentarily, you turned your attention back to the road right before you put the car in drive.

We are not together. Everything is fine. Whatever we are— it’s fine. Stop worrying, you chanted all of this internally as you increased the volume on Victoria Monet, gearing up for your playlist to serenade you for the duration of the drive. Drown out your ridiculous train of thought.

“I actually like this,” Jake commented, his hand still on your thigh. His thumb sweeped wide circles on your inner thigh, burning through your jeans. “What’s it called?”

Coming to the stop sign at the end of the street, you waited for the car on your right to go as you responded. 

“We Might Even Be Falling In Love,” was your simple response, right before you took your turn at the four way stop.

-🌼🌼🌼-

The car ride to your grandparents’ was slightly tense at first, but eventually you got over it as Jake started making his regular small talk. He was the same as always. Anytime you talked with him, he reminded you of his brother with how intent and caring he was about every word that left your mouth. 

But, for you, it meant more coming from him than it did Josh.

Jake was just. . .special to you. And you wanted to be special to him.

It was a relief. And by the time you pulled up to the quaint, familiar house, everything felt the same as it always did. You were feeling better. . he was him and things felt normal. Felt okay. 

As you walked up to the front door, him following you closely behind, you felt comfortable. And when you entered the house, it felt so good to have Jake in tow, the never-changing atmosphere of the home combining perfectly with having him near. 

You were giddy with the fact that he was there.

And it just continued to get better as the night wore on. 

Both of your grandparents greeted Jake with open arms, real welcoming smiles adorned their wrinkling faces. Your chest, warm with contentment as you watched the three of them interact. Jake, continuing the theme of coming out of his shell, as he made smooth conversation with your people. 

As you’d been standing in the entryway chatting, Elsie’d rounded the corner from the kitchen. And to your delighted surprise, Josh had been in tow behind her. 

You knew they’d decided to take it to the next level after the night at the bowling alley. They were becoming the power couple. So it made sense that he’d be here tonight, too.

Everything was absolutely perfect. Elsie and Josh being there made the ideal mix of people for Jake’s first time meeting your family. 

Then dinner came.

“Joshua, I will never get over how sweet it was for you to make the drive to us with Elsie a few weeks ago,” your grandmother commented as she poked some salad with her fork. “Didn’t leave her alone on that late night drive.”

“She is in good hands with you,” your grandfather agreed, making sure to catch Josh’s eyes to emphasize his words. 

“I’m lucky to have her,” Josh smiled in response, kissing Elsie’s cheek. 

Everything was going great, conversation flowing until your grandmother spoke next.

“Y/n, honey, how long have you been seeing Jake?” 

Your eyes stayed trained on your plate, suddenly feeling all eyes on you. You heard Jake clear his throat from where he sat next to you. Fuck. Of course she’d ask this. Assume that you two were dating.

To your relief, Elsie started speaking for you. 

“Grandma, they aren’t together,” she said, covering smoothly with a giggle to top it off, trying to alleviate any tension.

You took that as your cue to look up, monitoring the situation. 

“Oh,” your Grandma responded, a little smile on her face as she put an aged, perfectly manicured hand to her forehead. “Silly old me. I guess I just assumed because you were here together tonight, sis,” she looked at you, her eyes apologetic. 

“You sure act like it,” your Grandpa chimed in, motioning with his fork at you two sitting next to each other. 

“Howard, quit,” your Grandmother defended. 

At your Grandpa’s comment, you finally found your voice. 

“Elsie’s right. We are not together,” you stated, leaving no room for argument. “He’s just my roommate.”

“Harsh, kid,” your Grandfather interjected. “Not even a friend?”

“I guess,” you shrugged, looking over at Jake who seemed to be trying his best to stay focused on his plate, dodging any involvement in the conversation. “But mostly just my roommate.”

For some reason, the awkward air persisted, hanging in the air around you. 

Your words felt wrong. You knew you were friends (and more than that), but you didn’t want to get too mushy, for fear of being questioned further. You were trying your best to diffuse the tension, fixing it so he wouldn’t feel uncomfortable.

You were so fearful of somehow exposing your current predicament—especially to those in the room. You hadn’t even told Elsie of your whole ‘fuck buddy’ situation. Shockingly. 

She’d known about you two having sex that first time. . . But you had never told her anything further than that.

Honestly, you’d been too focused on Jake the past few weeks to even think to inform her. It was something that only you and Jake shared and you mostly liked it that way. 

You also didn’t want to tell her because you were positive she’d question the situation. Make you admit things you didn’t want to. Things you couldn’t admit. Push you to say too much. You didn’t need her to make it anything more than what it was. 

It was your little secret. And you intended on keeping it that way. 

Josh swooped in seamlessly, taking over the conversation with talks of all things music and film. 

Eventually, Jake tuned in to the music talk. He’d stayed quiet for longer than you’d anticipated . . . surely feeling the awkwardness of the initial question with you. But he’d played it off well. 

And as you watched him interact with your grandparents, the version of him that you witnessed made your heart flutter. Your senses were filled with all kinds of happiness. 

Eventually, you, the twins, and your Grandpa had migrated to the living room as Elsie and your Grandma went to prepare dessert.

You sat there, across the room from him. You, on the couch, him on the ottoman next to your Grandpa’s chair. Why he’d sat so far away from you, you didn’t know – but you didn’t care. You just enjoyed watching him talk. 

The way he got along with your Grandpa made you light up with joy considerably. 

Your Grandfather was a hard nut to crack. Not to compare the two, but you wouldn’t ever put it past Josh to get through to your Grandpa (because Josh was, quite possibly, the easiest person in the world to talk to). So seeing his easy talk with your Grandpa was expected. 

But Jake? Jake was just a quieter person by nature. Not in a bad way, by any means. . . He just was. You liked him that way. He was thoughtful and kept parts of himself hidden. . . revealed more of himself the more he trusted someone. You really liked him for all of his ways. 

But the way he was bonding with your Grandpa? It was just astonishing. 

By just being himself, Jake was making your Grandpa open up more than ever.

You’d never seen your Grandpa this way.

As you watched the three of them, Jake’s efforts to connect with your Grandfather honestly seemed to flow more smoothly than the other twin’s. 

Josh had even ended up leaving the conversation, going to join your Grandma and Elsie in the kitchen, as the other two seemed to be venturing into their own conversation. Neither Jake nor your Grandpa needed a buffer. But you’d stayed anyhow, too intrigued by them to want to leave. 

And, you just really liked being where Jake was. He made you feel so calm and happy.

You also just couldn’t miss out on the moment in front of you. . .you’d never seen your Grandpa talk so animatedly.

The way he talked about music with Jake was shocking to you, as you didn’t know he loved music to the depths that you did. 

But apparently, Jake knew how to bring out that side of him. The smiles exchanged with the topic of conversation were exhilarating— so joy-filled.

Then, to your complete shock, your Grandpa brought up how he’d played guitar for years before your mother had been born. 

“You played guitar, Grandpa?!” You couldn’t help but ask, as you quite literally sat on the edge of the crisp, floral sofa. “How come you never told us?!”

“Well, I never really felt the need to revisit that part of my life,” he said, sighing. “You two girls didn’t need to be privy to that. It’s all in the past.”

You shook your head. “I love that about you, Grandpa. . . I wish you would’ve told me.”

He just looked at you with his eyes, so much behind them, left unsaid and filled to the brim with an unnamed emotion. A sad smile came to sit on his face.

“Did you have a favorite to play?” Jake asked, looking at him. 

“I did. I feel like all of us do.”

“Yeah. That’s the truth,” Jake grinned, nodding. “Do you still have your favorite one?”

“I sure do,” he looked at your roommate, a big grin spanning his usually-sunken cheeks. “I’ll show ya.”

Jake offered to go get it for him as he watched the old man try to stand. But when he was finally on his feet, he waved him off. 

“Nah, son. It’ll be good for me to get up and around to get her.”  

As he left to grab it, you waited for Jake to turn to you. But, he didn’t. 

Instead, he just looked at all of the photos on the walls rather than anywhere in your direction. The living room was so quiet, you literally heard every breath he took as he looked at the pictures of you and Elsie as children. 

You cleared your throat, trying to get a reaction from him.

He kept looking around the living room, not paying you any mind.

It was awkward.

Why was he avoiding looking at you? You weren’t used to him acting in such a way anymore. 

Unable to take it any longer, you cleared your throat again, harsher this time. 

But he still ignored it.

“Jake,” you sharply stated his name, irritation seeping through your tone at his behavior.

When he finally looked at you and you met his eyes, he looked distant. But after watching you for a long minute, his eyes started lightening a bit, seeming to come back to himself just a little. 

You tentatively grinned at him and shook your head. 

“What’s wrong?” You asked quietly, your eyes searching his face. 

“Nothing,” he stated, his voice sounding far away, jaw clenching.

“Jake.”

He just ran a quick, stiff hand through his hair, looking ahead of him for a few seconds and then back at you. 

You didn’t tear your focus from him, trailing your eyes past his face and watching his Adam's apple bob in his throat. 

When you looked back into his eyes, your heart beat rapidly as his eyes seemed to sink into your own. He was observing you so intently, your nerves sparking to life under his attention. You shivered a little under his stare. His gaze was dark, something hiding behind his amber-brown irises. 

You felt vulnerable and stark naked.

Instead of shying away, you kept your eyes on him. And the more you studied him—challenged him—an urge started creeping from below the surface. You watched him swivel further to face you.

You let your eyes drift again. Down his body, where his legs were spread. 

And just as you were about to take him somewhere private to talk, maybe even offer him a tour of your childhood bedroom. . .

Your Grandpa reappeared. Jake’s eyes quickly averted from yours, growing huge at the gorgeous white guitar your Grandfather had in tow. 

“A White Falcon?!” Jake asked in astonishment, his eyes growing bigger the closer it came. “Holy sh— wow.”

Your grandpa gave a belly laugh, handing this hidden, prized possession over to the long haired man. “You can say it, son. Holy shit is right. She’s a beauty.”

“A 1960. . .?”

“She’s a ‘67,” your Grandpa replied, admiring the nearly spotless guitar. The gold accents practically sparkled under the yellow glow of your Grandmother’s lamps. “A rare one.”

“You’ve got that right,” Jake said, inspecting the relic. “These are worth thousands these days. Especially in a condition like this,” he commented. “But I’m glad you kept it. I would have, too.”

Your Grandpa made his go-to clicking sound with his cheek. He seemed to be agreeing and disagreeing. (Normal behavior for the aging man.) “I debated getting rid of her a few times here and there. . .but ultimately, I decided she was far too precious to me for me to ever give her up.”

You couldn’t help but feel every single emotion you’d been (uselessly) working to bury, rise to the surface. He had you completely enraptured. . . he was driving you crazy.

Back to observing him and your Grandfather, you lost yourself in thought at the man in front of you. He’d done the impossible. Not only had he started cracking your hard shell, he’d brought out something you’d never seen in your Grandpa. He had helped you to discover this bright side of your Grandpa that you’d doubted for years even existed.

An easygoing, free-minded person that had apparently been lurking below the surface your entire life. 

But it made sense that Jake had been able to do it.

He really had done it for you, too. You’d trusted him with countless things. Your emotions. Your body. Your home. Your TV shows. Your cat.

Jake held the guitar so delicately. But his hands were simultaneously strong and purposeful, making sure to protect the guitar. It was so similar to how he handled you. 

The thought made your blood feel hot in your veins and your legs weak. You crossed your legs, watching his hands hold the keepsake just right. 

The rest of the words exchanged were technical terms about the original price, what it’s currently worth, how it played. . . 

But you weren’t really focused on all of the technicalities as you observed Jake’s fingers on the body of the guitar. How intensely he stared at the instrument as he kept steady conversation, his voice, deep and raspy. . .

You didn’t want to expose yourself with how entranced you were by him at that moment. 

So, you decided you needed to escape as soon as possible. 

“I’m going to search my room for something,” you said, glancing at Jake— who, yet again, wasn’t acknowledging you speaking. What the fuck? “I’ll be back shortly.”

Your Grandpa acknowledged you, giving a little wink before going back to his discussion with Jake.  

-🌼🌼🌼-

Once you’d walked the couple of short hallways to get to your childhood bedroom, you sort of regretted using your bedroom as the excuse to get away.

You hesitated to open the door for a few long moments. 

You hadn’t been back to this room since that day in the car where Elsie had brought up the parts of your childhood that you’d forgotten. 

If you were being honest with yourself, it was intimidating to stand before the door as memories flooded back. 

There was the unnecessary screaming at your sister, coming back to you first. And as you thought back on that, you outwardly cringed at the words you now remembered saying to her. Terrible, hateful, completely untrue things. 

Then, you saw yourself throwing objects. Only ever at Elsie. With her being the person you felt safest with, naturally she was also the person punished most. In particular, a dent in the wall, adjacent to the door, reminded you of this. It was something that your grandparents and Elsie had always dismissed, saying it had ‘always been there.’ 

How in the hell had you blocked these things so intensely? Looking back on it now, it seemed as if those things had happened almost as soon as you’d moved in with your grandparents. 

To be fair, you had been very young and very recently grieved by the things which had occurred at your mother’s house.

Had it been a bad case of disassociation which had made you lose these fragments of time? 

Trauma-induced memory loss? 

Your childhood counselor had used the terms. You remembered that. 

Based on what you could vaguely rehash from those sessions, you probably had disassociated to protect yourself from the dark things. 

Disregarding what happened after moving to your grandparents’, there were several other things you literally couldn’t remember from your time with your mom. Distant flickers of barely-there echoes from a much darker, secret life. 

You were apparently an extreme pro at blocking out anything that may hurt you, and times with your mom and the things you’d done as a child were just that. 

Your eyes tracked the old wooden door, contemplating opening it when you saw the hole at the bottom of it. 

Another thing that had ‘always been there.’ But, right then and there, you could recollect the moment it happened. Clear as day. 

You’d been home alone with Elsie. Something had happened that had you screaming at her. Throwing things at her. Chasing her. If you were seeing the memory correctly, you had even managed to hit her with something. She’d gotten scared and the place she’d thought to run and hide had been your room. She’d been so stricken by the incident, sobbing for you to ‘stop, please!’ But you hadn’t listened. When she’d escaped behind the door, she shut it and locked you out. It had angered you more, making you release every last bit of bottled emotion with several hard kicks to the bottom of the door, resulting in the obscurity that now faced you, taunting you.

Then your grandparents had returned home, observed the incident, and decided that you both needed to immediately start counseling.

Without even realizing it, you were beginning to choke on dry sobs. Your breaths were becoming short and hard to catch. You couldn’t breathe. 

Your vision was fuzzy as you held to the door frame to balance yourself. But seeing it as pointless, your body going limp, your arms shaking, you slid down the wall to the floor. Putting a hand to your chest, you focused on taking deeper breaths, working to count each one you released. 

You pinched your eyes shut and tried to think of something to calm you down. 

Long hair that smelled like citrus. Smooth, tanned skin, glowing in the sun. A kiss underwater. A hand smoothing over your cheek, catching your tears. Soul-filled eyes, like dark whiskey, watching you closely and carefully. A body around yours, protecting you in the most quiet and intimate moments. The smell of sandalwood and amber.

But, right now, that smell was more present than it just being a figment of your imaginings. 

You slowly opened your eyes, still focusing on breathing, to find him right there, next to you. 

He was crouched down, a hand on the wall next to you, using his body as a shield around you. 

Your eyes welled with tears at the sight of him. It was like he knew you needed him.

“You were gone for a bit longer than what seemed normal,” he said, worry evident in his words. “What’s going on?”

Tears were escaping down your cheeks steadily. He took his flannel off, clad in a black t-shirt underneath, collar torn (on purpose?). Then, started dabbing at your cheeks for a few moments with his flannel. Once finished, he handed it to you, for you to wipe at your face with it. 

“Nothing's going on,” you gasped on a breath, almost bringing the flannel to your face when you stopped. “I don’t want to get it dirty with my makeup, Jake,” you gasped, still trying to calm yourself. But the relentless crying was making it near impossible. 

“I don’t care,” he went from crouching, to sitting against the wall, right beside you. His shoulder was a couple inches from touching your own. You caught yourself naturally leaning into it. “I want to help you. Let me.”

You didn’t say anything in response to that, letting the heartfelt words hang in the air around you two, laying your head on his shoulder. Bringing his flannel up to your face, you closed your eyes at the wonderful smell of him that lingered on the shirt and wiped your face with the plaid material.

Keeping your eyes closed, you used his steady breathing as an aid, trying to breathe in time with him. Anytime his shoulder would lift your cheek with a breath, you took one, too. It worked well, your chest feeling less tight, the tears subsiding. 

After a bit, you heard him speak again. His voice, causing a comforting rumble against your cheek. “What happened, honey?”

Honey. Your heart lurched in your chest at the name.

You slowly pried your eyes open again, focusing on the light beige of the walls and the way the textured paint on the wall made a sort of pattern.

“Nothing,” you mumbled. You feared bringing up the details of the way you used to behave. The idea of saying anything was embarrassing. It was daunting to think of exposing yourself like that. “Stuff from the past that’s embarrassing and awful.”

“Nothing you do is embarrassing.”

“Wrong.”

He snickered, placing a hand on your thigh. His trusty black hair-tie, wrapped around his middle finger. You traced the long digit, his knuckle, and then picked at the hair tie, pulling at it to see the skin beneath the band. 

Before you could do any more to his hand, he removed it from your leg. You watched, your head still leaning on his shoulder as he took the black rubber band off. Suddenly, you were moving from his shoulder as his body shifted. Peering up curiously, he motioned for you to turn your head. You did so, and within seconds, your hair was pulled up and away from your hot face. 

You looked over your shoulder at him, growing goosebumps as his fingers lingered on the skin of your neck. “Thank you.”

Situating yourself in your position from before, you decided on a whim to wrap your hand underneath his arm. You continued until you were lacing your fingers through his, his calloused fingertips wrapping around to rest on the top of your hand. 

“You don’t have to tell me,” he started, voice low, as if keeping a secret. “But I’m here. I need you to know that. Whatever the case may be, I am here for you.”

“Thanks,” you hummed, squeezing his hand. “Jake?”

“Hm?”

“How did things change between us?”

He chuckled. “Well, it started when you walked into my bedroom the night of—.”

You shushed him, not able to hide your light giggle as you used your other palm to hit his hard chest. How was he able to turn things around so quickly for you? Your body felt so light and airy now, calm and at peace. The foggy memories weren’t so scary when he was with you.

“I mean. . .how are we like this now? Cordial?”

“We started trusting each other, I guess,” he said, all joking gone from his tone. 

“Yeah. . .,” you agreed. “And as silly as it is, I think you were onto something with mentioning the first night we. . .”

“I don’t think it’s silly, honestly. . . If we are being honest with ourselves, sex changes everything,” he stated, his thumb tapping a light beat against your hand. He was right. It truly did change things. For good or for bad, you didn’t know. 

“And those Aretha Franklin songs the other morning. . .,” he pushed a breath from his lips to follow his words.

You gasped. “You felt it too?” Finally looking up from his shoulder, you ignored the voice that was telling you to not give into the moment as you turned to him. Because when you looked up at him, his dark brown eyes were familiar, honest, and real. You couldn’t help but let them be your safe place. That was what they’d become. 

It can’t be this way forever. Stop while you’re ahead, the voice warned. Stop giving in.

But you kindly told it to fuck off as you swam in his irises.

“It was impossible not to. The music and the moment. . . ,” he grinned, a dimple presenting itself in his cheek. Then he raised a brow, turning his head a bit, keeping his eye on you. “But, don't forget. We’re just roommates.”

You flushed. “I had to say that.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know,” you sighed, hearing them from his mouth, you realized that your Grandpa had been right about your words being harsh. “Didn’t want anyone catching onto anything? I don’t know.”

“It’s okay,” he said, his smile not reaching his eyes, but still there. His eyes traveled the walls around you. You could tell his mind was still looming on how he’d found you in the hallway, only minutes ago. 

The column of his neck hypnotized you, the muscles that flexed beneath the flesh so strong and sure. You were aching to put your lips on the skin, then his eyes found yours, caught you watching him, yet again. He lifted a brow, eyes flickering to your lips, staring at your mouth as you licked to wet them. 

When he bit his lip, it was over.

You couldn’t help it. Your breath caught in your throat, your heart was racing. . .

Without even worrying about getting caught, you angled yourself towards him until your lips met his in a kiss. You had to be near him. Needed to be closer, closer, closer. 

He gave it back, matching the force behind your kisses.

It continued like that for a few short moments, but right before you could slip your tongue between his lips, he placed a hand to your cheek, gentle as he held your face steady, pulling back to study your features.

He waited for you to speak. You both knew why he’d put a stop to it. 

And as if to drive the point home, Josh’s laugh echoed through the entire house— a blatant reminder of why you couldn’t do this here.

You looked down to see where he was situating himself in his black skinny jeans, your skin heating all the more. 

As much as you wanted to leave at that instant, you didn’t want to seem abrupt or strange by doing that. You knew it would be best to eat dessert and then leave. 

You tucked a couple of loose strands, having fallen from your makeshift ponytail, behind your ears. Then, you asked. “Wanna eat some pie and then get out of here?” 

“Sounds perfect.”

-🌼🌼🌼-

Laying in his bed later that night, sweaty limbs pressed together and chests heaving, your head resting on his chest as he twirled fingers in your hair, now loose around your shoulders. . . You decided to tell him.

“Earlier tonight, when you found me,” you took a deep breath, preparing yourself for your next words. “I was trying to recover from a panic attack.”

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah,” you said, pausing. As much as you wanted to look at him when you told him the next part, you decided it would be easier to keep your eyes on his SG, sitting on its stand across his bedroom. “I get them sometimes.”

“Why?” He asked, voice light and calm. 

“Different things. . . tonight, it was because I started having these extremely vivid flashbacks from my childhood.”

“About your mom?”

“Not necessarily— not this time,” you cleared your throat as tears pricked at your eyes. It hurt to think about the nasty, younger version of yourself. “This time, it was more about what I used to do when I was younger.” Tears were falling on his chest, your chest was tight as they kept coming, his skin prickling in their wake. “I–I’m sor–sorry.”

“Why, baby?” His voice settled your nerves. Warm. Soft. Him. 

“I hate that you have to see me cry,” you sniffled, wiping at the tears on his chest. But instead of letting you continue, he held your hand there, so you could feel the stable beating of his heart. 

“If crying is what it takes to heal, I’m here to listen to you as you wade through it.”

This time, you were crying from his words and the way his skin felt against your own. He was your safety. He was here. He was real.

He was here to help. Let him.

“Okay,” you breathed, trying to settle your breaths, focusing on the way his heart beat rhythmically under your hand. 

So, you opened up. You told him about everything that Elsie had reminded you of that day in the car; told him what seeing the door had done to you – and everything that had reared its ugly head all at once tonight.

“Wow,” he let out a deep breath in response. “I’m so sorry.”

“Yeah. I was such a fucking demon,” you muttered sadly, your heart breaking as the images and sounds were once again coming back. “And I can’t escape it.”

“Why can’t you?”

You wrinkled your brows, resituating to lean on your arm beside him. His eyes followed you, open and honest and Jake. “I caused severe trauma for others– just like my mom did. I made mistakes that I can never take back.”

“You said you were ten?” He asked. You nodded. “You were a child.”

“It’s not an excuse.”

“It’s not,” he agreed. “But you need to give yourself some grace.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re human.”

“But so were the people I hurt.”

“Who would you say you hurt most?”

“Els.”

“And has she forgiven you?”

“I think so,” you muttered, remembering Elsie that day in the car.

“I’ve moved on. Anytime you did any of that stuff, I moved on as soon as you’d done it.”

“You were in pain and somehow, I just knew it. . . I knew then it wouldn’t be fair for me to hold something against you that you probably didn’t mean. I knew the only reason you were acting that way was because someone else had hurt you. It wasn’t all your fault. It was mostly mom’s. You just didn’t know how to react to it.” 

“Then you need to forgive yourself,” he said, moving some tresses of hair behind your shoulders to be able to put an open palm to your chest, right where your heart laid beneath the flesh. “Your heart is beautiful. That’s what matters. Always has been, always will be,” he gave you one kiss, deep enough to emphasize the words. It left you dizzy as he went back to his spot, never letting his hand leave your chest. “I just want you to understand that people make mistakes,” he smiled, reassuring. “I’ve made a shit ton.”

You chuckled. “Yeah.”

“Yeah,” he nodded, both of you sharing a knowing laugh. 

“But," you started, feeling the need to encourage him as well. "That wasn’t you. You were hurting.”

“So were you, back then,” he reasoned, his voice soft. 

“I guess,” you relented slightly. “Elsie told me a lot of this, too, but I just couldn’t believe her. It’s hard to see the good in myself from back then, though, knowing all of the horrific things I did,” you stated simply. You held his hand to your chest as you laid on your back, not wanting him to move it. “I just can’t shake how I let myself forget it so easily. I’ve gone all these years not truly knowing who I was– who I am.”

“Have you ever considered going to therapy again?”

“No,” your heart beat faster at the prospect.

He could feel it, and reacted as such. He came closer to you, his chest and stomach pressing into you, more skin-to-skin to help calm you. “Would you consider it?”

“I don’t know,” you looked down at your hand and his, still over your heart. “Depends, I guess.”

He hummed. “Okay,” he answered, relenting from the hard questions. “How about you work on forgiving yourself and I’ll look into different types of therapy? Let you know what I come across?”

Your heart slowed down, the tiniest smile lifting your lips. Your hand gripped his. Your anchor. Your safety. “Alright.”

-🌼🌼🌼-

A couple days later, you sat on your couch, mesmerized by Jake, who was sitting next to you. 

Well, kind of. He was on the cushion at the opposite end of the sofa as you. 

All you wanted was to be closer to him, but you knew you couldn’t do that. Honestly, you weren’t sure you could trust yourself.

These days, if he was close enough for you to touch him, you were going to be touching him. Whether it be rubbing his shoulders, playing with his continuously growing hair, or laying on top of him (sometimes naked, sometimes not).

But you were appreciating your vantage point tonight. Watching closely as he played through some new songs with Josh. Josh would sing, and Jake would play the same thing. Jake would play, then Josh would sing it verbatim. 

It was interesting to watch them, bouncing off of each other creatively like that. 

Twin telepathy at its finest.

You were stuck in a trance, trying your damnedest to give equal attention to Josh, so as not to raise any suspicion. But it was getting harder and harder to resist watching Jake– being near him, day by day. 

Trying to find other things to focus on, your eyes floated across the room, observing all of the men around you. They’d all been growing their hair out as well. And, normally, a guy growing his hair out was not a huge deal. 

But with these guys? It seemed to you, it was a visual for their changing life. The longer their hair got, the more it was obvious that they were moving onto a new stage of life.

They were becoming rockstars. Truly.

Not only were they making music day in and day out, playing it live every week, preparing for a humongous music festival that would feature many huge bands. . . they were looking more and more like it, too. 

But they were still your boys. 

Never changing.

Sam’s ever-nasally voice interrupted your rambling thoughts, as if on cue. You smiled in his direction, pointing your attention to him. 

“Jake,” he started, excited as he looked intently at his phone screen.

“What, Sam?” He responded with a slight growl to say his younger brother’s name. “Can’t you tell I’m creatively processing?”

Danny let out one loud laugh, his eyes sparkling with a laugh. Josh joined in momentarily, then went back to humming

“Oh, fuck off, Jake,” he rolled his eyes, a smile still adorning his baby face. He trotted his lanky legs over to the couch, sitting between you and your roommate. “Look at this picture of Maya,” he angled the phone so it was right in front of Jake, but turned just right so you couldn’t see it. 

You giggled at Jake having to pull away from the bright screen to get a better look. “God, Sam,” he said, annoyed, grabbing the phone out of Sam’s hand. “Turn your fucking brightness down.”

“Don’t tell me how to live my life, Jacob,” he responded, flipping his hair and rolling his eyes. He turned in your direction for support, throwing a thumb behind him at Jake. “He’s annoying.”

You were still laughing as you asked your question. “Who’s Maya?”

“Jake hasn’t told you about Maya?!” He wondered aloud, his voice raising a decibel or two. 

“No, I haven’t, Sam,” Jake said, his tone clipped, holding the phone tighter in his firm grip, long fingers flexing around the device. “Shut the fuck up.”

Your brows drew in at his behavior. Now you were dying to know who Maya was and why he was suddenly acting so weird about her.

“I ask again, who is Maya?”

“She’s asking Jake,” Sam stated, as if he’d won. “I’m telling her.”

“Sam–.”

“Maya is Jake’s super hot client that he used to fuck. When he first moved here,” Sam clarified. “Still does, I think. I mean, who wouldn’t?!” Then he laughed, hitting Jake’s stiff arm with the back of his hand.

He was doing what, now? 

Chancing a look at the man in question, you noticed he was angry.

Seething was a better term. 

You could tell as he gripped the neck of his guitar, his chest rising with constricted breaths, nose flaring, staring at Josh, who was simply shaking his head in return. 

Sam took his phone from Jake’s hand, gaining it with some effort. But getting it in his grasp anyway. Right as he’d done so, the hand Jake’d been holding it in clenched to a fist, his jaw tightening. The hand on the neck became dangerously tight.

“Sammy. . .,” Josh tried intervening. His eyes jumped back and forth between each brother, desperate for there to be peace. 

Social cues apparently off, Sam was still smiling wide. 

“This is Maya,” he said, flashing the phone in front of your face, holding it there for you to get a good, long look. 

No. Couldn’t be.

The air left your chest, your vision zeroing in on the bright screen of the phone, everything else blurry around you as your head suddenly felt extremely light, body heavy. 

Surely not. . .

You squinted, taking a closer look at the phone before you jumped to any sort of conclusion. 

But the house behind her, as well as her long, dark black hair. . . 

You knew you were correct in your assumption of who it was. 

The joy that the youngest brother exuded was the exact opposite of how you were feeling. The giant stone that had fallen to sit at the bottom of your stomach was suddenly weighing you to the couch. 

You nodded at the screen, pushing the device away from you, hands shaking slightly. “You really do need to turn your brightness down, Sam,” you said, clearing your throat as it got painfully tight.

Play it cool, play it cool.

You were working so hard to hide your emotions. A small smile twitched at your lips. The tears in your throat made them wobble a tiny bit. 

Stop it, y/n.

Jake’s voice cut through, directly to your ears.  “It meant nothing—.” 

You didn’t look at him, only focusing back on Sam as he spoke. You tried hard to keep your eyes wide and clear of anything concerning.

“He still sees her for lessons,” he said, wiggling his brows. “What happens at guitar lessons, stays at guitar lessons,” he elbowed Jake’s arm, tense as the muscle in his bicep flexed, fist still bunched. “Am I right, brother?!”

Sam was the only one smiling in the room. 

The room was tense, Sam tucking his phone back into the pocket of his silky, vibrant button down. He pushed his sunglasses further into his hair.

You were frozen, not even daring to look up at Jake’s face. You studied your hands, then grabbed your phone off of the coffee table to pretend you were checking it. The frenzied emotions in your gut were not trustworthy. If you looked at him, you were sure you’d fall apart.

It doesn’t mean anything. It’s not like they’re still fucking, you tried to reassure yourself. Right?!

But then, you thought about him taking a while at her house. All of his excuses were adding up. 

Had three Ubers really canceled? Or had he just been too busy fucking her and lost track of time?

It made sense, considering the way she’d watched him leave. The hug. 

And what he’d said to her right before he got in the car. Talking about his ‘favorite part of his day’ . . . Fuck. Your chest hurt, the words making so much more sense now. . .

His favorite part of the day. . . 

Your vision got cloudy. What were you? Sad? Angry? Both? You couldn’t fucking tell.

You just needed to get out of the room. 

As you stood up from your spot, your legs wobbled a bit, your mind scrambling for the first excuse that could come to it. “I’ve gotta pee.”

Still not looking at Jake, you walked as fast as you could to the bathroom. 

The last thing you heard before shutting the door to the bathroom was Danny’s voice, trying to break the air-right atmosphere.

“How about dinner?”

-🌼🌼🌼-

a/n: uh oh. . .

alsoooo, you'll notice that we haven't even gotten to the scene from the sneak peek yet. . . all of that will come to you in part 2. . . see you again soon, loves ;)

send in your thoughts!! i love hearing from you <3

thank you for being the best readers in the world!!! love you all so much!

& as usual, it wouldn’t let me tag some of y’all. :( so please check to see that you’re down there because if you’ve asked to be on the taglist, i tried to tag you. buuuut tumblr wouldn’t let me do it for everyone 🙃 ugh. and if i somehow forgot to tag someone, please also let me know that! (i'm a NOOB and i have terrible memory)

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[fappellmoan]

not to sit here and weave a story out of nothing like a little protagonist via my quirky online storytelling but i rekindled my friendship with sam who is such an interesting person there are just a lot of stories of all sorts and this is funny timing but truly we just fell into such an easy banter this past class so we were like omg lets hang right so. his roommate really is just like stupid hot right. i could get corny with it but i wont. a face sculpted by the hands of god though. all this prefaced i will now tell u an absolutely nothing story and i really mean that read at your own discretion ((A/N: trust and believe i yapped. putting under keep reading to be somewhat forgivable) (i am not in my best of states rn. okay.)

anyway so we're chillin in sams room im getting caught up on the latest construction projects and shit.. one thing abt sam hes always up to something. they've got an entire work desk #butchrealness. then i hear some singing out in the hallway but from where im sitting cant actually see anyone so convo just goes sam and roommate 'hey' 'hey' and then i peeked my little head out and waved and said hey and they stopped and set down their basket and said 'Hey' and then i did not introduce myself (flop) (combo of cramped room and sam talking and me being wildly awkward) (also keep in mind i dont know if this person has swiped left on me or not been on tinder or if theyd even recognize me anyway and hating that that's even a situation bc i hate that stupid app but just hoping worst case scenario i dont come off as an insane stalker but rather a victim of circumstance) but they just chatted for a sec abt whatever shelf sam needs to fix and that was that. and then they went back to humming which was cute or whatever

to set the next scene we're down in the kitchen and sams cooking and this is a while after we took his homemade gummies so im not rlly high per se but chillin and something about the noise and setup in their kitchen is so overstimulating for me lol when shes cooking im just like frozen. i always offer to help but he always just gets in a groove it's best i dont intervene. one time he had to tell me to go sit down in the other room bc i was freakin out a little lol

so im perched on this single high chair they have in the kitchen right next to their washer and dryer as sams whipping up some food and im kind of obnoxiously saying Unfortch in response to a story he was telling me and he gives me a look so im like UnfortunateLy. and then hes like 'psh i know unfortch i live with this guy' cue roommate strollin in with laundry and theyre just like Whaat and sam explains and theyre like Oh ofc you gotta know unfortch or whatever. forgot to mention that earlier in sams room they said three similar abbreviated words in a row just during a normal sentence and it caught me so off guard i wanted to giggle. so naturally my brain is going through Immediate social response of a semi awk laugh or quippy remark about that but also theyre literally like a foot away from me and im largely nonverbal atm lmfaoo so i just mumble smth to try and go along w the bit but then trailed off cause i was like wtf am i even saying. brain was overloaded

and then i was like um. i literally was just staring around doing fuck all like a perched bird or something but i was fighting a war in my mind of like ok do i introduce myself or look to sam to do so or do we not do that or is that rude idk but also they have headphones on one ear and are doing all their laundry shit and i once again dont want to be like overbearing but also well come on now we gotta feel out the vibe (and i do a great job here.) idk so im like Ok dont just look at them but dont Not look at them just behave like a normal person. you know. the usual. sam comes over to give me a bit of bread with balsamic vinegar and oil and i spilled it on my sweater fuck this stupid baka life (didnt really show. but still they were right there..)

and so after a min of this they were kinda like awkward laugh 'dont mind me' and i once again was very self conscious and had several things that wanted to come out 'not at all' 'dont mind me' 'it's your house' 'these all sound awful abby' then i got anxious that i was in the way the whole time but they were almost done and if i got into a weird apology thing well i would have had to kill myself so i just once again kind of uttered something that would have sounded like 'youresogoodicanmovetoo' and also 'sorry if i just keep like looking over at you' WTF IS THAT SHIT. FUMBLE BOOOOO and my follow up was essentially nothing cause i couldnt decide if i should say 'im just a bit out of it/high' 'im easily distracted (kys)' 'idk what to do w myself haha' 'im useless in the kitchen' (not entirely true) i mean just a few minutes before sam and i had talked about how ill just wander around peoples rooms and observe things to avoid feeling awkward and it's just how i am and so i was kinda just doing that due to the nerves of the sitch but there was only so much to look at. and i just sat there. offputting realness. whatever. so. straight face emoji. and that was mostly the extent of that i dont remember what they said in response just like a lil laugh or w/e. probably couldnt hear my stupid ass mumbling. so im thinking my chances of charming them at all are really stellar

if you read all this i want you to just take note that the events depicted here could not have been more than 3-4 minutes collectively. and yet the yap goes on..

for future reference, what did we learn? probably best to just continue convo with sam, excuse urself to br, or perhaps even attempt a conversation w them if ever in a similar situation again and they talk to you first again. also stop inventing complicated situations in ur head chill the hell out. idiot. says the bitch with the anxiety disorder. feel free to egg me on or tell me to fuck off ok xoxoxoxxo love u

[bbyboybucket]

Hey Bby! I hope all is good in your world today! I hear you wanted Bucky questions... crackles knuckles, rolls up sleeves

Feel free to answer any, all, or none of these!

1. IIRC, Malcolm Spellman confirmed that Bucky & Sam move in together after TFATWS. What do you think Bucky & Sam's shared home is like? And how well do they get along as roommates? Give me your sweet sweet headcanons.

2. What is one thing, big or small, on your wishlist for stuff you'd like to see in Cap4/Thunderbolts?

3. What is one fanfic that you would love for someone to write? Or just a trope, idea, or situation that you love to read.

Aw yay, thank you for asking and I hope all is well for you too! :))) And I genuinely apologize in advance because I know this is gonna be long

1. I just know their bickering didn’t go away, they still do it all the time, and usually it’s because Bucky’s just annoying and has to pick (harmless) fights for shits and giggles. It’s over silly stuff, the most irrelevant little things. Sam though, he lovesssss to tease and torment, he’ll purposely annoy Bucky cause it’s hilarious to get a rise out of him.

Bucky is a little obsessed with Sam and very much grateful to have him as a roommate, so he tries to subtly and cooly (fails) do nice things for Sam. He’ll buy Sam stuff, take care of his errands, surprise him….just any little thing to show his appreciation, and he tries hard to play it off as no big deal. But Sam knows, he can very clearly see the affection in every little act but he spares Bucky of being called out until he’s comfortable enough to admit himself. Idk I also just picture him as a low key house husband while Sam’s busy doing his captain America stuff.

There’s lots of movie nights, or tv nights, or just nights generally dedicated to Sam catching Bucky up on pop culture. Which is extra fun for Sam because how often in life do you get to play teacher and show a person all the things you like?

Sam cooks, Bucky cleans. Sam’s basically a whole pro chef, like he learned good from his momma. Bucky’s tried to return the favor, but instead got banned from the kitchen for the abominations he’d try to pass as meals.

The first few days they live together, internally Bucky’s a little too excited, like a kid at his first sleepover or something, and he’s a little odd…he kinda just awkwardly follows Sam around the place at all times as if he doesn’t know what to do with himself other than be right with Sam. It takes Sam gently pointing out that Bucky can go to his own room and they can have private time.

They’re very touchy too, constant casual touch’s throughout the day, always invading each others personal space.

2. Honestly…..I’m beating a dead horse here but I wish BOTH of those would get some major revisions. I feel like everyone who follows me knows how I feel about thunderbolts, but the more that comes out about Cap 4, the less happy I am with it too bc it sounds like a hulk movie in disguise. I’m still holding out hope for Cap 4 because it sounds like it has potential to be solid still, but thunderbolts…my expectations have been shot dead. Anyways….short version, I’d like to see the two movies be connected by Sam having Bucky play double agent to help take down Val and Ross from the inside. That’s at the bare minimum.

Getting more in depth though, I would totally change the line up for Thunderbolts. I mean, beyond just removing Bucky because the problems with what’s been confirmed run way farther than just him. I mean Zemo should totally be there considering he’s the main team leader in the comics and it’d be so so so easy for there to have been a release deal. White Vision joining would be a great way to bring him back, especially since he’s government property now, and also diversify the skill set of the team so that its not completely bland, and so they wouldn’t get immediately obliterated by the confirmed villain (or use a ton of plot armor for the teams survival). Titania would be awesome and a perfect fit personality wise, and it’d also be a great chance to rejuvenate her character and actually give her/Jameela a serious chance. I mean there’s plenty of others that would be good too depending on the route of the story. But yeah, sorry for the rambling on this one….it’s just a mess of movie already when there was a ton of potential 🤦🏼‍♀️

3. I love multiverse/variant fics where current Bucky and the WS are stuck together. Or even 40s Bucky, cause I’ve read several great fics about that too. I’m obsessed with those, I don’t care how many times it’s done, I will eat that shit up every time! I’ll literally go feral over any fic with that concept. It’s so fun to me and there’s some much that can be done when exploring such contrasting versions of Bucky would react to/interact with each other.

But that being said I can’t say I’ve ever read one where it’s just the WS and 40s Bucky in the same time. I think that’d be the MOST chaotic scenario and would be very very fun to read

[sacredjake]

Tag Game To Better Know You! Send this to people you'd like to know better!

thank you @safety-sam for tagging me :)))) i love you <3

What book are you currently reading?

• ummmm the only thing i’ve been reading are fics so um, i’ve been reading Lazarus

What do you usually wear?

• an over sized t-shirt and nike shorts/leggings and my white low top converse. i love a good sweatshirt or hoodie :)

How tall are you?

• 5’3, almost 5’4. i’m short lol

What's your star sign? Do you share a birthday with a celebrity or historical event?

• i’m a taurus :) i share a birthday with gal gadot and kirsten dunst. ummmm lol hitler died on my birthday…

Do you go by your name or a nickname?

• i go by my name! there aren’t many nicknames for julie lol

Did you grow up to become what you wanted to be as a child?

• no, but not in a bad way. i just decided i wanted to do something different :)

What is something you’re good as vs. something you’re bad at?

• hmmm something i’m good at? i’m oddly good at predicting plot lines in tv shows and movies lol. as for something i’m bad at, i’m a bad cook. not like terrible, but i’m bad at following directions.

If you draw/write, or create in any way, what's your favorite picture/favorite line/favorite etc. from something you created this year?

• i don’t do any of those :/ but i like my theme for my blog lol. i did make some of my friends some gvf themed bracelets and keychains :) that was fun.

Dogs or cats?

• i am definitely a cat person. i have 3 that i am actually on a road trip right now with… yay.

What's something you would like to create content for?

• um i guess maybe writing fics one day, but that’s about it.

What’s something you’re currently obsessed with?

• hmm let me thi- greta van fleet. also this show i’m watching with my boyfriend called Animal Kingdom, sooooo good. jake kiszka.

What's something you were excited about that turned out to be disappointing this year?

• my college’s homecoming game lol. long story short, but my friend got kicked out of a bar (rightfully so bc he was hammered), and another friend caused some issues. we won tho

What’s a hidden talent of yours?

• per malany’s request: knowing like every word to movies.

What's something you wish to have at this moment?

• the ability to teleport, so i wouldn’t have to drive for 24hrs with 3 cats. or to not have anxiety. and definitely sleep.

no pressure tag hehe @allieisacrybaby @shutupdevvie @malany-gvf and @brokenbellsgvf

[syeunko]

Boston homecoming

I looked back at my unfinished goodbye post for Boston from two years ago now, and I had this Joan Didion quote in there: "a place belongs forever to whoever claims it hardest, remembers it most obsessively, wrenches it from itself, shapes it, renders it, loves it so radically that he remakes it in his own image.” Then I'd written, "Boston belongs to me."

Which is 1) not true and 2) funny because I left Boston. And I most definitely did not remake Boston in my own image. But I'm back now! Like Colin said, "The prodigal daughter returns..."

On Monday, Bella picked me up from the airport, smiley and bubbly as per usual, wearing the matching green shirt I'd gotten for us to wear when we moved into 372 McGrath. It was a full circle moment.

I had my first meal at 223 Pearl St in my empty room, on the floor, with Junwon. It felt right, though it probably shouldn't have.

Sam (and Junwon, but mostly Sam) built my very complicated furniture. In the pictures I took of them assembling my furniture, Sam is hunched or huddled over the instruction manual or the furniture parts. The posture reminded me of how Sam had earnestly prayed for me during my last MNP I cried through before I left for NY.

On Thursday, I went to the Symphony July 4th picnic, where I saw Kevin and Grace. Seeing them - my spiritual anchors and my closest friends - felt like I had really, truly returned to Boston.

I met up with Glo on Friday afternoon. When I left Boston, I remember feeling disappointed we wouldn't be able to capitalize on our friendship potential. While catching up, Gloria said, "I didn't expect you to come back." I responded, "I didn't expect you to still be here." We agreed that we were both glad that I was back, she was still here, and that we could hang out more.

Afterwards, Yeojin and I had dinner at home. With Yeojin, I become more extroverted, expressive, and open, probably because she is so introverted and quiet. I decided during our surprisingly lengthy conversation I like her a lot. I like watching her reactions and large doe eyes process things in real time, and I think I'll learn a lot from her.

In true Allison fashion, we (including Alex) grabbed a nice brunch on Saturday. I love them so. They are so amusing (Allison) and cute (Alex). That is all.

Christine graciously cooked me a roasted salad for dinner, which we ate with Alisha. I definitely felt my old(er) age, but it was nice feeling like I was in college again; our conversations were extremely frivolous yet extremely entertaining.

I spent all of Sunday with Esther. After lunch, I cried and sniffled at her in a cafe, where she suddenly slapped an open water bottle in a failed bug assassination attempt, and water splashed everywhere. We laughed so hard (I think I have the most deliriously stupid yet glorious laughs with Esther), and then I cried again when she offered to keep me company for the rest of the day because I was so sad. How lucky am I to have a friend like Esther - "my heart is vibrating with tenderness."

Today, I walked to MNP for old times sake. It took me an hour and twenty minutes. I stopped at the bridge Hanna would always force us to take selfies at, and I took a shy solo selfie in remembrance (idk why I'm acting like someone died). To me, MNPs are like showers: I never feel excited about them but I always feel better afterwards. Kevin led worship again today. Him leading is my favorite not only because the worship is objectively the best but also because it's so comforting. Esther and I got to pray together; "Thank you God that we get to pray together in this moment!"

After we shared and prayed with each other, Esther said, "The way you speak kind of reminds me of Job." She opened up the bible and pointed to "Job Continues: My Life Has No Hope." I just about died laughing. Alas, such are the overdramatized and over-romanticized lives of Enneagram 4s. She is currently at my desk finishing up a discussion post as I write this, and I am reassured again by her presence.

That about sums up my first week back in Boston. It had so many good, sweet moments, but so much sadness too. I miss Duke and my family a lot, which is bittersweet. In some ways, being back in Boston is exactly what I'd imagined, but also nothing like I'd expected it to be, and I feel a lot of grief in that lost hope. But I shall still trek along in hopes and with gingerly-held faith that things will only get better from here. I'm home!

[chernayawidow]

WOOHH my petty side really reared itself while reading this LMAOOO 🤣

Me at Dean;

“There’s half a ham sandwich in the mini fridge.” — Excuse you Dean but being bored doesn’t equal being hungry 🤣

No, there was a science experiment in the fridge. You didn’t trust meat cooked by a supernatural joy buzzer on steroids, let alone two-week-old meat cooked by a ‘roided up kid’s prank. — Very wise, because I wouldn’t trust that either bleh!

“Here,” he said, and tossed you a folded newspaper underneath the one he was reading. “Look through that. See if there’s anything that sounds like our kind of gig.” — Dean’ solution to free time = hunting… NOT ON MY WATCH!

Dean rolled his eyes and chose to ignore you, even as you began to drum your nails again, this time on the book sitting on your lap. — this is very on brand for me as a person lmao

“But that would require effort,” you whined, and rolled onto your side, teasing him with the curve of your ass in the spandex shorts you often wore to bed. — HELP WHY IS THIS ME! I feel very called out omfg 😩

“Guess who’s not givin’ any fucks today?” — Let’s see if you keep that same attitude when I fuck your tall younger brother 🫨

“Get your ass off the couch before I kick you off,” he said gruffly, turning back to his newspaper. — imma bout to kick this dudes ass!

“Been called worse.” — You ever been called dick nugget McGee?

“Not as exercise, Dean. Just walk with me, talk with me,” you implored. — Yeah Dean, yknow, get out of that stuffy room and indulge in something ordinary for once with your girlfriend damn.

“Goddamn it. Can’t you see I’m working on something here? Does it have to be right fuckin’ now?” he snapped. He slipped his arm out of your grip, clearly not in the mood for your antics. — THATS IT LETS GO AND FUCK SAM, THEN WE’LL SEE HOW HE LIKES THAT! Maybe that’ll offer him some motivation 😒

��Where d’you think you’re going?” he drawled. — Not him acting like he wasn’t being an ass just a millisecond ago 🤚 The way that my petty and very temperamental ass woulda started a fight and probably gone to get kidnapped on purpose or somethin out of pure spite 🤣

“I said to get your ass off the couch,” he recalled. — it’s giving Ross Geller vibes.

“Okay, let’s go then.” He shoved the newspapers to the side and went for his leather jacket draped on a nearby chair. — Man he’s sooo lucky I’m not able to jump into the story and spitefully fuck his brother just for switching up like a mf 💀

Instead of arguing further, you decided you would ignore him if he was going to be a dick about it. — You’re doing great sweetie! 🫶

“Don’t be so pissy,” Dean said. He slid his hands in his pockets and despite his longer stride, he set a sedate pace. — says the asshole who was just getting temperamental about his girlfriend wanting to spend time with him 💀🤚

Your lips were in an angry (but kind of adorable) pout, and he had the urge to bite that lower lip like you had earlier at the motel room, when he’d nearly let you pin him on the couch. — You do that slugger, but whatever violent actions follow isn’t my fault 🤷‍♀️

He could appreciate that you wanted to spend some time alone, where you weren’t talking about, or doing anything hunting related. He was just, admittedly, a little slow on the uptake. — How am I able to sympathise with Soldier Boy more then Dean 🤣 like seriously, SB is a terrible person and yet I concede more for him then for Dean in this moment LMAOOO!! I guess bc there’s nowhere to go but up from being a kidnap victim 🤣🤣

I adore your writing as per usual, and I’m keen to read more of your Dean stuff 🫶

Talk Bacon to Me | Dean x Reader

Summary: A rare lazy morning where you feel like pestering Dean a little. He objects to being pestered, but ultimately, you both just want to spend some time together.

Pairing: Dean x Female Reader Word Count: 2800 Warnings: None

After roughly an hour of rare quiet in which Dean continued to flip through newspapers, you looked up from the book you were reading.

You stretched out on the dingy couch you were both occupying; for once it was made out of frayed leather and not the usual moth-eaten fabric that usually passed as furniture at the motels you stayed at.

You stared at Dean’s concentrated profile from where he sat at the far end of the couch.

It was a good view.

Three-weeks’ worth of stubble on such a defined jawline was worth the extra few seconds of ogling, but even you could only stare at your boyfriend for so long before his handsome profile became blurry.

Evidently, you were bored.

You sighed, the not-on-purpose (on purpose) kind. 

It didn’t even get his eyes off the page. Knowing Dean, if it wasn’t from his “secret” stash of porn (stored under the cache of weapons in Baby’s trunk; real clever by the way), whatever he was reading couldn’t be that interesting, could it?

Keep reading

[spnexploration]

Collared part 4

Pairing: Dean x Reader eventually

Series summary: Sam and Dean save a woman from where she has been held as a slave by a witch. But things turn dark whenever they try to take her magic collar off, leaving them with a slave to look after and a curse to break.

Episode summary: Dean learns about being a slave's master.

Warnings: Slavery, some references to past mistreatment

Word count: 1.6k

Series masterlist | Supernatural writing masterlist

Part 3 <- -> Part 5

“Ok,” your master said to you, sounding uncomfortable. You continued to kneel, looking at the floor and awaiting your master’s orders. “So, uh, have that shower and then you can put these clothes on. Sorry that they'll be a bit big but they're the smallest we've got. I'll wait just outside, but uh the door probably won't close properly since Sam kicked it open. We’ll have to fix that. Ok, um, any questions?”

“No, sir.” You knew better than to question your master. Your last mistress had instilled that lesson well.

Trench coat and Sam had already left the room, and your master walked to the door and pulled it closed behind him.

You stood up, hesitantly looking around. It was far nicer and more spacious than any bathroom you could remember being in. You'd never been given privacy either, usually just hosed off and put back in your room.

You heard your master shuffle his feet outside the room. Right, you'd be in trouble if you took too long, you reminded yourself. You quickly stripped your tattered, wet, bloody and vomited on clothes and stepped into the shower.

You turned the tap to cold and braced yourself against the pain and shock of the water. Luxuries are not for slaves, you remembered that lesson well too. You shivered as you hastily scrubbed your body, and felt relief as you turned off the water.

Your master hadn’t mentioned a towel so you put on the clothes he’d provided, as per his order, while you were still dripping wet. You padded over to the door and pulled it open, dropping your eyes to the floor.

“Hey sweethea-” your master started to say as he turned around, but seemed to stop once he was looking at you. “Why are you wet?”

Crap, you'd done the wrong thing. “I'm sorry, sir.”

He touched your arm, “You're freezing!”

That wasn't a question, no response necessary.

He ran his hand through his hair. “This is my fault,” he muttered.

“OK, sorry Y/N,” he said in a normal volume again, “I should have been clearer. I want you to go and have another shower to warm up. I want you to make it as warm or hot as you would like. You can use any of the soaps, shampoo, conditioner, whatever else Sammy has in there, whatever you want. Then you can use as many towels as you'd like and dry yourself off. Then get dressed. Understand?”

“Yes, sir.” What the hell?! You'd been expecting blows, not a hot shower. Perhaps he wanted to lull you into a false sense of security? It made you nervous.

You returned to the bathroom.

---

Once you were cleaned and dried to your master’s satisfaction, you followed him to the kitchen. He didn't tell you what to do once you got there, so you took the safe route of going to your knees next to the end of the bench and looking at the floor.

You heard a small sigh from him. Damn, this was wrong too. It was so hard to work out what he wanted, and you weren't used to having to second guess people. Your mistress, the handlers and even most of the clients had always been very clear.

“What do you want to eat?” Your master asked you.

“I eat at the pleasure of my master.”

“Uh, yeah. Ok, well, my pleasure right now is that I’d like you to tell me what you like.”

“I have no preference but what my master provides.”

Your master groaned. You flinched.

“Sorry, sorry,” he said hastily. Great, now you'd upset him.

“I'm sorry, sir. I will not do it again.”

“No, no, my fault. Um, ok. Do you eat eggs?”

“Yes, sir.”

There was a slight pause. “You would say that to any food I mentioned, wouldn't you?”

“Yes, sir.”

You stayed kneeling while your master cooked. Every so often you snuck a glance up at him, which you were able to do because he hadn't specifically ordered you into this position. If he had, you'd have had no choice but to obey, thanks to your collar.

It was strange to see a master cooking. Other slaves had done that with your mistress, not that you'd ever had much interaction with them or sat in the kitchen. But you'd seen them once or twice.

He carried over a plate to the table and sat down. You stayed where you were.

“Uh, come here, please,” he said. You hastily crossed to him, kneeling next to his seat.

“Please sit,” he said, gesturing to the seat next to him.

That was an order, but it clashed with one of your fundamental orders. You started to shake.

“Furniture is not for slaves, furniture is not for slaves, furniture is not for slaves,” you started to chant in a whisper. You clutched your head, the pain of the two orders clashing feeling like you are being ripped apart.

“Stop! Stop!” Your master yelled, panic in his voice. “Uh, belay that order! Don't worry about it! You can keep kneeling!”

You stopped chanting and slowly brought your hands away from your head. The pain was dissipating. Your master put his hands on your head, gently stroking your hair. “I’m sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry sweetheart,” he gushed.

Sam came running into the room, “What happened?”

“Don't tell her to sit on the furniture,” your master said.

“I’m- I'm sorry, sir,” you said shakily.

“Not your fault,” your master said. “That's on me.”

You took some deep breaths. One of your master’s hands was cupping your cheek and again you felt yourself leaning into it. It was strange, normally you wanted to cringe away from the touch of clients, but then again, normally their touch was anything but gentle.

“I've got an idea,” Sam said and left the room.

“Ok, I think you do need some food,” your master said to you. “Umm, how about I put your plate on this chair,” he moved it as he spoke, “and then you can keep kneeling but you can reach it. That ok?”

“Yes, sir.”

You stayed still.

“Oh, umm, please eat. Only as much as you want to. And as slow as you want to. Umm, yep,” your master said awkwardly.

You had eaten your first forkfull of scrambled eggs when Sam returned, holding a cushion.

“You would kneel on whatever the floor was, right Y/N?” Your master asked you.

“Yes, sir.”

“So sometimes it's wood or tiles or concrete or... carpet?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And that's not using furniture, is it?”

“No, sir.”

“Right, so I don't think a cushion is furniture either. It's just how I've chosen to decorate my floor. So if I put a cushion where you need to kneel, you’re just kneeling on the floor, same as if I'd chosen to put carpet there instead.”

It didn't ...feel... wrong. You gave a tiny nod.

“Stand up, Y/N,” your master ordered. Sam put the cushion down where you'd been kneeling. “Kneel here,” he pointed. You did so, the collar forcing your obedience. The cushion felt far nicer under your knees.

You could hear the smile in your master’s voice as he said, “Continue eating, Y/N, as much as you'd like.”

---

Your master took you to a bedroom. Finally, something you knew how to do.

“I'll just leave you for a minute to get ready for bed,” he said to you and stepped out of the room.

You quickly took off your clothes and climbed onto the bed, arranging yourself on all fours, facing your naked butt at the door. This didn't count as you using the furniture, clients could take you on a bed if they wanted to and your master had clearly said it.

Your master knocked on the door, “You ready, Y/N?”

“Yes, sir.”

He opened the door. You were facing away so you couldn't see his face, but you heard him stutter and turn back to the door. “Oh, God,” he muttered.

“Umm, Y/N, please get dressed in whatever clothes you would like to wear to go to sleep. We're, umm, we're not going to have sex.” He fled the room.

You were in trouble again.  Even his orders didn't mean proper things!

You put the oversized trackies and t-shirt you had on before back on, then knelt by the end of the bed. Your master knocked again and came back in.

“Sorry I umm, wasn't clear earlier,” your master said awkwardly. “You don't have to sleep with anyone, ever, while you're here.”

That didn't make any sense. Why else would he want you as his slave?

“Can you sleep in the bed?”

That was an easy question, “No, sir.”

“Ok, where do you normally sleep?”

“On the floor, sir.” He was testing you, you thought, checking you knew how to behave. Perhaps he wanted to see if you were a good slave before using you?

“Alright, let's take the blanket and pillows off the bed and you can arrange them how you want.”

“I do not require luxuries, sir,” you said hesitantly. You didn't want to have to earn them later.

“They're not luxuries, I'm just decorating my floor again,” he said in a tone that brokered no arguments. You swallowed and accepted your fate, adding to your mental tally of what you would have to earn back.

Once your master had arranged a bed for you on the floor and haltingly told you to go to sleep, but you could get up whenever you wanted and the toilet was down the hall and rambled about 5 other “if you want to” instructions, he left.

This was the strangest place you'd ever been.

---

“Please tell me you've found something about the curse,” Dean said to Sam as he walked in to the library. “I am not cut out for this ‘being a master’ shit.”

He paused.

“Or at least, not when they can't consent,” he said with a smirk.

Tag list:

@malindacath

@stoneyggirl2

@iprobablyshipit91

@minty-fresh-donkey

@tiggytaylor

@ellie-andthemachine

@muhahaha303

@nameslessismypricetowhateverend

@siospins2

@mrswhozeewhatsis

[ultralightpoe]

Morals - Steve Rogers

Description: Steve doesn’t want his jealousy to get the best of his moral views, but your boyfriend really pushes his buttons

Warnings: Fighting smut smut smut 

Authors Note: As per usual with Steve I let this one run away from me. ENJOY REQUESTS ARE OPEN

Word Count: 3,086

MAIN Master List - - Marvel Master List

        Sarah Rogers always had a saying growing up, “If one doesn’t want to be mistaken as an animal then one shouldn’t act like an animal.” It was a saying she passed down to her son and his best friend (Who then taught it to his baby sister)

         Steve Rogers had taken these words to heart growing up and he always followed his moral guidelines down to the very last word. He kept his mind open and his hands extended, he always gave others a second chance because that is something he would want himself. He took first encounters to heart and always did his best to start on the right foot. He never took his anger out on anyone unless they made the first move. 

         Steve Rogers had a long list of morals. 

          But everytime the man met your boyfriend he was just about ready to throw each and every one of them out the window just to punch the smarmy little shit eating grin off the tools face. 

          You had been dating the fool for 2 months now, having met at a football game Sam dragged you to, and since then Steve had been plotting murder.  He didn’t think it would last long in all honesty, there was no way you would really stick with a fool like that. 

          But then you introduced him to everyone and suddenly you were going on dates every night, which meant you no longer spent the evenings with him. 

         Normally you both would be cooking dinner with each other and watching a movie together under the same blanket before sharing dessert, but tonight Mark wanted to take you to some high end sushi restaurant. 

        Did you even like sushi? Would this restaurant really be worth 40 dollars per dish? Was his name mark or mike? Shit what was douche faces name? 

          Steve was sitting on your bed watching you get dressed for the date, hair done up with makeup on, an easy going smile on your features. Honestly this moment had Steve’s pants tightening and his heart beating out of his chest, Bucky always told him that you changing in front of him meant that you never saw him the way he saw you. 

          “Come on Doll, we can watch one of the cheesy rom coms you like so much.” Steve offers, rubbing his hands on his thighs with nerves, the jeans warming up beneath his touch. 

        “Bub I already told you that he made the reservations weeks ago, I can’t bail on him now.” You laugh, moving over to him and laying the two dresses on your bed. “Now help me choose which dress.”

“Which one do you think he would hate?”

        “The sundress in the corner of my closet.” You shrug which has Steve launching for the yellow dress Nat got you. “Then we’ll go with that one Sugar.”

         “Come on now Stevie, that’s not funny.” You whine falling back onto the bed, laying on the dresses you just picked out. He sighs, moving closer to you until he’s able to fall next to you, laying side by side. “You look great in everything, Doll.”

“Everything?”

         “Everything.” He confirms, turning to look at you while you get a mischievous look in your eye. 

“So I look good in that sundress?”

“Yup.”

“The green dress under us?”

“Without question.”

“A potato sack?”

           “Not as good as Marilyn Monroe but I give it to ya.” He teases, winking a bit. You’re silent for a second, debating how far you want to take this.

            “Mmmmm.” You mumble, sitting up and gesturing to your current state. “I look good like this?”

           “Sexy, but I wouldn’t recommend it in public. Too many suitors for ya doll.” Steve says without a second of hesitation while still being a gentleman and keeping eye contact. 

          “Well….. Would I look good in….this?” You whisper, slipping the bra off while stil making eye contact. Steve’s eyes widen and his skin turned beet red, his hands shot up to cover his eyes but stopped half way through, his eyes not leaving yours. “Bub you can look, that’s why I took the bra off.”

          You knew Steve liked you, you’ve just been waiting on him to make a move. The only reason you were dating Mike was to make Steve jealous. Wait, mark? Mike? Mick?

         He stares at you for a moment before looking at the door and then you began getting self conscious. You rush to get dressed again, skin heating up in embarrassment. “Sorry I don’t know what came over me. That was terrible.”

         You wouldn’t look at him now, getting dressed and grabbing your shoes. Steve was still trying to figure out how to get his mouth to work, still trying to find the best way to tell you how gorgeous you were without seeming like a creep. 

           “Y/n wait-” He starts, beginning to stand up when you book it out of the room. “No -shit.  Y/n wait.”

          He rushes out of the room, desperate to reach you. “Y/n please-”

         “HEY! Cap’n Merica’.... How’s it hanging?” The tool greets, moving to shake his hand like he always does. Steve’s fists tightened by his side, the urge to knock his teeth in crossing his mind. 

        “I was actually about to talk to Y/n.” He snaps, looking past Mark. Mike? 

          “Steve, we can talk after.” You mumble, refusing to look at him. “C’mon babe.”

           Then you were gone, out of his sight with some guy whose name he couldn’t even remember. 

“SON OF A BITCH!” Steve shouts, kicking a chair across the room which Bucky catches with his left arm. 

“You okay?” Bucky asks, shock written on his features. 

“Why are you Y/n apartment?”

“I came to get you, and you practically live here in the first- hey steve?”

“Yeah Buck?”

“You might want to go take a cold shower.”

          Steve told Bucky everything as they walked to Bucks apartments so Steve could help him set up a bookshelf. 

“You said nothing?”

          “Nothing. Buck I could barely look at her without bursting into flames. And then by the time I was able to untangle my own tongue she was out the door. Dame disappeared from sight.”

         Bucky stares at him for a moment before nodding. “So she just took the-”

        “Don’t be a perv.” 

         “Hey easy, I’m just trying to figure out why you’re not in that restaurant telling her that you love her.”

        “Oh that’d be great. Let me walk in and ruin a date with her boyfriend-”

         “She’s only dating the tool to get your attention.” Bucky interrupts as Nat walks through with some take out. “Hey Steve.”

         “Hey Nat.” Steve smiles as she kisses her husband's cheek.

          “Stevie here was just telling me about his major mess up. Y/n made a move and he ignored it.”

          “I didn’t ignore it!” Steve snaps, looking at his phone to message you again. Doll, please just let me explain. Come back and we’ll talk.

           “Oh I know already, she texted me while Mark was talking with one of his friends. Apparently the guys won't stop talking.” 

“I thought his name was Mike.” Buck laughs, shaking his head. 

         “Wait, she's texting you?!” Steve snaps, holding up his phone to show all the messages he’s sent already. 

        Natasha grimaces before her phone goes off, she shakes her head and walks into the other room to collect it while Steve slams his phone on the ground. “I’m an idiot.”

“I ain’t gonna argue-”

“I’m sorry he DID WHAT?” Nat snaps from the other room which has Bucky and Steve whipping their heads to her direction. “Hang on babe, I’ll be right there.”

She storms into the room, heading for her keys. 

          “Be right where? What’s going on Nat?” Bucky asks, setting his hammer down. 

           “He dropped her off at the side of the road.” Nat mumbles, turning to grab her shoes but Steve is already out the door. 

             His hands gripped the steering wheel so hard he snapped a piece off while he sped through the streets, keeping his eyes peeled for your figure in the rain. 

              An hour ago he had you in your room, giving him a shot and now you were by yourself on the side of a road while it was pouring rain. He was going to kill the dickhead. He was going to show up to his house and ruin his entire life. 

           His murderous thoughts were cut off when he saw you soaked to the bone, blinking at the headlights. It took two seconds to pull the car over and jump out, you were shocked to see him. Eyes widening as your back went straight. 

          “Steve, what are you doing here? I called Nat-” You didn’t get to finish your sentence before Steve was on you, pulling your body into his and shoving his lips against yours. 

            His hands roamed your body, stopping at your thighs to lift you up and wrap your legs around him. Without removing his lips from yours he walked to the car, leaning you against it so he can trap you with his body, both hands roaming your body as much as they could. 

Biting your lip a bit before pulling back to look at you. 

            “Doll, you got to give a man a second to remember how to breathe when you pull stunts like that.” He whispers, pushing the hair out of your face as the rain beats down on everyone. “I have spent every moment since I met you figuring out how to be good enough for you, loving you, wanting to absorb every moment you could offer me.”

             You couldn’t breathe as he lifted your dress up, struggling to get the soaking fabric to move against your skin before giving up and ripping the dress completely. 

             “Then I’m sitting on your bed trying to figure out how to get you to stay in with me and next thing I know you’re showing me everything I dreamed of.” He snaps, kissing around your chest. Your legs tighten around his waist while you begin a grinding motion, moaning a bit as he nips at your collar bone, hand reaching for the door knob of the car. “Then you’re gone.”

           “I thought you didn’t want -” You begin as Steve drags you in the backseat of his car, with you straddling his lap. 

           “Shut the hell up. I don’t even want to hear you finish that sentence.” He snaps, pulling you in for another kiss which you gladly give into.  You both are grinding against each other, breaking away from the kiss to throw your head back and moan.

“Sex…..sex in a car isn’t against your moral rules?” You tease, breathless. 

          “Oh it is, but so is beating a man to death and I am for sure finding Mark later.” He mutters moving you to lay on the seat with him on top of you. “You okay?” 

            “I’m good.” You smile, watching him lean over the console to turn the heat up in case you were still cold. “You’d be a lot warmer without your soaked clothes.”

               His head snaps to you and a smile blooms across his face as he strips the shirt off within seconds, moving to kiss you before you stop him. “Pants too silly.”

            “Happy to oblige.” He mutters, kicking his shoes off and allowing the pants to follow them to the floor along with the boxers. You take a moment to stare, eyes wide. He sits back down pulling you back to his lap, and stares at your face for a moment. 

            “His name was Mike by the way.” You whisper, scooting up on his lap and lining yourself up as he rolls his eyes. 

            “Why’d he leave you?” Steve whispers, hand rubbing your chin which has you kissing his palm as you slowly sink onto him, pulling a moan from him and he closes his eyes in pure bliss. 

           “My phone kept going off.” You answer, sighing in pleasure while his hands tighten on your waist, holding you still. 

           “Don’t move. I need to get my head straight.” He mutters, eyes opening slowly. “He left you there because your phone kept going off? He left my girl in the rain because of a fucking phone?”

             His tone had your stomach twisting in excitement, struggling against his hold for any sort of friction. “He read the messages from you, the ones where you called me beautiful and kept asking me to come back.”

            Steve would be lying if said he didn’t think that was hot, mark knowing who you belonged to. Not that you belonged to him, but he was more important than Mike. 

            “Look at me.” He snaps, which has you making eye contact within seconds, chest flying up and down in need of friction. He begins moving you up and down, hands still tight on your hips. “Do. Not. Look. Away.”

“Fuck, no.” You moan out, hands flying to his shoulders. “Bubs…”

            “Look at you…” He moans, hands moving to squeeze your ass. “I am such a fool, had you on your bed like this on hour ago…fuck…. And you left. I had you right in front of me and let you get away.”

              His gaze on you was unwavering, it had you ready to explode on the spot, mewling out his name while you tug at his neck. “Faster…”

             “Faster? No. Not yet.” He smiles, slowing down just to spite you. “Tell me why you were dating Mark.”

“Mike.”

             “I don’t give a shit what his name is.” He snarls, pulling you close and stopping your movements. “Tell me why you were dating that fool.”

“Come on… bub please I need you. Please.” You beg, eyes watering a bit. 

         “Tell me and you’ll get what you want,pretty thing.” He whispers, arms still around you. 

             “TO MAKE YOU JEALOUS!” You yell, eyes squeezing shut while you push him against the seat and begin moving at a hard pace which has Steve moaning and hands flying to the seats below him. “I was dating Mark to make you fucking jealous. Happy now?”

             The car was shaking and you felt so good around him, doing his best to thrust up to your movements. A ripping sound filled the car causing you to look to where Steve just ripped the seats leather and broke off a chunk of the cushion. “Baby your car.” You gasp, which has him laughing. 

             “Who fucking cares.” He mutters moving his hands back to your hips so he could thrust into you easily. “Broke the fucking steering wheel earlier too.”

            “You broke your steering wheel?” Just the thought of it has you tightening and shaking around him causing Steve to readjust your position. Leaning forwards so his hands were holding onto the driver's seat and you were pressed between them before he began a rapid pace. 

           “Think that’s hot huh?” You nod, no longer able to process words as he rammed into you. “Well then you should be real fucking ready for when I come later after snapping every bone in that pricks body.”

            You were broken then and there, black blinding your vision as you cum around him, arms wrapped tightly around him. Steve bites your shoulder while continuing his pace until he finishes himself. 

           It takes 5 minutes for you both to catch your breath, Steve not letting go as you shake above him, whispering easy words to you. 

         “Steve Rogers.” You whisper, rubbing at his chest. “Why the fuck didn’t we do that sooner?”

         “Because I’m an idiot.” He laughs, pulling you in for a kiss before your phone rings. 

          “Shit it’s Mick.” You mumble, reading the name off your phone as he smiles. 

           “Gimme the phone.” He says, voice low as his hands tug at your hair, slowly beginning his hip movements again. “I wanna have some fun.”

           “What happened to not acting like an animal?” You moan, moving your own hips against his once more. “Morals and all that?”

“Gimme the fucking phone doll.”

             Steve insists on taking you out next Friday, and you obviously agree. Getting ready in your room once again with him on the bed watching you. 

             “Y’know this would go a lot faster if you would help me pick a dress.” You laugh, moving over to where he is laying. 

             “How about the sundress?” He smiles, making grabby hands at your hips. “No. We have a date and I know how those grabby hands start their searching.”

              “Fair enough.” He smiles, moving to kiss your cheek. “I’m going to go get my shoes and wallet. Meet you here in 10.”

             “Works for me, love you.” You smile as he says it back and leaves. You’re phone rings as you finish getting dressed, picking it up without looking.

“Hello?”

“Y/N! It’s Mick. I’m downstairs.” 

            “What?” You snap, slipping your shoes on. “No! Go home!”

            “No. Not without talking to you.” He snaps back, the sound of the doorman letting him in. “My name was still on the access list. I’m heading up.”

           “Mick no don’t.- Hello? Hellooooo? Shit, the elevator.” You whine, moving for the stairs. Rushing down them while Steve smiles at you. “Hey doll, took me a minute to find my shoes.”

           “Okay, perfect! Let’s take the stairs!” You rush, snatching his hand and leading him to the emergency exit. 

“You taking the stairs? Someone pinch me.” He laughs right as the elevator bells ding. 

            “Y/N!” Just like that Steve’s smile disappears and he is standing straight. 

             “Steve let’s just go-”

              “So this is the dick that left my doll in the rain.” Steve snaps, turning to glare at the tool. “Mike wasn’t it?”

               “I’m not here to talk to her sloppy seconds.” Mick snarls, moving to walk past Steve like he was nothing. In two split seconds Steve has him shoved into the wall, the drywall breaking under Steve’s strength. 

“I could kill you.”

               “Steve, stop. This fuck isn’t worth it.” Bucky laughs, coming down the stairs with Natasha in tow. 

               “You got two seconds to get out of this building. I’m not gonna fight you. I promised my doll a date and that’s what I’m going to do.” Steve mutters, throwing Mick to the floor. “Come on Y/N, we got a dinner to get to.”

              He wraps his arm around you, bringing you into the elevator and smirking at Mick. “Buck will take out the trash for me.”

[thedamageofherdays]

This week's [23-08-2021 - 29-08-2021] reading log is here! I read a lot again this week and I feel like it's a lovely variety of fics. Most fics are Stucky like usual, but there's at least one other ship. I am constantly amazed by the talent people have in this fandom! There was one fic I read on Tumblr that I can't seem to find unfortunately, but when I do I'll make sure to reblog and rec it 💕

Favourites are marked with a 🌻

When life gives you lemons by moonthejedi394 @moonythejedi394 [Stucky, 40k words, Mature] (12/15 chapters available)

Or 13 Terrible Things to Do With Lemons Other Than Making Lemonade

Steve Rogers is a home health nurse. He works for an agency, which assigned him to the aging Winifred Barnes, the one and only Silent Era Hollywood darling. As her needs increased, she requested the agency assign Steve to her full-time. She could pay for it, so she got it. Steve then moved in with her, becoming her caregiver; he cooked, he cleaned, he managed her medications, he made sure she was comfortable.

Winifred's children treated him less than ideally. He was the help, after all. And then Steve had the audacity to go and turn out to be eldest son James Barnes's soulmate. No one saw that coming.

The Masseur and the Assassin by buckybarnesdeservestobehappy @buckybarnesdeservestobehappy [Stucky, 17k words, Explicit]

Bucky Barnes needed a vacation from his job. What he found was a happy ending.

The Words Breathe by buckbarnesdeservestobehappy [Stucky, 1k words, Mature]

All Steve has to do is keep his promise. When he doesn’t, Bucky gets mouthy.

Soft by this_wayward_life @wayward-lives [Stucky, 2k words, Explicit]

The last time he'd seen Bucky he'd looked unhealthy, with pallid skin and greasy, lanky hair. Now, Bucky shone; his hair was thick and silky, his skin a deep bronze from spending so much time outside. He was softer, too; the hard muscle that used to cover him was now replaced by soft fat, his body still strong, but in a more mundane way. His thighs were thicker, his ass plumper, and when he'd pulled Steve into the river Steve had noticed the pudge on his stomach.

Seeing Bucky so happy, well-fed and shining, was a bit of a kick in the face. For all the years they'd known each other, he'd never seen Bucky so... care-free. Now that Bucky was putting on weight, his middle soft and his body malleable, it sent a bolt of arousal through Steve every time he noticed the curves of Bucky's body.

Or: Bucky put on a bit of weight in Wakanda, and Steve is Not Coping.

🌻 Revive Another Side of Me by dontcallmebree @iamthe-wo-manwhocan [Stucky, 1k words, Mature]

Steve’s never lived in a world without Bucky, and he’s not living now. It takes them a while, much too long, to get that awaited rest, a little slice of peace after the dust has settled.Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes are inseparable, history remembers. But they’re not men of the past quite yet.

🌻 imagine being loved by me by spacebuck @spacebuck [Stucky, 20k words, Explicit]

Just after 1am - a few hours after he posted today’s photo - he hears the tell-tale sound of a twitter message. Bucky grabs his phone, not checking who it’s from as he opens it because it’s probably one of his mutuals yelling at him as per usual. When he actually looks at his phone, though, it’s not Natasha

The ‘verified’ check stares back at him for a long moment before he can even bring himself to process the name on his screen. Steve Rogers is messaging him. Or, he reasons, a very good fake. The handle looks right though, not that Bucky knows. Not that Bucky has Captain’s America’s tweets set up as notifications, or that Bucky’s own display name is set to captain america’s bitch. Not at all.

Hey, the first message says. It’s Steve.

🌻 JB’s Complete Lube Services by dixons_mama @dixons-mama [Stucky, 3k words, Explicit]

People just didn’t approach Captain America and proposition him. Although, sometimes Steve wished they would; even the pinnacle of virtue and justice needed to get dicked down from time to time.

Or, the one where Steve has the hots for a mechanic and decides to be proactive in getting that dick.

If it had to be someone by rainbow_nerds [Stucky, 1k words, Mature]

Bucky had known since he was a child that he didn’t have a choice in who he married, but he’d thought he had more time before the day arrived.

Miscalculations by christywantspizza @christywantspizza [Ransom Drysdale/Reader, 6k words, Explicit]

Ransom tries to get you to sleep with him by less than honorable means. You give him what he wants, just not how he wants it.

How to Seduce a Writer by obsessivereader [Stucky, 2k words, Teen]

What's a determined master strategist going to do when the oblivious writer he's trying to woo keeps missing all the clues?

He doesn’t think it’s because he hadn’t signaled his own interest to Bucky. He’s pretty much done everything short of hitting Bucky over the head with semaphore flags by this point. There’s no way Bucky could’ve missed them. Unless… There’d been that one link he’d stumbled upon when he’d googled ‘how to talk to a writer’. It’d been written by a writer, who’d been candid about how oblivious writers could be, and how someone could go about seducing one. An idea starts to form. It’s ridiculous, but at this point, he’s willing to go with ridiculous, since subtle wasn’t getting him anywhere.

🌻 Pod Bless America by Deisderium @deisderium [Stucky, 6k words, Teen]

Bucky can't believe his favorite podficcer recorded his newest fanfic AU of the show Commandos. He's even more surprised when the customer who busts him listening to fic while he's working in the office supply store turns out to be that podficcer.

* The guy—maybe bi_shield?—took his phone, looked down at the screen, and smiled. "Yeah, that one's mine," he said with no evidence of embarrassment. "It was a good one." He handed the phone back to Bucky.

"I wrote it," Bucky croaked.

take a bite by wearing_tearing [Stucky, 7k words, Mature]

"I’d never let anyone freeze to death.” Steve gives a big sigh and flutters his lashes. “All that blood gone to waste.”

Bucky’s lips turn down and his nose scrunches up a little. “I want to be grossed out, but…”

“But you get it.” Steve gives him a pointed look. “Vampires aren’t the only ones who can appreciate how juicy blood is.”

*

Or: Vampire Steve saves newly-turned werewolf Bucky from a snowstorm.

Leaving the Shield Behind by BuckyAboveEverything [Stucky, 6k words, Teen]

“So, on one hand, we have Steve Rogers - hunk, genius, animal lover. Buys you waffles and overpriced coffee. 100% wholesome all-American boy.”

“And, on the other hand, we have Capsicle – twink, smart-ass, fanboy. Reads your stories and sends you fanart. Possibly a pervert or a serial killer.”

Bucky groaned.

“I am 100% certain I am 0% sure of what to do."

Bucky Barnes, full-time copywriter and free-time fanfic writer, struggles to choose between two equally-attractive suitors, only to find that he doesn’t have to after all.

* Based on a true story *

Cap's Book Corner by Neche [Stucky, 2k words, Teen]

Recluse Author Bucky Barns stumbles into fanboy Steve Rogers bookstore one day...

Cat Nap by galwednesday @galwednesday [Stucky, 8k words, Teen]

Objectively, losing the Bucharest safehouse and its contents was the least of Bucky’s problems. The balding agent he’d seen directing the raid was apparently affiliated with SHIELD, which was a shadowy government agency that made representatives from other shadowy government agencies suddenly remember urgent appointments when Bucky tried to bribe, threaten, and otherwise shake them down for information on what the hell SHIELD might want with a former brainwashed assassin. Dodging SHIELD should be his number one priority.

Subjectively, he wanted his fucking cat back.

at any given moment by honeypuffed [Stucky, 1k words, Teen]

Steve and Bucky find out that everyone thinks they're sleeping together.

Brought to Brightness by eyres [Stucky, 10k words, Teen]

Army veteran Bucky Barnes has fallen in love with Steve, a guy he met online a few months after he returned from Afghanistan. Only problem is, he doesn't know Steve's last name or even what he looks like.

When his sister helps him send his story into MTV's Catfish, he's hoping they can help him meet Steve or, at least, let him move on with his life if Steve isn't real. Little does he know, Steve and Captain America have more in common than just a first name.

🌻 Nokken Wood by leveragehunters @leveragehunters [Stucky, 10k words, Teen]

When Sam's friend needs a house-sitter for his place in the country, Steve jumps at the chance. Six months rent-free to do nothing but draw and paint and wander the countryside, looking for inspiration? It was like a dream. But when he gets lost in a storm and nearly falls into a pond he starts to rethink the whole like a dream aspect of life in the country. And when a red-eyed, sharp-clawed, silver-fanged creature rises out of the darkness, Steve is one hundred percent certain the dream's morphed into a nightmare.

...until it gives him a cup of tea.

(Inspired partly by this prompt a supernatural creature is supposed to scare you but instead it gives you a cup of tea and a blanket because you're having a bad day and you keep coming back and partly by this painting.)

Professional Pride by galwednesday [Stucky, 700 words, Teen]

Bucky is having a very good day, until he turns around and finds himself face-to-face with Captain America.

“Oh shit,” he blurts before he can stop himself, and Captain America blinks at him. “Hey, hi, I didn’t expect to see you here.” Here, at New York’s Pride parade, surrounded by thousands of happy screaming people wearing rainbows and sometimes not much else. What is he doing here? Is he on guard duty or something? Was he just on a mission and happened to be passing by on his way back?

He’s in uniform but with the cowl loose around his neck, so when he rubs the back of his head it fluffs up his matted hair. “I, uh. I saw one of your–temporary tattoos?” Captain fucking America says, like it’s a question.

The A-bridged Guide to Trolling by galwednesday [Stucky, 1k words, Teen]

“I don’t have any money.”

Oh no, now the girl looked upset. Her eyes were huge and her lip was wobbling. Bucky tried to think fast despite the oh shit oh shit oh shit looping through his head.

“That’s okay,” Bucky said gently. “I don’t need money. We can figure out another kind of toll.”

The girl frowned at him. “Like what?”

Bucky scratched his head, trying to think of something a kid was certain to have on hand. “Do you know any jokes?”

(Fantasy AU in which Steve is a hedge witch with a green thumb, Bucky is a bridge troll who's new in town, and knock-knock jokes are a viable form of currency.)

It's a bittersweet ending (if you know what I mean) by relenafanel [Stucky, 1k words, Teen]

“I’ll see you around, Steve,” Bucky answers with a smirk, moving away from the counter with a wink.

Steve watches him go. Bucky’s wearing a pair of skinny jeans coated in something to give the appearance of leather. It’s impossible to not watch him go.

stuck on you by wearing_tearing [Stucky, 5k words, Teen]

“Bucky? You don’t look so hot.”

Bucky makes a tiny little sound in the back of his throat, only to start coughing. Of course he doesn’t look hot. He’s sick and he’s dying and Steve obviously isn’t attracted to him.

Decision-Making in Relationships (Paid Research Opportunity!) by castiowl [Stucky, 8k words, Teen]

Clint looked thoughtfully at the flyer. “I guess your actual roommate wouldn’t be down with it?”

Bucky frowned. “Have you met Steve Rogers?”

no way out but through by hollimichele [Stucky, 9k words, Teen]

Steve never sees it coming.

you got blood on your hands (and i know it's mine) by nighimpossible [Stucky, 3k words, Teen]

Bucky refuses to see Steve after his deprogramming.

Like What You See by daisymondays [Stucky, 8k words, Teen]

For all the time Bucky’s spent fantasizing about meeting Captain America, he’d never imagined it would be while posing nude in front of a drawing class.

🌻 A Real Boy by itsnotbleak [Stucky, 5k words, Teen]

It took the Winter Soldier three weeks to remember that human beings needed to sleep and eat.

It took Steve far too long to realise the Winter Soldier was sleeping in his bed.

Amapola by chaya [Stucky, 830 words, Teen]

Total fluff. Bucky's recovering nicely. Steve's oblivious. Sometimes it's best to set aside subtlety for action.

Knocking Boots With Sugar by buckybarnesdeservestobehappy [Stucky, 4k words, Explicit]

In between summers at college, Steve Rogers wants a new adventure beyond his lonely life in Brooklyn. He ends up in West Texas working on a dude ranch where Bucky Barnes is a long-time employee. When Bucky offers to buy Steve a drink, they end up drunk on tequila and making out in public. For the rest of the summer, they're inseparable. As the summer draws to a close, Steve realizes he doesn't want to leave.

Rogers and Associate by roe87 @jro616 [Stucky, 7k words, Teen]

When they first meet, Bucky is a hooker and Steve is a cop. She's been arrested, but Steve lets her off.

Years pass and they maintain a casual friendship, seeing each other out on the streets most nights.

Though he later makes detective, Steve loses faith in the system and quits his job.

He wants to set up as a private investigator, and he asks Bucky if she'd be his assistant.

Just in time by rainbow_nerds [Stucky, 1k words, Mature]

Bucky knew the apartment he was renting was old fashioned, but walking in the front door and finding himself transported back to 1938 was not on the list of things he had prepared himself for.

🌻 You Like What's in My Head by dontcallmebree [Stucky, 15k words, Explicit] (with art by @kocuria)

Bucky can’t decide if Steve’s a tough nut to crack or incredibly easy. The timbre of his voice, a low and almost amused, “Sure, kid,” when Bucky asks for a drink feels like something gripping him on the back of his neck.

He thinks this might be one of those moments in life he’ll pinpoint in the future and either curse at for dooming himself, or remember fondly with pride.

He’s right. Bucky Barnes blunders through falling in love with Commander Rogers and tries to find a deeper meaning behind the expensive gifts and thorough fucking.

Can I Sit Here? by BuckyFrickenBarnes [Stucky, 962 words, General]

Bucky has unusual methods for getting rid of his writer's block.

Or, Bucky needs that table.

Workplace Romance by BuckyFricken Barnes [Stucky, 1k words, General]

Bucky is under the impression that his boss hates him.

Or,

Steve needs to get better at dealing with his feelings.

🌻 1-800-MAYTAG by Miss Plum @misspluckyplum [Stucky, 1k words, Explicit]

Bucky just wants to get some housework done. It gets out of hand fast. Silly little fluff and smut romp with snarky stucky boys.

Eyes of the Forest by Lordelannette [Stucky, 7k words, Explicit] (2/8 chapters available)

When Omega Bucky Barnes comes to Eagle Lake, it was in search of wolves, a creature that had not been seen in the area for decades.

What he finds instead is Steve Rogers, a handsome, though quiet Alpha who seems to be everywhere in the forest.

[thirstyforcharacters]

Tequila (Bucky Barnes x Reader)

Summary: Every person has a soulmate. When your soulmate experiences pain, so do you, and any bruises, scars, or other markings that they get appear on your skin. Or, the story of how aliens attacking Las Vegas was the best thing to ever happen to you.

Notes: Hello! I already did a very similar soulmate AU for Sam Wilson (which you can read here), but I love soulmate AU’s so much that I decided to do one for Bucky, too! Hopefully, I made them different enough that they don’t seem too repetitive. Did I write this while I was supposed to be watching a documentary on Bach for music history? Maybe. But I think this was a much better use of my time. Hope you enjoy! (no y/n, no pronouns)

Warnings: canon typical violence, alien invasion, blood (not too much tho), car crash

WC: 1.9 k

For all of your life, you couldn’t feel your left arm.

When you started to crawl, your parents noticed you only used your right arm to pull yourself forward while your left would hang limply at your side. Your parents brought you to the doctor, deeply concerned, but when she examined your arm, she found nothing wrong. No x-rays showed broken or deformed bones, and no MRI’s showed any problems in the brain. By all medical standards, you should be able to move your left arm. You just couldn’t. Everyone hoped that it would go away, but to their chagrin, it remained unmoving throughout your childhood. You obviously knew your arm was there since you could clearly see it, but you couldn’t feel the nerve endings inside it. When you poked your arm with your other finger, you felt absolutely nothing. And weirdly enough, your family said it was always cold to the touch, no matter how warm the rest of your body was.

You had a feeling that it had something to do with your soulmate, and when you reached adulthood (specifically around 24), you were almost positive that was the reason. You often woke up with random injuries that you knew you didn’t give yourself. Gunshot wounds, deep slashes, broken bones, and large bruises were commonly branded on your skin. You were positive that if your soulmate was getting shot at every other night, then they almost definitely had some sort of damage done to their arm that affected your own. But if they had had this condition since you were born, how old were they? That was always a question that kind of weirded you out. You didn’t particularly want to be “meant to be” with some wrinkly, old person! Especially if they were somehow getting themselves into this much trouble. And now that you thought about it, none of these injuries were on your (or their) left arm. How could that be if they’ve literally been hurt everywhere else on their body?

When you weren’t in and out of the hospital with randomly serious injuries, you were quite busy cooking up a storm in Turkey, Tacos, and Tequila, your restaurant in Las Vegas. You and your best friend, Nicolás, had opened it three years ago; you were the head chef and he ran the business side of things. The two of you had talked about opening a restaurant together since you were teenagers, so both of you had moved to Vegas together after college/culinary school. Together, you found that you were an unstoppable team, and within a year of opening, you were one of the most popular restaurants throughout all of Vegas! Most times, because you were so busy, your soulmate problem stayed in the back of your mind. But every once in a while, a bruise would appear on your eye or a large cut down the length of your leg, and you would be reminded again.

Nic, as you called him, already found his soulmate. Oliver had moved in with you a year ago, and joined you side by side in the kitchen. You became almost as close with him as you had with Nic. They were adorable together, and never made you feel like the third wheel. There were some times, though, where you found yourself a little bit jealous that they had found each other so quickly, and that neither of them had ever suddenly started bleeding all over a nearly complete order of mango fish tacos.

Whenever you got a little down about it, Nic would always clap you on the shoulder and say, “You’ll find them someday. And when you do, break their nose. They deserve it for the hell they’re accidentally putting you through.”

It never failed to make you laugh. You had half a mind to do just that when you met the love of your life. You just didn’t know when that would be.

On yet another hot and dry Nevada night, you were closing up at the restaurant (or morning, you supposed, since it was nearly 1 am). Nic, Oliver, and your other employees had gone home already, so it was only you that remained. You turned off the lights and locked the door. You pushed your way through the drunken crowds and tourists on the street and made your way to your car. As you were opening the door, you could hear gasps of shock coming from the crowd of people roaming the streets. You looked up and saw an eerie flash of green across the sky, and a strange-looking, portal appeared in the sky! Shrieks of fear permeated the air as grotesque, reptilian creatures began spilling from the portal.

Frantically, you flung yourself into your car and turned over the engine, hoping to escape the clutches of these aliens. Though your apartment was in the opposite direction of the portal, as per usual, there was a decent amount of traffic, so you weren’t sure how good your chances were. But you figured you’d at least be safer in your car than exposed outside of it.

You were able to pull into traffic and weave through it fairly well, making good use of the side streets that only the locals knew about. But the creatures were overtaking the city faster than you could drive. You knew you didn’t have long before they caught up with you.

Just when that thought popped into your head, a blinding flash of light appeared in your rearview mirror. A loud bang, almost like a cannon, sounded, and through your mirror, you saw a truck hurtling toward you at breakneck speed! You attempted to swerve out of the way, but the truck crashed into your car, shoving it against a street light! The driver’s side of your car crumpled against the lamppost, and the glass in your window shattered at the contact. You attempted to cover your face with your hands, but a piece of glass still managed to make a pretty deep cut above your left eye, as well as a few pieces of shrapnel sinking into your legs. The whiplash from the contact damaged your neck as well; pain spread throughout your neck and back. All you could do was sob in agony. You had never felt this much pain in your life.

Your hand was trembling as you unbuckled your seatbelt, but you found yourself unable to leave your car! The driver’s side door was crushed, the truck was smushed against your passenger door, and there was no way you would be able to climb out of the backseat, nor lift yourself out of the broken window with the injuries you sustained. You were trapped. You waited for a little bit, until some of the chaos surrounding you died down; even in your damaged state, you knew that no one would be able to hear you even if you screamed for help as loudly as you could.

You strained your ears, and were able to hear gunfire, commands being shouted, and the hissing of these reptilian creatures. Eventually, instead of the noise of a battle, you could hear voices trying to dig people out of the rubble. Somehow, they sounded familiar, but you couldn’t place how. Well, if they were rescuing people, you figured they were your only chance.

“Help,” you screamed, “I’m trapped in my car! Please help me!”

You heard footsteps sprinting in your direction and a voice call, “Don’t worry, we’ll get you out of there!”

You watched in amazement as the truck on your passenger’s side was surrounded by a glowing, red presence, and moved out of the way! It had to be the Avengers! Who else would be able to do something that crazy? You were brought out of your thoughts by your car being dragged away from the pole, making you jump. A face popped up in your shattered window. He was gorgeous; bright, blue eyes, short, chestnut hair, and a warm smile. He took hold of the broken door and wrenched it from its fastenings.

“Hi. My name is Bucky Barnes. This is Wanda Maximoff,” the man said, gesturing back to a woman wearing scarlet, “we’re going to get you out of here, okay?”

“Okay,” you replied, relieved, “thank you so much!”

He smiled again, “Oh, it’s no problem. You should probably stay there until the EMT’s get here. Moving might make your injuries even worse.”

You nodded slightly in reply, but the pull in your neck made you groan in pain.

He winced, “Try not to move that, either. You may not be bleeding there, but I don’t want you to hurt yourself.”

“Okay.”

“Here, let me help you with that. I can at least stop the bleeding,” he offered, gesturing to your forehead and leg.

“Oh, thank you!” you answered.

He nodded and reached for some bandages he had in his jacket with his metal arm. His left arm. Suddenly, you noticed things you didn’t notice before. He also had a large cut above his left eye, in the same spot as your injury. It wasn’t bleeding, though, perhaps because of his enhancements. You noticed him moving his neck in a circular motion, seemingly to stretch it out. He had holes in his pants and small puncture wounds on his legs, in the same spots where glass was sticking out of you. Again, though, they were already healing. Could that be why you had never felt your arm before? Because your soulmate’s was metal? It would make complete sense.

“Are you okay?”

You didn’t even realize you had zoned out until Bucky addressed you. He was gently cleaning the wound on your forehead.

“Yes,” you whispered, fixated on the wound on his forehead.

His eyebrow raised, “Are you sure? You seem a little out of it.”

“I-I’m fine. I just noticed something kind of strange. I think the cut on your forehead matches mine.”

He touched his forehead, “Oh, yeah, I forgot about that with the adrenaline and everything. Only got it maybe 20 minutes ago.”

“That’s when my car crashed. And you’re having neck pain, like me,” you murmured, “and your arm is metal. I’ve never been able to feel my arm.”

His eyes widened, “Really? You think we’re meant to be?”

“Maybe,” you replied.

He nodded, “It seems likely. What’s your name?”

You gave him your name and he smiled again.

“I’ve been waiting for this for a century.”

You giggled softly, “I guess that explains why I’ve been experiencing this since I was born. I was afraid you’d be gross and wrinkly.”

He chuckled, “Well, hopefully you don’t think I’m either of those things.”

“Definitely not.”

The EMT’s arrived then. Bucky stepped aside and the medics removed you from your car.

As you were being loaded into the ambulance, Bucky approached you.

“How can I get in contact with you after this?”

“Just come by Turkey, Tacos, and Tequila. It’s my restaurant, I’m almost always there,” you told him.

“Okay. I’ll drop by sometime soon, when you’re better of course.”

“Looking forward to it.”

“Me too.”

As he was walking away, you couldn’t stop the grin forming on your lips. Sure, what had happened to you today was terrible. But you knew you would heal, and now, you had also finally met your soulmate. No wonder why you were randomly injured all of the time! If today was any indicator of what the rest of your relationship would look like, though, you’d probably need all of that tequila you were selling for yourself.

[britishassistant]

The Villainous Paranoiac Did Not Ask to be a Senpai

It’s been maybe two weeks since you woke up with a blade to your throat in a strange, ninja-and-pirate themed afterlife, and then woke up in a maximum security prison the next day. On the third day, thankfully, you woke up again in your bed in Ramshackle dorm with Grim snoring beside you.

There was even a surplus of food in the fridge and pantry, and some recipes for it in one of your notebooks, which you appreciated.

After three days, you let your guard down enough to assume you weren’t going to travel to anywhere else in your sleep and began to work on your essay for Professor Trein again.

On the seventh day, however, you woke up to an attempting smothering that was only foiled by Grim screaming and a second preteen tackling your would-be murderer off of you.

You then had to separate the two brown-haired children who were fighting on your bedroom floor and looking more and more like they would actually kill each other with every blow.

You got a broken nose for your trouble.

That was how you met the two brats who you temporarily swapped places with, and who are currently living in your dorm with you as “hopeful potential students” as the birdbrain headmaster put it.

It’s clearly just a clever way for the dumb bird to avoid taking direct responsibility for the lives of under sixteen years olds. If they die from a magic mishap or getting squashed by an overblot, he can pin the blame on your incompetence instead of the school’s.

Joy.

Epel’s still sulking about you “swiping his kohai” from him. Vil-senpai acts as if he doesn’t care, but the number of times he’s dropped by to complain about your standards of beauty care begs to differ.

Honestly, they and Pomefiore can have Nana if they want him so badly... is what you would say if Crowley weren’t increasing your funding per temporary occupant. You were quite pleased with negotiating that, as previously the birdbrain acted like he expected you to somehow feed two growing children plus yourself and Grim on just your paltry allowance.

Grim and the ghosts would be glad to see the British boy who introduced himself to you as “Johnny-Powers-but-call-me-Nana” gone in spite of the added money. They’ve made sure to tell you so, multiple times.

Even without hearing about how well he played ghost exterminator first time he was here, you can kind of understand what they’re talking about. That kid can go from homicidal to ingratiating so fast it feels like you’ll get whiplash, and he’s disturbingly quick to bring up maiming as a solution to your problems. You attribute this to him being an incarcerated thirteen-year-old gang leader in addition to a model Pomefiore student and resolve to keep him as far away from Octavinelle as humanly possible.

He and Leech-senpai would either give each other ideas, or he’d overthrow Ashengrotto-senpai and have him served as calamari by the end of the week.

You quite like Ashengrotto-senpai where he is, whole and healthy, so you stay vigilant.

At least he can speak Japanese well enough despite being a foreigner, and does his share of the chores around the dorm without complaining. You’ve even caught him doing Grim’s share with no fuss, because of the sudden increase in quality of the finished job. He responds well to praise and is very bribable with chocolate, which makes your life a lot easier in many circumstances.

Now if you can just find him a good child psychologist for all the issues he clearly has, Nana might make a passable dorm-mate.

You’d keep Mayu in a heartbeat though, even without the added benefit of payment.

Ketsugi Mayu’s an absolute sweetheart, if a bit on the... straightforward side, to put it nicely. She’s an amazing cook, able to create feasts out of the barest essentials and haggle with Sam to get groceries for a much lower price that you’re able to. You’re not sure if you’ve ever eaten better. If not for how clearly homesick she is and the fact that her mother terrifies you, you’d offer to let her stay here forever.

Of course that’s not to say the kid doesn’t have some quirks. She keeps making odd remarks like, “it feels weird to be watched only some of the time” and “oh right, you have lawyers here” that make you very concerned about the ninja afterlife she was in. And a bit about the place you’re currently living in.

She’s also obsessed with this one comic about pirates to the point where she puts Shroud-senpai’s fixations to shame, claiming she wants to become a pirate chef when she grows up and praying to the main characters. This has given her one of the weirdest moral compasses you’ve ever seen, which treats theft as an excusable offense but wasting food as a crime that she needs to go and beat up people for.

This would be less of a problem if the child wasn’t strong enough to break bones.

You’ve had to break up more fights for her than you have for Nana honestly, just because she’d spotted someone throwing something away half-eaten in the cafeteria and quietly made a beeline for them before you wised up to her shenanigans.

Nana was no help on that front because he immediately tried to join in, only to play innocent bystander the moment the teachers and dorm leaders came.

The fact that her mindset has a lot in common with Deuce’s and Kalim’s is just the cherry on top of the problem sundae. Ace and several other students have already tried to con her into giving them free food, because apparently this child thinks it is her gods-given mission to feed the world’s hungry.

Which is noble and all, unless you don’t have a lot of food that you can afford to share around in the first place. Especially not to greedy freeloaders who call themselves your friends and claim to want to test Mayu’s gullibility “for her own good”. Grim’s perpetually rumbling stomach and puppy-eyes have been some of your best allies in thwarting these attempts.

At least your guests get along with each other after their rocky start.

After a few days of him refusing to eat anything on his plate unless Mayu or you had eaten a bit of it first, the twelve-year-old roped Nana into helping out in the kitchen to try and get him to be less picky. Amazingly, it worked, and you usually seize the opportunity work on your homework while they’re distracted preparing meals.

From there, they became friends pretty quickly, though you think that has more to do with Mayu being a reliable source of chocolate than anything else.

Nana flips between nervous child and overprotective gang leader on a dime for her, which isn’t helpful when you’re trying to stop any more Cafeteria Incidents. Mayu at least has the maturity to help you talk Nana down from some of his more extreme responses to problem-solving and keeps him entertained by telling him more of that pirate story she’s always going on about.

It’s nice that they both found at least one friend around their age to help them survive here in Twisted Wonderland.

Now if they could stop teaming up to make you go grey before you turn eighteen, that’d be swell.

[libsterslobsters]

Whole Lotta Love

Synopsis: For some people, Valentine’s Day is another word for "stress", especially when you don't know what the other person is expecting. Several years into their relationship, Bucky’s pretty sure he has a good understanding of the Reader, until a word from Sam makes him question everything he thinks he knows. The race is on to make their first Valentine’s Day since saying their vows a special one, but as per usual, fate has it's own ideas about what will make the holiday truly memorable

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem! Enhanced! Super-soldier Reader

(Reader can see bits and pieces of the future in visions as well as speak every language)

Warnings: Smut, Fluff

Author's note: This fic contains references to earlier stories. For more information, click the series masterlist link. As always, the reader is unnamed so that this can be read as a self-insert, but at this point, I think of her as an OC.

The song referenced is Hearts Don't Break Around Here by Ed Sheeran

Series Masterlist

A The Song Remains The Same Fic

---------‐-----------------------------------

“So, Valentine’s Day.”

Bucky doesn’t look up from his laptop (or more specifically, the field report he’s typing) at Sam’s words. Despite his concentration, he can tell that his partner is staring at him, boring holes into his back with his gaze.

“Uh-huh.” He’s listening, but so far, he doesn’t care.

“What are you doing for it?” For Valentine’s day? Um…

“Not much.” It’s a Tuesday this year, right? Then probably working, like most other people, he’d imagine.

The room is silent as he types, so Bucky assumes that settles the matter. That is, until Sam mutters a quiet, “You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.”

“About what?” How many paragraphs does he have to type before he can pass this off as a full report? When he joined the Avengers, he thought the hardest part of his job would be the bad guy of the week, not doing paperwork!

“You’re really not doing anything for Valentine’s Day? Seriously?” He nods absentmindedly and clicks the save icon. He’ll finish this tomorrow. It’s five o’clock. Time to head home. Home to-

“What’s your wife gonna think about that?” He shrugs and cuts the power to the laptop.

“She thinks that the whole holiday is a rip-off. See you Monday?” He turns around for confirmation, only to catch Sam staring at him, mouth hanging wide open. “What?”

“A rip-off?” Is he just going to be stuck repeating himself?

“Yep.” Told him that the first February 14th they spent together.

“And you actually believed her?”

He nods. “She’s not one to lie.”

Sam nods incredulously. “Uh-huh. And are you planning to ever have sex again?”

He’s not going to dignify that with an answer (because really, isn’t it obvious?).

“Fine.” Sam shrugs. “You do you, man. All I’m saying is, if I had a wife who looked like that-” he indicates the lock screen of Bucky’s phone (a picture of her laughing, telling him to put away the damn camera after wrestling the dog for the tie to her favorite robe). “-I’d have my V-day plans set up a month in advance.”

Normally Bucky would take what Sam says with a grain of salt, but he is after all a man out of time, so maybe it’s worth considering that his partner may be right.

“What would you suggest I do?”

“Outside of the bedroom?” He narrows his eyes at the Falcon. “Okay, bad joke.” Sam scratches at the back of his head, thinking. “I don’t know, man. That’s your girl. You know her best, but flowers are always a good place to start.” Good to know that hasn’t changed since the 1940s. Although, last time he brought her flowers, she spent the afternoon sneezing until he eventually convinced her that it was okay, he wouldn’t be offended, she should throw the damn things out. Then again, that was before she was a super soldier.

“Flowers.” He repeats, earning a nod from Sam.

“You can get creative. Do a little research. But I’m just saying, when a woman waits five years for you to reappear, the least she deserves is a few flowers.” On that, they can agree.

He must bid Sam some sort of goodbye and make his way through the Avengers compound, but he’s unaware of anything until he’s in the parking lot, sitting behind the wheel of his car, googling “What to do for your wife on Valentine’s Day.” There’s a web page that boasts twenty different selections. Might as well give it a look.

___________________________________________________________________________________

She’s nearly home when her phone dings with a text from Barnes. “Just got in. Forgot to get milk. Can you swing by on your way, or should I go to the gas station and pick up a gallon?” A frown forms on her face. It’s pretty rare that Bucky forgets things. Must’ve been a hell of a day at work, then. Either that, or his brain has completely turned to mush thanks to typing out field reports. Either way-

“I got it. See you in twenty.” She thinks about tacking on a “love you”, but the light turns green before she can.

The grocery store is packed thanks to so many people getting off work. There’s only three carts left, all with bad wheels. She chooses the least squeaky option and, grabbing an add on her way, heads into the grocery store. Milk, and if she remembers right from this morning, they’re running dangerously low on coffee and tea. Despite caffeine having absolutely no effect on their enhanced bodies, both of them are nightmares to be around in the mornings without their beverages of choice. Force of habit and all.

She’s halfway to the checkout when she sees it. A sign, decorated in garish shades of red, pink, and purple. “All Valentine’s Day chocolates 10% off.” Shit. Yeah, that is coming up. To tell the truth, she’d completely forgot all about that day halfway through February. For most of her life, it only meant giving homemade cards at school when most kids had store-bought. Then, once she reached adulthood, it was a reminder that she was destined to be alone. Who would want someone who’s on the run, and what’s more, sees the future? Once she and Barnes got together, it didn’t change much. That first Valentine’s Day, he mentioned the holiday, and she shut it down immediately. They were both broke (or at least, he had no legitimate way of making money while she was broke), and celebrating a mostly commercial holiday seemed like a waste. Plus, she didn’t want to put a strain on a new relationship. Over the years, the subject never came up again, and she’s content for it to stay a non-starter, thank you very much. In her opinion, you should show your partner you love them every day of the year, not shoe-horn it into one twenty-four hour period. Call her unromantic if you must.

She’s completely immune to the various displays of cheap chocolate in heart-shaped boxes and overly sentimental cards as she approaches the register and starts to unload her items. Milk. Tea. That one specific brand of coffee that he likes because, “It tastes like what we drank in basic training. Terrible, but I kinda got used to it, so now everything else tastes like it’s trying too hard.” whatever that means. He’s right; she’s tasted it, and it’s fucking awful. Still, every morning, he drinks at least three cups while she drains her pot of tea.

“You got a hot date for Valentine’s Day, hun?” The cashier asks her, never breaking her rhythm as she rings up the items.

She chuckles. “As a matter of fact, yes.” The cashier’s eye go wide, and she holds up her left hand. “And every other day.”

“Ooh, nice. How long have you been together?”

“Nine years.” Wait… “Or four years, depending on which of us you ask. He blipped, I stayed.”

The cashier nods. “So are you older than him now?”

Physically? They’re not completely sure, but if you calculate the times he was off the ice with HYDRA and add that to the age he was before the serum, then they’re not far off. But chronologically- “No, he’s still older.” And yes, it will always be funny that Sam responds with “Okay, boomer” whenever Bucky makes an outdated reference (even if he’s off by a good twenty years).

With a little more light chatter, she pays for her items and leaves. Now, for home.

As soon as she opens the front door, she’s greeted by their dog, Sarge, barking excitedly and hopping around like he’s on a trampoline despite missing a leg. Bucky’s not far behind, placing a quick peck on her forehead before taking the bags from her and unloading them in the kitchen. Tonight’s his night to cook, but unless her nose has suddenly decided to give out, he hasn’t started dinner yet. She doesn’t mind taking over tonight, and when he sheepishly apologizes while she begins her preparations, she brushes it off. Although, for the second time in an hour, she’s seen proof of his unusual absentmindedness. Oh well. She’ll ask him about it later.

Despite being relieved from tonight’s chef duties, Bucky stays in the kitchen, sitting at the breakfast bar scrolling through his phone as she cooks. His expression is neutral, which can mean one of two things; a) he’s just killing time and there aren’t any interesting posts or articles vying for his attention, or at the opposite end of the spectrum, b) he’s deep in thought, possibly angry, sad, or even frightened, but he’s gone into Winter Soldier mode and shut down so that she won’t pick up on his mood. Damn the man and his poker face.

Eventually dinner is served and she sends him off toward the fridge in search of two beers while she serves their plates. Just as she’s spooning a generous helping of salad into her bowl, it happens. A vision, but a limited one. All she’s seeing is a phone. Well, that and the hand holding it. She’s not sure whether to be proud or embarrassed that she immediately recognizes the hand as Bucky’s, but that goes by the wayside as she takes in the article he’s reading. “Should you do something for Valentine’s Day even is she says no?” It’s a thread on some anonymous discussion board. The reply that has his attention is in reference to a now divorced individual who “was dumb enough to believe that, on our first V-Day as a married couple, she didn’t want anything.” Oh boy. Not good. This will be their first Valentine’s Day since exchanging vows, and if the fact that he’s read this reply (if not already read, will read soon) means that it’s at least crossed his radar that she might be feeding him bullshit. That’s not the case, but after his research, she knows from experience that no matter how much she tries to convince him otherwise, a small part of his mind will be stuck on, “But what if this is a big deal?” Which means-

“Doll, are you just gonna stand there with the salad tongs in your hand?” That snaps her out of it.

“No. Just a vision.” He frowns as she passes him his plate.

“Anything important happen?” Should she say?

“No.” She’s not sure if the smile or not, so she takes a bite from her roll to cover it. “Random sneak peek.” It’s not a lie. What she saw really isn’t important. Still, if he’s in that mindset, she should probably go on and do something for him just in case. After all, why should it only be the ladies who reap this holiday’s benefits?

___________________________________________________________________________________

Not flowers. That’s the one thing that, after copious amounts of research Bucky is one hundred percent certain about. They may still be a common romantic gift, but since they were also a go-to back when he was courting girls in the 1940s, it’s safe to say they’ve been overdone. Plus, he doesn’t really want to remind her of that time she had such a severe allergic reaction to the flowers he picked her on a walk through the park in Bucharest that her eyes nearly swelled shut and she sneezed herself sick. That doesn’t exactly seem like prime romance.

Chocolates or other candies have the same issues as flowers. Contrived and predictable. A bottle of wine is nice, but neither of them can so much as get mildly tipsy thanks to the super serum. The fourteenth is his day to cook, so he guesses he could do some reading and try to create something a little more special than spaghetti (he thought about going to a nice restaurant for dinner, but there’s a few issues with that, not the least of which is they’re likely to be recognized without their disguises, and he’d rather not look at his wife through sunglasses on Valentine’s day), but that seems a little underwhelming.

As he loads the dishwasher (she fell asleep half-way through the third episode of whichever nonsensical comedy they’re watching this week, so he sneaked back downstairs to clean up the dinner dishes), he thinks back to the dozen separate articles he read on the subject of Valentine’s Day gifts. Jewelry was a common theme, but that’s out. She’ll say thank you to his face, but worry about the cost behind his back. Plus, he has absolutely no idea what she’d like, and there’s no sense in purchasing something only for her to hate it.

Another common one was lingerie. Bucky almost choked on his tongue when he saw some of the examples given with that option. None of it looked comfortable (in fact, he’s still scratching his head about how you even put on one of the pieces that popped up on the web page) and he doesn’t want to give her the impression that she has to dress up for him. Even putting all that aside, he has no idea what size she’d even wear. He likes to think that he knows his wife pretty well, but somehow, in all their years together, it never occurred to him to ask her for her clothing sizes. That, and have you even seen the bra sizing system? Does it make sense to anyone, because to Bucky, it’s all gibberish. 32 B? 36 DD? What the hell? Somehow, when HYDRA was training him to extract information, they failed to go over the translation of a woman’s bra size. He supposes he could ask, but he’s not sure there’s a non-suspicious way to work, “Hey, sweetheart. What size are your breasts?” into casual conversation.

Sam said to get creative, so he tried to think outside the box. What’s something she really needs? A new vacuum cleaner is the first thing to come to mind, but he’s not stupid enough to think that would make a good gift. He knows she’s had her eye on a set of throwing stars, but that doesn’t seem to correlate well with what this holiday is all about. That’ll keep until her birthday.

He’s still wracking his brain for anything at all that might work when he feels a wet nose poking at his hand. Sarge. “Hey, boy. Has your mom gone to bed?” The response is a quiet “woof” and lick to his palm. He scratches the mutt behind the ears, smiling to himself as Sarge’s back leg thumps at the treatment.

“What do you think we should get our girl? Huh?” There’s no reply (of course not, he’s talking to a dog), but he nods, pretending all the same that Sarge has offered up a suggestion. “A bone. Yeah, somehow I don’t think that’s her thing. Try again.” The dog blinks at him lazily. “No, you’re the one who wants new tennis balls. Not Mom. Although you’re right about her liking peanut butter.” At this rate, he might as well get her a bone and some tennis balls, because he’s sure not coming up with any ideas.

She likes music. The thought pops into his head while he’s brushing his teeth. All sorts of music. Over the years, he’s tried to make sense of the songs he’s heard her listen to, but has yet to find a discernible pattern in her listening habits. She doesn’t seem to stick to just one genre or era. More like she picks songs by how they relate to what she’s feeling at the moment. Wait a second-

“A mixtape.” His reflection mouths the words back at him. Despite technology having moved on from the days of burning CDs, she still has a thick stack of the disks stored in a cabinet and plays them on the regular. He’s even seen a few that she made herself, pasting together the songs she likes to make a “Cleaning mix”, “Workout Mix” and “Pissed off Mix”. Bucky’s sure he could figure out how to burn a CD, but it’s not like she’d be able to listen to that everywhere she went. That leaves a playlist. She uses one of those apps to listen to music on her phone, right? Surely he can put something together for her using that.

Quietly, he climbs into bed next to his sleeping wife and pulls her back against his chest, slinging one arm over her waist as usual. He closes his eyes, but his mind is alight with activity. A playlist. Of course. He’ll put some extra effort into whatever he cooks that night, stop by a bakery and pick up some sweet treats for dessert. Hell, maybe they’ll both dress up and act like they’re on a date. Then, once they’re sitting down to their meal, he’ll pull out his phone and hit play. It’s perfect. At least, he hopes it is.

___________________________________________________________________________________

Putting on a lacy bra and panties set underneath her regular work attire seemed like a brilliant idea this morning. Today’s a short day; she’s only got three classes to teach, and Rhodey called last night to tell Bucky that he’s suspending work hours at three pm “Since most people have holiday preparations to make.” Her plan was to be waiting on the sofa in the living room when he arrives home, professional button-down blouse open just enough for him to get a good look at what’s underneath, pencil skirt pushed up enough to reveal the stockings and garters she’s donned for the occasion. It’s fun, with just enough cheesiness to match this whole holiday. And, well, it’s a guarantee that by the end of the night they’ll be in bed together, both rumpled, sweaty, and satisfied. Perfect, right?

Wrong. On her drive to work, her skimpy underwear began to ride up, giving her a wedgie, and there was no way to adjust without running the risk of wrecking. She was so distracted by her discomfort that she missed her exit, and by the time she arrived at the college, she was running so behind that she didn’t get the chance to run to the bathroom and readjust. Her lecture on sentence diagrams was pure torture before the underwire from her bra decided to join in the fun and poke her directly in the ribs, but with that addition, she was especially impatient with her students’ tendency to joke around a little too much in class.

Luckily, she had just enough time to wrap the exposed metal bit in tissues before her next class, which eliminated the pain in her chest, but did nothing to alleviate the discomfort once her stockings began to slide down, having at some point disconnected themselves from the garters. She taught like that for the next two classes, but as soon as they were over, she pealed the whole ensemble off in the teacher’s restroom and changed into her gym clothes. Alright, screw the whole seduction routine. She needs to blow off some steam and fast, or else she’ll be in a bad mood all night.

That’s why, thirty minutes later, she finds herself in the training room of the Avengers compound, working over a punching bag. “Fuck-” Her fist connects, making the bag swing crazily from it’s hook. “-this- whole- day!” It goes sailing, and she feels a little better.

“Ouch!” The voice comes from behind her and she whirls around, gaze resting on-

“Sam.” The man in question holds up his hands in an “I surrender” gesture.

“Don’t shoot! I come in peace.” Rolling her eyes, she holds up her middle finger, receiving a snicker in acknowledgment.

“Just working off a little frustration before I head home.”

“Good.” Sam chuckles. “’cause otherwise, I’d be worried that when Barnes pulls out his dick tonight, you’ll bite it off.” She thinks about telling him that there’s no chance of that, but she might just cut off his if he crosses her. However, that jogs her memory.

“Has he left yet?” Sam nods.

“About an hour ago. Said he had to pick up groceries.” Shit. There goes her plan to shower, throw the damn lingerie back on and proceed as planned.

Bidding Sam a hasty reply, she makes tracks towards her car and, once inside, heads for home. Fine. New plan. She’ll shower once she arrives and then when the evening is drawing to a close, wait for him in bed. Nodding to herself, she puts the car in park and climbs out. Now, to psych herself up enough in the next few hours to put the damn lingerie back on.

___________________________________________________________________________________

Where did he go wrong? It takes all of Bucky’s self control not to spit out the spoonful of sauce he just tasted. This was supposed to be an easy recipe for Chicken Alfredo (or at least, that’s what the website boasted; he should’ve known better than to get his information from the internet and stuck to a good old-fashioned cookbook from the library). Not… whatever the hell this is. Maybe even if the sauce is nauseating, the chicken is okay?

He pulls open the oven door, and immediately smoke billows out, making his eyes water. Okay, chicken’s a little well-done. Who is he kidding? Black. The chicken is burned black. And the pasta… he lifts the pot lid and stirs, only to come to the realization that the pasta is completely stuck to the bottom of the pot. Wonderful.

It’s inevitable; over the years, he’s had his fair share of cooking disasters, but usually he does okay. Tonight though… who the hell up there did he piss off, because the only explanation for how badly this is going is his karma coming due.

Still holding the offending spoon, he looks over at Sarge, who’s staring at him, long pink tongue sticking out as he pants. “Trust me, boy. You don’t want any of this.” There has to be something else he can pull together on short notice. Normally he’d be worried that she’s running late without so much as a text, but today he’s relieved. At least if she’s running behind he’ll have time to… what? Maybe order takeout? Before she gets-

“I’m home.” Shit.

Sarge yips, shaking with excitement, and starts towards the kitchen door, then turns back, uncertain. “Go on. I know you’re dying to jump on her and lick her face.” Something they really should be training out of him because he’s getting too big for that sort of behaviour but, well… there’s a reason they call them “puppy dog eyes.”

Not needing to be coaxed, the dog takes off, tripping a little in the momentary lapse in his memory that he’s a tripod, but easily catches himself and goes on his merry way, leaving Bucky to clean up his mess. From the sound of things, a game of fetch is going on in the living room, so she should be distracted for a while.

He manages to pour the sauce down the drain and scrape most of the pasta into the trash while Sarge is acting as a decoy, but there’s absolutely no way he can dispose of the chicken without tipping her off (damn enhanced senses, it’s a wonder she hasn’t already smelled it). Finally, he decides to just go for it. She’s going to notice whether he throws it out now or two hours from now. Might as well get a head start on cleaning.

Sure enough, not ten seconds after he empties out the oven, he catches a movement in his peripheral vision, and the familiar sound of her breathing tips him off that he’s no longer alone.

“Hey, Doll.”

“Hey, Bucky. Did something burn in here, or-” He holds up the pan for her inspection before continuing his scraping.

“That’s one way to put it, yeah.” He slams the lid back on the trashcan and turns on the tap, intent on rinsing out the pan. “Another is whoever the god of culinary arts is has it in for me today.”

She chuckles. “You know, that would be funnier if we didn’t actually know a god.”

“Yeah, but he’s in control of thunder.” He meets her eyes, smirking slightly. “Although it did look like I electrocuted the bird.” Her lips quirk up into a smile, and he takes the opportunity to kiss her, cupping the back of her head gently to hold her in place when she tries to move away, muttering something about being sweaty.

He’s not entirely sure how it happened, but by the time they come up for air, her back his pressed against the wall and he’s got her pinned in place. Not that he’s complaining.

“Anyone ever tell you that the tip of your nose turns pink after you’ve been kissed?’ Her cheeks go rosey in response.

“I think so. One guy did. I told him it’s only when I’m kissed properly.”

He really would like to continue the playful banter, but there’s still the small matter of whatever it is they’re going to eat.

“What do you feel like for dinner tonight?”

“Apart from electrocuted chicken?” He responds with a swat to her ass, which earns him a snicker. “Let’s keep it simple. Pizza. Your choice of toppings.” Right, that’s easy enough. Plus, if they have to wait longer than thirty minutes, it’s free.

“Okay. I’ll order while you shower?”

“Sounds like a plan.”

He’s just pulled up the menu on his phone when the sound of her clearing her throat attracts his attention. She’s standing in the doorway, combing through her freshly let down hair with her fingers, a playful look in her eyes.

“Or you could join me. Just a mild suggestion.”

Dinner can wait for a while.

___________________________________________________________________________________

The Brooklyn townhouse they live in has many nice features. There’s a functional if small screened in back porch, big enough to hold a table for two and a grill. Two bedrooms, on the off chance someone from work needs to crash for a night or two. A kitchen with a dishwasher. A working fireplace. Good closet space. And an en suite bathroom.

Maybe it’s a little ridiculous to call a bathroom luxurious, especially when, in comparison to what’s featured in many brownstones, it’s more than modest, but she can’t help but think of it as such. There’s a double sink so that in the morning rush to get ready, Bucky’s able to shave and brush his teeth without having to wait for her to finish applying her makeup. Shelving above the toilet makes certain that even if the last person to shower took the towel with them, another one is on hand. Speaking of the shower, it’s not the largest one in the world, but both of them can fit in comfortably at the same time, which is what’s lead to their current situation.

She’s just finished allowing the water to course over her body, easing the sweat from her skin, and is about to begin the process of washing her hair, scrubbing her body, but she hesitates. She might as well ask. It’s only practical after all.

“Do you want to start now or get cleaned up and have dinner beforehand?” It’s obvious what she’s referring to, so she doesn’t bother to spell it out.

His brown knits, and if she didn’t know him as… intimately… as she does, she’d actually believe he’s confused.

“Oh, so you’re just assuming there’s gonna be sex involved at some point tonight?”

She shrugs, wringing out her hair.

“Seemed like a safe enough bet.” She glances pointedly between the two of them. “After all, we’re already undressed. “

His laugh is a quiet huff, barely discernible over the sound of the water. “Then I’d say start now, have dinner, then go for round two. Sound about right to you?”

She nods. “Solid plan.”

“Then get over here.”

Unlike the welcome home kiss they shared not half an hour ago, this one is less tender, more electric. Hands twist in hair, bodies press together. Tongues begging for entrance quickly give way to teeth nipping at bottom lips, an unspoken sparring match for who’ll be in control this time around. Ultimately he wins, grasping her hips and lifting as she wraps her legs securely around his back.

There’s no need for prep; the teasing of their earlier words is foreplay enough. Back pressed against the wall, her body easily welcomes him in as she braces one arm against the glass shower doors for balance. Any concerns about slipping and falling wash away as they move together like so many times before. She’s sure her nails will leave marks on his back, fingertips digging in for purchase and it’s a guarantee her hips will be littered with fingerprints from his grip, but she can’t find it in her to care, and if the desperate, bruising kiss assaulting her lips is anything to judge from, neither can he.

“So damn good, Doll.” It’s panted against her neck. “Always. So damn perfect for me.” All she can manage is a moan in response.

She feels him twitch inside of her and knows he’s close. So is she, but she can’t quite get there without-

As if he’s read her mind, he reaches between them to touch her where she needs it most, and on instinct, she readjusts, locking her arm around his neck to stay in place. “Let go, sweetheart. Can you do that for me?” She couldn’t disobey if she wanted to.

“Fuck.” As her walls contract around him, he pulls out just in time to paint her middle with his release.

“That’s one word for it.” She’s still fighting to catch her breath, but she shoots him a shaky smirk, which he returns.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Mrs. Barnes.” Snickering, she releases him to stand on unsteady legs and pecks his legs.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Mr. Barnes.” Maybe there’s something to this holiday after all.

___________________________________________________________________________________

“You want the last slice?” Bucky considers it for a moment before deciding-

“Nah. You can have it.” It may not be exactly what he planned, but it’s been a good night. Between the two of them, they’ve gone through two large pizzas while watching the new version of Beauty and the Beast (she rolled her eyes when he asked if this was her way of saying he reminds her of a certain hairy, horned character) in their pajamas.

“No, really. You take it. I don’t want it.” She nudges the mostly-empty pizza box towards him. The noise makes Sarge lift his head from where he was snoozing beside her on the sofa. That gives him an idea.

“I don’t want it either, but I can think of someone who does.” He cocks his head towards the now-drooling dog. “How ‘bout it, boy? Wanna help us out?”

Snickering, she picks the pepperonis and pieces of sausage and ham from the pizza, forming a pile. “Here, Sarge. Catch.” She tosses a coveted treat in the air, and Sarge’s jaw snaps, swallowing it whole. “Good boy.”

They sit in comfortable silence for a few minutes before she speaks again.

“You know, I actually did have something planned for you.”

“Oh, yeah?” She nods.

“Absolutely. Had a whole seduction plan laid out. Tiny underwear, lacy bra, and stockings with garters included.” Huh. Guess she wouldn’t have taken the “lingerie” option the wrong way. He’ll file that away for future use… along with a mental note to ask her bra size. “That is, until I tried wearing the damn things for longer than an hour. Turns out, hiding a dirty secret under your clothes is more itchy than sexy.”

He can’t help it. He laughs, producing a pout from her which quickly turns into her own quiet laughter.

“Well, that fits in perfectly with my fancy dinner going up in smoke.”

“We really do have shitty luck with the whole “romance” thing.” She’s joking, but he decides to respond anyway.

“I don’t know about that.” Entwining his fingers with hers, he lifts their hands, twin wedding bands catching the light. “You waited five years for me to reappear after the blip, and I convinced you to elope with me. Seems pretty romantic.” Although, that reminds him…

“Don’t move.” Releasing her hand, he stands and goes in search of his phone.

“Bucky, what-”

“Don’t move, Doll. Stay right where you are.” Ah. On the kitchen counter, just where he left it. Jogging back into the room, he resumes his place on the couch next to her. Ignoring her questioning gaze, he pulls up the app and, selecting the correct playlist, hits play.

Immediate recognition blooms on her face at the opening lyrics. “She is the sweetest thing that I know. Should see the way she holds me when the lights go low.” He’s not one for modern music, but when he was googling “songs for Valentine’s Day” and this one popped up, he couldn’t help but think that the lyrics were fitting.

“I didn’t know you’d heard this one.”

He chuckles. “Even old men have a few tricks up their sleeves. That, and a wifi connection.” She rolls her eyes but leans closer, which he takes advantage of to show her the playlist.

“This is the app you use, right?” Receiving a nod, he continues. “Feel free to scroll through and add whatever you want. I haven’t listened to all of them the whole way through, but they seemed to fit the mood.”

Her hand closes over his, covering the phone. “Thank you, Bucky. It’s perfect.”

As the singer goes on about how hearts don’t break around here, he presses his lips against hers.

“I love you, Doll.”

“Love you.”

Not bad for a disastrous Valentine’s Day. Not bad at all.

[moonlit-imagines]

Headcanons for the Avengers’ days off

Avengers x reader

warnings: stabbing mention lmao, guns

a/n:

prompt: anonymous: “can we have a y/n just chilling with all the avengers?”

over the years, it was hard to have a peaceful day off, but sometimes that was the priority

each avenger had a preference on what they liked to spend their free time on

but we all know that there’s never a true stress-free day when it comes to your team

most of you preferred sleeping in, but not cap or sam, it was 6:00am sharp for them

you had begged tony to soundproof this place, but noooo

“it’s just not practical, what if someone’s being stabbed? what if we cant hear them yelling for help?”

so you could hear the clattering of the kitchen and buried your face into your pillow

sooner or later you’d roll out of bed and find breakfast had been cooked for the whole team

“‘morning, y/n! we made eggs, toast, bacon, waffles, and cut up some fruit! here’s your plate and here’s some juice”

“oh, wow, smells great”

it could’ve been worse, at least there were no coffee grounds in the disposal so you didn’t have to hear tony complain

speaking of tony, he emerged from the hallway in his silk robe with bags under his eyes

“well, i dont know about you guys, but i slept great!”

“how many hours of sleep did you get, tony?”

“you know, like...two”

sooner or later, the rest of the avengers had been woken up and everyone gathered in the living room to watch the news and talk about their plans

“can we watch something other than the news? i’d honestly be down to watch spongebob, anyone else?” -rhodey

you were in charge of the remote

“hell yeah, i thought you’d never ask”

this full group of adults peacefully watching nickelodeon together until everyone was finished

now there was a pile of dishes in the sink and a very dirty kitchen but everyone just kind of forgot about it and went on to other things

so what relaxed the avengers?

well, most of them liked to train, but they had other hobbies too

like steve, he liked to draw (every once in a while he showed you his sketches and they’re honestly really good?? especially the redraw of a monkey in the ‘40s)

sometimes he even asked you to model poses for him

“just another minute, y/n, you’re doing great”

*you standing on one shaking leg in a kick position*

steve made u draw with him

“it’s therapeutic”

you left your art in his room and now it’s hung up on the fridge

and then there was tony, who was working on some new inventions that you were a bit worried about

you snuck past the lab, but FRIDAY told him that you were near

“y/n! come help me with this really quick!”

“damn, so close��

“can you try this on and shoot it at that target over there?”

“why cant you do this?”

“because your body is able to ‘take the heat’ or whatever that dumb catchphrase you have is”

luckily it worked, but “not good enough” and you ended up helping tony hold the thing in place while he worked

“so, how’s your day off going so far? do anything fun?”

“hung out with steve while he was working on some sketches”

“so i’m going to take that as a ‘no’”

tony relieving you of your duties so that you could roam the compound once more

hearing wanda play guitar!! you loved hearing her play!

“knock knock”

“come in”

you laid in her bed for a while and listened to her soothing voice, it made up for tony’s lab assistant thing

“do you know what’s for lunch?”

“i think today’s special is ‘serve yourself’”

you and wanda went off to the kitchen to make macaroni and cheese (because why not??? im about to make my own mac and cheese)

(also u made tony a pb&j bc u knew damn well he wasn’t coming out of that lab for a while) (u gave him lightly salted chips too bc he needs to cut down on his sodium)

“tony, eat lunch”

“aww, for me? you shouldn’t have”

yall think wanda watches shameless?? bc i kinda do and these are my headcanons so she watches shameless

“we’re more unstable than the gallaghers, they should make a show about us”

she almost choked on her mac and cheeseeee

“keeping up with the avengers”

“‘tony, what the fuck is up with your wifi, you have this big-ass compound and you can’t afford a wifi box out here?’”

“‘it’s not about affording, it’s about radiation’”

“‘you’re gonna die anyway! you understand that, right? die with a good snapchat going through!’”

nearly pissing yourself laughing

but vision asked wanda a favor and you wandered off to another part of the compound

ah, yes, the training room

clint, nat, sam, and rhodey were all in here; it was target practice day

“y/n, grab a gun and get over here!”

“a gun? let’s teach y/n some archery”

“nobody wants to learn archery, clint”

“what? you said you wanted to”

“yeah, but you never taught me”

“well, i can teach you right now”

“fine, let’s go!”

red-wing flew very close to your head

“watch out, y/n!” -sam

“dude, you’re gonna kill them” -rhodey

“seems like now is a bad time?”

everyone was just kind of bickering as per usual, you were just a teeny bit bored

but sam agreed to a round of hand-to-hand combat that really relaxed you

no, really, the best stress reliever is a peaceful fight between your roommates

you were kinda glad it wasn’t nat you were fighting because she’d probably put you on the mat twice a minute

soon, each of you worked up a sweat and you went to your private bathroom to take a shower

there was always hot water at the avengers compound, so that was a comforting thought

after you were out, you got dressed into some cozy pajamas and walked out to the kitchen, where wanda and vision were making dinner

a few avengers were already out on the couches, just watching the tv

you joined them and suggested that they should all watch a movie tonight

“what kind of movie?”

“i dont know? hot tub time machine?”

everyone agreed

and side eyed steve when sebastian stan popped up on screen

“guys, i really dont see the resemblance! cant we just watch the movie?”

“are you blind??”

“his 90 year old eyes deceive him”

it was a good dinner

“sam, you stink”

“i havent taken a shower yet”

what a loving family

[440mxs-wife]

Cookies and Milk

Pairing: Sam x Reader. Other characters: Dean Winchester, Jody Mills

Word Count: 5060+

Warnings: None really, except here there be fluff

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

You were on a supply run in town to restock the bunker's refrigerator and pantry, one of your jobs while the boys were on a hunt. The list for this run wasn't as long as usual, but you still had quite a bit to buy. On your list were the items to make meatloaf, spaghetti, beef stew, chili, and your famous lasagna.

As you were nearing the frozen food section and the end of your list, your phone buzzed in your pocket with a text message from Dean. They were on their way home, and had stopped at a gas station for fuel and snacks. He wanted to let you know about when to expect him and Sam home.

DW: Hey, sweetheart. We stopped for gas and stuff, but we're still about five hours from home. Wanted to let you know.

You: I'm in town now, on a supply run. How did it go?

DW: I'll tell you more when we get back.

You: Okay, Dean. Drive careful, see you guys when you get home. Over and out.

Dean's last text message had you a little concerned, but there was no sense in worrying about it now. The best you could do was be there for the boys to support them, whatever they might need. Something you'd been doing for quite some time now, it seemed.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

You've been bunking with the Winchesters for the past six years now, but you've known them much longer than that. Ever since Bobby sent them to help you on that wendigo hunt, you've been the best of friends.

Over the years, you had drifted in and out of each others' lives, meeting up on a hunt or taking a break at Bobby's house. It wasn't until Bobby passed away that you moved into your own room in the bunker and semi-retired from hunting. You knew hunting was important work, it was just that you felt you could be more useful in a support capacity.

The bunker's gym helped you keep in shape and maintain your fighting skills. For the most part, though, you were in charge of the bunker. Your duties mostly included supply runs, chief cook and bottle washer, research and medical service. You also fielded calls for information from other hunters, given the expansive Men of Letters' library.

You and Dean shared a love of classic rock music, action movies and baked goods. Whenever Dean needed a bit of cheering up, you knew just how to do it. Usually, a freshly-baked pie was all it took to put him on the road to recovery. Didn't matter what flavor, though you knew apple, cherry and pecan were among his favorites.

Sam was different. To you, he was the "quieter Winchester". With his warm hazel eyes, thick chestnut hair and long arms perfect for providing comfort when you needed it. The two of you bonded over books, whether for research or for fun. You didn't always see eye-to-eye on music, but he didn't mind watching a chick-flick with you every now and then.

He was particularly sensitive to other peoples' emotions, quick to offer comfort at the first sign of distress.  On the other hand, accepting comfort from those closest to him wasn't always easy for Sam. He had a tendency to want to process things on his own, away from prying eyes and concerned hearts.

With Sam, if you needed to talk, you could count on him to listen and not dismiss your feelings. You could be yourself with him, even let your inner "nerd self" shine through. As time passed, your feelings had developed to where you saw Sam as more than your best friend. You knew you had to keep those thoughts about him to yourself, though. The last thing you ever wanted was to risk a longtime friendship over what you were sure was one-sided affection.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

While you were putting away the groceries at home, your thoughts drifted back to your feelings about Sam. You wished there was some way to show him how much you cared, how you were there for him if he needed someone.

You remembered that one way you showed Dean that you cared was with a homemade pie. You wondered if something like that would work in the same way for Sam. So instead of pie, you decided to make Sam a batch of cookies. It would be your way of telling him that someone was thinking about him, like the pie did for Dean.

With a plan of action and a renewed sense of purpose, you rummaged through the cupboards and found that you had everything you needed for some oatmeal chocolate and peanut butter chip cookies. You hurried to put away the rest of the groceries so you could get started on the baking.

You got right to work mixing the butter, sugar, eggs and the other ingredients. You also made sure to sample a few of the chocolate and peanut butter chips. Got to check the quality level, you thought with a smile.

After you finished cleaning up from your baking endeavors, you still had a couple of hours before Dean said they would be home. You reached for your book that was left on the coffee table and you picked up reading where you left off. Next thing you knew, a hand was caressing your cheek, so you opened your eyes to see Dean smiling down at you.

"We're home, sweetheart," he said softly.

You yawned and stretched in your chair. "Welcome home, Winchesters," you replied sleepily. You pulled yourself into an upright position and looked around the room. "Where's Sam?" you asked.

Dean dropped his gaze. "He headed off to go take a shower," Dean answered. "This was a rough one, honey. I'm just glad it's over, though. It's so good to be home," he explained.

"I'm glad you're home too, Dean. Wanna tell me what happened?" you asked gently.

He took a seat on the couch next to your chair. "It was a lot of little things that added up to one giant mess. Nothing went according to plan, even more 'off book' than usual," Dean explained. "We both almost got clawed, but we managed to fight them off. Now they can't hurt anyone else," he remarked.

You stood up from your chair and held out your hand. "Walk with me, Dean, I have a surprise for you in the kitchen. I may or may not have made you an apple pie yesterday. You know, unless you're not interested...." you teased, a smile tugging at the corners of your mouth.

Dean jumped up from the couch as if sitting on a spring, taking your hand as he reached his feet. "Really?" he asked excitedly. You nodded, and he gave you a peck on the cheek. "Bestest best friend ever," he grinned and rushed off in the direction of the kitchen.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Later that night after a dinner of pizza and Dean having a third slice of pie, you went to your room to read to help you fall asleep. Dean's exhaustion started to take its toll on him, so he showered and after wishing you goodnight, he went to bed. Sam hadn't come out for dinner, but there was enough leftover pizza that you weren't worried about him going hungry.

As the night wore on, you started to hear talking from the direction of Sam's room. You put your book down, put on your slippers and carefully opened your door. You roamed the hallways, trying to find the source of the noise. It was at its loudest when you were standing in front of Sam's door.

You peeked into his room to see him in the middle of a nightmare, tossing and turning. A sheen of perspiration had formed on his brow. Your heart broke for him a little to see him in such turmoil when he should be at rest.

After getting a cool, wet washcloth for him, you carefully sat on the edge of his bed. You gently placed the washcloth on his forehead and reached to take his hand in both of yours. He jumped at the unexpected contact and his eyes flew open. His head swiveled frantically from side to side, taking in his surroundings and trying to figure out what was going on.

"Shh, shh, it's okay, Sam. I'm here, you're safe now. It was just a nightmare, it wasn't real," you soothed. His breathing slowly returned to normal and he started to come back around.

"Did I wake you? I'm sorry if I did," Sam rasped.

"No, I was awake, reading when I heard you in here, having your nightmare. Do you want to talk about it?" you asked gently.

"Not right now," he answered with a shiver.

You placed a hand on his shoulder and was surprised to discover that it was so wet. His clothes were soaked in sweat, as were his sheets. "Hey, let's get you into some dry clothes, you'll catch cold if you don't," you remarked. "I'll take the sheets off and put them in the laundry room to be washed tomorrow. While I'm doing that, you change," you ordered.

"Yes, ma'am," he grinned.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

After he had changed into some dry clothes, Sam wandered into the kitchen for a late snack, since he hadn't come out for dinner. He knew you and Dean had pizza for dinner, so he headed for the fridge to get some of the leftovers.

He stopped when he saw the note on the table with his name on it, next to a plate of cookies and an empty glass. Sam didn't remember you making any cookies before they left for the hunt. He loved it when you made cookies. If he had seen them, he definitely would've taken some with him.

Sam looked around to see if you were near the kitchen and were going to join him, but didn't see you anywhere. He chuckled at your instructions that he was to eat all of the cookies by dunking them in the tall glass of milk. Then he was supposed to drink all of the milk, even though it would have cookie crumbs in it. Well, if she insists, he thought with a grin. Sam poured himself a glass of milk, then sat down to attack the plate of cookies.

Per your instructions, he dunked the first cookie, letting it soak up some of the milk like a sponge. The first bite was heavenly, as it seemed to melt in his mouth. A groan of appreciation escaped his lips, not only for the taste, but for your efforts in making the cookies in the first place.

As the cookies disappeared one by one, Sam thought about how you helped him out of his nightmare tonight. You woke him up out of it, and took care of him by making sure he changed into some dry clothes. You also set up his sheets to be washed in the morning. That last hunt really took it out of him, with so much not going according to plan.

Sam welcomed any opportunity he could to confide in you about how he was feeling or just to feel your arms around him. He longed to hear your kind words and let them wash over him in your soft, soothing voice as it fell from those pouty, kissable lips. And your eyes always held such understanding. No matter what secrets he shared with you, he never saw any judgment in their depths.

Before Sam knew it he was out of cookies, so he followed your last instruction and drank all the milk. He smiled to himself because he had to admit that he felt a bit better than when he first walked into the kitchen. He took his dirty dishes to the sink, rinsed out the glass, then he headed back to his room to sleep. The only part that would've made it better is for you to have also been in the kitchen, spending time with him and talking.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The next morning, you wandered into the kitchen to start making breakfast, still wearing your pajamas. Coffee was the first order of business, because Dean was very grumpy without it. You went to the sink to fill the pot with water for making coffee. You noticed that the plate and glass you left out for Sam had been rinsed and were waiting to be washed. A small smile crept across your face, knowing that your mission had been accomplished.

Dean stumbled into the kitchen shortly after you pressed the 'start' button on the coffee pot. He took a seat at the table and grumbled as he rested his head on top of the table. "Good morning, Dean," you giggled.

He lifted his head and stared at you through half-lidded eyes. "Is coffee ready yet?" he rasped.

"Not yet, but I'll make sure you get some as soon as it is," you chuckled. You squeezed Dean's shoulder as you walked by him on your way back to the stove.

You heard someone clearing his throat and looked up to see Sam standing in the doorway. "Good morning, Sam," you said with a smile. "I hope it didn't take you too long to get back to sleep last night," you remarked.

"Good morning to you. No, I came in here after I changed clothes and had some cookies and milk that a certain someone left for me," Sam replied as he returned your smile.

You couldn't help but grin as you kept your head down and continued to prepare breakfast. "I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about, Sam," you said.

"Uh huh, yeah right," he smirked. "I thought for sure you were going to come in here to join me, but you didn't," Sam pouted.

"Oh. I thought you might want that time to yourself, so I went back to my room. Sorry," you replied.

He stepped behind you to grab three coffee cups from the cabinet, then turned to glance over your shoulder. Sam was so close that you swore you could feel his breath on your neck as you flipped the pancakes.

"Something I can help you with, Sam?" you asked. As you turned to make eye contact with the man behind you, he was so close that your lips meshed against his ever so gently. Your cheeks immediately felt blazing hot and you closed your eyes tightly to regain your composure.

Sam jumped back in surprise, then touched his lips where yours had most recently been. He took a hesitant step towards you as you flipped the last of the pancakes. You put them on the platter and turned off the griddle. You brought the steaming stack of flapjacks over to the table, then awkwardly excused yourself from the room.

Dean stared after you as you bolted from the kitchen. "What's wrong with her?" he asked.

A grin slowly spread across Sam's face as it dawned on him what had just occurred. He realized how perfect it felt to have your lips pressed against his, even if only for the briefest of moments. Sam also became aware of how much he wanted to do that again, but for longer and with even more contact. "I don't know, Dean," he said slowly.

"Dude, you okay?" Dean asked, cutting into Sam's daydream.

"Perfect, Dean. Just perfect. Can you please pass the bacon?" Sam answered.

"You know this is real bacon, right?" Dean said as he eyed his brother.

"Yeah, I know. It's okay, I'll burn the calories off tomorrow on my run," he assured Dean.

"Getting weird around here," Dean muttered.

Back in your room, you sat on the edge, head in your hands. What the hell was I thinking, kissing Sam? you asked yourself. Not like you hadn't thought or dreamed about it a thousand or more times. But with how he jumped back like he was burned, that was indication enough that he considered it a mistake.

Now it's going to get weird around here and that's my fault, you thought bitterly. You had to admit to yourself that his lips felt nice, and that you would like to do it for real and often. However, you decided your best course of action for at least today was to hole up in your room for a date with Netflix.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

A couple of days after the "Kitchen Incident", as you thought of it, you decided to quit hiding out in your room. Whatever fallout was going to happen, you wanted to meet it head-on, then move forward, whatever that looked like.

Sam and Dean still went on cases, some that lasted a few days or even a week, while you stayed behind to run research. Life had seemingly returned to somewhat normal, or as normal as the hunting life gets.

Every once in a while, a plate of cookies and an empty glass for milk appeared on the kitchen table. Next to the glass would be a tented piece of paper marked, "For Sam". The usual instructions were written on the inside. He had to eat all of the cookies by dunking them in the milk, then drink all of the milk. Sometimes there would be a quote from a movie that you had watched together, or some silly knock-knock joke.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

About a month had passed and Sam and Dean were on their way home from a demon hunt in Montana. They had stopped in Sioux Falls to rest up at Jody's house and hang out with her and the girls before heading home. You asked Sam and Dean to say hi to everyone for you, and that you wished you were there.

Dean asked if you were going to do any baking, to which you laughed and asked him what kind of pie he wanted you to make. "Well, sweetheart, as long as you're offering, would you make a pecan pie for me?" he asked.

"I can do that. Um....how was the hunt?" you wondered.

Dean knew what you were really asking, but played along anyway. "It was fine, just demons being demons, causing their usual trouble. Sammy got knocked around a little though," Dean answered. "For the most part, he's okay. Sprained his wrist and has a bump on his head," he explained.

"What?!? Is he okay? Does he have a concussion, are you sure his wrist is only sprained?" you rambled.

"Shh, shh, relax. He's going to be fine. Here, talk to him," Dean said as he threw his phone to his brother, who threw him an epic bitch face in return.

"Hello? Sam, are you there?" you inquired nervously.

"I'm here. Don't listen to anything Dean says, I'm fine. How're you doin'?" Sam asked.

"Just trying to keep busy while I wait for you guys to come home. I must have done around seven loads of laundry in the last couple of days, though," you giggled. "You and Dean had at least three loads apiece!" you teased.

Sam smiled and chuckled in return. "I'm sure sorry about that, honey. I'll try not to let the clothes pile up so much next time," he promised.

Jody looked at Dean, with her mouthing the word, "Honey?" Dean just shrugged.

"Oh, it's all right, Sam. I was only kidding. I've got plenty around here to keep me busy and out of trouble," you remarked. "I miss you guys, but I know you don't get much chance to visit with Jody and her girls. So, don't be in a hurry to get home, and I'll see you when you get back," you replied softly.

"It's all up to Dean when he wants to leave, but I'll tell him you said that," Sam said. "Until then, take care of yourself and don't work too hard, okay?" he asked.

"I won't. Bye, Sam," you answered shyly. You heard a click and the call was disconnected.

Sam threw the phone back to his brother, a smile on his face. He got up from the couch and went into the kitchen for a bottle of water. Jody's and Dean's eyes followed Sam as he left the room. Once he was out of earshot, Jody and Dean were sharing their thoughts about Sam's phone conversation with you.

"Is there something going on between those two?" Jody asked. "Because it sure seems that way to me," she finished.

"Yeah, you should see them at home. They'll be sitting at the table researching or doing something on their laptops. I'll look up and see one of them staring at the other, then looking away. It's kind of cute, though," Dean replied.

"I can imagine. So, you'll have a pecan pie waiting for you when you get home, that'll be nice," Jody remarked.

"Yeah, and Sammy will probably have a plate of cookies waiting for him on the table," Dean answered.

"Wait. Mr. Eat-A-Salad-With-Every-Meal eats cookies?!?" Jody exclaimed.

"Oh, yeah, but only the ones she makes for him. It started after we got back from that werewolf hunt that went so bad," Dean explained with a grin. "At first, it was how she let Sammy know that he could talk to her about it or anything else if he wanted to. However, I think it's evolved into something more than that at this point," Dean said.

"Hmm. Maybe now it's her way of showing Sam how she feels. She might be too afraid to say it out loud," Jody suggested.

Neither Dean nor Jody had heard Sam come in from the kitchen. He heard the tail end of their conversation, the part about the reason you'd been leaving a plate of cookies out for him. "Hold on a minute. That's why she's been making me cookies?" Sam asked, taking a seat on the couch.

Jody and Dean looked at each other, debating on what to say next. Dean finally rolled his eyes and spoke first. "Come on, Sam, add it up," he started. "I've seen the two of you making goo-goo heart eyes at each other when you think the other's not looking. Then there's that phone conversation between you today," Dean smirked.

"What about our phone conversation?" Sam demanded.

"Nothing, just that if you smiled any wider while you were talking to her, your face would've split in half. And somehow, I don't think this is a recent thing for her," Jody chimed in.

"Huh? What do you mean?" Sam wondered.

"Well, remember the last time we all got together with Donna and Doug, about six months ago?" Jody asked and Sam nodded. "I noticed how her eyes seemed to follow you as soon as you entered the room. Then she looked away when you smiled at her and had caught her staring. How her face fell when you started talking and laughing with another woman," Jody finished quietly.

"H-how was she looking at me, Jody?" Sam asked, even though he pretty much knew the answer.

"Like a woman in love," she replied gently.

Sam turned to look at his brother. "Really?" he asked, his voice higher than usual.

Dean nodded. "So, the question really becomes, how do you feel about her, Sam?"

"I think I need some air," Sam said as he got up and walked out to Jody's back deck.

Once outside, he tilted his head up to see the endless array of stars shining in the night sky. Get it together, man, he told himself. This is your best friend you're talking about. You've known her for years. Do you really want to lose that if she doesn't feel the same? he silently asked.

Looking at the other side of the argument, Sam asked himself what would happen if you did feel the same, and how he would know. He loved the late-night conversations you had when neither of you could sleep. The warm towel you placed outside the shower for him after a cold morning run. Your laughter at his usually lame-ass jokes. Even that heartbroken look on your face as he flirted with another woman at the bar was enough to indicate how you felt.

The more Sam thought about it, the more he marveled at how he didn't see it sooner. It was all in front of him this whole time, the little things you do to show you care. Comforting him after he'd had a nightmare, buying his favorite veggies for snacks.....making cookies. You were in love with him.

Sam was suddenly desperate to have you in his arms at this very moment. As the two of you gazed at the stars, he knew your eyes would sparkle with amazement. Then you'd turn your focus on him and give him one of your heart-stopping smiles.

At that point, Sam knew he'd be a goner. He wouldn't be able to resist capturing your lips in a searing kiss, if your mouth moved even a fraction of an inch in his direction. That last thought was what sealed it in his mind. He was in love with you. If even half of what Jody and Dean said was true, then he didn't want to waste any more time before telling you how he felt.

He walked back through the house and into the living room, where he'd left Jody and Dean. When Sam entered the room, they stopped their conversation, because to them, it looked like he had something to say. "Hey Dean? Um....Could we...." he fumbled.

"Yeah, we can leave for home in the morning, Sam," Dean replied with an understanding smile.

"Thanks," Sam sighed with relief.

"Go get 'er, Sam," Jody remarked in support, bringing a smile to Sam's face.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

You had just pulled Dean's pecan pie from the oven and set it on the counter to cool. With any luck, it would be cooled off enough and ready to eat when he got home. There were also a few dozen snickerdoodle cookies you had made for Sam, resting on the wire cooling racks. You took out a plate from the cupboard and a tall glass. You placed about six cookies on the plate and set the glass next to the plate.

Taking out a blank sheet of paper, you folded it and tore it in half. On one half, you folded it into a tent and wrote "For Dean", then placed it next to the pecan pie. For the other half, you folded it the same, and wrote "For Sam" on the outside, then turned to write something on the inside.

Several minutes ticked by and you hadn't written anything. You couldn't think of a movie quote or line from Shakespeare to adequately express how you were feeling at the moment. You thought about your last conversation, the one where you heard he'd been hurt. Sam said it wasn't serious, but it was enough to cause you concern.

You decided you didn't want to hold back anymore when it came to your feelings about Sam. A hunter's life isn't always known to be a long one, and you were done wasting time. A smile broke out over your face as you resolved your writer's block. You wrote the three words that you felt best fit the situation, then left the note next to the cookies.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Sam convinced Dean to drop him off at the bunker so he had some time alone to talk with you. Dean said he would use the time to go back to town for a pizza or something. Sam first went to the kitchen, because he smelled the evidence of your baking endeavors. He saw the plate of cookies and bit into one as he read the note. As soon as he read the three words, he ran out of the kitchen.

A knock at your door startled you enough to make you drop the book you were reading. You took a deep breath then turned the doorknob. As soon as the door was open, Sam's hands were on you, cradling your face as he smashed his lips to yours. The urgency of his kiss made you gasp in surprise, creating an opening for Sam's tongue to slip inside. As you returned the favor, you could taste the cinnamon and sugar of the cookie he ate before he knocked on your door.

You broke the kiss when you needed to catch your breath. "Wow, Sam," you whispered. "That's some 'welcome home' you've got there," you chuckled.

"Couldn't help it, I had to see you, baby," he murmured. His right hand slid behind your head, his thumb gently stroking your cheek. "Then I found the cookies and the note you'd left in the kitchen," he explained. Sam dove in for another kiss, but this one was slow and tantalizing, full of everything he was feeling at the moment. He pulled back from the kiss and guided you so you were both sitting on the edge of your bed.

Your hands slid up his chest and clasped behind Sam's neck. "I couldn't think of anything clever to put in the note this time. The more I thought about you, the less I wanted to hide how I felt about you. So I wrote the three words I believed would best fit the situation, and figured I'd explain once you read the note," you replied.

Sam grinned. "It said, 'Come find me', and how could I do anything else? I've thought about you so much these past couple of days. I don't want to hide how I feel about you, either. I love you," he declared, dipping his head lower to capture your lips with his own.

"Oh, Sam," you whispered. "I've felt this way for such a long time, but didn't know how to tell you. So, I baked," you both laughed. "I love you too," you replied softly.

You were about to pull Sam in for another kiss when you heard the bunker door slide open, which meant Dean was home. The two of you looked at each other and laughed, Sam's forehead leaned against yours. He gave you one last peck on the lips before he got up from the bed, his hand held out for you to take. You took his hand in yours and intertwined your fingers as you walked out to see what Dean brought for dinner.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

@janicho88 @akshi8278 @magssteenkamp @swiftlymoniquesblog @lyarr24 @miss-nerd95 @distefano123 @hobby27 @deanwanddamons @jessica-noel94 @wayward-mikaelson @jawritter @gabrielslittleangel @jensengirl83 @deangirl93 @ellewritesfix05 @supernatural-jackles @idreamofplaid @like-a-bag-of-potatoes @winchesterprincessbride

[jobean12-blog]

Top Shelf: Chapter 10- Recipe for Love

Pairing: Bucky x reader (Bookshop/Bartender AU)

Word Count: 2,064

Summary: You and Bucky decide to host dinner for your friends and afterwards you get the best idea ever...

Author’s Note: Thank you all so very much for sticking with me and continuing to read! This has really been such an escape for me and I can never thank you enough for reading and being so kind and supportive. Thank you all for reading and much love always ❤❤❤

Warnings: sweet fluff, soft smut, fluffersmut, fun with friends :) 

Previous Chapters 

Chapter 1: Enchantment

Chapter 2: Cookie Crumble

Chapter 3: Sweet Anticipation

Chapter 4: Read Between the Limes

Chapter 5: Secrets on the Shelf

Chapter 6: Love Between the Covers 

Chapter 7: Love Lines & Soul Finds

Chapter 8: Drunk in Love

Chapter 9: Pour in onto the Page

The rest of the night goes on in a blur of soft touches, heated kisses and whispered, “I love yous.” Now that the words are out it’s as if neither of you have anything else to say. The uber ride back to Manhattan is as sugary sweet as the cotton candy you’re licking off your fingers. “Oh my god, Bucky! I forgot how good this stuff is!” you exclaim as you pull off another chunk of the spun sugar. “I know!” Bucky replies, kissing some melting pink sugar off your lips.

You giggle, trying to refrain from poking him with your sticky fingers. “Sweetheart, if you get that sticky crap stuck in my hair, we’re gonna have a problem.” Your fingers reach toward him as you hold back laughter. Bucky quickly grabs your wrist and brings your hand to his mouth, slowly sucking the sugar off the tip of each finger. “I wish we were home already,” you breathe out.

When you finally fall through the door of your apartment, you’re surprised you’re still dressed, Bucky’s hands groping you from the moment you got out of the uber. He walks you backward until you bump the small island in your kitchen, his arms lifting you up and sitting you on the countertop. Your hands card through his hair as he kneels between your legs, pushing up the skirt of your dress.

His eyes watch you as he trails kisses up your thigh, his soft hair slipping through your fingers as you try to find a hold on something. With the languid movements of his tongue he takes you apart, your body completely sated as he stands to unzip his jeans. You waste no time, helping him get them to the floor.

He enters you slowly and you feel every inch, his forehead pressed to yours while you relish in the feeling of each other. The lights from the city cast a soft glow on your skin as Bucky’s hands and mouth explore every inch with a newfound reverence.  It isn’t long before you come undone, his name a quiet plea falling from your lips.  

The next morning you find the other side of the bed empty, but the smell of freshly brewed coffee permeates the air. With a satisfied hum you throw off the covers, covering your nakedness with Bucky’s shirt. “Do you always walk around shirtless?” you ask as you enter the kitchen, Bucky’s back to you as he stands over the coffee pot.

“Are you complaining,” he croons, throwing you a look over his shoulder. “Not at all,” you say, walking over and wrapping your arms around his waist. “That smells so good! I’m so glad someone is finally using the coffee pot. I usually just get it from the café down the street.” He turns and hands you a steaming cup, asking, “you mean the little spot on West 22nd and 9th Ave?” You nod as you take your first sip, moaning at the taste.

“It’s going out of business!” You nearly spit out the delicious coffee, “WHAT?” Bucky frowns, holding you against his chest, “yeah, the new Starbucks that opened nearby is killing them.” Now it’s your turn to frown, the realization you may have to start brewing your own coffee or paying way too much for one making you angry. You take another sip, eyeing Bucky over the mug, “that’s awful. I really liked that place!”

Kissing the top of your head he says assuredly, “you have me and since you seem to approve of my coffee making skills, I think you’ll manage.” With a contented smile you reach behind him for your cookie tin, picking it up and noticing it feels way too light. “Bucky. Did you eat the last of the peanut butter chocolate chip cookies?”

Hanging his head, he doesn’t answer but it’s all the confirmation you need. “I can’t believe you didn’t even leave me one!” He tries to look sheepish but fails terribly as he checks for crumbs along his mouth. “Well, they were amazing! And I was hungry this morning!” he says in defense. “You’re lucky I love you, you know that” you say. He takes your unfinished coffee from your hands and places in on the counter. “Actually, I’m the lucky one and I love you too,” he says, before stopping any further conversation with his lips on yours.

You spend Sunday afternoon at the bookshop with Bucky, organizing some shelves and just enjoying each other’s company. As per her usual Sunday visit, Grandma Betty strolls in shortly after lunch, her smile bright at the sight of you both. “Look at you two. You’re practically glowing today! I knew a night out would be good for my boy. Was it as fun as you remembered?”

Bucky sends a heart stopping smile your way before launching into a full recap of your night and how perfect it was. Grandma leaves with a smile that matches yours and a promise of some of your now famous peanut butter chocolate chip cookies.

After the visit you can tell that Bucky’s mood has dampened slightly, his teeth working over his bottom lip and his forehead creased in thought. “Hey baby, you think Steve, Peggy, Nat and Sam would want to come over for dinner next weekend? Maybe we can do it early before you guys have to be at the bar?” His spirits seem to lift at the idea, and he sends out a text to see if everyone is available.

Once your plans are made and you all settle on a time you ask him, “what do I make for dessert?” He laughs, raising his brow before he speaks. You cut him off, “I’m not making you any more of those cookies. In fact, I’m going to make a whole batch, give them all to your grandma and you can’t have any!” He pretends to pout which makes you laugh, his antics hard to resist. “I’ll bake something new! A surprise!” you exclaim, winking his way.

You spend almost every weeknight at Bucky’s apartment, except for Wednesday night because Nat insists she needs some girl time. “So. Does it feel different now that you guys said I love you?” she asks, sitting on the couch with her legs stretched out over yours while sipping her wine. “It just feels right. I can’t really explain it. It all seems so cliché when I really think about it, but I’ve also not felt surer about anything before.”

Nat tilts her head in understanding, her hand reaching over to squeeze yours. “I get it. I’m so happy for you.” With another sip of your wine you reply, “thanks, I love you. Now stop stalling and tell me about your weekend with Sam!” She giggles and you squeal when you see a light blush creep over her cheeks. “OH MY GOD! WELL??” She kicks you with her foot, scowling before she says, “it’s the wine! I swear!” You laugh, knowing full well she’s full of shit. “Yea right. You can’t fool me. SPILL IT!”

Saturday morning rolls around and you and Bucky leave his apartment together, you’re heading out for baking supplies and Bucky heading to the bookshop to open and prepare for his early departure. “If you need me to pick anything up on my way back just let me know, doll. I can easily make a stop.” You pepper his cheek with kisses, saying thank you in between before planting a good one on his lips. “I love you,” he murmurs, watching you walk down the street until you’re out of his sight.

You decide on making a coconut cream pie for dessert, checking beforehand that everyone is a fan of the fruit. It’s the first time you’re making it and you’re both excited and nervous. Once you have everything you need you head back to Bucky’s and start preparing, making sure to send him plenty of silly texts as you bake. Thankfully the two of you had made a sauce and breaded chicken cutlets the night before so all that had to be done other than the pie was frying up the cutlets and cooking the pasta.

Bucky arrives home right on time. “Wow. It smells amazing in here baby.” He gives you a tight hug, picking you up off your feet and kissing you soundly before running off to take a quick shower. Once he’s clean and ready you finish up the cooking and put the pie in the oven. Bucky sets the table and you prepare some small appetizers.

Steve and Peggy arrive first, and Peggy joins you in the kitchen for some gossiping and wine. You look over her shoulder to see Bucky and Steve on the couch plowing through the snacks. “Hey boys! Can you please try to save some for Nat and Sam??” They both look up guiltily, trying to hide their mouthfuls of food. “Sorry,” they mumble simultaneously.

Luckily, Sam and Nat show up only moments later and Sam can snag a few bites. Dinner goes off without a hitch and everyone sits with their glass of wine while they wait for dessert. “Nat has been going on and on about y/n’s baking all week! I can’t wait to eat this pie!” Sam shouts. “I know, Bucky said her cookies are better than my mom’s!” Steve chimes in, raising his eyebrows.

Everyone looks at Steve in shock, their mouths hanging open. “What the heck guys?” you say as you walk to the table holding the pie. “What happened?” Steve quickly speaks up, “nothing y/n! We were just talking about how good your baking is. That looks amazing!” You throw them a knowing smirk and put the pie on the table, serving a slice to everyone.

Sam shovels in a giant bite, moaning around the fork. “Holy cow, this is incredible y/n!” Steve follows suit, closing his eyes and mumbling something about heaven while he chews. Bucky looks up and gives you a wide smile, his eyes twinkling as he mouths “I love you.”

Before you can answer him Sam snorts, pulling your attention away as you watch him point and laugh. “Jeez, you two are sweeter than this pie.” You scowl at him and try to hold back your laughter but fail miserably when Nat chimes in and says, “that’s the best you could do. Really?” Everyone starts laughing and Bucky pulls you into his lap, feeding you a piece of the pie. “Wow. It really did come good,” you say, only loud enough for him to hear.

While everyone continues to eat Bucky makes some coffee, the smell drifting through the small apartment and perking everyone up. The rest of the evening goes by fast and before you know it, Bucky and Sam must leave for the bar. Bucky tries to help you clean up, but you shoo him out, looking forward to a little alone time with Peggy and Nat. “It’s fine Buck, don’t worry! We can definitely handle this!”

It doesn’t take the three of you long to clean up, afterwards getting comfy on the couch with a glass of wine. You hang out for another couple of hours before the yawning starts, the wine and good food catching up to all of you. “Thank you so much for coming, this was so fun!” They enthusiastically agree, telling you for the hundredth time how delicious the pie was.

An hour later you’re in the bath, relaxing under the bubbles and teasing Bucky by sending him sexy pictures. ‘Doll, this is so unfair…I know what’s under those bubbles and I want some.’ You giggle, placing your phone safely on the towel next to the tub. Grabbing the plate of pie you brought into the bath you take a bite, savoring every flavor as it swirls over your tongue. You mentally give yourself props, loving how much everyone praised your baking abilities.

Finishing the last bite, your eyes suddenly go wide, and you blurt out, “that’s it!!!” You drop the empty dish to the floor and grab your phone, trying to text Bucky as quickly as possible. “Shit, shit, shit!” you curse at your slippery fingers, wiping them off on the towel. ‘BUCKY! I KNOW HOW TO SAVE THE BOOKSHOP!’ The text goes through and you smile to yourself, excitement coursing through you while you wait for his reply.

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