#of course sam would be the one to push that button | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

shurisneakers · 2 months ago

Text

unsolved (xv)

Summary: Bucky doesn’t even believe in the paranormal. So who the hell thought it was a good idea to stick him in a series about everything haunted for the internet’s amusement? With his loose-canon of a teammate who has no concept of subtlety or shits left to give, to make things even worse. (Buzzfeed unsolved AU)

Warnings: swearing, frustrated bucky, obnoxious reader, tension, Christmas, ghosts, mentions of ptsd,

A/N: i'll be so honest. this is not edited i will come back during the day and edit this. it's 3am here man. welcome to Christmas in may

Previous part || Series masterlist

It was two nights before Christmas.

Not to get too festive, but Bucky was already ho-ho-h-over this shit.

As with everything, the Avengers refused to be normal when it came to planning Christmas. A giant tree had already been brought into the living room, with the bottom 3 feet already decked out in ornaments. Boxes upon boxes of ornaments– customised, traditional, passed down for years, new– lay at its base, waiting to be set up.

Stockings had arrived in the mail, hot cocoa was being purchased by the pound, and the damn Christmas playlist had gotten boring 3 days into the month, but continued to play every single day like they were working in a grocery store.

Bucky doesn’t really feel the cold as much as the others– spending 70 years in nothingfuck Siberia will do that to a guy. So while everyone wears ugly sweaters that you’ve gotten them with enthusiasm, he sticks to an ugly Christmas t-shirt you had custom made for him.

And felt-antlers. With bells. Because you stuck it on him and he never bothered taking it off.

He’s fended off several attempts to get him to go carolling through the Tower. He did go to the soup kitchen to serve people the whole month, and shovelled snow from driveways for free.

He thinks that’s good enough for Christmas Spirit.

“Bucky Barnes,” you announce, gliding into his personal space once more with practiced ease. “I have an idea for you.”

“Of course you do,” he says, voice like gravel after not using it the whole day. “Are you going to make another animal talk and then lie to me for months?”

“Lie to you for months?” you scoff, dropping your head into his lap, feet kicking up. “I literally fucking told you she talks, like multiple times. You’re the one who didn’t believe me.”

His hand instinctively moves to run over your scalp. “Oh I’m sorry, I’ll start taking everything you fucking say literally.”

“You’re my boyfriend.”

He narrows his eyes. “Starting now.”

“You’re my boyfriend.”

“Starting now.”

“You’re my-–”

“Stop it. Get help.”

“You will never learn from your mistakes,” you tsk lightly, unperturbed. “I even told you she picked Alpine as her name, why the fuck would I lie about that?”

“I thought you talked to her like– I don’t know– an imaginary friend or some shit.”

“She’s not imaginary.”

“I know that now,” he hisses. “She’s been calling me a little bitch for the last 2 weeks every chance she gets.”

“Have you considered that perhaps it’s because you are, in fact, a little bitch?” you ask brightly.

“I know that, doesn’t mean I wanna hear it every time she wants food.”

“You should get her one of those dispensers where she hits the button and it gives her food.”

Bucky grumbles, adjusting so you can be more comfortable, “It’s her Christmas present.”

“You’re a big ol’ softie,” you say approvingly, patting his thigh. “Speaking of Christmas presents, what did you get me?”

“Didn’t get you shit.”

“Excuse me.”

“Don’t need to ask me for permission, ‘s a free country.”

You push up from his lap, glaring at him. “Did you get anyone presents?”

“I got Steve socks.”

“What about Sam?”

“Socks.”

“Nat?”

“So–”

“If you say socks, I’m gonna kill you.”

Bucky shrugs. “Suit yourself.”

“Did you get me socks too?”

“No, they didn’t deliver in time. You'll get them next month.”

“Bucky.”

“What?”

“You sound like the fucking Grinch.”

“Whatever.”

“You sound like Scrooge. You’re gonna have a 200 year old Bucky Barnes show up tonight and make you change all your ways and then you’ll be nice to me,” you say, laying your head back down on his lap.

“I’m always nice to you,” he scoffs. Which is true. He even made sure the fucking temperature was to your liking, even though everyone had complained about it.

“Liar. Anyway, that reminds me of what I came here to talk about. It’s so convenient that your personality is a natural segue into Scrooge. I think that says a lot about you.”

He stares at you. You grin at him.

He rolls his eyes, glare dropping in favour of a small smile instead.

“I found a Reddit post about how to summon the Ghosts of Christmas Past, Present and Future,” you say, pulling it up on your phone. “All you need is 2 red candles, and some blood and stuff.”

“Feel like you’ve skipped over a lot there.”

“Nah, it’s cool. I’m gonna get red candles delivered for the Tower anyway, and I’m sure the chalk from the seance we did a few months ago will be enough.”

“While you’re at it, you can get yourself socks too and I’ll pretend it’s from me.”

“Stop.”

“I’ll put a note on it, if it helps.”

“It does not, I hate you.”

“Guess I’ll cancel the socks then.”

“I’ll kill you, Barnes.”

Finally, after a marathon of Die Hard, the Tower retreats into quiet. Everyone gets back to their floors, leaving only soft lights on and the faint hum of Eartha Kitt in the background.

Bucky sits at the counter, waiting for you to get on with your scheme.

There’s a plate of cookies beside him that was definitely supposed to last the whole week, but was depleting rapidly at a pace that was unjustifiable.

He looked comfortable. In a good mood, even.

You slid onto the chair across from him, a candle in each hand and your phone tucked between your shoulder and ear.

“Did you know,” you said, striking a match, “that if you perform a Yule invocation on the night of a waxing moon–”

He only chooses to listen, chewing absentmindedly.

“��and speak the ancient lines passed down by account owners on Reddit—” The flame on the candle lights up your face. “—you can summon the Ghosts of Christmas Past, Present, and Future.”

He thinks you look nice in the candlelight. His head tilts lightly as you light the other one.

“You mean like the story?”

“No, like the tax auditors. Yes, like the story.”

He slides a cookie over to you, which you accept. “It’s two nights before Christmas. I should be resting.”

“You’ve been resting all day.”

“I shoveled a driveway this morning.”

“For five minutes.”

You place the candle in a chipped ramekin you stole from the kitchen. The second one wobbles slightly before finding its balance.

“You know,” he said eventually, “for someone who claims to hate rules, you love rituals.”

“Completely different.”

“Uh-huh,” he says, taking another bite before asking casually, “How’s this month been for you?”

You look at him with an eyebrow raised. “Is this a performance review?”

He shrugs. “Christmas tends to be a lot. Family this, family that. First year here was incredibly claustrophobic.”

You draw a little diagram on the counter with a sketch pen. He’d have to wipe that off later.

“It’s been alright,” you say after a while. “This is probably the first time I’ve been a part of something like this.”

“You can fuck off somewhere quiet.” He offers you another cookie from the plate, watching as you take this one as well. “No one would say anything.”

“Sam’s got me learning some choreography with Cass and AJ, so I’m pretty sure he’d mind.”

“No one cares what Sam thinks.”

“I’ve seen the way you look at him, you can’t fool me.”

Bucky narrows his eyes at you. The corner of your lip pulls in a smile.

“Besides– maybe all this ‘family this, family that’ will help me get what you meant by silent blenders.”

He stops chewing momentarily, trying to place what you’re talking about. It sounded familiar, just on the tip of his tongue but he couldn’t place it.

“Clock tower,” you remind him.

Oh.

God, that was so long ago.

So many things have changed since then. Looking back, he thinks he’d have done things a lot differently.

You handing your phone over to him snaps him out of his quick flashback.

“What?”

“This is a two-person ritual,” you tell him. “I need you to read it so that they come haunt you too.”

Bucky’s nose twitches.

Did he really want more people after him.

He skims through the Latin line on the screen with the same energy as reading a rental agreement.

“This is too much effort.”

“Um.”

“It’s the middle of night, I don’t want to learn Latin.”

“You’re such a pain,” you whine. “Fine, just repeat after me then.”

“What if I say it wrong?”

“Well, then you’ll probably summon something else, Buck. You looking forward to that? You wanna make a new friend?”

Bucky rolls his eyes, watching you over the rim of his mug. The light from the candles flickered across his face. It made him look softer. The quiet suited him.

“Repeat after me. This is the oath,” you announce. “I do.”

“I do,” Bucky says dryly.

You nod your head. “We’re married now.”

His lips stretch into a thin line, casting a wry look at you.

“I’ll get you there some day, baby.” You grin. “Alright anyway. ‘Si spiritus circumvagantur–”

He says it, not sounding even remotely interested.

“Monstra nobis praeteritum, praesens et futurum.”

“Monstra nobis– how long is this thing,” he interrupts.

You send him a pointed look. He says the stupid line.

“Ut quod fractum est reparare possimus.”

Bucky feels a sudden sense of unease as he says it. He may have thought of it as a joke before, but did he actually want more people haunting him? Did he want the one person who was haunting him to show up once more.

“Sana quod vulneratum est. Muta consilium Parcarum,” you read, glancing over at him.

He says it, but his words get more faint, shoulders tensing.

“Melior homo esto ante lucem,” you finish.

You look at him expectantly.

“Good night,” he says instead, chair scraping against the floor as he pushes away from the counter.

“Did you just quit on me at the last second?”

“Got bored.”

“I cannot believe–”

“It was too long. Get a shorter spell next time.”

“I can’t believe you made me summon ghosts alone.”

He raises his hand in mock salute. “Hope your visit goes well.”

“I hope you get visited by the Ghost of Being Lame.”

“Maybe he’ll bring socks.”

You stand up, blowing out the candles as look at him. “You're lucky you’re cute.”

His face suddenly feels hot, which is stupid, because the candles were already extinguished.

Nothing happens.

You declared it was because you were literally perfect and there was nothing to change ever, so they didn’t even bother making the trip to see you.

Bucky’s sort of glad he doesn’t have to see his sister on her favourite holiday.

The next morning, the Tower was already loud before a reasonable time.

And much like a fucking minefield, there was mistletoe everywhere.

All over the ceilings, every doorway, hanging from sticks on top of basic necessities like the fridge.

Bucky noticeably avoids walking under any of the mistletoe, which only made it more fun.

“Are you allergic?” you ask innocently, trailing behind him into the kitchen.

“To you, yeah,” he muttered, swerving clear of opening the fridge like it might save him.

You lean on the counter. “What would be the worst thing that happened? Someone kisses you?”

“Someone sees it happening,” he says.

He turns around, only to immediately bump into Nat. Bucky whose lets out something similar to a screech and has the look of a cat who accidentally touched water, books it.

You’d never seen him leave a room faster.

Afternoon is spent at a volunteer event downtown.

Distribution tables, hot meals, paper hats. A photographer from some local paper follows Sam around for three hours.

Bucky stands beside you and quietly refills the cider table without being asked.

“You know, just because you haven’t mentioned the thing you said on the ship, doesn’t mean I forgot it,” you pipe up.

Bucky pauses, grip tightening on the ladle. “I was seasick.”

“Yeah. Which is why I think you were telling the truth.”

“Wasn’t thinking straight.”

“I’m not gonna push you, Buck,” you tell him. “I’m just sayin’ that if there’s something you want to talk about, you can.”

He stays silent, instead focusing on whether every glass was filled the right amount.

You squeeze his shoulder and go to find Nat to help with blanket distribution.

Bucky barely moves from his designated table. You show up occasionally to make sure he steers clear of the photographs being taken at random.

On your way out, he silently hands you a candy cane and doesn't look at you when you take it.

Clint catches him under the mistletoe in the garage.

Bucky physically recoils when a sloppy, wet kiss is pressed to his forehead.

By the time the sun dipped behind the Tower, dinner was long done and half the team had changed into progressively worse pajamas.

The living room smelled like cinnamon and pine. The movie was something old and animated, the volume low enough to talk over.

You were on the floor with your back against the couch, half-wrapped in the throw blanket Bucky had been using until you’d stolen it.

Steve flips through a catalog Wanda had brought back from a Christmas market. He keeps holding up strange ornaments and asking if they were “a thing now.”

“That’s a mushroom,” Wanda said flatly.

“It has a face.”

“They all do.”

“It’s smiling at me.”

“Smile back.”

On the other couch, Sam had Alpine on his lap. She was tolerating it with visible judgment.

You weren’t really talking. Not in full conversations. Just that easy holiday haze of noise and small jokes and unfinished thoughts.

“Who keeps changing the thermostat?” Steve asked without looking up. “The hallway’s freezing.”

You didn’t say anything, biting back a smile at Bucky very pointedly staring straight ahead.

You bump your knee into his.

He bumps it back.

It’s too late when everyone disbands.

By the time the lights switch off, Bucky’s too drowsy to drop you to your floor the way he usually does, instead groggily making his way back to his room.

You told Nat you’d be there in a while, that you’d set up your presents and then come upstairs.

You can’t sleep.

There’s a restlessness in your limbs, like something’s trying to shake loose inside you.

So you walk.

You grabbed the throw blanket off the couch, draped it over your shoulders, and stepped into the quiet, humming the last carol that was playing when you left.

No point in really paying attention to where you’re going, it’s not like it matters.

The only light came from the window, where the skyline buzzed faint and gold against the glass.

The hallway beyond the common room was empty.

As you shuffle along, something shifts.

It’s faint, but there.

And though you’d had variations of it over the last few days–something about it is so familiar, it slows your stops.

A trace of cinnamon, baked sugar, worn wood, and warm cloth. Scents buried under years, suddenly so vivid.

You stop walking, whipping your head around to look at the kitchen.

It was empty, the leftovers stuffed into containers in the fridge.

The hallway is the same–quiet, washed in soft light.

But the scent is unmistakable.

Your chest tightens before your mind catches up.

And when you turn to look back at the path ahead of you.

She’s already there.

At the far end of the hallway.

She’s just there, the way she used to be at the end of a long shift, standing in the kitchen doorway of the bakery with a dish towel in her hands and something cooling on the counter behind her.

Same cardigan, same sleeves rolled to the elbows. Same soft shoes, same patient gaze. The way she used to watch you when you thought you were being subtle.

You’re not sure if your body moves first or your voice.

“Mrs Mullens?”

She smiles, and it feels like the world has opened up to swallow you.

You can’t remember the last time you saw her. You’re not sure you even remembered what she looked like.

You’ve had years of impossible things since then. Cities falling. Rooms shifting. Time and space slipping out of your grasp. But this makes your throat ache in a way none of those things ever did.

When you don’t take a step towards her, you still find that she’s closer. Like you have no choice but to meet her midway.

“It’s been a while,” she says, voice airy. It reminds you of wind chimes.

Your voice cracks, just slightly. “You look exactly the same.”

“Well,” she says, tilting her head, “you slouch more now, so it evens out.”

The laugh that escapes you is soft, unsteady.

“Walk with me,” she says.

You find yourself nodding before it even registers.

Moving down the hallway you’ve done hundreds of times in the last year now feels like the floor of the café again.

The air warm with sugar and vanilla. The low sound of a radio playing something old. You, legs aching from a double shift, watching her knead dough like it was nothing.

“How long has it been?” she asks.

You shrug, but your eyes sting. “Too long.”

She nods once, small smile teasing on her lips. “I’m glad you’re here now.”

“I meant to come back,” you say, quieter. “I really did. I told myself I would.”

“I know,” she says.

You fidget with the hem of your sleeve. “Working at the cafe was the first time I didn’t feel like– you know.”

“I know that too.”

You stare at her. “I shouldn’t have taken off like that suddenly. It was a shitty thing to do.”

“You were scared,” she says gently.

“I should’ve said goodbye.”

“You weren’t ready to.”

“Should’ve tried.”

Her voice stays level. “You stayed longer than I thought you would.”

You glance at her.

She smiles again, soft. “And I hoped you’d stay longer still. But I also knew what it looked like when someone was running.”

Your throat closes.

“I was going to give you a raise,” she continues, just conversational. “I’d already had the envelope.”

You blink hard.

“I think I hoped,” she adds, “that if I gave you enough reason to stay, you would.”

“I know,” you say, without meaning to. The words just slip out. “I’m sorry. Everything felt like it was closing in on me.”

She’s quiet for a moment.

You look away, not knowing what to do about the guilt grabbing hold of your ribs.

“Why are you here?” you ask after a while.

She shrugs, lightly. “I wanted to see how you’re doing.”

“Same old.” Your shoulders rise in half a shrug. “Don’t think I’ve ever had a biscotti as good as the one you used to make. Used to steal them right out of the display case.”

She chuckles. “I knew. Why’d you think we never ran out? I started making extra.”

You grin, despite yourself.

You’re not quite sure you’re awake. Everything feels hazy and unclear.

Like it’s a reminder that this is actually happening, she reaches over, resting a hand on elbow.

Your fingers tighten around hers. It feels like the guilt was going to eat you alive.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know how to say thank you,” you say. “I should have stayed.”

“You can still do that,” she tells you gently.

Your eyebrows furrow.

And when you look at her to respond–

You come up empty.

Just gone.

But the air still smells like cinnamon.

You blink hard a few times, looking behind you.

The silence fores you to keep moving down the hall.

The elevator ride up seems unusually short, but you cant say for certain that you were focusing on anything but what happened.

It dings, the door opens up and you step out to more quiet.

As you walk down the hall to your room, the smell of cinnamon fades. The touch of her hand on yours also begins to ebb away, as much as you don’t want it to.

You take a turn to your room, walking past picture frames and more mistletoes– until you come to an immediate halt.

There’s a bench you don’t remember being there before.

Someone’s sitting on it.

You stop, hand at the ready at your sides.

The person on the bench slowly turns to look at you.

It damn near knocks the breath out of you.

They look like you.

Well, it’s not exactly you– there’s a lot more lines and…fatigue.

Enough to unsettle. Not enough to feel like a mirror.

“What the hell,” you whisper.

Other You raises an eyebrow in amusement. “Gonna take a seat?”

You don’t give an answer immediately.

“Well?”

You cautiously slip onto the bench, watching from the corner of your eyes.

“Well at least we’re still hot,” you mumble.

Other You has a thin smile, nodding along. “One of the constants of life.”

You give a sidelong glance. “You’re from the future, I’m guessing.”

They lean forward a little, elbows on knees. You match it.

“You here to warn me?” you ask.

“Not exactly. Life’s fine.”

You furrow your brow. “Then why are you here?”

Other You shrugs. “What, we can’t have a conversation? This should be the most interesting talk in the world.”

“Do we ever win the lottery?”

“No, but we waste a lot of money buying tickets.”

“What stocks should I invest in?”

“Chicken. Bouillon.”

“Do Bucky and I ever–”

You don’t even finish your sentence before Other You’s head is shaking with half-smile.

“Seriously?” you ask. “Not even once?”

“Nope.”

You honestly asked as a joke but the answer has you feeling more dejected than you’d anticipated. Which was wild. Because what the fuck.

“We leave soon, I suppose,” you pose.

“A week after Christmas. Another roadtrip someplace, but this time, you don’t come back to the tower with him.”

“Well that’s fucking bleak.” You blow out an exhale. “We ever stop anywhere?”

“Couple months. Year, maybe.”

You chew the inside of your cheek. “What does life look like now?”

Other You scratches a spot on their jaw. “You meet a lot of new people. Mediocre coffee. See new places. Thirty two new jobs.”

You nod slowly. “Sounds pretty–”

“Lonely. Yeah.”

You exhale. “I don’t want to be tied down.”

“Nor did I.”

Another silence.

You look at Other You, a little sharp, but their face is calm, unbothered.

Other You stretches out their legs, ankles crossing. “It’s not a tragedy, you know. The way we turned out. We’re not a cautionary tale or anything.”

You look away. “Do you want people?”

“Yeah,” they say simply. “I have them. For a while, anyway. Life isn’t bad. I don’t answer to anyone. I can go wherever I like. It’s fun.”

You sit with that. “Would you do it again?”

“I don’t know anything else.”

You fidget with the edge of your sleeve. “I don’t know if I do either.”

“Yeah.”

You glance at them.

“But you’re asking. That’s more than I ever did.” Other You stands then, stretching a little. “Any other questions?”

You look up. “That’s it?”

“That’s enough,” Other You says. “If you’ve got no more questions, I’m gonna head out.”

“Can you tell me what the lottery numbers are?”

“What makes you think we remember random fucking lottery numbers?”

Your face cracks into a smile.

The lights above you flicker, demanding your attention for split second.

When you look back down, you’re on your feet.

No bench in sight.

And no you.

You sigh, wrapping the blanket tighter around yourself as you continue down the hallway to your room.

Past the floor common room, and by the kitchen, until you catch sight of flaming red hair.

The kitchen is dark except for the light over the stove.

You don’t turn anything else on. Just walk in, barefoot, letting the tile cool the heat in your skin.

Nat’s perched on the counter, feet tucked under her, arms crossed. Her hoodie’s too big and her hair’s still damp, like she just got out of the shower and couldn’t be bothered to dry it.

There's a jar of olives open next to her. She picks one out and eats it.

“Couldn’t sleep?” she asks.

You shake your head. “Not really. You wouldn’t believe the night I had.”

She nods once, popping another olive into her mouth.

You open the fridge and stare into it like it's going to offer you something new. It doesn’t.

You grab the first thing that makes sense. Half a juice box.

Nat watches you for a second. “You’re the only one who drinks those.”

“That’s not true.”

“No one else touches the purple ones. You keep pretending someone else is buying them but I’ve seen the receipts.”

You snort quietly. Toss the empty box into the bin. It misses. You let it.

She offers the jar of olives. You shake your head.

“Why are you up?” you ask. “What’s bugging you?”

“You remember that guy we met on the roof last month?” she asks. “The one who said he knew me from the Red Room but kept calling me Nadia?”

“Yeah.”

“I still don’t know if I knew him.”

You lean against the counter, crossing your arms. “That’s what’s keeping you up?”

“Not really. But I’m thinking about it.” Nat picks another olive out of the jar, inspects it, then eats it. “Steve was trying to wrap presents earlier. Took him two hours. He’s probably used all the tape in the country..”

You smile, just a little.

“He put your name on one of them,” she adds, chewing on another olive.

“You spy on everyone’s gifts?”

“I notice things.”

You pull a chair out and sit. It creaks a little.

“You didn’t have to stay up,” you say.

“I agree.” She slides the olive jar closer to you.

You still don’t take one.

“Do you think I’m strange?” you ask, not really sure where it came from.

Nat doesn’t blink. “Yeah.”

You laugh, soft.

“Not in a bad way,” she continues. “Just– specific.”

You chew that over.

Nat kicks her heel lightly against the counter.

There’s a crack in one of the tiles. You wonder how long it’s been there.

“You used to be on the run too, right?” you ask her finally. “But you’ve been here for a while. Why’d you stay?”

“Helps if the government isn’t trying to hunt you down.” She shrugs. “Besides, I figured if you ever stopped long enough to look behind you, someone should still be here.”

You don’t reply.

Nat screws the lid shut on the jar. “This place suits you.”

The haziness that’s been following you around all evening suddenly swells around you, reminding you of its presence.

Hesitantly, you call after her, “Are you real?”

She shrugs again. “I’m always real when it counts.”

The radio hums from nowhere. The lights flicker once more.

And you’re back in the hallway in the common room downstairs.

The living room is silent. The lights from the city glimmer.

You stand quietly in the centre of it all.

Bucky wakes up to Alpine pawing at his ribs.

It’s too bright out.

He rolls onto his side. She chirps. Climbs over his shoulder and plants herself by the window like she’s keeping watch.

He gets dressed. Stretches. Rubs at the back of his neck until the worst of the stiffness fades.

Alpine judges.

Downstairs is warm, loud, and already a mess. Wrapping paper underfoot. Someone’s spilled cocoa.

He takes a lap, slipping in and out as unannounced as he can.

Doesn’t see you.

You’re probably just late.

He sits on the couch.

He gets up again.

Checks the kitchen.

Your mug’s still in the sink from last night.

He opens the fridge like it might contain a clue. It doesn’t..

He pulls out his phone.

No texts.

He scrolls. Finds your name.

Types ‘Where are you?’

Deletes it.

Tries again.

‘You skipping Christmas?’

Deletes that too.

He settles on ‘You good?’

Sends it. Doesn’t wait for the read receipt.

Wanders down the hall. Checks the gym. Empty.

He walks back to the common room. Nat’s lounging on the arm of the couch, chewing on a candy cane.

He sits beside Steve, who’s halfway through a puzzle that no one asked for.

“You alright?” Steve asks.

“Yeah.”

The word comes out before he even thinks about it.

He takes a sip of coffee. It’s too strong. Someone messed with the settings again.

The snow keeps falling.

You’re not here.

He’s not worried.

He’s just… watching the door.

In case.

Just on time, it swings open loudly.

The chatter in the room dies down until everyone’s looking at who just barged in.

“Oh shit– was that too loud? Sorry,” Peter’s words trip over themselves. “I thought I was late– the bus didn’t come. I didn’t want to–”

“Hey, kid,” Sam calls. “You’re right on time. Come on in.”

Peter grins wide, bounding into the room with two giant bags.

“May sent pie. D’you guys wanna eat some– actually, it’s pretty early. I can just leave in the kitchen for later,” he rambles, pausing when he catches sight of Bucky stretched out on the couch. “Oh hey, Mr. Barnes. I wanted to talk to you about something when you have the time–”

“Presents first, conversation later,” Clint announces. “I’ve been waiting since the crack fuck of dawn.”

“You woke up ten minutes ago.”

“I’ve been waiting since the crack fuck of ten minutes ago.”

Bucky settles in, eventually.

Takes the mug Steve hands him, warm and too sweet, and the plate of cut apples.

You’re still not here.

The living room’s already littered with opened boxes, half-crumpled wrapping paper, that one roll of tape Clint lost and blamed on everyone else.

Bucky’s got his own small pile tucked in the corner. Nothing dramatic. Just things he picked out with intent, which is about as much holiday spirit as he can manage.

Sam gets a replacement for the book Bucky accidentally dropped in a puddle three weeks ago. Same edition, leatherbound this time.

“Fancy,” Sam says, flipping it over. “Trying to buy my forgiveness?”

“Just stop threatening to sue me.”

He gives Wanda a little wind up music box, with some tune he remembers her humming months ago.

Peter gets everything ranging from Legos, to a promised trip to the NASA headquarters, to gummy bears.

Nat’s gets a knife. Obviously. Custom handle. Something he shaped himself. She doesn’t say anything. Just runs her fingers along the spine of the blade, nods with a smile, and taps his shoulder as thanks.

Steve actually gets socks, because he’d found the limited edition signed copy of a Gid Tanner CD in Bucky’s room already by mistake.

Clint gets socks that don’t fit him.

There’s one more box left in the corner. Wrapped more neatly.

He doesn’t touch it.

Steve reaches under the tree and pulls out a package marked with Bucky’s name. The paper is pink. The tag has hearts drawn in glitter pen.

“What the hell is this,” Bucky mutters.

A tie.

With each Avenger’s face on it, stitched badly in red and green thread. Alpine’s head is on one.

He stares at it for a full ten seconds.

Then folds it carefully and tucks it back into the box.

“That’s what you get for not telling us what you wanted.”

But they do get him plenty of things. It’s enough to last him a year and more.

Noise canceling headphones, a subscription to National Geographic, more tools for woodworking and a new set of gloves.

The gifts keep coming.

And somewhere in the room, tucked under the tree, your box still waits.

By the time the sun dips, the Tower has thinned out.

Alpine has claimed Bucky’s lap like a throne. He doesn’t argue. She won’t mov either way.

The snow is still falling.

He checks his phone again. No new messages.

Dinner came and went. Steve made something that tried to pass as stuffing.

Your name was mentioned twice, but only in passing.

It’s getting late now.

He lets his hand rest on the box still tucked behind the tree. Doesn’t unwrap it. Doesn’t move it.

Thirty minutes to midnight.

He gets up, Alpine protesting with a growl, and walks out of the room.

She, of course, calls him a little shit once more.

The elevator hums softly on the way up.

He reaches your floor. Pauses at the door.

You’d always told him to just come in. He knocks anyway. Waits.

Nothing.

He lets himself in.

The lights come on with a soft click.

Your room is… mostly the same. Bare, except the weirdly bent lamp.

Bucky looks around now, trying to decide if you’ve taken anything.

There’s nothing obvious. But then again, he wouldn’t be able to tell if you did.

He looks at the clock.

Still time.

Karaoke has entered the equation.

Steve is halfway through “Blue Christmas”. Clint’s howling along in a key that doesn’t exist in music theory. It’s a disaster.

Bucky watches it all from the corner of the room, nursing the last of his lukewarm coffee, one leg bouncing under the coffee table.

He gets up finally, under the guise of grabbing something sweet.

Half the table’s been picked over, but there’s a bowl of wrapped caramels shoved into one of the stockings over the fireplace.

He leans down, reaches in–

And hears the door open.

He doesn’t turn around.

“Took your time.”

Your voice follows, breezy and a little wind-chapped, “You’d think I’d never left.”

You’re still in your coat. A box under one arm, big bag in the other. You’ve clearly been outside a while.

“Presents are in the bag,” you tell them, “Help yourselves.”

Clint’s already shoving a mic at you, demanding a duet.

“In a minute. I’ve got a thing to do.”

They elect to finish off the monstrosity that was Blue Christmas.

You sway into the living room where he is, ruffling Peter’s hair on the way.

“Hey,” you say, smiling at him, small and familiar. “Sorry I’m late. I got caught up with something.”

“What was it?”

“I drove next state over to find the cafe I used to work at. To see if the lady I used to work with was still there,” you inform him with a sigh. “Turns out they moved years ago.”

“Why’d you look for it?”

“I wasn’t really thinking,” you admit. “Got stuck in the holiday rush on the way back. Sorry for not answering your texts. I was driving pretty much the whole day.”

He stares at you.

He knows you’re impulsive, but something about this felt like it was…off.

It was too short, you looked too distracted.

You weren’t telling him the whole story, for whatever reason it was, but it was enough to make you drop everything and go look for something you’d left behind in the past.

“Got you something,” you add, pulling out the box from under your arm.

You hold out the box.

He doesn’t take it right away.

Instead, he says, “You almost missed karaoke.”

You step further in. “How would I have lived?”

You stop in front of him. Still holding the box. You’re a little out of breath, like you came straight here without thinking.

“I’m fine, by the way,” you say.

“I know,” Bucky replies.

You finally offer him the box again. He takes it this time.

He lifts a brow, when he shakes it to get a clue of what’s inside. Something rattles around, but he draws a blank on what it could be.

You drop down onto the floor, sitting cross legged. He elects to join you, bringing the big box you gave him along with him,

You reach toward the tree, like you’ve known exactly where your gift’s been this whole time. You grab it, navy wrapping, a little crooked at the edges, and hold it up.

It’s heavier than you were expecting, which makes you raise your eyebrows.

You look at him. “From you?”

“Yeah.”

“If it’s socks I’m gonna jump out the window.”

“I’ve left it open.”

“Thanks,” you snort. “Go on, then.”

He peels back the paper carefully and opens up the lid.

There’s another smaller box in there, which he finally flips open to reveal a collection of drink sachets. Every kind imaginable. Weird flavors. Strange colors. A handwritten label on each one.

Some are just jokes. Others are things you actually thought he’d like.

He stares at them.

“Fuck coffee. We’re gonna figure out what drink you really want,” you say, grinning. “You can play beverage roulette.”

He picks one up.

“Lemon hazelnut cinnamon tea,” he reads, before looking up at you. “This sounds terrible.”

“You’re gonna try it anyway.”

He shakes his head, trying not to smile.

“Okay,” you say, “Second one’s a little different.”

Bucky reaches into the box to find a flat, thin package wrapped in dark red.

He runs his finger under the tape and pulls out a frame.

He freezes.

Inside are two yellowed tickets. Old. Worn at the edges.

Not quite the originals he remembers. But close.

“I tried to find the real ones,” you say. “They’re not in circulation anymore. But these were the same ride. Same year. Closest I could get.”

The Miniature RailwayDreamland – Coney IslandAdmit one – 10c

Bucky doesn’t say anything.

You watch him a beat too long. “I thought maybe… you’d want a piece of that day.”

His fingers are still resting on the glass.

After a long second, he says roughly, “You remembered.”

“Well, yeah. How could I forget Becca Barnes dragging you five times onto a tiny train?”

He looks at you with something flickering behind his eyes. For once, you can’t tell what he’s thinking.

He sets the frame down gently.

“Thanks,” he says softly.

You beam at him.

He leans over to push the box he got you towards you.

Unlike him, you tear off the paper.

He’d have rolled his eyes with a smile if he wasn’t about to– well, he doesn’t know. He can’t name a single thing running through his head right now. Al he knows is that his chest feels like it’s going to explode.

You find a flimsy cardboard box inside, which you also essentially yank off, but significantly gentler this time.

It takes a while to register what it is.

Inside is a miniature house.

Not a dollhouse — not quite.

It’s rough-hewn, handcrafted, clearly made in a workshop, not a factory.

Each room is lined with pieces to match. Sinks, a bookshelf made from matchsticks, a tiny coat by the door that looks suspiciously like the one you always wear.

The doors all open. The windows too.

And there are people. Tiny replicas of the rest of the Avengers in their costumes, each in a different room.

You lift up the box wordlessly to have a closer look, when you notice everything is glued down, including the rest of the team.

Except for one little figure. Not much bigger than a thumb. Untethered. Looks a lot like you. Like someone specifically took extra time out to carve it to be as authentic as possible.

You turn it over in your hand slowly. “Are these…?”

“The team.”

“They’re glued down. Mine isn’t.”

“Figured you wouldn’t want to be.” Bucky clears his throat.” Point is, they’re always there. Even when you aren’t.”

Your fingers tighten slightly on the box. “You built this?”

“Tried to.”

You swallow hard. “I love it.”

Bucky’s mouth twitches.

You trace the edges of the house again, fingers catching on the little imperfections in the wood. The weight of it sits in your lap, solid and strange and oddly warm.

“You asked me what it feels like,” he murmurs. “To have people like that.”

You glance up. He doesn’t meet your eyes, just watches the house.

“When I first moved in, I was in the kitchen and someone was making a smoothie. The blender made this awful noise when it powered down. And it sounded so much like… something else. One of the chairs they used in Siberia, or something.”

His voice stays even. Distant, almost.

“Threw up all over the breakfast table. Everyone was there. Sam. Steve. Nat.”

You stare.

“They didn’t say anything. Just… cleaned it up. Gave me water. A different shirt. And the next week, there was a new blender. And it made no noise.”

You feel your throat go tight.

“They make fun of me constantly,” he says. “For everything. The way I eat, the way I breathe. But they’ll clean up the table. Replace the blender.”

You look at him now. Really look.

“So when I think of what it feels like– that’s the closest I’ve ever come to naming it.”

“Silent blenders,” you say, voice quiet.

He nods once. Eyes still on the little house.

You don’t say anything for a while.

And neither does he.

You close the box gently. Rest your hand over the lid like it might keep the warmth inside.

When you look back at him, he’s already looking at you.

The noise of the team still going strong in the background.

“Come on,” you say softly. “We got some karaoke to do.”

He exhales out a laugh in the form of a small breath, accepting your hand as you tug him to his feet.

“Did you sing?”

“I don’t sing.”

“Nonsense, I know you got a set of pipes in you. Michael Buble’s gonna bring it right out.”

He’s about to respond when something rustles overhead.

You glance up.

Sure enough, mistletoe hung slightly askew on a sliver of garland, taped with what looks like medical adhesive.

It swung dangerously, like it was just about to give up.

You look back at Bucky. “That was completely coincidental.”

He raises an eyebrow.

He’s not smiling. But his mouth is doing that thing it does when he’s fighting one.

“This is ridiculous,” he mutters.

You stare at each other.

Neither of you moves.

“You gonna do anything about it, or just keep calling it names,” you challenge with a dumb smile on your face.

Bucky exhales through his nose. Looks like he might say something else.

Instead, he just steps closer.

The smile you have on falters.

Honestly, it’s not like you were expecting him to do anything about your stupid flirting because– well– he hadn’t done anything in months.

But he’s looking at you with something unreadable on his face and you can smell the remnants of the day on him.

“What?” he asks, voice low, taking a dangerous step closer. “No comment now?”

Your mouth opens and closes.

God, he may look like he wants to commit homicide, but nutmeg smells real good on him.

“Well,” you breathe out, and add nothing more.

His eyebrows raise in amusemuent for just a second before his face changes into something else. Something more serious.

He’s close enough that you can tell that he’s controlling his breath.

“It’s tradition,” Bucky murmurs, like you need any sort of justification whatsoever.

Your eyes dart down for a split second, but he still fucking catches it, the corner of his mouth upturning just minisculy.

Your hand reaches up to fist his stupid sweater–

“Hey! Good, great, you’re both here. Finally.”

Both of you jump apart like you’ve been caught doing something scandalous.

“Peter,” you say, blinking repeatedly as you attempt to catch your breath. “What’s wrong?”

The kid skids to a stop. “Okay, so I’ve been trying to ask this for like, months, and nobody’s been answering me, and I figured since I’m technically an Avenger and it’s Christmas, I can just—wait, are you guys mad at me?”

Bucky stares at him, dry as all hell as he asks, “Why would we be mad at you?”

You flick at him, telling him to behave.

Peter frowns. “I don’t know. I thought maybe you were ignoring me on purpose? Because I’ve tagged you both, like… a lot.”

You tilt your head. “Tagged us where?”

“On Twitter.”

There’s a moment where you all stare at each other like you’re speaking in an alien language.

“I’ve been tweeting at you since you started this series,” Peter continues, eyes darting between the both of you. “You even read one of my tweets in your videos. I thought you knew.”

Bucky’s head turns slowly toward you. You’re already staring at Peter like he’s sprouted a second head.

“What are you talking about?” you ask slowly.

“Well, it’s my alt. I didn’t want people from my school to see that I was tweeting at you guys.” He scratches the base of his neck. “Sk8rboy02?”

“Wait,” you say, jaw dropping. “You’re sk8rboy02?”

“Yeah,” Peter drags in confusion. “I thought you knew?”

“You’re the one who kept replying to the giveaway post with ‘I deserve this because my cousin died in a haunted Chuck E. Cheese’?”

Peter nods, completely sincere. “And also ‘if you give me the EMF reader i’ll use it responsibly (lie)'.”

“You entered the contest seventeen times,” you say slowly.

Peter brightens. “So you did see me!”

“Of course we saw you. You called that guy from the Daily Bugle a balding fuck.”

“Oh yeah, he’s my boss. He sucks.” Peter waves off. “Wait, so you just… didn’t realize it was me?”

“No?” you ask incredulously.

“I said I knew someone in the Avengers in like four different tweets!”

“Everyone thinks they know someone in the Avengers,” Bucky mutters.

“Okay, yeah, fair.”

You shut your eyes. “So let me get this straight. You’ve been tweeting at us all year. You’ve been defending us online. You fight random reporters.”

“Yeah.”

“And you didn’t think to just… say it to our faces?”

“I honestly thought you guys knew.”

“No,” you and Bucky both say at once.

Peter shrugs and flips open a small, folded notebook from his hoodie pocket. “Okay, cool. Well, now that we’ve cleared that up, I’ve got some questions I’ve been collecting on behalf of the internet.”

“No,” Bucky says again.

“Just a few!” Peter insists. “They’re good questions! Like have you ever brought home something cursed by mistake? Or if a ghost starts following you, how do you tell it to leave? Or—this one’s from me—have you ever faked a haunting just to win a bet?”

Silence hangs in the air.

“Or not,” he says, closing his notebook. “I’ll just– head out.”

You glance over at Bucky.

He rolls his eyes.

“One question,” you say, turning back to the kid. “Holiday spirit.”

Peter practically vibrates. “Okay. Okay. This is a good one. What’s the most haunted place in the Avengers Tower?”

“Laundry chute on the south side,” you say.

Peter scribbles something into his notebook like it’s the gospel truth.

“Thanks, guys.” He beams at you. “I’ll see you out there.”

Before you get a chance to reply, he zips away, already calling for his shot at the mic.

You and Bucky just stand there, shoulder to shoulder, in the lull left behind by Peter’s hurricane.

You glance up.

More mistletoe. Hanging smugly from the beam above you like it planned this.

You both clock it at the same time.

“Again?” he says. Tired. But not really.

“Second time today,” you reply, hands stuffed in your hoodie. “Third if you count the one in the elevator.”

“Which I don’t.”

You turn slightly to face him.

“You know,” you start, tone carefully casual, “for a guy who once took a full round to the ribs and still had the energy to toss a grenade into a Hydra facility, you sure are squeamish about a little mistletoe.”

He doesn’t answer right away. Just glances at you sharply, like he’s assessing something.

“I’m just not trying to do something halfway,” he says finally, tone even.

You open your mouth. Close it.

“Okay.”

You step closer.

Just enough that your hands brushes his. That shared warmth again. Static in the space between.

You lean, slow.

Your lips press gently to the corner of his mouth.

Barely there, more cheek than kiss, but close enough to make him inhale through his nose like he didn’t mean to.

When you pull back, you say nothing.

He blinks once.

“You missed.”

“Oh, did I?”

“Little to the left next time,” he mutters.

“Maybe,” you say, already turning to leave. “Next Christmas.”

Bucky exhales, shutting his eyes for a second before he follows right behind you.

here’s my ko-fi if you’d like to support my writing!

THANK U TO EVERYONE WHO BOUGHT ME A KO-FI FOR THIS SILLY FIC. I BOUGHT MYSELF SOME CAKE.

to know when this fic updates, please follow @shurisneakersupdates and turn on post notifications! it’s the only way tumblr will let me have a taglist and i don’t post there at all except for fics </3

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #mcu fic #bucky fic #bucky barnes fic #bucky fluff #bucky barnes fluff #bucky angst #bucky barnes angst #unsolved fic #winter soldier x reader #Winter Soldier x you #bucky barnes x you #bucky x you

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sunsburns · 4 months ago

Note

wait no because trying to compete w joaquin to look the best in sams eyes? that 100% would happen.

always showing up to work early if sam needed you there, always doing things "better" than the other to be picked to go out on missions, but in reality both of you were always gonna go, sam just likes to rile you both up!!!

you and joaquin arguing is sams entertainment, but he would always call you out on how y'all should just kiss or smthn, just so you would both get out of his hair, y'all are kiss asses ��‍↕️

THE biggest ass kissers the world has ever fucking seen!!!

it starts with small things.

beating joaquín torres to the debriefing room first, standing at attention just a little straighter when sam walks in. being the first to volunteer for a recon mission, making sure your reports are turned in before joaquín’s—little victories, small triumphs that keep the score tilting just slightly in your favour.

and joaquín? oh, he knows what you’re doing. he feels the competition just as strongly, meeting you beat for beat, smirk for smirk. if you show up early, he shows up earlier. if you get in a well-placed quip that makes sam chuckle, joaquín makes sure to drop a comment that gets him a full laugh, a shoulder clap.

sam catches on quickly, because of course he does. he thrives off of it, if anything, watching you and joaquín try to one-up each other over the most mundane things with the kind of patience only an older brother figure can have. half the time, he doesn’t even need to pit you against each other; you do that all on your own.

but here’s the thing—you and joaquín don’t actually hate each other. if anything, there’s an underlying respect, an unspoken acknowledgment of how damn good the other is at what they do. on the field, you’re an unstoppable duo, reading each other without a word, moving in sync in a way that only comes from deep familiarity. you know each other’s strengths, weaknesses, the little things that make the other tick—and you know exactly how to push each other’s buttons, whether it’s to provoke or distract.

and sam? oh, he knows it too.

it was why he has the two of you as his second hand. he sees how well you work together, how efficient things become when you’re not locked in some petty competition. hell, sometimes he even thinks you two are kinda cute together—just too damn stubborn to admit it.

but sometimes, sam stirs the pot just for fun. like when he lets it slip that he needs a file retrieved from the archives, and suddenly, you and joaquín are racing through the hallways, elbowing each other out of the way, nearly colliding into bucky in the process. or when he casually mentions needing someone to drive him to a meeting, and next thing he knows, both of you are already in the car, fighting over who gets to drive.

“y’all are exhausting,” sam sighs one day, watching as you and joaquín argue over who got the better shot during training with isaiah. he leans back in his chair, eyes flicking between you. “why don’t you just kiss already and get out of my face?”

that shuts both of you up real quick. joaquín’s face flushes, his lips parting like he wants to argue but can’t quite find the words. you, on the other hand, scoff, rolling your eyes before looking anywhere but at him.

sam just grins, kicking his feet up onto the table. “uh-huh. that’s what i thought.”

bucky, passing by with his coffee, gives sam a long look. “aren’t you being too hard on those kids?”

“nah,” sam replies easily, smirking. “they love it.”

#i seriously need to make a tag for him now #faye’s writing ⭑.ᐟ #joaquín torres #joaquín torres x reader #joaquin torres #joaquin torres x reader #joaquin torres x you #joaquin torres imagine #joaquin torres fluff #joaquin torres fic #joaquin torres fanfiction #the falcon #the falcon x reader #faye’s 14 love letters event ᢉ𐭩 #joaquín’s wings

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brainmuncher · 1 year ago

Text

A mis-text-derstanding

After a long night of patrolling around Amity, Danny damn near collapsed onto his bed. His back ached from a stray ectoblast and his eyes felt heavier than a mountain. Technus had done something to the technology around the town. At random a piece of technology would suddenly go rogue with a virus the ghost implemented. The virus would make the item try to capture anyone in the vicinity using any means necessary. So Danny had been doing regular patrols around town to catch anyone who needed help.

That also means that his sleeping time had been radically reduced. Without even the energy to lift his head, Danny patted around for his phone. Once he finally found the device he hefted himself on his side with a groan. It was a new phone since he was the first casualty in Technus’ plan. Thankfully, Sam had given him another so his parents wouldn’t try to make him one. (Who knows what kind of ‘anti-ghost’ protection they would’ve put on it.)

Tucker had promised that he was working on fixing the virus going around. Hopefully, he had some kind of good news to share. As soon as Danny went to message him he realized he hadn’t downloaded their chat app to the new phone. With a sigh he knew that he would just have to use normal texting but with careful codewords.

Putting in Tucker's number with a yawn, Danny sent the first message.

‘It’s your undead bro. The night out tonight was killer. Any news on the techie progress?’

Danny smashed his face into his bed with a sigh after hitting send. Knowing Tucker he was probably face first in his laptop and won’t notice the message for a bit. He could probably just close his eyes and…

Before he could even consider taking a nap there was a generic jingle from the phone. He should really get to fixing that. Tuck deserves a much better ringtone than some bells.

‘Nothing noteworthy yet. It's harder to crack than normal but nothing I can't handle. Do you need me to take over for tomorrow?’

‘Also why aren't you using our chat?’

Danny squinted at the screen with a slight frown. It had been a while since Sam or Tucker tried to go out in his place. They learned pretty quickly that it made Danny way too anxious to have them out there without him. Something about not being there to protect them if they got over their heads made Danny’s chest ache.

And of course, Tucker noticed that he wasn’t using the app he made. It was a bit glitchy at times, but what tech wasn’t when it came to Danny? Not only was it secure, but it became an easier way for them to establish a timeline for filing. Jazz had been the one who realized that they didn’t have steady information on not just the rouges but the events of the fights. It became a staple to write out what happened and what went wrong after hearing her lecture about it.

‘Don’t have it on this phone yet. And you know how I feel about you being out there.’

Danny watched the screen for a bit, waiting to see if Tucker would reply immediately again. His mom probably caught him on his computer all day and was forcing him to separate himself from it for a while. It wasn’t an uncommon thing for Ms. Foley to do.

‘Yeah yeah, Mr. Possessive. Do you need me to walk you through how to get it again?’

Snorting at the pun, Danny easily replied. If Tucker was feeling sassy enough to joke about that, then he would push some buttons back. It was a simple banter that they sometimes fell into.

‘You know how I get with technology. I’m more likely to break something. Especially since this phone is so new. Whatever happened to flip phones?’

Danny snickered to himself at the message. Tucker had an ongoing war between new and old technology. While he loved his PDA he also admired some of the top-of-the-line devices. It was like the past and the future mixed in his friend's room. He would gush about the new devices but also gush about the older ones that still had functions that the newer ones lost. But flip phones? That was the only technology he knew that Tucker hated. It was the worst of both worlds for him. He’d been so excited when Danny’s flip phone was bricked by Technus’ virus.

‘I’m going to ignore that you said that.’

‘Also there’s going to be trouble in the park near you tomorrow. I’m already planning on going. Do you want in?’

Scooting up from his lounged position, Danny started to write back his reply.

‘Of course, I’ll be there. Don’t need you to go in alone and join the dead. Unusual for him to leave his plans there though. That’ll be fun to write in the report.’

The image of Jazz reading about that brought a smile to Danny’s face. She always found it interesting when one of the ghosts would change a long-time behavior. The fact that Technus was able to keep this rather on the down low would guarantee her interest. He was always one to blatantly announce his plans to the world to hear. Even though it’s a bit of a pain that he’s learning to keep things to himself it would peak Jazz’s curiosity, which made it bearable.

‘It is weird. And don’t remind me about the report. I still have the one from last week to write and I don’t want to do it.’

That made Danny laugh to himself a little. Last week the lunch lady tried to embrace the Ultra-Recyclo Vegetarian life. In the overflow of food, Tucker had gotten trapped in veggies. He was visibly green from having to eat some to escape. Sam had been excited about it at first before she saw how much food was being wasted. She ended up getting attacked for trying to explain the damage overconsumption and food waste could bring.

‘You looked like you wanted to vomit afterward. Well, at least we are prepared this time. We don’t always get that chance.’

Danny stretched out his stubborn limbs, feeling himself try to sink into the darkness. He’d have to end the conversation sooner rather than later. At this rate, he wouldn’t have a choice on whether he was taking a nap or not. At the familiar sound of bells, he looked back down at the conversation.

‘Unfortunately. Well, I’ll be finished by the time we meet at the park. I know you usually like to sleep after a long night.’

The reply made Danny’s core feel fuzzy with happiness. Tucker always knows him so well. He doesn’t know what he did to get such a fantastic best friend. It was at times like these that Danny knew he was so glad that they were in this together. With two of his best friends at his side, it made being a vigilante so much easier to bear.

‘Thanks. Remember that not just the dead get to sleep. Don’t push yourself. Goodnight.’

With that, Danny felt comfortable with setting his phone down to get changed into pajamas. It ached on his back to take off his shirt, but Jazz would be disappointed in the morning if he didn’t. She always got that pinched look on her face when he didn’t take care of himself to her standards. Her standards weren’t exactly high up either so it made him feel extra upset when he missed the mark.

Being careful to not lie on his back, Danny got back into his bed. He curled himself into the blankets with a small smile. One last chime of bells rang out in the room, probably from Tucker saying goodnight back. Picking up his phone, he opened up the lock screen and looked at his messages.

Instead of a goodnight, his stomach dropped as he realized a different number messaged him. A very familiar number.

‘Hey dude! I know you had to get a new phone so this is me. Not only did I figure out how it’s spreading, I think I finally found a way to get rid of the virus.’

Practically throwing himself off the bed, Danny got to his feet. Both his back and his mind screamed at him as he looked over the message. He tapped back to the one he’d just been replying to, finding his heart stopping at the string of numbers. One of the area code numbers was a six instead of a nine. He’d been messaging a stranger this entire time.

Looking back at the messages he convinced himself that it was fine. He was vague enough to not be recognized. It wasn’t like this person was from Amity. They won’t recognize the correlation between him and Phantom. Surely the other person wouldn’t take his words at face value.

Worst comes to worst he can have Tucker take over his phone for a bit and make sure the other person can’t find out who he is. He hadn’t bought the phone or had it under his name in any way, so they could only find out from the conversation alone.

Breathing out a breath of air he kissed his night of sleep goodbye.

‘I’ll be over in a sec Tuck. I think I just made a mistake.’

#dc x dp #dp x dc #part one of two #Next part is Tim's side of things #I just love the idea of the chaos this would bring #Danny messages Tim thinking he's Tucker #And Tim messaging Danny thinking he's Jason #The idea was just too funny to me #I'll reblog with part two once I'm happy with it :)#ficlet

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celestiamour · 6 months ago

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Hej, czy mógłbyś stworzyć grę fem-reader x thanos (gra squid), w której oboje mają ten sam klimat i są najlepszymi przyjaciółmi z dzieciństwa, ale thanos zakochuje się w niej i w końcu mówi jej o tym w pierwszej grze??? (Jeśli uważasz, że to głupie, pomiń) Miłego dnia/nocy 😁🙏

ft. choi su-bong (thanos) x gn! reader — squid game

╰₊✧ childhood best friend! reader┊0.6k words

contains: thanos is his own warning, mentions of bullying, canon-typical violence, drug use, love confessions, they have the same energy, this sucks I'm so sorry

➤ author's note: i forgot how to write!! please be patient with me!! (i hope i translated this right)

╰₊✧ let’s get one thing straight, you probably teamed up to steal lunch money from other kids and maybe even pushed them into lockers afterward: a troublesome duo who ended up in the principal’s office more than once and had to be seated far away from each other or else the entire classroom would erupt into chaos. your parents told both of you to stay away from the other as they were a terrible influence, but it just had you guys sneaking out in the middle of the night to hang out at a nearby park.

╰₊✧ that’s when he realizes you’re his first love probably, pushing you on the swing set at two in the morning with nothing but a dim street light to light up the night, barely in high school and yet determined to make you his. unfortunately, while he’s trying to figure out how to tell you or figure out how you feel about him so as not to ruin the friendship, you tragically move away for some reason and leave him broken-hearted.

╰₊✧ he wrote his first rap about this experience, and it touched hearts all around the world, probably launched his career, and remains in his top ten most streamed songs.

╰₊✧ alright, now to the games, the second he laid eyes on you, it was like all the young love buried from years ago hit him like a ton of bricks. he audibly gasped as if he had just run into the queen of england, even making his fans turn their heads, jogging up to you to see if you remembered him. he’s so excited, he almost trips on his way over.

╰₊✧ on your end, you remembered him obviously, he’s made quite a name for himself and you’ve seen clips of his music videos/performances which you look into every now and then out of curiosity. you would be lying if you said he wasn’t even more handsome than the screens do him justice, his brightly-colored purple hair seemed to suit him so well and he’s grown so tall. you’re also pleased to see that little has changed about his attitude, still the same old su-bong you remember him to be.

╰₊✧ you two are probably near each other when the true nature of the game is revealed, and he offers you one of the colorful pills hidden in his cross necklace which you smack him for getting into drugs, but you can’t say you’re surprised. he becomes so carefree afterward that he blatantly pushes three other people over and watches them get shot for the fun of it, but he also does the contradictory action of hiding you behind him to make sure you don’t get shot.

╰₊✧ the smile that splits his face when he hears you laughing and going along with his antics is worthy of being photographed when it hits him that this experience would be much like the times you both shared as kids. he finally reunited with his childhood best friend, and he’s going to make the most of the time you have together— death games be damned!

╰₊✧ keeps you close throughout the voting process and confesses his love once he sees you press the blue button. the amount of time you both have left is uncertain, but if you both help each other out and make it out alive, then the leftover money will go to the future he dreamed of having with you. he doesn’t care if it seems unrealistic or too ideal, he’s thanos and nothing was ever impossible for him.

╰₊✧ of course, you say yes and become a force to be reckoned with!

#📜. her works #choi su bong #choi su bong x reader #thanos #thanos x reader #squid game #squid game x reader

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fallen-w1ngs · 1 month ago

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'' flower shop of new feelings ,,

[ 09 : plans ]

|| pairing : james "bucky" barnes x florist!reader

|| warning : nothing !!

|| wc : 2.2k

“It’s no one, guys. Seriously.”

The past few weeks, Bucky’s life has been.. Full, at most. Everytime he left his room in the tower, he was always surrounded by at least one person. Which was more than he was used to. As of right now, it was Steve and Sam who were pestering him while he was trying to do some pre-mission work out.

“C’mon, Buck. I’ve known you since we were five, I know when you’re lyin’.” Typically, Steve’s not one to try and push Bucky’s buttons, nor is he one to try and push Bucky period.. But I mean seriously. For the past few months he’d been secretly meeting up with someone he hadn’t heard of ONCE? Now that’s serious. “Just.. Tell us their name.”

“Y’know we’ll find out soon, Nat’s already working on finding info on them-”

“Don’t you dare try and scout out their information, Sam.” The super soldier shot a glare at Sam and picked up one of the weights, as if threatening to chuck it at Sam’s head.

“Buck, c’mon.” Steve pushed Bucky’s arm down, moving the weight away with a chuckle. “Just tell us. Promise we won’t do anything irrational.”

Bucky swore he heard Sam go “he doesn’t speak for me” but chose to ignore it. Allowing himself to live in ignorant bliss.

“.. [Name].” He muttered. The two men stayed silent, waiting for more. “They’re a florist, they.. Live near the spider kid.. And I met ‘em when I was getting Barton’s birthday gift.”

“.. Is that it?” Sam snorted.

“Whaddya mean is that it?”

“You’re actin’ all secretive but they seem so… Normal.”

“There’s nothing wrong with normal.”

“What Sam’s trying to say,” Steve pushed in between the two. “Is that it’s a little strange you didn’t tell anyone about your new friend. It’d be amazing if we could meet them, officially.”

“Why would you want-”

“‘Cause we’re your friends, dumbass.” Sam rolled his eyes before giving a genuine smile. “If you have a new friend, we wanna know about them. ‘Specially if it seems like y’have a crush on them-”

“I don’t have-” Bucky cut himself off as his face felt hotter. “I.. Shut the hell up, Wilson.”

“He doesn’t deny it!”

“I said shut up!!”

–

Today, you thankfully had a day off. Well, being your own boss made it easy to “call in sick” to your own shop. It was literally just keeping the ‘Close’ sign up. Ah, but I digress! Today, you were out at the farmers market, sifting through the different stalls, looking over all the cute cardigans, pretty hand-made bags, and your favourite; seeds for flowers you don’t have yet!

Your shopping trip was disrupted by a small vibration in your pocket, as you asked the standee to give you a second you stepped away and took the call, it was just James. Oh, that man has a hold on your heart.

“Hey, James!” Your voice cut through into the phone in a cheerful manner.

“Hey, doll.” His voice seemed so smooth, oh god. But.. There were more voices in the background. Muffled, as if trying to stay quiet. “Uh.. I was wonderin-”

“Yes! Whatever it is, yeah, sure.” You’re so fucking embarrassing oh my god. You felt your cheeks warm up at your enthusiasm and you forced a cough to cover it up. “I-I mean, yeah I’ll uh, hear you out!”

“Great.. Uh, I was wonderin’ if you wanted.. To come over to the Tower,” he took a deep breath before saying the last part. “My friends.. Wanted to meet you.”

Your eyes widened at the prospect, you stood there motionless on the pavement as you let yourself fully understand his words. “Like.. Like.. Captain America? And.. Black Widow?” “And the Falcon!” “Sam, shut!” There was some shuffling on the other end of the phone. Some unintelligible voices on the other end as you waited patiently for it to stop. “Sorry.. Uh, they’re.. Annoying.”

You chuckled at that and shook your head. “No, no! It’s okay, James! I, uh, I’d love to come over and meet your friends.” “Yeah?” “Yeah, of course!” Again, the sweet sound of your laughter filled Bucky’s ears. Unaware to you, he had the most love-sick look on his face now that Steve and Sam were behind him. Unable to see his expression.

“Great, I’ll pick you up?” “Yeah, uh.. How about 6?”

“‘Course, doll.”

You kept your composure at the nickname and nodded. “Alright! I’ll see you then!”

“See you then.”

You both stayed on call for a quick second before Bucky ultimately hung up. Oh my god! Today was a wonderful day. Checking your phone time, it was 3:21 PM, only 2 and a half more hours until you were getting picked up to meet Bucky and his friends for dinner! Or.. Was it dinner? Oh, god this is a disaster, you barely know what to wear or prepare for the dinner, or maybe they won’t have foo-

Your thoughts were cut off again with a ding from your phone.

james <3 : 6 pm, Avengers Tower, wear your usual outfits, just an easy dinner and possible board game or two. (i know you’re already overthinking. don’t, doll, they’re idiots.)

You giggled at the text, thankful that Bucky knew you well enough to know how stressed you got over the smallest things.

florist <3 : thank you, honey <3

You put your phone away, unaware of what you’d texted. Just overjoyed at the idea of James just.. Knowing you really well and feeling comfortable around you to let you meet his friends! Tonight will be fun, you think as you walk towards your car and start driving home.

–

Bucky, on the other hand, was pacing back and forth in his room as Peter sat on his bed, watching as he did. Look, ever since Peter had found out the two were friends, he’d forced himself into Bucky’s life.. And after a little while, Bucky allowed it to happen. After a few weeks of “allowing it to happen” he openly welcomed it, letting Peter barge into his room and just start talking about life. Bucky started to reciprocate. And this moment is one of those moments.

“Do they usually call people honey?” Peter, who was sitting cross legged on his bed, tub of ice cream in his lap as he ate straight from it, stared up at Bucky as he thought for a moment. “Not really. I mean, they called me honey when I was like- 10, but that’s because I was a kid.”

“So.. Wait- so, what does this mean?” “Mr. Barnes, maybe you should just talk to them-”

“No. No, I’m not.. No. They don’t have to see me freaking out like this.” Bucky stopped pacing around and just let out a small sigh before checking the time. He’d been rambling for about an hour at this point. God, he probably lost so much ‘aura’ as the kids say nowadays.

“.. D’you want me to heat up some leftovers Wanda made yesterday for dinner?” “No. No, I’ll.. I’ll cook something.”

Peter made a face, his brows knitted and his nose scrunched at the mere idea of Bucky cooking.. It can’t be that bad right? Steve loved his cooking when they were younger!

“Are you sure, Mr. Barnes?”

“Yes. Why wouldn’t?-” He stared at Peter before sighing and pointing to the door. “Heat up Wanda’s food for back up.”

“You got it!” the teen beamed and kept the tub of ice cream before dashing out of there. He loved Wanda’s cooking! It was the best cooking out of.. Well, let’s face it, everyone’s cooking in the Tower. Though, Sam and Pepper’s cooking could be better.

Bucky just stared at his phone once the kid was out, feeling his cheeks feel hotter at the mere sight of “honey” on his screen.. It didn’t mean anything.. Did it? He shook the thought away before turning to his closet and grabbing his red henley and a pair of jeans. He was told by Sam that the henley made him look “hot” … So might as well wear it, right?

Once changed, Bucky left his room and went to the kitchen. Peter had already put the leftover lasagna back in the oven to heat up. Okay.. So, lasagna goes well with garlic bread right? Bucky decided he'd make some garlic bread as well as some spaghetti. Just in case. It was.. A good combination right?

“Need help, Buck?” Steve leaned against the doorframe as he watched Bucky start up his cooking.

“Tch, not from you.” Despite his words, Bucky accepted when Steve started pulling out the ingredients from the cupboards. “.. I’m not a bad cook, right?”

Steve blinked at him and paused midway grabbing the tomato sauce cans from the cabinets. His brows knitted together before shaking his head. “Well- ‘course not.”

“You hesitated.”

Steve bit the inside of his cheek, suppressing a smile as Bucky filled the pot up with some water and heated the stove up, allowing the water to boil. “Look, it’s- times changed!”

“What’s that supposed to mean, punk?”

“You were a great cook when we were teens.. Now.. It’s-”

“Hey, you loved when I made Ma’s casserole”

“That’s ‘cause it was your Ma’s recipe.”

Bucky pushed his lips together and shot a glare at Steve. His nose scrunching up the smallest bit as he put a dash of salt into the water before putting the pasta in.

“I’m not sayin’ you’re a bad cook. Just sayin’ that when we were kids.. We had to ration, there weren't a lotta options. Now there is and you need to learn how to use ‘em.”

Bucky rolled his eyes and locked his eyes on Steve before sighing and scratching the back of his neck with his flesh arm. Keeping quiet as the two worked to cook a good meal. Bucky knew Steve was right, he still had a lot to learn about the modern world. And he did want to learn, trust me, he does. It just scared him a little.

After a few minutes of silence. The only sound coming was the whir of the air fryer as it held the garlic bread and the boil of the pasta as it softened the noodles, Steve’s voice cut through once again. “You really like ‘em, huh?”

“Why d’you say that?”

“You’re going all soft,” Steve put a hand up when Bucky opened his mouth. “It’s not a bad thing, Buck. I think it’s sweet. I haven’t seen you get this excited over anyone or anything in a long while.”

The soldier just rolled his shoulder and looked away. Taking a deep breath as he stared out the window. Letting Steve’s words sink in.

“I’m just.. I shouldn’t be this soft on ‘em. I doubt they even think of me that way.”

“How about we just get through this dinner and I’ll be the judge of that ‘kay?”

To that, Bucky smiled and nodded. Okay.. Good plan.

–

You stood at your door, expectantly. Waiting for the buzzer for when Bucky would call to get you. God, he made you wait like a damn fool. You checked your phone. 2 minutes before he said he’d pick you up. In one hand, you held a big bowl of assorted fruits you’d bought from the farmers market. It was a good snack to bring, healthy and refreshing, albeit rushed, but shh no one needed to know that.

As you stood besides the speaker, you got more anxious as the time went by. It hit 6:00. It was fine. It hit 6:06.. Okay, it was only 6 minutes. Usually when you were hanging out with May, she’d be 30 minutes late, it’s fine.

6:12.

6:18.

6:24.

You felt like an idiot as you waited. It had almost been 30 minutes passed as you waited. Giving up on standing right besides the ringer, you ended up sitting on the couch and started munching on a few strawberries.

Checking your phone for the umteenth time, you sighed and laid back onto your back. Closing your eyes for a few moments then getting startled as a sharp knock noise came from the door.

You stumbled onto your feet and rushed over to the door, opening it to a.. Very flustered Bucky. His hair was tied into a messy ponytail, flour on his henley, and a small bouquet of flowers in his right hand.

“I’m so sorry, doll. I lost track of time. I was cooking spaghetti with Steve, then we decided to make cookies, but that rolled into making cake and-”

He paused as you wrapped your arms around his neck and hugged him. Immediately, he closed his mouth and hugged you back. “I’m so sorry for being late.”

You squeezed his neck, a shaky breath leaving your lips before you pulled away. “It’s fine. I just thought you forgot.”

“I’d never forget about you.” Bucky’s voice was steady, sure, as he made his statement. His hand squeezed around the bouquet before handing it to you. “.. It’s not as good as yours but-”

“Hydrangeas..” You mumbled and held it to your nose. Sniffing it before sighing with a smile on your face. “My favourite. Thank you, James.”

He lit up at the thanks and shrugged. “Anythin’ for you, doll.”

You told him to wait a second before you put the flowers into a vase. Making sure it was nicely placed before grabbing the fruit bowl and your bag.

“You ready to meet my friends?”

You beamed up at him. “If they’re important to you, yes. Of course I’m ready.”

|| next part is gonna be the last part guys <3 i might do a super short "epilogue" type thing in the end tho <3

taglist : @iyskgd , @highhopes1008 , @purplefluffycows , @averagetmblrusser , @herejustforbuckybarnes , @turbulentwreck

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samsblades · 8 months ago

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worship you — sam winchester ꒦꒷ kinktober day nine ; priest kink

cw : gn!afab!reader, smut, softdom!sam, oral (reader receiving), religious metaphors, pet names (baby, honey), 1.5K words. MDNI !!! 18+ ONLY.

sam won’t tell you this now—he’d barely admit it to himself at first—but as he put on that black suit and white collar this morning, he hoped it would turn you on. only, he didn’t really think that it would. he figured that, however hot it might be, that sort of thing tends to be overexaggerated in media or online platforms, so he pushed the thought aside in favor of focusing on the case.

then you’d stepped out of the bathroom after brushing your teeth and when your gaze snagged on his cleanly dressed form, you didn’t even attempt to hide the way your eyes raked over him. he had thought in the moment that he could get drunk off the way you looked at him alone, surprised and yeah, really damn turned on.

but before either of you could get a word in, dean was rushing sam out the door, leaving you to research while they were off to interview witnesses.

the wait was absolutely worth it, because now he has you all to himself, pretty much desperate after several distracted hours of research, during which the only thing you could think of was how hot he looks in that suit.

when he walks through the motel door without dean in tow behind, sam indulges you when you practically throw yourself at him. he catches you easily in his arms, grasping your hips when you run your hands up his chest and kiss him hard. your hold, not gentle at all, smoothes up to the sides of his neck and he feels the stiff clerical collar pressing into his skin.

of course, he kisses back with just as much enthusiasm. he’s had that look on your face from this morning stuck in his head all day, and now he’s ready to see your features contorted with bliss. he’s been thinking far too much about all the ways he could drive you crazy to be considered focused on this case.

he pleases you by softly groaning into your mouth as you push your tongue past his lips, but he doesn’t let you take and take for all that long. instead, he pulls away and you’re already short of breath, chasing his lips with yours.

“wait a minute, baby,” he hushes softly, voice a little strained.

“don’t wanna wait,” you protest, trying not to sound whiny but failing a bit, “been waiting for you all day.” he holds back a grin at that, running his big hands up and down your sides.

“i know, i know,” he murmurs, “just… just slow down a second.” he tips his head into the crook of your neck, barely ghosting his lips over your skin. “dean’ll be gone a while. we’ve got time.” his hot breath tickles your skin and you move a hand to grip his shoulder. sam speaks all soft and reassuring, but you can hear that edge to his voice. you’re not sure why he’s trying to take it slow, and it takes him a minute to figure it out himself.

but when you tangle a hand in his hair and give an unconscious tug at the feeling of his lips pressing sweetly into your neck, he realizes.

“c’mon,” you urge, impatiently slipping a hand under his suit jacket and trying to push it off his shoulder. he stops you immediately, fingers wrapping around your forearm and pulling it away from his body.

he lifts his head to look at you, to take in your expression of sweet desperation. “not yet,” he scolds gently. sam debates explaining, but sometimes he likes to test your willingness to go along with him.

you want something, anything. there are times where you can be patient, where you’ll follow along without a single protest no matter how needy you are, but this is not one of those times. maybe it’s the outfit, the lack of sleep from last night, or the fact that you haven’t been able to have sam like this in too long because of hunts. most likely it’s everything working in tandem to make you so impatient.

so you put your all into testing his resolve, pushing his most sensitive buttons. you give his hair a little tug and you see the way it makes his upper lip twitch a bit, like he’s holding back a groan or soft growl. then you shift the arm in his hold to tangle your fingers through his and look at him all soft and sweet and loving. and because you need it so bad, you trail your hand down his torso as you begin to slowly sink to your knees. it feels like you have the right to tease him a little too now.

but he stops you, even when his eyes betray how much he wants this too. he slots a hand under your armpit and effortlessly pulls you right back up.

“nuh-uh,” he shakes his head, then reaches up to brush his thumb over your cheekbone. his voice is surprisingly still soft and sweet as he speaks. clearly, he wants something specific, and other days you might’ve really pushed his patience by now. “c’mon, honey. need you to listen to me right now, promise you’ll like it.” that pacifies you. he can’t help but smirk at how quickly he sees your body shift in reaction to his words. now, you’re perfectly pliable in his hands and he knows it instantly. “there we go,” he murmurs, dipping his head back into the curve of your neck.

slowly, he kisses down your neck all while he backs you into the bed. his hands roam, softly palming at your sides, slipping under your shirt and touching your skin like it’s holy. when he pulls your shirt fully off and lays you out on the bed for him, he kisses down your body and praises your beauty like he worships you.

so good for me. you’re so good for me. you’re so beautiful, you’re perfect. always so perfect for me. can’t get enough of you, baby.

and then it hits you. that’s exactly what he’s doing; he’s worshipping you, dressed like a holy man who’s supposed to be clean and pure in the eyes of god. but you’re his perverted deity and your body is the altar at which he kneels.

then he really is kneeling, just how he knows you’d want to see him, pulling you down to the edge of the bed by your ankles.

“sam,” you gasp, scrambling to sit up so you can see him there. “god,” you whisper, ready to start begging him to taste you now. you gulp and your chest heaves with breath; you’re sure that the sight of him kneeling between your legs in that crisp suit and white collar will be the last thing you see before you die, because it’s so filthy and clean and perfect all at once that you think it could end you. your thighs tense and your clothed pussy clenches around nothing.

his fingers slip under the waistband of your pants and underwear and he doesn’t have to even start tugging before you’re leaning back on your palms and lifting your hips. you know why he’s going so damn slow, with his fingers dragging along the length of your legs, and his eyes taking in the sweet sight of you like you’re the epitome of beauty. you just can’t help but squirm a little, absolutely desperate for something more.

“please, sam,” you pant, your voice a soft whine.

“i know,” he whispers, soothing you with his big, idolizing hands on your thighs.

then finally, he’s leaning forward, bumping your clit with his perfect nose before his flattened tongue swipes up your slit, intent on soaking up every bit of your sweet wetness that he can in just one movement. you moan lowly, desperately, and sam is high off your taste in less than seconds.

sam reveres you with his tongue. he’s agonizingly slow, perfectly dedicated, absolutely faithful to you and your utter pleasure. his moans and murmured praises into your warmth are prayers and the act is a devotion that sam will perform any day. every day, because just sundays would never be enough. every day is a holy day so long as he gets to put his mouth on your begging cunt.

despite how purposeful and slow he is today, he’s still as messy as ever. he slurps at your pussy and suckles on your clit and makes the lewdest sounds that you’ve ever heard. he drinks up your pleasured noises like he drinks up your wetness.

you were wrong before, because this is the sight that will kill you. now, his arms are hooked around your thighs to keep you in place as he makes you feels so good that you tremble. and he doesn’t look clean, not at all, not anymore. his hair is tousled and roughed up from your hand in his hair, half of his face, from the tip of his nose down to his chin, is covered in a shiny coating of your slick, and that damn collar. in all of his eagerness to eat you out like you’re the only god he’ll ever believe in, the collar has come loose, laying crooked against his neck, it’s purity ruined.

sam gives you that small death, your devotee brings you to heaven. when you cum into his mouth, almost embarrassingly fast, sam thinks he’ll have to keep the collar on when he fucks you.

TAGLIST

⟢ SPN; general (all supernatural fics, including nsfw so your age must be 18+ and visible on your blog) : @toadspondofwhimsy ; @mxltifxnd0m ; @bloodysammy ; @angelicjackles ; @ohsc ; @chevroletdean ; @prentissluvr .

⟢ kinktober : @this-is-me19 ; @ponygyatt ; @tranquilitybasegrunge ; @anu-piyakya97 ; @yeyrpp2 ; @maeve-24 ; @i-luvsang .

send an ask / dm to be added !

#. >> kinktober '24 !#sam winchester smut #sam winchester x reader #supernatural smut #sam winchester x gn!reader #supernatural #sam winchester fanfiction #sam winchester x y/n #sam winchester suggestive #sam winchester x you #sam winchester #sam winchester drabble #supernatural headcanon #sam winchester supernatural #sam winchester headcanon #supernatural suggestive #spn sam winchester #sam winchester fluff #kinktober

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harryslittlefreakk · 10 months ago

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just between us

summary: when y/ns life starts to fall apart, her boss is there to pick up the pieces… behind his wife’s back. nanny reader x ceorry

warnings: cheating, smut (foreplay, soft dom, sex, daddy kink), angst

wordcount: 5.2k

a/n: the plot of this is so loose lol, please don’t read if you want a masterpiece 😭 it was a really fun one to write enjoy <3

*not proofread because i stayed up until 2.30am to write and post this*

thank you so much for reading 🤍 MASTERLIST

You curled your legs up to your chest, the evening breeze doing little to soothe the ache in your chest. The last of the day’s sunshine lingered in pale pinks and oranges amongst the clouds, blurring together as you stared out into the night.

The drink in your hand, a mix of something strong and sweet, was meant to numb the feeling, but it only seemed to deepen your sense of isolation. You raised the glass to your lips, letting your head roll back as the burn slid down your throat, your thoughts going a million miles an hour.

It had been sudden, unexpected. The words still echoed in your mind, as if they were stuck on repeat. How could something that once felt so sure, so safe, suddenly fall apart? You clenched the glass a little tighter, the cool condensation dampening your hand.

Lost in your thoughts, you didn’t hear the sliding door open or the soft footsteps approaching. It wasn’t until you caught a familiar scent - a mix of woody cologne and something uniquely him - that you realised you weren’t alone.

You turned slightly, rushing to pull the blanket higher over your chest to cover your bikini top. Harry was standing there, hands in his pockets, watching you with the same furrowed brow wore when he knew something was wrong.

“Sorry, Harry. I didn’t think anyone would be home tonight,” you whispered, placing your drink down on the table. The whole family was meant to be away for the week, a trip that not only gave you some time off, but something that was now timed quite well since you had the week to mend your broken heart.

“I had to come back early for a meeting, Anna was meant to call. Mind if I join you?” he asked, his voice soft, almost hesitant.

You shook your head, a forced smile playing on your lips. “No, of course not.”

Harry sat down beside you, close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating from him, but not so close that it felt intrusive. He didn’t say anything at first, just sat there in silence, staring out at the fading light. There was something comforting in his presence, in the way he didn’t rush you to talk or try to fill the silence with empty words.

After a moment, he glanced over at your drink and then back at your face. “Rough day?”

Your lips curled into a bitter smirk, your fingers pushing through your hair. “You could say that.”

He nodded, as if he understood exactly what you meant, and maybe he did. Harry had always been good at reading between the lines, at knowing when someone was hurting even when they didn’t want to show it.

You looked over at him, his slacks perfectly creased down the centre, his shirt buttons loosened. You couldn’t deny that he was attractive, with his chiseled body and messy brown curls. But he was your boss. You were his son’s nanny, and you’d built a close relationship with his wife. You never allowed yourself to see him that way.

But when he showed so much love and care for you, it became borderline impossible not to blur the lines.

“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,” he offered, pulling you out of your thoughts. “But if you do, I’m here.”

He scooted closer, leaning his elbows on his knees as if he was incredibly interested in what you had to say. Harry always had a way of making you feel seen, recognising your needs faster than you recognised them in yourself. As a boss and a friend, he was a whole lot more than you bargained for.

Under his gaze, the weight of the day suddenly felt too heavy to carry alone. “Sam broke up with me,” you muttered, not wanting to admit it.

Sam had been the final piece of the puzzle, the last thing that needed to slot into place for your life to be full and worthwhile. The day that he’d proposed to you was the single most important day of your life. He was your everything. Until he’d phoned you earlier that day to tell you that he wasn’t sure that he loved you, and he wasn’t sure he ever would.

Harry didn’t react immediately. He just nodded again, taking in your words. “I’m sorry,” he said after a moment, his voice sincere.

You shrugged, though the motion felt hollow. “It’s probably for the best,” you whispered, though the pain in your chest told you that you didn’t fully believe that yet.

You finished the rest of your drink, the burn of the alcohol replacing the sting of heartbreak and failure. Your eyes closed, the reality starting to wash over you.

Harry reached out, placing his hand gently over yours on the table. The warmth of his touch was grounding, pulling you out of your thoughts. “You don’t have to be strong,” he said quietly.

That simple reassurance, the permission to not have it all together, was enough to crack the fragile composure you’d been clinging to. You laced your fingers through his as if you needed the stability, your eyes filling with tears before you could stop yourself. Harry didn’t say anything, just held your hand and let you cry, something steady and comforting in his presence.

When the tears finally slowed, you wiped her eyes with the blanket, feeling a little embarrassed but also lighter, as if a weight had been lifted off your shoulders. “Sorry,” you murmured, your voice still thick with emotion.

Harry squeezed your hand gently. “You don’t have to be sorry,” he replied.

You sat there for a while longer, the silence between you both now filled with some sort of understanding. The sky had darkened, the first stars beginning to twinkle above your heads. You took the last sip of your drink, this time letting the sweetness linger on your tongue, and for the first time that evening, you felt a small spark of hope flicker inside you.

“Another one?” Harry asked, nudging his head towards your empty glass.

You nodded, easing yourself out of the chair on unsteady legs. Whiskey on an empty stomach had your head spinning, but you weren’t sure that was the only reason. You were evil. Despicable, even. Turning your heartbreak into lust for a man that had showed you nothing but kindness, allowed you into his life as more than an employee, a man who’s family was special to you.

But his hand on your knee, the way he brushed away your tears with that gentle touch. You couldn’t think straight, let alone walk straight as you tiptoed into the kitchen.

You opened the whiskey with a pop as Harry’s body came up behind you. His abs rock hard against your skin, his bulge pressing into the small of your back. His arm came beside you, placing your glass on the marble countertop.

“Forgot your glass,” he murmured, making no attempt to step away. You turned against him, his jaw tight as he stared down at you.

You were frozen, doe-eyed and open mouthed as you looked up at him, the dark concern on his face morphed into something more.

“You need to learn how you’re supposed to be treated,” Harry drawled, his forearm slipping behind you and lifting you onto the countertop in one swift motion.

His knee nudged between your legs, opening them up for his body to fit inside. Your head fell back against the cupboard door as he bucked his hips into your core, the fabric between you both just thin enough for you to feel almost everything.

“I’ve seen the way you look at me,” Harry whispered, his thumb dragging over your bottom lip. “Like you’ve wanted this all along.”

The whimper you let out was almost pitiful, a sure sign to Harry that you were losing the battle with your morality. When you wrapped your calf around his waist, tugging him closer to you, he just about lost it.

“Your wi-”, you started, your voice barely a whisper, like you didn’t actually want Harry to hear you. You didn’t want him to think about her, to come back to his senses and realise what he was about to do. But he didn’t even let you finish.

He tugged at the straps of your bikini top, the sudden chill as he exposed you enough to make you fall into silence.

“Doesn’t need to know anything,” Harry finished for you. “If this is want you want.”

You wrapped your fingers around his wrist, pulling his hand to cover the curve of your breast. “It is, Harry.”

A small smirk pulled at the corner of his mouth as he rolled your nipple between his thumb and forefinger, his eyes still fixed on yours. “Do you need to feel better, princess?”

“Please,” you panted, slipping a finger through his belt buckle, desperate for some relief from the pleasure that was already building up inside you.

“Please what?” Harry whispered, leaning down to press his lips to your nipple, the soft bud immediately warmed by his mouth.

“Please Daddy,” you corrected, the last syllable turning into a long, deep whine when he finally gave you what you wanted.

He pulled your legs tight around his waist, your arms snapping over his shoulders as he lifted you from the counter and carried you upstairs to your bedroom.

Your core was rubbing against the fabric of his shirt with every step, your panties becoming more and more uncomfortable the closer you got to your room.

Harry eased you down to your feet when he reached your bedroom door, your core sliding over his erection.

He pulled his bottom lip into his mouth at the contact, his hands fumbling with the door handle. You pushed it open, letting him guide you to the edge of the bed where Harry nudged you to sit.

He sank to his knees in front of you, his hands immediately finding your knees, tracing circles and patterns up your thighs, a trail of goosebumps left in their wake. You leaned back on your hands, panting even before he made an attempt to give you any real pleasure.

His thumb dragged over the wet spot on your bikini bottoms, pressing the fabric against your entrance. The contact made you writhe, your clit aching for more.

When he slipped two fingers under the fabric and pushed them into you, you were completely at his mercy, whining loudly as he immediately found your sweet spot.

You looked down at him through clouded eyes, and that recognised that same, torn look you’d seen flash across his face before. But now you recognised it as a hunger, borderline desperation to have you in a way that would destroy everything he’d worked for.

But you didn’t have time to question it, to fall apart over the way his gaze trailed over your body, the sparkle against the deep green of his irises, because suddenly he was everywhere, his lips warm and insistent against your skin, his free hand groping and roaming anywhere he could reach, his fingers fucking in and out of you with pure determination.

You were his, all his, as Harry leaned down to lick a circle around your clit, before pulling his fingers from you and kissing and licking at you with persistence. His mouth was fast and firm against your core, his moans vibrating around you as he let your juices pool on his tongue.

His nose was nudging against your clit, his hands cupping the curve of your ass to open you up for him. The pleasure had built to a deep ache, spilling out of you in the form of whines and moans, but Harry was unrelenting in his pursuit of your high. He kept licking and sucking, grabbing and groping until you came apart on his tongue, your body going rigid under the strain of such an intense orgasm.

“You need to learn how you’re supposed to be treated, kitten,” Harry murmured, his voice muffled as he kissed over your mound, his lips warm and wet.

You pulled yourself to sit up straight, reaching for his belt buckle with desperation. “Show me, daddy,” you whined, pouting as he pushed your hands away and got to work undressing himself.

He nodded his head towards your pillows, a silent command for you to get yourself ready for him as he pushed his slacks down.

You could see the outline of his erection through his boxers, the material stretched tight over the monster he’d been hiding. You’d expected him to be big, but you weren’t even sure that he would fit inside of you.

You kept your eyes locked on his body as you scooted back, your mouth hanging slightly open. You’d seen him like this before, in his shorts in the pool or topless as he barbecued, but knowing he was undressing for you, to fuck you into complete and utter bliss, you were spiralling.

You wanted him to fuck you everywhere, in every way. Bent over the kitchen counter, in the pool, his cock hitting the back of your throat until you were begging for relief, his mouth and hands touching you until they became one with your flesh.

At some point during your daydream, Harry had fully undressed, his cock dangerously hard as he knelt between your legs.

“Fuckin’ perfect,” he drawled, swiping a finger through your slick before bringing it to your lips, his free hand stroking at his length.

You opened your mouth a little wider to let him in, your lips immediately wrapping around his knuckle as your tongue swirled around his fingertip, your nectar sweet on your tastebuds.

The movement elicited a low groan from Harry, his hips bucking into his hand, and without any warning, he was pushing into you with a sharp ache in your walls, his hands planted either side of your head.

Your arms immediately snapped to his shoulders, steadying yourself against him with a gasp, your pussy throbbing as his cock stretched you.

“More, Harry, please,” you whimpered, wrapping your calf around his hips, tugging him impossibly closer to you.

He brushed a stray hair from your face, pulling out of you slightly before easing his way back in, your walls rippling around his tip.

“Say my name again,” he commanded, his voice low and gravelly.

You opened your mouth as he slammed back into you, his skin slapping against yours as his name left your mouth in a strangled cry.

His hand came around your throat, squeezing just enough to give you that rush of excitement and risk, the pain melding with your pleasure. He was pulling out faster, fucking into you with relentless determination, setting a pace that you had no hope of following. You were putty in his hands, submissive and yielding as he thrust into you.

Your walls were getting tighter, clamping around the strain of his girth as the beginnings of an orgasm started rolling through your core. “I can feel you struggling, princess,” Harry warned, his grip on your throat tightening slightly. He could see in your eyes how much you liked it, how you wanted to lay there and take whatever he gave you. You knocked your hips into his, unable to speak through whimpers and whines, starting to lose control as the tingles spread through your centre, your inner muscles pulsing around his cock.

“Cum for me, milk me like the little cum slut you are,” Harry groaned, leaning down to pull your nipple into his mouth, his tongue warm and desperate as it rolled over the bud.

His cock hitting every inch of you, nudging your g-spot and every other part of your core, your nipple hard between his lips, his hand wrapped around your neck, his body dwarfing you - it was too much to handle, too much to cope with even without his filthy words. You were cumming before you could even think twice, the pleasure rolling over you in waves, reaching every part of your body. Your fingers curled into his hair, fingertips pressing into his scalp, collecting his curls in their grasp. Your legs were tight and rigid against his skin, your back arching off of the mattress. You were crying out his name, every inch of you throbbing as your vision blurred into stars and static.

But Harry was still fucking into you, still licking and sucking at your breast, still restricting your air with that big, strong hand, until you felt his cock jerking, twitching against your walls and the ribbons of hot cum painting you, marking you as his. He didn’t slow down until he was empty, everything he had to give dripping from you as he pulled out slowly, until he finally collapsed beside you.

You lay in silence for a while, chests heaving as you panted in sync, before Harry sat up to collect his clothes. It felt dirty, wretched, having him fuck you like that in a room that shared a wall with his sons, but you couldn’t bring yourself to feel anything other than pure bliss.

Even as he picked up his clothes and left the room without saying another word to you, you were on another planet, totally lost in the comedown of the most intense orgasm you’d ever had.

—

You woke the next morning with a sinking feeling in your stomach, the memory of the previous evening replaying over and over and over. You stared at the ceiling, the weight of what had happened settling in. Harry had kissed her, and she had kissed him back—without hesitation, without thinking about anything else but the moment. Your sheets still smelled like him, your body still aching from the way he’d fucked you.

But the reality hit like a wave, devastation washing over you. Harry was married. You were single, heartbroken, and you’d come close to getting yourself fired and kicked out of your home on top of that. You sat up, pressing your hands to your temples, trying to push away the guilt that had crept in overnight.

You forced yourself out of bed, moving through your morning routine on autopilot. The house was quiet, too quiet, as if the walls themselves were holding their breath. You had no idea if Harry was still around or if he’d left early, but you knew you weren’t ready to face him yet. At least no one else would be home, leaving you the chance to figure things out in your own time.

You padded downstairs, the kitchen feeling too bright, too normal for the reality you’d found yourself in. Every sound seemed magnified - the clink of your mug against the counter, the hum of the fridge - while your thoughts raced, a tangle of emotions you couldn’t quite sort out.

Was the night before a way for Harry to cheer you up - just a mistake, a lapse in judgment? Or was it something more, something neither of them could admit out loud? You shook your head, trying to push the thoughts away, but they clung like the humidity in the air.

You were pouring a cup of coffee when the sound of keys in the front door made your stomach drop. You froze, your heart hammering violently against your ribs. Turning slowly, you found Harry standing in the doorway, his expression unreadable. He hesitated, and for a moment, neither of you spoke, eyes locked on each other.

“Morning,” he finally said, his voice softer than usual.

“Hi, Harry,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper. The tension in the room was palpable, thick enough to cut through.

Harry stepped further into the kitchen, rubbing a hand along his jaw. “About last night…” he began, trailing off as if he wasn’t sure how to continue.

You felt your chest tighten. You wanted to say something, to ease the awkwardness between you both, but the words caught in the back of your throat. Instead, you just nodded, fingers gripping the edge of the very counter where this had all started.

“It was-”, Harry paused, running a hand through his hair. “It wasn’t supposed to happen like that. I shouldn’t have…” His voice faltered, guilt flickering across his features.

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to meet his gaze. “Harry, you’re married,” you said quietly, the truth of it hanging in the air between them.

“I know,” he replied, his tone heavy with regret. “I shouldn’t have put you in that position. I’m sorry, Y/N.”

You nodded again, feeling like you needed to be anywhere but there. The awkwardness between you felt like a chasm now, one they couldn’t easily bridge. “It’s not just on you,” you admitted. “I wasn’t thinking straight.”

Harry edged a little closer, only his footsteps and the hum of the coffee machine cutting through the silence. You could tell that the weight of what had happened was pressing down on him. At the realisation, you felt a pang of sadness, a dull ache in her chest that told you things would never be the same between you both. They couldn’t be.

“I think it’s best if we just-” Harry started, then stopped, struggling to find the right words. “If we can try to move past it. Go back to how things were before. But I understand if you’d rather find something else. I have contacts, I can-”

“No, Harry,” you interrupted. “I’d prefer to stay here if I can. If that’s okay.”

You knew he was right, but the idea of pretending nothing had happened felt impossible. Still, your job was important to you, and you didn’t actually have to spend that much time with Harry.

He offered a weak smile, one that didn’t reach his eyes. “We’ll be okay,” he said, more as a reassurance to himself than to you.

But as he left the kitchen, you weren’t so sure. Last night had changed something between you both, something that couldn’t be undone. And as much as you both wanted to pretend otherwise, you both had agreed to continue as you always had, the truth of it would always be there, lingering in the space between you.

—

You were curled up on the sofa, a soft blanket draped over her legs as you half-watched the movie playing on the TV. The room was dimly lit, the only light coming from the flickering screen and a nearby lamp. You’d picked a rom-com, hoping it would distract you from the turmoil swirling in your mind.

The whole day had been weird, with Harry working from home but spending significantly more time locked in his office than he usually did. You’d wanted to tell him that he didn’t have to avoid you, but you didn’t even know if he was. Any time you’d crossed paths had lead to strained silences and forced politeness, the easy rapport you once shared miles away.

You sighed, trying to focus on the movie, but the memory of your night together kept intruding. He’d shown you more care and respect than Sam ever had, his hands and that mouth trailing over every part of your body, worshipping you as if you’d been crafted by the Gods.

You pulled your knees closer to your chest, half wishing you could just disappear as Harry appeared in the doorway. His presence filled the room, and for a moment, neither of you spoke.

“Hey,” he said, his voice softer than usual.

“Hi,” you smiled, your heart quickening. You shifted slightly on the sofa, trying to make room, though you weren’t sure if you were ready for another encounter.

“Can I?” Harry asked, gesturing to the spot next to you.

You hesitated, but only for a second, before nodding and patting the sofa to your right.

Harry sat down, leaving a careful distance between them. You both turned your attention to the screen, though the tension in the room was palpable. You could feel the awkwardness settling in, making it hard to concentrate on anything but the fact that Harry was inches away from you for the first time that day, and you’d just been fully engrossed in a mental re-enactment of the night before.

After a few minutes of uncomfortable silence, you couldn’t take it anymore. You turned to him, your voice low. “This is weird, isn’t it?”

Harry let out a soft laugh, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah, it is. I’ve been trying to figure out how to make it less weird, but I’m not sure how.”

You nodded, your eyes drifting over his face.

“I value our working relationship, y/n, the things you do for our family,” Harry told you, reaching out to pause the movie.

You appreciated his honesty, but the reality of the situation still weighed heavily on you. “I can’t just pretend it didn’t happen, Harry. You’re my boss, and your family-” you sighed. “It’s just complicated things.”

“I crossed a line, and I don’t think I’ll ever stop being sorry for that. But I don’t regret anything,” Harry confessed, something conflicted in his eyes.

You swallowed hard, your words caught in your throat. You couldn’t reply, couldn’t tell him that you didn’t regret it either.

Harry turned back to the movie after a moment, the tension between you both easing up. It wasn’t gone, but the room suddenly felt warmer. He leaned back into the sofa, and after a moment’s hesitation, you did the same.

He shifted slightly closer, closing some of the distance between you. You noticed, but you couldn’t bring yourself to pull away. You let herself relax, resting her head against the back of the sofa as you watched the movie together, side by side. There was an undercurrent between them that neither could ignore, reminiscent of some kind of world where he wasn’t your boss, wasn’t happily married, and could be yours.

You’d felt it even before, every time you were alone in the same room, a tension that simmered just beneath the surface, waiting to spill over. You could see it in the way Harry looked at you sometimes, his gaze lingering just a bit too long, his voice dropping a little softer whenever he spoke your name. It was there in the moments when your hands would accidentally brush, sending a jolt of electricity through you that you struggled to hide.

You were lost in your thoughts when Harry’s arm brushed against yours. You could feel the heat of him, the familiar scent of his cologne wrapping around you, clouding your mind.

Your breath caught in your throat, and when you glanced over, you found Harry looking at you, his face closer than you’d expected. His eyes were intense, searching yours for something you weren’t sure you could give. The moment stretched, the silence between you both heavy with unspoken words.

“Y/n,” he said softly, his voice rough around the edges, as if he were struggling to hold something back.

You swallowed hard, your heart pounding in your chest. “We said-”

“I know,” he interrupted, his brow furrowed, voice barely above a whisper.

Before you could respond, he closed the distance between you, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that was anything but hesitant. This time, there was no hesitation, no uncertainty. The kiss was hungry, desperate, as if you were both trying to make up for the time lost denying what you wanted.

You melted into him, any resolve crumbling under the weight of your own desire. You’d told yourself it couldn’t happen again - wouldn’t happen again - that it was too complicated, too messy, but now, with Harry’s hand cupping your face, his lips moving against yours with an intensity that left her breathless, all those reasons seemed to vanish.

He pulled you closer, deepening the kiss as if he couldn’t get enough, and you responded in kind, your fingers tangling in his curls as you gave in to everything you had been trying to push away. It was reckless, dangerous even, but in that moment, it didn’t matter. The only thing that mattered was how right it felt, how much you had needed it, and needed him.

When you finally broke apart, you were both breathing hard, your foreheads resting against each other as you tried to catch your breath. Harry’s hands were still on you, his touch lingering, as if he couldn’t quite bring himself to let go.

“I’m sorry,” Harry murmured, his voice small. “I know we said we wouldn’t. I don’t know why I-”

“None of this is fair on anyone, Harry,” you whispered, your hand dropping to his shoulder. Your gaze fell to the wall behind you, covered in beautiful family photos. His wedding, nights out, his arms cradling a newborn baby. The reality of the situation loomed over you, a stark reminder that this wasn’t just about what they wanted. “We can’t keep acting like we’re the victims here.”

“I know,” he said, his thumb brushing softly against your cheek. “But it doesn’t feel like a mistake.”

You closed your eyes, feeling the weight of his words sink in. You were both standing on the edge of something that could change everything, and once you crossed that line again, there would be no going back.

When you opened your eyes, you found Harry looking at you, his expression a mix of hope and nervousness. It was a look that mirrored your own conflicted feelings, torn between what was right and what you wanted.

“It doesn’t,” you admitted, hating even hearing the words coming out of your mouth. “But where does that leave us?”

Harry was silent for a moment, his gaze steady as he pulled you closer to him. “I don’t know,” he finally said, his voice barely a whisper. “That’s something we have to figure out.”

The room was still and silent, the gravity of everything you had done settling in. But despite the uncertainty, a small sense of relief bubbled below the surface. You’d crossed a line, yes, but you had done it together. And you were happy to kid yourself that you’d find a way forward, even if it wasn’t clear yet what that path would look like.

For now, you let yourself be held by Harry, allowing yourself to savour the feeling of his strong arms around you, the warmth of his breath against your skin, and the undeniable truth that something about him felt right.

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kaces-graham-crackers · 5 months ago

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Decked Under the Mistletoe - Christmas Special

Tara Carpenter x Reader

Summary: A holiday party, a little too much eggnog, and a rivalry that’s anything but friendly. Tara Carpenter swears she won’t be the first to crack, but with the whole friend group watching—and meddling—fate has other plans.

Word Count: 1.5k

The holiday season had crept into New York like a quiet snowfall, slow and inevitable. Fairy lights were strung across the streets, wreaths hung on doors, and the faint sound of Christmas music spilled from every other storefront. The chill in the air was just enough to nip at exposed skin, a crisp reminder that December was in full swing. Inside the Carpenter apartment, however, the warmth of bodies, laughter, and the lingering scent of cinnamon and hot chocolate made it feel like an entirely different world.

“Alright, everyone, listen up,” Mindy announced, clapping her hands as she stood in the center of the living room, grinning like she was about to announce the greatest event of the century. “We’re making bets.”

I arched a brow from where I was sitting on the arm of the couch, nursing a cup of hot cocoa. “Bets?”

Mindy nodded. “Holiday bets. You know, harmless stuff—who’s gonna drink too much eggnog first, how long until Anika falls asleep on the couch, and of course—” she turned toward Tara with a smirk, “—which one of you is gonna break first.”

Tara, who had been in the middle of sipping her cocoa, froze mid-drink. “What?”

“Oh, don’t ‘what’ me, Carpenter.” Mindy waved a hand between us. “You and Y/N have been dancing around each other for months. It’s exhausting. Someone’s gotta fold.”

Tara scoffed, setting her mug down with a thud. “Please. If anything, Y/N would break first.”

I smirked, leaning forward. “Oh? That sounds like a challenge.”

“It is,” she shot back without hesitation.

The rest of the group laughed, fully entertained by our ongoing back-and-forth. It was no secret that Tara and I had an… interesting relationship. We got under each other’s skin, pushed buttons, and exchanged sharp remarks like they were gifts. It wasn’t toxic, not really—it was just our thing.

“So what’s the bet?” Chad asked, rubbing his hands together eagerly.

Mindy’s grin stretched wider. “Who caves first and admits they actually like the other.”

Tara rolled her eyes. “That’s stupid.”

“Agreed,” I added. “Mostly because there’s nothing to admit.”

“Sure, sure,” Mindy said, clearly not buying it. “But just in case, I’m putting my money on Tara caving first.”

“Excuse me?” Tara snapped, looking personally offended.

Mindy shrugged. “You’ve got that little glare, but it’s totally just covering the fact that you’re dying inside.”

Tara muttered something under her breath and crossed her arms, looking away. Sam, from her spot in the kitchen, simply sighed and continued stirring her tea, clearly tuning out our antics.

The night continued as expected—banter, games, and far too much sugar. At some point, Chad got wrapped in tinsel (“I am the Christmas King,” he declared), Anika did, in fact, pass out on the couch, and I caught Tara glancing at me more times than I could count.

Then came the mistletoe.

It wasn’t planned—not on my part, anyway. One second, Tara and I were arguing over which Christmas movie deserved the top spot (“Die Hard is a Christmas movie!” “It absolutely is not!”), and the next, Mindy was shoving us right under the doorway where, sure enough, a tiny sprig of mistletoe hung mockingly above our heads.

“Oh, would you look at that?” Mindy feigned innocence. “House rules say you gotta kiss.”

Tara’s jaw clenched. “Mindy.”

Mindy beamed. “Tara.”

A heavy silence stretched between us, the warmth of the apartment suddenly feeling a little too hot.

Tara folded her arms and scoffed. “Yeah, not happening.”

“Aww,” I teased, tilting my head. “What’s wrong, Carpenter? Afraid you might like it?”

She rolled her eyes so hard I thought she might sprain something. “Please, in your dreams.”

“So you have thought about it?”

“You are insufferable.”

“And yet, you’re still standing here,” I pointed out.

Tara glared, jaw tightening as she flicked her gaze toward the mistletoe, then back to me. I could see her debating it, weighing her options. Then, with an almost resigned exhale, she grabbed my hoodie and yanked me down, pressing her lips to mine in a way that was far more forceful than necessary—but I wasn’t complaining.

The room collectively lost its mind.

Someone (probably Mindy) whooped, someone else clapped, and I could vaguely hear Chad shouting, “Called it!” over the noise. But none of that mattered, not when Tara was kissing me like she had something to prove, her lips warm and a little too soft, her grip firm like she wasn’t planning to let go just yet.

Then, just as suddenly, she pulled back, her eyes burning into mine, her lips slightly parted.

“There,” she muttered. “Happy?”

Mindy was practically vibrating. “Oh, ecstatic.”

Tara huffed and turned to storm off, but before she could fully escape, a solid punch landed against my arm.

I grunted. “Ow, what the hell?”

Sam, standing beside me now, shook out her hand like she was barely fazed. “That’s for every time Tara’s come home ranting about how annoying you are.”

I blinked. “She rants about me?”

Sam ignored me. “And if you mess with her? I’ll make sure you never walk again.”

I swallowed. “Noted.”

With that, she turned and walked off, leaving me standing there, rubbing my arm while Mindy cackled in the background.

“Well,” she mused, “that was worth every penny.”

Chad clapped me on the back. “Merry Christmas, dude.”

Tara, across the room, was pretending to be completely unfazed. But when our eyes met, she held my gaze for a second too long before looking away, her cheeks still tinted the faintest shade of pink.

Maybe Mindy had been onto something after all.

The party had finally started winding down, guests slipping on their coats and saying their goodbyes, laughter still lingering in the air like the scent of cinnamon and pine. One by one, the group trickled out into the chilly New York night, some still buzzing from the evening’s events—especially the mistletoe situation.

I grabbed my jacket and stepped outside, shoving my hands into my pockets to brace against the cold. Tara was right behind me, moving quietly as the others scattered toward their cars or the sidewalk, chatting amongst themselves. When I reached my car, I expected her to just say goodnight and head off, but she lingered, shifting slightly on her feet.

It wasn’t like her. Tara Carpenter wasn’t one to hesitate. But here she was, looking uncharacteristically unsure.

I leaned against the car door, smirking slightly. “Something on your mind, Carpenter?”

She scoffed, rolling her eyes, but the tension in her shoulders didn’t ease. “You’re insufferable, you know that?”

“Yeah,” I mused. “But you’re still standing here.”

Tara sucked in a breath. “Do you… like me?”

I tilted my head, pretending to consider it. Then, grinning, “What gave it away? The months of flirting? The fact that I let you win that stupid gingerbread argument? Or was it the part where I didn’t drop dead after you kissed me?”

Tara groaned, shoving me. “You’re the worst.”

I caught her wrist before she could move away. “But to answer your question—yeah, I do.”

She hesitated for a beat before closing the space between us, pressing her lips to mine.

Then—

“OH MY GOD, IT’S OFFICIAL!”

We turned to see the entire group on the stoop, Mindy fist-pumping, Chad doubled over laughing.

Tara groaned and buried her face in my neck. “Kill me.”

I laughed, pulling her closer. “Way to embarrass my girlfriend, guys.”

Tara twitched and jabbed me in the ribs, making me wince. “Ow—”

“Don’t push your luck, genius,” she muttered. Then, before I could recover, she kissed my jaw with a smirk. “Besides… looks like I won after all.”

The group cheered again as I groaned, Tara’s laughter warm against the cold night air.

#jenna ortega x reader #x fem!reader #x female reader #x y/n #wednesday addams x fem reader #tara carpenter x female reader #slow-burn #tara carpenter x reader #kaces christmas corner #tara carpenter x you #wednesday x fem!reader #wednesday addams x you #wednesday addams x reader #jenna ortega x you #jenna ortega x fem!reader #jenna ortega x fem reader #jenna ortega x female reader #tara carpenter x y/n

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slxtarchive · 6 months ago

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𝐢𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐡. 𝐬𝐚𝐦 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐛𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐢𝐧 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬... 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐛𝐨𝐭𝐡 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞

✦ ... sam looked down at you with calm eyes. “you can tell me if you ever feel uncomfortable okay baby? i… i bought these for us.” you moved your eyes toward the box beside sam, feeling intimidated by the mysterious items inside.

“m’gonna try this one first, kay?” you were currently laying on your back in front of sam feeling a rush of excitement course through your veins. he pulled out one you were familiar with. it was in the shape of a rose. he fiddled with it before you heard the soft hum.

your heart kept beating louder and louder feeling arousal ooze out of you as you thought of how it’d feel. you’ve used one before on yourself but you’d never had sam use it on you. he inspected it trying to figure out which buttons did what.

after he figured it out, sam first parted your thighs so he could see your pretty pussy. he pulled down both your delicate pajama shorts and dainty underwear at the same time to reveal your soaked cunt, all shiny and ready for him.

he saw how it clenched over and over around nothing. he felt his cock getting harder by the second. he brought the toy over toward you the hum of it gradually getting louder. he licked his bottom lip before making eye contact with you. “just for a little… i have just a few more i wanna try.” he whispered through the dark.

you gulped while nodding as you propped yourself on your shoulder with your legs spread giving him a full view. he shifted his stance trying to fix his rock hard cock from feeling uncomfortable. he then finally brought the rose to your clit pressing lightly. your body jolted at the pressure forgetting what it felt like. “oh shit..” you cursed, clenching your hands together.

you whined already feeling sensitive to the vibrations. every now and then your legs would jolt threatening to close. sam held your right leg down with his hand as his palm pushed the toy firmer on your clit. you moaned tossing your head back feeling yourself get closer to an orgasm. “yes… yes sam.” you whispered, your pussy clenching over and over.

that’s when sam pulled away. you choked as the pleasure got ripped away from you. “wha—” you started but sam tutted.

“told you… i wanna try more.” his voice was soft but firm. “don’t worry baby, you’ll cum. jus’ have to be patient with me. can you do that?” he looked straight into your eyes as he spoke.

mindlessly you nodded with your lips parted. the orgasm you neared slowly diminishing.

next sam pulled out a pair of furry cuffs. your eyes widened as he looked up. “think you know what m’gonna do with these, huh baby?” he dangled them, the metal clashing together. he leaned forward putting his hands out for you to move yours in front. “jus’ gonna cuff them together.” he said quietly continuing to cuff them.

not too bad, you thought. you just couldn’t lift yourself up if you wanted to look at him. what you didn’t expect was to feel something wrap around your ankle. “this is to make sure your legs stay open.” he spoke like nothing out of the ordinary was happening. “this okay with you?” he questioned.

you looked straight up at the ceiling contemplating if you were comfortable. you always felt safe with sam. he was the person you trusted the most in the world. “it’s okay.” you nodded trying to look at him but struggling to do so.

he noticed your struggle getting up and fixing the pillow under your head. “there you go baby.” he fluffed it and helped you prop your head up so you could see what was happening. he then leant down. “kiss?” you cracked a smile puckering up your lips as he leaned down and pecked them.

he moved back to his original spot putting the other strap on your ankle toward the corner bed posts. your knees were bent comfortably but you felt extremely exposed — it turned you on the more you thought about it

sam’s voice interrupted your thoughts. “this one next, yeah?” you looked up to see a huge dildo. you were a bit skeptical wondering how it’d feel, thoughts running miles per second. he noticed your hesitation. “just to see how you like it…” sam failed mention part of this was for his pleasure too. it was a different pleasuring you with something that wasn’t… him.”

you nodded feeling ready before he licked his top teeth and… turned it on? he placed the tip of the toy on your entrance before slowly sliding it in. it had a gentle vibration you weren’t expecting. small noises escaped your lips as you got used to the sensation. he thrusted it slowly in and out of you, eliciting low moans from your pink lips.

he then smiled down at you before he clicked another bottom and the toy moved. it moved repeatedly back and forth thrusting on its own. you felt it touch your g spot bringing your legs to instinctively move around trying to close. you groaned as you felt the toy nudge it again. “oh fuck…” you whimpered feeling that familiar pleasure.

it moved quickly as sam held it to you before he thrusted it inside you. it felt so good. it didn’t feel like anything you felt before. your back arched slightly as your knuckles clenched. that familiar band in your stomach threatened to snap. you pressed your lips together. “sam…” you choked out, the pleasure becoming too much.

you didn’t notice at first but he pulled the toy out of you, edging your orgasm for a few seconds before he pressed something else up against your clit. the vibration was intense. you let out a guttural groan picking your head up and looking at him. it was a bigger vibrator with stronger vibrations.

your clit felt like it was on fire. you felt helpess as you thrashed around feeling the pleasure become too much again. you felt yourself cum hard because of the toy causing your legs to shake.

as you calmed down form the organs though, the sensation didn’t stop, it kept going. it was steady as sam moved it down to collect your arousal then placed it back onto your already overly sensitive clit.

you felt tears prickle in your eyes as the buzz of the toy was placed on your clit again. he put more pressure on it wanting another orgasm from you. he was enjoying this so much he wondered how come he never did this before.

your moans and cries were music to his ears. “my good girl. you’re doing so good for me.” he praised, his words feeding into the pleasure. you felt a tear fall as your stomach clenched. you clenched your jaw feeling your second orgasm quickly approaching.

you groaned as increased the intensity of the vibration. “t-too much! too much sam, oh fuck — so sensitive.” you voiced but sam had hardly any compassion.

he grinned as your back arched over and over, noticing how your knuckles were clenched white and the faint mascara streaks on your cheeks. “give me one more, yeah? so beautiful when you’re like this.” his tone was soft and sultry as he kept the vibrations on your clit. your body jerked as you felt the pleasure reach you in a wave. more tears escaped your eyes as your legs shook wanting to close.

you pressed your lips together to hold back your loud moans but found yourself unsuccessful. that ecstasy you felt was non-stop. it felt so euphoric. “thaaats it, fuck yeah. that’s my girl.” sam’s voice praised and you looked down with your mouth agape as you saw clear liquid squirt toward him. he moved the vibrator over it rapidly admiring the sight in front of him.

your chest rose up and down as you tried to catch your breath. your eyes fluttered shut feeling the vibration move away from your clit. then shortly after sam turned it off. you felt in the clouds unable to move or even talk. you heard sam leave the room before coming back.

you still felt weak and your legs felt like jelly so you didn’t bother to say anything but you winced as you felt something warm connected with your sex. sam took a warm washcloth and wiped softly around you cleaning you up before removing the towel that was placed under you. then he got up and grabbed a new pair of underwear before disconnecting the delicate rope that was wrapped around your ankles.

he tossed them to the side and helped you put your underwear on. he tapped your hip which caused you to open your eyes. you lifted your hips up as he pulled your underwear up. he smiled at you as he crawled over you taking off the cuffs before tossing those to the side and pressing a kiss to your forehead.

he laid beside you shirtless hugging your waist. it was quiet for a moment as you both just enjoyed each others presence before he let out a loud sigh. “i made you squirt.” he whispered, pressing kisses to the side of your face then neck.

you rolled your eyes. “shut up.” you said quietly before giggling at how ticklish you felt as he nudged your skin with his nose while his head was buried in your shoulder.

#𖦹°‧★ 𝑺𝑳𝑿𝑻𝑨𝑹𝑪𝑯𝑰𝑽𝑬 #𝑺𝑨𝑴 𝑮𝑶𝑳𝑩𝑨𝑪𝑯 ᝰ.ᐟ #sam golbach x reader #sam golbach smut #sam golbach imagine #sam and colby imagine #sam and colby smut #colby and sam #sam golbach #sam x reader #sam #sub sam golbach #sam golbach angst #sam golbach fluff #sam golbach fic #sam golbach one shot #sam golbach au #sam golbach x y/n #sam golbach x you

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jpnriikicore · 2 years ago

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── hickey galore

paring colby brock x fem!reader, word count 774, genre kinda suggestive, authors note there is a age-gap between colbs and the reader but of course the reader is of age, ( masterlist )

something colby has always held over your head since you’ve known him is the fact that he knows your neck is incredibly sensitive. in public he would place a gentle kiss on side of your neck just to watch you squirm. he would continue to tease you about it through the day and continues on like nothing happened. god, the teasing gets worse in privacy.

now, your cuddled up on the couch you settled between his legs. the arm that started at your waist at the beginning of the night was now holding the back of your thigh. one hand is interlocked with his. your fingers playing with his rings as a comforting habit you’ve picked up over the years. you were at this party that sam decided to throw last minute. you were almost late colby somehow convinced you that you had more time than what you did just so he could kiss you longer.

the majority of the time of getting ready was you attempting to cover up the hickeys that he gave you, but eventually in the end you just gave up and went to the party covered in his hickeys anyways.

his hand moved closer lifting your dress a little bit higher.

"colbs." you mumbled, putting your hand on top of his in a poor attempt to stop his actions.

"don’t worry nobody’s paying attention, kid." he whispered in your ear.

the nickname that fell from his lips sounded degrading. you weren’t a kid anymore. you were incredibly mature for your age. he used every chance to make you remember that you were younger than him. you weren’t that younger than him just young enough to make society look down on you two.

every time his hand moved an inch higher the more his touch felt like electric waves going through your body.

sam called him over as you shifted away, so colby could get up.

he leaned against the wall as he continued to talk to sam. occasionally glancing over at you. he’s wearing the black button up that you adore on him. the first few buttons are undone like normal, but tonight a few more buttons were undone. like as if he was just begging for attention exposing his collarbones and some of his chest. you could see his tattoo peak through the shirt some. he knew exactly what he’s doing.

he ended his little conversation with sam. immediately walking back over to you maintaining eye contact. he settled you in his lap. you "accidentally" shifted yourself closer to him in a way you just knew that would rile him up.

"i want you." you whispered in his ear while your dainty hand played around with his necklace.

his eyes glanced at sam who seemed to be preoccupied with a friend as he sit down the glass that was filled with whatever liquor he was drinking.

he pushed a few strands of hair behind your ear. his hand slipping up your dress completely his ring claded hand stroking your legs and stomach. the coldness of his rings compared to your warm flushed skin made a shiver go up your spine.

"come with me," he whispered, you shifted onto your feet and you link your arms with his as you walk upstairs to the bathroom. "you have to be quite for me."

you promised to his good girl as you walked into the bathroom. not a second later after he locked the bathroom door he taken back by you pushing him against the bathroom wall kissing his chest leaving a few hickeys, but you found yourself being roughly pushed against the wall. the roles being switched.

he continued to add to his collection of hickeys on your neck. whines escaping from your mouth due to the sensitivity of your neck.

"what would sam think seeing his little sister like this?" his hand slid up to wrap his hand around your throat adding some pressure to the sides just enough to keep you dazed.

hickeys littered your entire neck and area that your chest was exposed due to the dress you wore being low cut. you was completely flustered, your hair was completely messed up, your dress was wrinkled, and your eyes was blown out with lust.

you couldn’t even think straight. in response a loud whine escaped you. fuck, you was fucked.

"want to take this back to the car?" he mumbled, against your lips. you untucked the rest of his button up that was tucked in his jeans. letting your fingers fiddle with the buttons of his shirt hurriedly trying to unbutton the rest of them.

"mm-hmm."

#colby brock #colby brock x reader #colby brock imagine #colby brock fan fiction #colby brock x you #colby brock fanfiction #colby brock x y/n #colby brock imagines #colby brock fanfic #sam and colby #xplr

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jobean12-blog · 1 year ago

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Color Me Yours

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader (Mob!Bucky)

Word Count: 984

Summary: Whether or not he's busy with his work he always has time for you and whatever you want.

Author's Note: I had written a story about coloring with Joel and I just love the idea of doing something so simple with our fave guys and then I thought Mob!Bucky would be so fun to color with. This is just a snapshot of a soft and fun domestic moment where our usual no bullshit boss is really and truly himself with his most favorite human ever- his wife. I also mention a scene in the movie Ghost from 1990 and I referenced this scene. Thank you so much for reading! Much love always! ❤️❤️❤️Divider by the lovely @firefly-graphics thank you Daisy! 🥰

Warnings: It's fun and fluffy and sweet and silly and ends with a bit of spice bc I can't help myself, established relationship, coloring bc yay!

“There you are doll face.”

You walk into his office with a smile, your hands kept neatly hidden behind your back.

“What are you hiding?” he asks as he leans back in his leather chair, legs spread wide and smirk pulling at his lips.

“A book.”

You stop just in front of his large mahogany desk. You’re wearing nothing but a tank top and panties and your skin warms as his eyes sweep over you appreciatively.

“What are you reading now?”

“Not that kind of book.”

He raises a questioning brow.

“It’s a coloring book.”

With an easy push he swivels his chair to the side and pats his thigh invitingly.

“Come ‘ere doll. Let me see.”

You come around the desk and perch yourself on the thick muscle, watching his reaction as you reveal your coloring book and colored pencils.

He takes it from your hands and starts to flip through it, smiling the whole time.

“These are beautiful,” he says.

“Thank you.”

He carefully places your things on his desk and wraps you in his arms. You rest your head along his shoulder and slip your fingers into the open buttons of his collared shirt.

“If you’re not too busy now, will you color with me?”

Your head tilts up to meet his eyes and you find him gazing down at you softly.

“I’m never too busy for you doll face. You know that.”

He sits up and pulls the chair toward the desk, caging you in with his arms around your waist and his chest pressed to your back.

“The only rule is you have to stay in my lap while we do it.”

He whispers the words against your neck, gently kissing the spot before he pushes the strap of your tank top off your shoulder and continues pressing his lips along your skin.

“One more rule…you can’t distract me until we’ve done some coloring,” you breathe out. “You’re very distracting.”

“Fine. I’ll behave doll…for now.”

You turn your head and chase his lips, sliding your hand into his hair and gently scraping your nails along his scalp.

“Tease,” he growls playfully against your mouth.

With a coy smile you peck his lips one last time then ask, “did you see any particular picture that you want to color?”

“You pick,” he answers, keeping his face nestled in your neck.

“Let’s color this one.”

You point to a page and then start sifting through your colored pencils. He waits for you to pick one then does the same, deciding on a cerulean blue.

“Almost as pretty as your eyes,” you purr.

He kisses your cheek and let’s his nose run along the column of your throat, whispering his thanks.

“This is relaxing,” he murmurs.

“I agree. I was going to try painting next...”

“I’ll build you a space for you to do your art. Any kind you want.”

“Can we get a pottery wheel?”

“Of course,” he answers.

You turn to look at him, smiling brightly when you exclaim, “then we can make something together like Molly and Sam in Ghost!”

With a squeal you go back to coloring, unaware of Bucky’s confused expression.

“Molly and Sam?” he asks.

“YOU HAVEN’T SEEN GHOST?” you nearly shout, turning in his arms again. “We are watching it tonight.”

“Is it a scary movie…about a ghost?”

His question makes you roll your eyes and you poke him with a colored pencil.

“NO Buck. It’s a love story and they totally have sex after he distracts her while she’s making her pottery…”

“What are you implying doll?”

“Oh nothing,” you sing song. “I’m sure you’ll love the movie.”

“I’m sure I will too.”

“You better…it’s so good.”

He lightly nibbles on your neck in response, causing you to squeal again.

“Nibbles laterrrrrrrr,” you half whine half giggle.

He relents but only after more soft kisses to any part of your bare skin he can reach.

As you go to choose a new color you pause to watch him, noting how his movements are precise and he stays within the lines, coloring each part of the picture with consistency.

“You’re really good at this,” you muse. “Have you been secretly coloring without me?”

He chuckles.

“Nah doll face, but you know I love to pay attention to every little detail.”

“Oh, that’s an understatement,” you giggle.

“Are you making fun of me?”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” you say cheekily.

He nuzzles your neck, knowing his scruffy jaw tickles your skin and it makes you wiggle and squirm in his hold.

“Buckyyyyy,” you gasp.

He finally stops to let you breathe, securing you in his lap again and pressing a sweet kiss to your cheek.

His right hand holds the colored pencil and his left rests on your hip and as time continues to pass in comfortable silence his fingers begin to trace circles on your skin, slow and light.

“Done already?” you purr.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about doll.”

His tone is incredulous even as his hand dips lower and teases between your legs.

You try to stay focused on coloring the picture but his touch is far too distracting and you drop the pencil with a sigh and lean back.

“What about my coloring?” you whisper as your hands slide down and grip his thighs.

He pushes your legs apart and slides his finger over your silky panties.

“This is all your fault,” he murmurs. “You came in here wearing almost nothing…”

“My fault?” you breathe out. “This is why I can never get anything done…you and your hands…distracting!”

“You love it.”

“I do,” you gasp, rocking in his lap. “But you aren’t getting out of coloring…or the movie.”

He takes your earlobe between his teeth with a gentle tug, drawing soft little moans from your parted lips.

“Wouldn’t dream of it baby doll. You know I’ll do anything you want.”

@hiddles-rose @randomfandompenguin @goldylions @kmc1989 @littleseasiren @lizette50 @blackwidownat2814 @buckysdollforlife

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #mob!bucky #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes fanfiction #mob!Bucky barnes #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes imagine #mob!bucky x reader #sebastian stan #sebastian stan x reader

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meltedbluecaterpillar · 11 months ago

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Leona's Lemon Cookies

A/N: Here it is again. I will post the commissioned ones as well. Happy birthday Leona. Even though this is a repost.

tags: fem!reader, aphrodisiacs, garden sex wc: 6.7k+

You looked yourself over in the mirror with sparkling eyes and a smile pulling at the corners of your lips. You swiftly buttoned up your crisp uniform shirt while tucking the hem into your skirt. As you did so, you tugged the skirt up a few extra inches than what the dress code would usually allow. The soft skin of your thighs were exposed since you decided not to wear your uniform’s tights due to today’s special holiday. It was officially Valentine’s Day in Twisted Wonderland.

You had stayed up late the night before. Baking cookies with Grims’ vocal encouragement and willingness to eat any leftover dough without the additional lemon extract. When you had grabbed the golden vial of lemon extract from Sam’s shop earlier that week, he had warned you that under no circumstances should Grim consume any of it. It should only be eaten by the person you want to get closer to.

And that person was already so far out of your reach. At least that’s how you felt.

You made Grim a few sugary, heart shaped cookies as a thank you for ‘helping’ and pushed through an extra batch of lemony cookies for tomorrow’s babysitters, and finished off the entire vial of lemon extract. You left Ramshackle that morning with Grim in tow, making sure that you would be early to campus in hopes of seeing the student who plagued your thoughts. You clutched the bag of heart shaped lemon cookies tightly with the spare bag hidden in the pocket of your blazer. Relaxing at the sound of neat, clear plastic crinkling in your fingers. The yellow ribbon sealing the bag tickled your knuckles as if they were encouraging you into being more confident. “Are you sure he’ll even eat them? He doesn’t look like the type to sink his teeth into cutesy cookies.” Grim sounded unsure of your plan to present something sweet to the person you wished to become closer to. Well, beastman you wished to become closer to. “Even if he eats just one and tosses them out, I think I’ll be happy.” You hummed with a wide smile. The day was yours to be seized, nothing could possibly go wrong.

-♡-

“Leona? Who’s lookin’ for him? If it’s the Headmage, then I can’t say,” Ruggie shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly, leaning back against a wall while sorting through a handful of Madol with a smug expression. Of course the hyena wouldn’t sell Leona out so easily. And Grim was already being toted away to the Mostro Lounge by the Tweels now that classes had ended. You were on your own for the rest of today’s mission. “Come on Ruggie, what about an I.O.U for next time you need help with something?” You suggested hopefully, noticing his big round eyes marveling over the bag of cookies poking out of your blazer pocket. His expression turned mischievous and you started to scowl. “Oh? Is that why you were looking for him?” He swiped the bag of cookies away from your pocket with a soft snicker. You quickly shot your hands out to snatch them back to no avail. “Let me have a cookie, and I’ll tell you where he went.” Ruggie purred as you, again, attempted to steal the treats back. No luck.

His hands were far quicker than yours, bouncing the bag between his palms with a smile. You were running on a short fuse already. “They aren’t for you!” You growled as Ruggie continued to tease you with the bag gliding against your fingertips, only to have it snatched away again. “I only want one. Leona won’t even notice. Just say it grew legs and ran away. Besides, you need to find him right? Giving me a snack is a perfect payment.” The hyena giggled, a familiar and snarky sound. He was now holding the bag out to you in cupped palms. You hesitated, before quickly taking the bag of cookies back. Just one… Then he’ll tell you where Leona is hiding. “Fine.” You murmured and carefully unwrapped the bag's yellow ribbon. The plastic crinkled under your fingers as you pulled out a lemony heart shaped cookie. The hyena’s eyes glittered with excitement at the sight of the yellow tinted treat. “Feed it to me?” He asked with a wide smile. His large fangs were exposed and his eyes were half lidded. You only grimaced in response. You held out the cookie for him to take with the bag clutched tightly in your spare hand. “In your dreams.” You growled with your eyes now narrowed at the beastman.

Ruggie shook his head slowly, his smile still there as he took the cookie from you. “Oh, to be fed cookies by a pretty girl. I will dream, like most guys here will.” He threw his hands up in dramatic defeat as you quickly re-tied the yellow ribbon around the bag. As he took a small bite he pointed down the hall with a swipe of his tongue over his lips. “He’s in the Botanical Gardens, you’ll find him hiding somewhere in the subtropical zone. Probably still sleeping.” Ruggie instructed as he chewed away at the lemon flavored heart, sliding his tongue over the soft dough with a smirk. “Don’t snitch on me for telling you where he is.” He hummed as you turned away from Ruggie, sneaking the bag back into your pocket. “I’ll mention an annoying little cat told me.” You scoffed, rolling your eyes at the soft ‘meow’ from behind. You didn’t have time to mess around with an underling.

You needed to speak with the person in charge.

-♡-

The walk to the Botanical Gardens wasn’t as long as you imagined. Maybe it was the excitement of giving the sweet gift to Leona that made your steps much faster. Maybe it was the scenario of him thanking you with a smile that made time pass much quicker. Maybe it was the dreamy wish of getting something back for the upcoming White Day. You stepped into the large garden, looking around for a pair of long legs hidden among the shrubs or underneath a table with exotic flowers perched on top. But nothing yet. Ruggie said he was in the ‘subtropical zone’ today. You would have to go much deeper into the garden.

Your steps were light as you admired the plants you passed. Bright red strawberries, violet colored blueberries, pale green succulents in terracotta pots, and even pink flowers you had never seen before. As you trekked deeper into the lush greenhouse, the temperature began to rise. You shucked off your blazer to drape it over your arm, holding the cookies in your cupped palms as if they were made of thin glass. The air was hot, but your hands were becoming sweaty from the anxiety swelling up in your chest. As you passed a large tree slathered in thick green moss, you spotted a thin brown tail with a chocolate brown tuft of fur on the end. It was poking out from beneath a bush littered in small white flowers.

Your heart jumped with excitement as you slowly crept over to the large bush. It was nestled in a small patch of grass, a few thin trees were planted there as well with vines draping over the branches. You gave Leona silent props for this new hiding place. Had his tail been hidden, you would’ve had no idea there was enough space behind that bush for one lion. You shifted the cookies into one hand and moved the ropey vines from out of your way, seeing Leona lying on his back. He was sleeping. Of course he was.

An open book was laid over his face, it was thick and appeared aged from both time and affection. The spine was cracked and there were tears along the rounded corners of its yellow leatherette. The light brown cardboard beneath was exposed from beneath. The book title stated that it contained the study of different exotic wild flowers. You never pegged Leona as the ‘flower’ type. Maybe he’s just using it to look productive in case one of the staff finally found him. And what a lucky feline he was today that it would be you instead. “Um… Leona?” You called out to him in a soft voice, kneeling beside him as you did so. He was unmoving. Meaning; he’s ignoring you, or he’s actually sleeping. With a hand now outstretched, you reached towards the book laying over the beastman’s face. As you lifted the book, you choked back a gasp as your eyes grew wide. Leona was staring at you. His sharp summer green eyes were half lidded from waking up and he appeared ornery already. “What?” He growled and grabbed the book. Your hand reflexively curled away as you stared at him in shock.

“Oh! Sorry! Ruggie told me you were here, so… Here I am!” Your tone was awkward as you smoothed your skirt underneath your butt before sitting on the soft grass beneath you. Leona sat up, carefully closing the book with an annoyed expression as you looked down at the cookies in your hand. “Also… Your tail was sticking out…” You whispered as you listened to Leona set the book aside and sigh. “Are you here to tell me something? If you planned to snitch on me, you wouldn’t have sat your ass down. Spit it out Herbivore.” Leona’s eyes slowly scanned over your perched form, and moved over to the cookies in your sweaty palm. You could see them widen for a split second before he gazed into your eyes. The sound of silence filled the space between you as your face began to grow hot. Right. The cookies. He’s waiting for an explanation. “I made these, just… Cause I did,” you awkwardly shifted from where you sat and held out the plastic bag of heart shaped cookies to Leona. “And… ‘Cause it’s Valentine’s Day… Today… So…” The plastic bag was transferred carefully into Leona’s palms as he hummed in response. His brown tail swishing slowly across the grass patch ground with content from the sight. He silently admired the bag and pulled gently at the ribbon. “I don’t really eat cookies, Herbivore. If you wanted to give me something like this, it could’ve been meat. Not that you can afford it.” He huffed, not meeting your eyes as he pulled a cookie out of its plastic confines. Although he openly complained, Leona clearly intends to eat them for you. Since you worked so hard to make them on his behalf. “I guess since it’s Valentine’s Day I’ll have to eat them.” He held one of the heart shaped cookies in his fingers, then looked up at you.

You attempted to mask your excitement, seeing him lick over the rounded edge of the lemony heart. His tongue was lined with papillae and you could hear the gentle scrape of the keratin over the baked dough. Leona’s eyes were processing your expression, and seeing him lick the heart shaped cookie felt intimate.

It shouldn’t feel intimate. It’s just a cookie.

The beastman pulled the pastry away from his lips, his cuspids now visible as he smiled. You felt the electric excitement shoot up your back and send you into an ice-cold sweat as the lemony treat was now pressed against your lips. The spot he licked was wet and warm, and you could taste the mint in his leftover saliva. “Well? I don’t like cookies. I can’t eat them all alone. Have a bite too.” He instructed as your face began to burn. You said nothing as you shyly bit into the edge of the cookie, chewing slowly as your eyes broke away from Leona’s intensifying stare. “Is it good?” Leona’s voice was soft and husky with sleep, the question a little too gentle from what you were used to. You nodded slowly as he pulled the cookie away from your mouth. Leaving you to chew and savor the scenario you were in from the magical lemon extract. You savored the soft lemony dough, the way it crumbled, and the hint of mint from Leona’s mouth. Your mind blocked out the bitter sweetness of the lemon.

You looked up just as Leona took another bite from the once heart-shaped cookie. Of course, from the same spot. “Get another cookie already.” He grumbled and lightly tossed the bag upwards. A micrometer as the plastic crinkled in his palm. “I actually can’t eat all of this sweet shit.” He muttered as you grabbed another cookie. The silence was replaced with chewing and plastic crinkling. Leona commented once how sweet the cookies were, although he still ate them without hesitation. Once he finished one, the beastman was already grabbing another. You took care to nibble at each cookie slowly, wanting desperately for Leona to eat the majority of the cookies infused with the magical lemon extract.

And it wasn’t long before the plastic bag was empty. The bag laid crinkled and flattened on the grassy ground, empty of sweetness with its delicate ribbon tossed aside. All that remained were yellowish crumbs left behind from the heart shaped treats.

“Not bad Herbivore. Not bad at all… Very Valentine’s worthy.” Leona complimented softly with a laugh that vibrated through your body. His long tail swiped across the ground and bumped into your thigh, a playful touch that ignited that electrical excitement from before. You struggled to subdue the smile stretching across your face from his words and the ticklish texture of his tail against your skin. The magic was working. It had to be! “Thank you, I was up all night making them!” Your face began to grow hot as the smile you struggled to fight back was now dancing across your features. Your heart was slowly starting to pick up speed as his tail rubbed against the bare skin of your thigh. Something about that delicate touch was making you hotter.

And hotter.

You set your blazer on the ground beside you, cautiously loosening your tie with your other hand. The sweat building on your palms was much more pronounced as you refused to look anywhere but the rounded bones in your knees. Was this a side effect of the cookies? It’s not exactly unbearable, but it isn’t comfortable either. You felt as though sweat was beading at your temple as you struggled to remain still where you sat. The instincts arising within you begged to seek friction. To roll your hips shamelessly against the cool ground beneath you.

You heard a quick pair of sniffs from Leona as you awkwardly shifted where you sat. Maybe he was starting to feel hot like you do? Leona’s tail slipped up your thigh and curled around your waist. Then, the beastman moved closer. You held in a gasp as his hand slipped around the back of your neck. “Don’t move.” His voice was stern and gravelly, making you obedient to his command. Leona brought his nose to your scalp, and sniffed at your hair. You were stiller than stone as he took in short and sharp inhales. Your hands nervously folded together with your eyes even wider than before, refusing to look anywhere except at the rounded bones in your knees. Leona pulled away with a frown and a low growl that sent a strong pulse straight to your core. “Why do you smell like that?” He sounded suspicious, his grip on the back of your neck tightened. Smell? “Smell like what? Is it the lemon?” You asked sheepishly, your legs trembling with adrenaline. You refused to look up at him.

Leona was now kneeling in front of you. His knee dug into the earth below, right between your parted and sweating thighs. With how quickly you were becoming aroused, you had a feeling the scent of lemon wasn’t what he was referring to. He was hesitant before he took another inhale of your scent. His nose was buried into your hair, and slowly trailed downwards to your ear. His body was now pressed into yours as his nose pressed against your neck. A deep and lustful sniff this time as you shuddered with contained excitement. “Nah,” Leona’s gloved hand left the back of your neck and he pulled his face away from the sensitive skin on your neck. You flinched when Leona cupped your chin, his patent-leather encased fingers pressed into your cheeks and tilted your head so you would be forced to look up at him. The beastman’s thumb rubbed over your lower lip slowly as he observed your expression. His bright summer green eyes were burning into you now and his frown remained. “It's like you’re in heat.” His pearl colored cuspids were visible. A low growl rumbled through him as his thumb pushed itself into your mouth.

Your face was even hotter as he pressed the digit against the flat of your tongue. The salt of the patent-leather made you even more excited, your panties were becoming stickier as you fought the urge to suck on Leona’s thumb. Yet, your willpower could only be focused in one area at a time. Your hips were starting to sway, rocking back and forth towards Leona’s thigh. You weren’t sure how to respond to such a statement, but that was simply because you couldn’t come up with anything. You did feel worried that maybe the plan went wrong with the lemon cookies. Did the two of you eat too many? You did use the entire vial of lemon extract. There wasn’t anything in the instructions saying not to. But there wasn’t anything saying that if you did use the magical extract, you would be trying to hump someone’s thigh after consumption. “Herbivore…” His deep voice had lowered another octave as his other hand grabbed your forearm tightly. Beneath his dark skin was a warm red glow of blush from the apples of his cheeks. “What was in those cookies?” Leona asked as his round, fluffy ears flattened against his head. You could smell the salt of his sweat. You could hear the soft hitch in his breath. You could taste the patent-leather from his glove. You could see how his expression went from confused and melted into desperate. And you could feel his erection now pressing against you. Something must’ve gone wrong when you were making those cookies. Sam said you would ‘get closer’ to the student out of your reach. But he never mentioned that this would be the way that you achieved said result.

You whimpered as his thumb pressed deeper into your mouth. You gagged around the digit as his hips rolled languidly against your body. You could feel how hard he was. How big he was. Leona’s tail was flicking around wildly as you raised your hands to press against the beastman’s chest. Too fast. He was moving too fast. His thumb slipped out of your mouth with a soft squish sound following. There was a silvery string of drool connecting you to the second-borne prince as you forced your rutting hips into stillness. “Lemon extract… I think… Maybe it was bad?” Your voice was barely audible as a sense of guilt settled in your heart. You knew it had something to do with the lemon extract. But you can’t actually tell Leona that. The reaction he gives might be one that ends with you possibly being expelled. Or worse.

The lion shook his head in disbelief of the suggestion. But you felt his heart skip with excitement beneath your burning palms. “Something like that wouldn’t have caused this.” He grumbled under his breath with his jaw now clenched. He was starting to sweat as he let go of your forearm, inching away from you with another shake of his head. Your hands curled into small fists as you felt your brain fill with a cottony fog. It was hard to form coherent thoughts without looking over the beastman in front of you like he was nothing but meat. Waiting for you to sink your teeth in. Your eyes couldn’t help but wander over the large twitching erection buried under his uniform slacks. You couldn’t help watching the way his chest rose and fell, and how his chest called to you and begged to be marked with both bites and kisses. You couldn’t help how the magical lemon extract made the great, and usually very aggressive Leona Kingscholar so submissive and in dire need of help finding relief.

And who were you to deny him of what he clearly wanted?

The space between you and Leona was eliminated as you lifted yourself from a sitting position to rest on your hands and knees. You crawled over to Leona, moving on top of him with your hands resting on his shoulders. You straddled his thighs, pressing against him as he began to growl again. “Herbivore..?” His voice was strained and confused by your actions. You could feel him throbbing against you. The only thing keeping him from being inside of you was your sticky cotton panties, and his linen uniform pants. His fingers were nimble as they tugged at the hemline of your skirt. “Off.” Leona growled, his mouth opening and his eyes half lidded. He then nipped at your chin. The bite was playful, a light nip and ghostly scratch of his cuspids dragging against your skin. You swallowed back a giggle, feeling ticklish when Leona licked the soft skin in an apologetic fashion. His gloved hands slipped themselves beneath the soft skirt and reached for the thin elastic band of your panties. Your thighs were sticky, only getting stickier as the two of you awkwardly squirmed around to peel off your skirt and now soiled undergarment. The hurried and desperate action left you both laying down. Your much shorter body lay on top of Leona’s as he tugged your panties down your raised hips and allowed you to pull them off with your skirt. Now exposed, you felt the air graze over your scorching skin. It was like a teasing kiss for what was soon to come next. Leona’s gloved hands gripped the soft fat of your thighs once the clothing was discarded near your blazer. Your hips were raised as you sat up on your knees, hovering cautiously over the large bulge that was starving for your attention. For your touch. You steadied yourself with your hands resting on Leona’s chest. Your fingers slid down to his yellow uniform vest and slowly undid the buttons. You said nothing, all you could do was tremble with delight from the positive response.

Did you want this? Part of you did, but part of you wished for more of a fairytale romance. One where this magical lemon flavored syrup would make Leona see you as more than just… A Herbivore. But this situation turned into you playing the role of the hungry predator, with Leona as your shivering prey. With his vest now undone, you slipped your hands under the thin white fabric of his uniform shirt. Your fingers slipped over his pectoral muscles, right before testing the waters by rubbing over his nipples. His eyes went wide and he reached up to snatch the collar of your shirt. He was scowling with his teeth bared and eyebrows furrowed. “The hell are you doing?” He growled, his expression agitated. But it didn’t last long.

You seated yourself onto his crotch, rolling against his erection as you rubbed his nipples in delicate circles. You did your best not to be affected by his reaction, watching the agitated expression melt away into one of pleasure. Leona bucked his hips up towards you, slowly letting go of your collar as you teased his chest with your fingers. He attempted to speak again, but was silenced with a soft groan as you took one of your hands to pull at the buttons on his shirt. With more of his chest now exposed, you could see the dark colored peaks of his nipples. How they called to you with the hypnotic rise and fall of his chest. You brought your face closer, only to be stopped by Leona’s hand. His palm was pressed against your forehead, you could see his arm trembling. Almost as if he was silently begging you not to get any closer. His eyes looked watery, his face was burnt with hot blood, and Leona’s teeth were digging into his lower lip. “No?” You whispered curiously as your eyes met his. When they locked, he said nothing. Instead, he removed his hand from your head and threw his arm over his face. With his head now buried into the crook of his elbow, you took the chance to rub your tongue over his swollen bud.

A much higher pitched whine left his mouth, pressed deep into his elbow as you rolled your hips faster and teased his chocolate colored nipples. His tail was flicking excitedly as you dug your teeth into the sensitive bud with a soft hum. Licking. Sucking. Biting. It would soon be too much for the beastman as he wailed quietly into his elbow with his hips thrusting up into yours. His hand gripping your thigh squeezed harder and harder until that too crossed a line of unbearable. You winced in pain, digging your teeth into his skin and roughly pinching his nipple between your fingers. Leona yelped and pulled his hand away from your thigh and moved his arm away from his face. He looked at you with teary eyes and parted lips. You pulled your mouth away with your hands relaxing on his chest. You apologized with a sheepish smile. “Sorry.” You whispered and looked down at what you had done. His nipple that you sucked on was even more swollen, and now there was a ‘Herbivore’ sized bite mark surrounding his dark colored areola. His other nipple had been pinched, rubbed and teased into stiffening up like the other. Leona was silent and turned his face away from yours, his eyes shut with disapproval. “Are you pouting?” You spoke hardly above your whisper as Leona popped open an eye to look at you, before closing it and ignoring you again.

You pressed a delicate kiss against his collarbone as an apology. His breath hitched as you lifted your head higher. This time, you bit him. Your teeth nipped and tugged at the skin along his jawline, soon after you would pepper soft kisses. Your hips raised themselves off of Leona, feeling the slick film from your wet folds coating his pants and possibly even staining them with a wet patch. You would have to properly apologize after this.

Leona grumbled something as his hands slipped back over your thighs. His ears were flat as he turned his head towards you. You could see that Leona was still pouting, but him bucking his hips up to nudge his erection against your exposed pussy told you he was just ready to keep going. “At least kiss me.” He muttered under his breath with a sigh following. A kiss. The request was so innocent coming from someone as bold as Leona Kingscholar. It stunned you. A smile curled over your lips as you leaned over to kiss him, per his royal request. It was gentle, the feeling of your lips connecting and meshing together left a burning ache deep in your sex. The gentleness isn't permanent. And you were silently grateful for that. Leona’s hands left your thighs, his tongue pushed its way between your teeth and rubbed against yours. You could feel the scratchy texture of the papillae lining the muscle. How it scraped against your own much softer tongue and left you with clouded thoughts. You could taste the mint and lemon in his saliva. How it mixed with yours left you wanting to sit back down on his clothed crotch. But when you lowered your hips, something else greeted you.

You pulled away from the kiss with wide eyes locked with Leona’s wet watery ones. He looked frustrated with you pulling away from the kiss and his hand again, grabbing the back of your neck. “What?” He growled in confusion as you tried lowering your hips again, only to feel a large mushroomy tip nudge against your labia. A soft ‘um’ left your lips as Leona peeked over your shoulder. His eyes scanned around before settling on his own hand and the ‘thing’ that was stopping you. A quiet hum filled the silence and then, Leona chuckled. “What? Scared of a lil’ dick Herbivore? With the way you pounced on me? I’m shocked.” His frown was twisted into a smug smile from the realization. You were intimidated and he knew it. You scowled and lifted a hand from Leona’s chest to reach between your thighs. “Not scared… Just surprised.” You mumbled as your fingertips brushed over Leona’s pelvic bones. You lowered your head into Leona’s chest with your cheek pressed comfortably against his heart. Listening to the steady beat as you felt around for where his dick began, and where it ended. You found the peach fuzz of his pubes, then his wrist, then his fingers, and then the soft velvety skin at the base of his cock. It was in fact: NOT a ‘lil’ dick’. It was big and felt heavy, just as when it was locked away behind its zipper and brief prison. Maybe bigger than what you assumed from rubbing against him. Your fingers slid over the skin, flinching away momentarily when your fingers trekked higher along his penis. There were barbs. Hard and small, lining his cock and the thick veins in a uniform pattern. All the way up his shaft until you reached the round, wet, mushroom shaped tip.

Before you made it this far, you thought that there was no way you would want to stop. Leona is a beastman, of course his anatomy would be a little different. But this isn’t what came to mind. “Leona?” Your voice was smaller than what you would have liked, but it did catch the lion’s attention. “What? … It’s not that scary.” Leona could tell you were anxious about the differences in anatomy and one of his gloved hands slid over the plush fat of your ass. “Lower yourself a little more.” He instructed and you hesitated before doing what he asked. You lowered your hips slowly, feeling the burn in your thighs from having to hold the position. You were close enough now that Leona could slip the crown of his cock against the plush meat of your pussy. You struggled to swallow down a string of soft groans as he massaged his tip against the sensitive nerves in your swollen clit. “Do… Do they..?” You were struggling to speak as you felt him squeeze your ass in his palm. He had you lower your hips even more as the tip was engulfed in the burning depths of your cunt. “Does it hurt?” You asked in a meek and nearly breathless voice, trying to lift your head from his chest as Leona slowly pushed in the tip, then pulled it out.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

The rhythm was slow, almost as if he was trying to work you open without anyone’s fingers being involved. It left you dizzy and craving more. “Sex? It shouldn’t hurt.” Leona’s voice was quiet, like he was struggling to breathe. But with him only giving you the tip until you felt ready, the struggle to hold back was understood. “Not that. I mean… The spikes?” Your voice trailed off as you lacked the vocabulary to explain what you were worried about. Hopefully he understood your usage of ‘spikes’. He was quiet, thrusting the tip in and out with a low growl rumbling in his chest. “Spikes? The spines? No, they won’t hurt you.” He assured and slowed his shallow thrusts to a halt. He chuckled and pushed the tip inside, his other hand now resting on the other cheek. “They feel really, really good actually. You wanna feel it?” His voice was much softer, deep and husky as he lowered you onto his cock until you felt the dull drag of the barbs against your inner walls. A loud whine was pulled out of you from the new feeling. He held you there, hardly inside as your body trembled excitedly around his cock. With every breath you took and the longer he stayed inside, the closer you felt to an orgasm. That was until Leona lifted you off of him, and lowered you back onto his tip. The barbs dragging out of you caused a small gush of slick to pour from your pussy. The stimulation against your walls was like nothing you could imagine previously. The shallow thrusting of only the tip continued as you felt yourself clench hungrily at the tip of his cock.

“Again?” Leona whispered curiously and you nodded vigorously against his chest. With a soft groan of his own, you were lowered onto his barbed shaft, this time it was deeper. The feeling of the spines dragging against your walls made you want to scream in pleasure. To bounce on and ride him until you were given the gift of an orgasm. He was still, pulsing and throbbing inside of you as you struggled to stifle the sounds leaving your lips. Babbling and struggling to remain coherent as Leona swayed his hips. Right before pulling out of you.

You were once the predator with Leona as your prey. And how the tables have turned.

“Leona.” Your voice was strangled as you tried to forcibly seat yourself on his lap. But you had forgotten how strong Leona was. The beastman held you in place as the tip nudged, kissed, and teased your pussy. The rhythmic thrusts made your stomach twist with excitement at what was bound to come next. “What? Something wrong?” Leona’s voice was airy, but still had the smug playfulness that would make begging him for more of his cock; extra embarrassing. “Please, please, please, please, please, please?” You begged in a pathetic voice, feeling the familiar scrape of the barbs against your labia. Scratching and teasing the folds until you were the one with watery eyes and a pouting expression. “Such a polite little Herbivore. You want it all then? All of my cock nice and deep inside you?” He asked with a low whisper and you nodded. Your hips shaking with sweat beading at your forehead. “Yeah? You do? Toldja it felt good. Didn’t I say that? Tell me.” He purred softly as he slowly lowered you onto his barbed shaft a final time. “You did. You said it- ah- won’t hurt.” You choked out a response with your hands clutching Leona’s white button up in your fists. “You believe me now?” The beastman asked as you let out a soft sob, feeling Leona push deeper. And deeper. His cock stretched you out in ways you could never achieve on your own. Better than any toy. Better than any human. “Believe you.” You groaned as he raised his hips this time. With a loud smack, he was fully sheathed inside of you.

Throbbing. Pulsing. Twitching.

You cried out with your hands flying to grip Leona’s shoulders as he remained deep inside of you. With each flex of his cock the barbs would press against your silky walls. This alone pushed you to the edge. You grit your teeth as you came, slick coated Leona’s pelvis, his pubes, and his heavy balls twitching against you. You struggled to speak, your head was spinning as your nails dug into his shoulders. Your walls twitched and squeezed around him as you fell limp against his body beneath you. “Already?” Leona sounded smug as his hand swatted at your butt once, twice, three times. A love tap as he shifted beneath you. “You’ll be addicted after this. I know it.” A growl vibrated in his chest as he held onto you with a firm grip and began to thrust. It was both rough and fast. Overstimulating you to tears and eyes rolling into your head. You had no time to collect yourself or even try to come down from the high of your orgasm. The moans and sobs that left you were that of ecstasy as Leona used you. The punch of his fat tip against the soft wall of your cervix left you squealing for more. The quick drag of his barbs against your inner walls felt as though the second-borne prince was demanding another orgasm from you.

You cried out a jumbled mess of words that sounded something like ‘Leona’ and ‘Please’ but they were only music to fuzzy ears. The loud smacks of the beastmans hips connecting with yours made your mind fuzzy. Your body was weak and overstimulated from the previous orgasm. And soon to be second arriving. Was this a punishment for tricking him into eating those cookies? Did Leona secretly figure you out? And now you were being brutalized by the swift dragging of his spines in and out of you. “Cumming. Cumming- Gonna cum.” You whined as Leona nodded from beneath you. His thrusts were even deeper as your head started to spin. “S-Slow-” You begged, but that too was nothing more than music to fuzzy ears. “Leona I-” You gasped and felt his hands leave your ass. He was hugging you close to his body. He fucked roughly into you, leaving you a crying mess as something new was introduced. “Knot.” Leona growled and shifted beneath you again. Knot? What knot? The feeling of something round and thick appeared where the patch of velvet skin was vacant of barbs. Knot? Was that the knot?! You didn’t have enough energy or coherent ability to panic nor ask trivia questions about his anatomy. The ‘knot’ smacked against your folds as you struggled to breathe. You were going to cum, and thankfully so was Leona. Leona forced the muscle at the base inside as the two of you came undone together.

A soft roar left Leona’s throat as you screamed into his chest from the second intrusion. Your eyes squeezed shut as you felt the thick gush of sperm coating your insides an opalescent white, his tip pressed snug against your cervix. The thick seed mixed with your own juices, a lust cocktail that wanted to spill out of you if not for Leona’s knot in the way. The two of you were now boneless and spent with Leona still holding you tightly. “Herbivore?” Leona called out to you, but speaking was impossible. You shuddered and attempted to part your lips, but only an exhausted huff was given. Leona called your name this time, sounding concerned and you weakly nodded your head as proof you heard him. The beastman was quiet now, a hand rubbed gently over your sweaty back as he shook his head. “It can wait.” He whispered.

-♡-

“Penile spines… Felines, especially domesticated cats are well-known for having them. Upon withdrawal of a cat's penis, the spines rake the walls of the female's vagina, which may serve as a trigger for ovulation…” You mumbled under your breath into the pages of the book with furrowed brows. You sat against the bookshelf with a book labeled ‘The Anatomy of Beasts’. It told you everything you would need to know about every beast and their evolved counterparts. After the lemon cookie fiasco two days ago, it was hard to look Leona in the eye. All that came to mind upon seeing him was the way he rearranged your guts and their functions. When he carried you back to Ramshackle, it took a solid thirty minutes to clean the sperm out of you and to have Ruggie bring him something to change into. You wanted to see him more. You wanted to speak with him more.

You didn’t want to think about that being your only sexual encounter. And thankfully Leona seemed to feel the same way. Especially since he was sitting next to you napping as you read the book next to him.

#fem reader #lemon cookies smut #leona x reader #leona kingscholar #leona kingscholar smut #leona kingscholar x reader smut

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 7 months ago

Text

Stars Align 2

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as age gap, manipulation, power imbalance, dubcon/noncon and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Steve Rogers was one of the biggest stars of Hollywood’s Golden Era. For years, his disappearance from the spotlight has been a mystery, that is until he walks right into your life. (Old Hollywood AU/1960s AU)

Characters: silverfox!Steve Rogers, reader is named ‘Satyr’ for clarity

Note: I enjoy older music and musicals. I tend to drift into this idea whenever I’m enjoying some and I finally said fuck it.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Asking for more or putting ‘part 2?’ is not feedback.

Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖

Steve

“Sam, wait, wait,” Steve quickly folds up his glasses and tucks them away. He doubts anyone would recognise him but New York has a way of washing the familiar faces up to the shore. “We found her.”

“What are you talking about? Don’t tell me it’s that Bambi-legged girl who fell on her face,” he scoffs and cups his hand around the cigarette between his lips, flipping up the lid of his lighter.

“No, not—if you’d stayed, you’d have seen. Dammit, it’s like you want this to go wrong,” Steve accuses.

“Me? Come on. You’ve been griping since I pulled you out of the cave. It’s not me that wants this to go wrong so forgive me for being a little wary of self-sabotage.” Sam sucks on the tobacco and lets out a puff of smoke. Steve waves away the stinky cloud.

“You know, that’s not good for you.”

“Who says? My doctor said it’ll clear up my lungs,” he snickers.

“Look, alright, there’s work to do but I’m sure it’s here.”

“Who?” Sam arches a brow.

“Again, you ran out--”

“Yeah, yeah, well, we can play doorman, catch her on the way out,” Sam shrugs and pushes his shoulders up against the frosty wind. “Hate this city, too damn cold.”

“Colder places than here,” Steve grumbles. He can’t put to words the glimmer of a memory; gunshots and smoke from mortars mingling with the breath of shivering shoulders. He shakes off the thought. “So, let’s do it. Let’s wait.”

“You think your old bones can stand it?” His laugh turns into a hacking cough.

Steve sneers and rolls his eyes. He buttons up his jacket and approaches the marquee. The theatre is dead, not even a matinee. It’s the best place for a famous face. No one’s around to see him. If they remember him.

“Stark liked the script, you know?” Sam stands across the double doors. “He laughed though. Says of course you’d only write about yourself.”

“It’s not about me,” Steve sniffs.

“Sure,” Sam scoffs and sucks on the cigarette. “Whatever you say.”

“Come on,” Steve huffs and looks around.

He’s not used to all these people. What’s wrong with him? This is his home. Or once was. Why did he ever move away?

The smell of tobacco makes him curl his lip. He never got the habit, even with soldiers in their foxholes. There’s enough stench to go around.

“So, how do you know?” Sam asks.

“Know what?”

“That it’s her.”

“She’s a good dancer.”

“Ask me, they were all pretty good, Rogers.”

“She was... different. She... did you see her? The one with no shoes?”

“No shoes? Ah Steve, not you and your bleeding heart.”

“It’s not just that. You weren’t even paying attention. We need someone who can move--”

“Saw a lot of moving,” Sam snickers.

“Cut it out,” Steve waves him off.

The doors open and they both tense. Sam holds in a mouthful of smoke as he looks at his client. Steve shakes his head; not her. The woman rushes off with a frown and tears. The rejects are on their way out.

Sam puffs out and Steve tucks his hands into his jacket pockets. He waits patiently as the other man bounces on his heels. Others burst out in spurts. One or two, carrying their jackets, tearing their call numbers from their chests, or grumbling under their breath.

Steve peers around. He catches a few stray gazes. Do they know it’s him? Does anyone recognise the grey old man? They can fix his hair when the time comes.

The trickle slows and leaves them in a chattering lull. Steve has to admit, it’s an especially frigid January day. An hour at least before a cluster of babbling women emerge. Ah, the callbacks. They’re glowing. Sam taps an unlit smoke on his silver case as he looks them over. She’s not there.

Steve shakes his head again. Sam rolls his eyes. The pairs and trios flit off, rubbing palms together, blowing into their bare hands, tapping away in their tapered heels.

“We missed her. Should’ve kept those glasses on,” Sam feels around with his lighter, balancing the cigarette between his lips.

“I wouldn’t,” Steve insists.

Sam sighs in frustration as his search comes up fruitless. “Where’s that dang--”

The door opens again and a woman tumbles out, her coat catching as it closes behind her. She squeaks and turns to pull herself free. She keeps one foot off the pavement, only her toe touching. Steve stands straight and tears his hands free of his jacket. Sam tweaks his head.

“Say, miss, you’re missing something,” Sam muses.

The woman spins and looks down at her feet, “um, yes, sir. I... know.”

She grabs the front of her coat and holds it closed against a gale. Steve can’t stop staring. He’s almost dumbfounded. Sam clears his throat and puts away his cigarette as he catches his eyes. Steve nods.

“Well, honey, what if I told you I could get you a new shoe?” Sam grins.

Satyr

The music ends. There’s less than twenty women left on the stage. The sweat drips from your hairline, glazing over your eyelids and cheeks. You ready for another round.

“2, 14, 28, 29, 33, 41. Come get your slips for the call back. The rest, thank you for coming.” The grey-haired man sat among the front row says as he stands. “Call backs are tomorrow at nine.”

Without any further acknowledgement, the six observers shuffle out in a row. You look down at the paper pinned to your dress. ‘14’. You follow the other chosen dancers to the stage manager as he hands out yellow slips of paper.

“You show up without this, you ain’t gettin’ in,” he snarls.

You take yours and smile. You can’t believe it. You can hardly fathom that you’re in New York or auditioning for Broadway. You got a call back! It’s not a guarantee but it’s something.

Yet the good news comes with a new set of worriers. You don’t have a place to stay. You can save the bus fare for your way home but for what? One night’s stay. You’re not sure you thought this out very well.

You go backstage and stop as you wiggle your toes. Oh yes, your shoes. You look in the corner where you tossed them. You find both your stockings but only one flat. You frown and spin around.

There’s a grumble among the other women. Some in an elated hush, excited for the next day, others droning in a disappointed murmur. You feel bad. You could as easily be one of the let downs.

“Hey, um,” you stop the blonde named Carla, “have you seen a shoe that looks like this?”

Her eyes drift over and she curls her lip. She scoffs and flicks her fingers in your direction. You frown as she struts off. You spin and continue to look.

The backstage area clears out as you skim every inch of the floor. Where could it be? A shadow looms over your desolate mission. You turn around to face Judith and her blunt bob.

“There’s a matinee. You better get out of here,” she says.

“Yes, ma’am, but my shoe, you see,” you show your right shoe again.

“I’m not a school marm. It’s not my responsibility to keep track of your things,” she sniffs. “Go on, take that yellow ticket before I rescind it.”

“Oh, okay, yes, ma’am. Thank you,” you attempt a smile, “I really enjoyed dancing today.”

Her brow tweaks but the rest of her face remains as still as stone. You shuffle away and grab your coat and bag, left on the floor in the carelessness of the other dancers claiming their own. You hurry off, still without shoes on, and don’t stop until you’re in the lobby.

You stop and sit and pull on your stockings. The sweat has cooled to a slimy sheen as your dress sticks to your skin. You put on your single shoe and contemplate the walk to the station. No shoe, no place to stay, this seems like less of a dream and more of a nightmare.

You get up and cross the lobby floor. You push open the outer door, the wind offering extra weight as you lean into it with your shoulder. As you do, you trip over the lip of the threshold and nearly find yourself on the sidewalk.

Your coat is trapped in the door and you quickly spin to tug it free. You balance on one foot, the cold gale swirling around you. You put only your big toe to the ground to regain your balance. Should you just hop down to the station?

You only then notice the man to your right. He makes himself taller as he stands straight and slips his hands free from his pocket. The man at your other shoulder shifts in turn. He draws your attention first as he speaks.

“Say, miss, you missing something?” He remarks.

You twitch and look down at your feet as he stares at your shoe, “um, yes, sir, I... know.”

You pull your coat shut and hug it around your front. It’s awfully chilly today. Your bag hangs heavily from your shoulder, though you didn’t think to pack a scarf. The man clears his throat as he puts a cigarette in a silver case and tucks it inside his jacket. He glances at the other man and back to you.

“Well, honey, what if I told you I could get you a new shoe?” He smirks.

Your brows pop up high on your forehead, “well, that would be mighty kind of you.”

“Mighty kind?” He echoes and again his eyes flick to the other man.

You turn to get a look at the other sentinel. You nearly cry out in surprise. No! Really?! It can’t be--

You know it’s him. There some silver in his blond and a few lines deeper around his eyes. Quite a few but not to his detriment. And his posture, you would know it anywhere.

“Steve Rogers?” You blurt out without meaning to.

He seems just as surprised as he puts his hand to the chest of his jacket and his throat bobs, “you recognise me?”

“Course I do,” you smile in a glow of marvel, “you’re... you’re... alive.”

He tilts his head and his blue eyes wander above your head. You put your hand to your cheek as you realise what you’ve said. The other man laughs once more.

“I’m sorry, sir, I didn’t mean--” you sputter. “I love Golden Stars. It’s one of my favourites. I know the finale goes--” you raise your arms in a mimic of a couples dance, “1, 2-3, 1 2-3, 1-2 3...” you perfectly make the steps.

He stares at you, speechless. Your embarrassment swells. Oh my, you’re really making a fool of yourself.

“Well, she’s got the moves,” the other man drawls, “but can ya sing, darling?”

“I can give it a try—er, here?” You look around the street.

“You’re not from here, are you?” He chuckles as you turn to him, “go on, these people have seen worse than that.”

“Oh, well, er... um,” you swallow and search your repertoire; all you can recall is that same sequence from Rogers’ famous Golden Stars. You take a breath and clear your diaphram, “Golden stars in my eyes, golden stars at my heels. Olden days passin’ by, fading flames dancin’ high. My baby’s shine can never die...”

You continue on, focusing on the moment, though you have no idea why they’re asking for a song. Still, you could never dream of meeting Steve Rogers. Ever. It’ll be a story, even if it’s a foolish one.

You quiet as you run out of lyrics and sway, peering between the men. They’re deathly quiet. You don’t know what to say.

“That bad?” You ask with a tinkling chuckle.

The man to your left snorts, “let me introduce myself. Sam Wilson, and you are?”

“Satyr, sir, I just came from an audition,” you explain.

“Oh, we know,” he offers his hand and you shake it. “How’s about we get you some dancing shoes, if you’re interested in doing more of that.”

“What do ya mean?” You bat your lashes as your heart thumps.

“We saw you. In there,” Steve speaks at last. “You’re really good.”

You turn to him and smile even bigger, “oh, thank you. You have no idea how much that means.”

“Not as much as it’d mean if you hear us out,” Steve counters.

You give him a curious look and shrug, “I don’t got nowhere to be until tomorrow morning.”

“Great. Perfect,” he says, “Sam, where’s that joint we went to last night? It was quiet there.”

#steve rogers #dark steve rogers #dark!steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #series #fic #stars align #dark fic #dark!fic #marvel #mcu #captain america #au #avengers #old hollywood #1960s

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durrtydawg · 2 months ago

Text

The Sadir Inheritance

{Sam Drake x F!Reader} Chapter 11 | 'How the hell do we explain this?'

alright so you might have to re-read c10 to get the gist, but here's their phone call from his perspective... and of course the aftermath. please mind any errors, grammatical or sensical. I'm sure i'll amend soon. mwah x

masterlist ✨

Other chapters : 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10

Just when Sam thought crossed wires would be the worst of his problems...

CW: blood, vomit, & graphic injury mention, general cringe

Word count: 4.4k-ish x

The British Library’s reading room isn’t exactly an arc-hive of chaos. If anything, it’s the opposite. The kind of quiet that makes one’s own breathing feel obnoxious. Just the occasional paper rustle, the pesky buzz of outdated fluorescents, and someone clearing their throat at oddly even intervals.

Sam leans back in a particularly creaky chair, one arm slung over the top of it, squinting at the screen in front of him as though it’s offended him. It flickers softly, whirring as he turns the dial, dusty even though he’s already wiped it down twice.

Bzzz.

His phone vibrates in his pocket, breaking the hush.

Sam fumbles it out, thumb clumsy on the screen. He stabs at the green button.

“Yeah?”

“Alright, Sammy?” Scott’s voice is chipper, plastering on a high-pitched exaggerated London accent. He snorts. Alongside his mockery of their companion, he hears a rhythmic thrum of what he presumes is car tyres on tarmac. “How’s the exciting world of yellowed paper and copyright law?”

Sam huffs through a grin. “Screw off.”

Scott laughs. “Hey, I did my time. Only fair you got your hands on the boring stuff for a day.”

“Been here four hours. I think my corneas have dried out.” He glances down at his coffee, tilting the cup towards his lips. Lukewarm. Fantastic. “Did you find anything today?”

“Maybe.” A rustle of paper on Scott’s end. “Got some papers… hard to tell what’s useful and what’s some aristocrat’s creative writing project, but I’m hoping it’s… something. There’s a weird little necklace thing in the mix too - worn engravings, yada yada. Looks old. Could be junk, but...” He pauses, clicking his tongue as if he’s pulling a load of thoughts together. “I figured we could take a look when we both get to the site. Should be another twenty, twenty-five minutes.”

Sam sighs, pulling his phone away from his face to check the time. 8:36pm. And he’s nowhere near done here. He pushes aside the slight discomfort he feels towards the fact that the phone understands the concept of eye contact, and tucks it back between his ear and shoulder.

“I’m stuck here for a while. Still waitin’ on the marriage records pull-” Sam glances up, scanning the stacks for the nervous wreck of what he presumes is an intern he’d flagged down earlier. No sign of her. “Think I've been abandoned.”

Scott makes a sympathetic noise. “Shame.” There’s a pause before he clears his throat. “Well… you reckon Little Miss Sunshine could swing by instead?”

Sam goes still, the corner of his mouth twitching. He can’t tell if the nickname irritates him or not. He exhales, wry. “Your idea of a date night or somethin’?”

Scott chuckles under his breath. “What’s the matter? You gonna get all jealous if she rides shotgun with me instead of you?”

Sam twists his tongue into his molar, inexplicably miffed. “Funny.”

Scott laughs. “I just need a second pair of eyes, is all.”

Sam scrubs a hand over his mouth, masking a reluctant grin. “Yeah. Yeah, alright.”

Scott continues, “Sweet. I’ll give her a ring, then.”

Sam straightens, hand tightening instinctively around the phone. It would be easier to let Scott handle it. Certainly, more logical. But the thought of Scott calling her, of his voice sliding easily into that teasing charm, of her laughing at something he says-

“I’ll call her,” Sam says, sharper than intended.

A beat.

“You sure?”

“Might as well. She trusts me more than you, anyway.”

Scott snorts. “Charm’s wasted on you, Drake.”

“Can’t all be blessed,” Sam deadpans.

“Let me know what she says.”

Sam hangs up with a quick hum of acknowledgment before Scott can say anything else, staring down at the phone now cradled in his palm.

He throws a glance around, casual-like, then fumbles with it. Screen’s too bright, for starters. He squints, jabs at it wrong once, then manages to scroll. His thumb hovers over her name. Then he backs out, checks the lock screen, and stares into space.

Screw it.

Pull yourself together.

He hits call and brings the phone to his ear.

The hell’s he even going to open with?

He thinks back to the tight-lipped librarian at the counter when he first arrived, and the pointed sign by the entrance: Reading Room materials may not be removed from the premises. The side-eye he got when he asked if they could make an exception. The stack of dusty registers now waiting for him at the desk because the digitised records ‘weren’t comprehensive’ or some such bullshit.

There's a click - the beeping stops - a faint rustle. He winces as he rifles through lines in his head.

Eureka.

“Did you know the British Library doesn’t actually let you check out books?” Nice and casual. But topical all the same.

Her voice crackles back through the line: “Every day's a school day, Samuel”, and something in his chest loosens. Still got it. He replies with his regular confidence.

She snorts. He loves that sound. It punches a laugh outta him, too loud for the sacred hush of the room and, in turn, the people in it.

Some guy in his peripheral shoots him a look.

With a smile, Sam mimics zipping his mouth shut. Classic. The British. Eternally pissed off by ya, but too polite to actually say anything about it. Highly skilled at simmering and casting judgment in absolute silence.

“So, to what do I owe the pleasure?”

Gamble number one.

“Eh.” He shrugs like she can see it, lowering his volume to appease his new buddy. “Just wanted to hear your voice.”

There’s a beat. He suddenly becomes hyper aware of how close the guy at the next desk is. Oh dear. She didn’t like that, did she?

But then: “Oh yeah?”- light, a little scoff in it - and he lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, grin sliding back in place like it never left in the first place.

“Yeah.”

“Sweet-talker.”

“Guilty.”

Oh-kay, gamble number two, then.

Keep it ‘cheeky’ - she likes using that word, doesn’t she? Keep the mood up. Don’t scare her off with... whatever the hell this thing is clawing at his ribs.

He hears her driving - the shfffffff of tires over asphalt. He hears her smile, too. And when she asks about his week, he slips into gear without thinking.

“If I see one more oil painting of some smug bastard with mutton chops, I’m gonna start growin’ 'em in my sleep.”

She laughs. A full on, belly-laugh. He feels it deep, but doesn’t know what to do with it.

He ducks his head, like that’s gonna stop the grin creeping in, pressing the phone a little closer to his ear, and picking up the scratchy old biro from the desk - something to do with his hands. Suddenly, he feels like he’s twenty-five again, loitering by a payphone, thumbing around for a quarter before the line goes dead.

They volley words. Regular rhythm. Somewhere in the middle of the back-and-forth, he slides in the request, asking if she can help Scott out. Keeps it breezy. Just ticking a box.

That’s gamble number three. Let’s see if she bites.

She does. But not how he expects.

There’s a pause - just a breath too long. Like she was elsewhere and had to yank herself back.

And that’s the thing. Lately, she has been elsewhere. Not just the last ten days - before that, too. Zoned out. Cagey in a way that doesn’t sit right. Like she’s wrapped herself in nettles. And when he or Scott get too close, she dodges, deflects, and treats their concern like it’s some radioactive thing she can’t risk touching.

He doesn’t like it. Doesn’t like the guessing game. The brittle edge to her voice when they push a little too far. But he’s not about to strong-arm it. That’s not the game.

What was it that she threw at him back in Jordan? Babysitting. That's it. Too protective. Too… close. Couldn’t give her room to breathe-

Hang on - Jesus, what’s with the over analysing, here?

This isn't… He’s not the guy who spirals over a phone call. He’s the guy with the exit strategy, the backup plan, and the one-liner on standby. Samuel flirts like he breathes. Samuel always knows the angle. Samuel doesn’t get... weird about stuff.

That’s the bit right? The roguish charm. Flash the grin. Crack the joke. Keep it moving.

He shakes it off, takes a gulp of his coffee, and it's - eurgh - cold, chalky, awful - spits it right back into the cup with a wince. Silver lining: at least it snapped him out of whatever whirlpool his thoughts were spinning into.

She says something snarky, all teeth and sass, and it pulls a smile from him before he can stop it.

Time to wrap this up.

“You goin’ or what?” he says, aiming for laid-back, tossing the words like they mean nothing.

“Of course I’m going.”

He twirls the pen between his fingers, lets it tap against the desk in a lazy rhythm. Not overthinking it. Not digging. Just riding the hum of her voice and the grin he can hear but can’t see.

Maybe that's why it slips out:

“Atta girl.”

He knows it’s trouble.

Not bad trouble, necessarily. Just the kind that makes your throat feel tight and your heartbeat a little irregular.

He didn’t mean for it to sound like that.

Or maybe he did.

There’s a hitch of silence. Not long. Barely a breath. But enough that Sam feels uncomfortable.

The pen stops dead between his fingers, and he leaves it hanging there, waiting.

For her to… snort, maybe? Or to tease him, the way others would’ve. The way he’s used to.

A smartass remark. A little flustered giggle. Some sort of acknowledgement.

Instead, the dvvvvt-screeeeee of the wipers and a brusque shift to: “Scott’s already there?”

Right. Okay.

Guess he misread the room.

Sam leans back in his chair, huffing out a slow breath through his nose as his jaw tightens just a tad. He’s mildly annoyed. yep. At himself, mostly. At her, maybe a little. At how easily the shift unsettles him. The pen stills in his hand, caught between fingers that suddenly feel clumsy.

He rustles through his notes loud enough that maybe she’ll hear it and know he’s busy, That he’s not sitting here overthinking. “Yeah. Pokin' around.” Why the hell is he - he - overthinking? “I’ll get him to send you the details.”

“Sounds good.”

Short. Sweet. Relatively professional. Hm. He chews his lip.

Sam rubs a hand across his mouth, trying to swallow down the sour taste rising in the back of his throat. What the hell was he expecting, anyway? Pathetic. Christ. Get a grip.

Another pause. Longer this time.

He almost hangs up. Almost says ‘Alright, catch ya later, kid,’ like he doesn’t feel akin to a deflated balloon. Like it doesn't sting a little.

Instead-

“Hey,” he hears himself say.

It sounds rougher than he meant it to.

She hesitates. Of course she does. “…Yes?”

His jaw ticks. He rolls the pen across the table and lets it clatter to the floor.

"Be careful, alright?"

Stupid. Dumb. Amateur-hour bullshit. She doesn't need him hovering. And make sure you look both ways before you cross the road, dear!

There’s another stretch of quiet on the other end that needles him raw.

He shouldn't have said it. Should'a kept his mouth shut, kept it light, kept it cool, kept it Samuel.

When her voice comes back, it’s polite. Clipped. Like a pat on the head.

“I’ll be fine.”

“…Yeah,” he mutters. “I know.”

Another awful moment, nothing.

Is he being dramatic? He’s… he's being dramatic.

“Alright,” he says, forcing nonchalance. “Go forth, kick some doors down. I’ll tell Scott to give you a buzz.”

She lets out a breath. Probably glad to be getting off the phone.

“Thanks, Sam.”

He smiles like it doesn’t feel a little… itchy.

“Yeah.”

He ends the call before he can embarrass himself any further.

The phone hits the desk with a clatter. He slumps back, scrubs both hands over his face, and stares up at the ceiling like maybe its slightly-yellow-round-the-edges water stains will morph into answers.

A throat clears softly nearby.

He glances over to see the nervous intern from earlier - the one he’d practically begged to double-check the archive - holding a grey box like she’s afraid Sam might bite her if she lowers it any further. He raises his brows expectantly.

“Found this,” she mutters, setting it down with a clumsy thud. “From the overflow. No digital record. Couldn’t see it on the inventory list. Sorry.”

“Perfect,” Sam grunts, already reaching for the box. "Thanks."

The kid skitters off with a curt nod, probably thrilled to be rid of him. He can't blame her. If he had to be stuck down here, day in, day out, pleasantries would be the last thing on his mind.

He cracks the lid open. Paper and dust hit him in the face. Great. Manual search it is.

Forty-five minutes and one eye-watering sneeze later, he’s popped a new reel into the microfiche reader. It clicks through slowly, the whirring wheel sounding ten times louder in the quiet than it probably is.

He’s on the verge of giving up, already mentally drafting the text to Scott that says 'Found sweet fuck-all, might’ve inhaled a Victorian disease…' - when something flickers past.

He scrolls back. Slower this time.

Sussex County Records. 1892.

Marriage Registry:

Campbell, Esq. William Charles

Sam stills.

Then leans forward, squinting at a crossed out set of Arabic characters.

ماي بشار

His heart gives a slow, hard thud.

Next to it, in a slightly fainter, more careful hand:

Bashar, Mai

He rifles through his own notes - creases, scribbles, loose sheets tucked into the back of a notebook - until he finds what he's looking for.

Layla Bashar.

Mai. Mai Bashar.

So the surname tracks. Could be a stretch… but if this Mai was Layla’s daughter, then she might also be Emaan’s.

A Sadir, married to Campbell.

The potential link between William and Emaan. It's too much of a coincidence to ignore.

He stares at the document for a moment longer than necessary, just to be sure.

Has he just single handedly solved the case of Emaan’s mystery child? Now that... that might be worth the tedium.

An hour later and they’re closing up. He’s scanned what he can, jotted the rest down in his notebook, taken the odd prohibited photo, and given the intern at the front desk a tired thumbs-up on the way out.

Rain’s coming down in an irritating, indecisive drizzle - fine and misty but just heavy enough to soak your shoulders if you stand still too long.

He ducks under the narrow awning outside the station, flicks his lighter once, twice, then sparks a smoke to kill a few minutes before his train.

Bzzz.

She's sent him a picture of the exact sort of portrait he was complaining about earlier, and a remark to match.

He huffs a laugh through his nose, takes a drag, and squints at the screen.

One-handed replies are a nightmare. He doesn’t even bother trying. Just taps out two emojis instead:

Me :👴🏼❌

He hovers on the message, then debates texting her about the registry. The name. The potential link.

But... nah. Better to tell them both in person. Have his moment. Two birds. One dramatic reveal.

Fuck it.

He drops the cigarette, grinds it out with his boot, kicks it into the gutter and starts towards the entrance, thumb clumsily tapping out one more line as he pushes through the glass doors:

Me: Did I use those correctly?

He’s grinning to himself as he boards the near-empty train, collapsing into the window seat with all the grace of a man who’s been hunched over dusty reels and papers for nigh-on five hours. The carriage rocks gently as it pulls away from the platform, the overhead lights humming in time with the rain against the glass.

As the city fades into more rural surroundings, his phone buzzes again. This time, with an incoming call from her.

***

You wake like something’s grabbed you by the scruff of the neck and smacked your head against the floor. No slow drift back to consciousness - just thwack.

You’re face-down on. Head pounding behind your eyes like someone’s taken a blunt axe to between your brows.

You blink hard. Once. Twice. Through a ringing, static haze that won’t quite go away. God, your head is pounding. The air reeks of iron and sweat and rotting wood. You dry heave.

With a shift, your cheek peels from the floor. Something cracks in your neck, and your fingers twitch. Your knees drag against splintered wood - your entire body feels like it’s just run a marathon. Your hands are wet. Covered in sticky viscosity.

Every muscle aches. Your mouth tastes foul, something metallic, crusted thick around your lips and chin.

Blood.

Except it’s not just dried on your face. It’s everywhere.

Your eyes finally begin to re-adjust to the moonlight filtering through the boarded window. Your palms have been planted in it. Your sleeves are saturated. It coats your fingers, crusted under your nails, mottled and tacky on your wrists.

Oh God - There’s a body beside you - a man. Face down, Still. A dark puddle beneath his skull that’s spread across the floor and pooled beneath you. His head’s twisted at an unnatural angle. You can’t see his face. A saving grace, perhaps.

It’s… it’s the one that was on top of you before everything went black.

You recoil, scrambling up to your elbows and rolling onto your back with a strangled gasp. Your stomach pitches, heart slamming against your ribs - this - this blood isn’t all yours.

You don’t remember-

How long has it been?

You turn frantically and - Scott.

He’s here.

Standing over the man, facing away from you.

His hands are bloodied, too. One hovering over his mouth, the other hanging by his side, both shaking. He’s breathing hard, shoulders rising with each inhale like he might throw up, eyes locked on the man. Like he’s waiting for him to twitch.

You try to speak. His name comes out hoarse.

His head jerks towards you, eyes wide.

For a second, he looks just as confused as you feel.

“Jesus,” he breathes roughly, stumbling a half-step backwards, “You’re- you’re awake.”

You push yourself upright too fast and the room spins. You land flat on your ass, knuckles smacking against the floor.

Knuckles?

Something’s clutched in your right hand - it’s sharp, digging into your palm. Your skin is sore - the whole thing feels like it’s been balled up tight enough to crack - you didn’t even notice.

You bring the hand up, letting the thin stream of moonlight streaking into the room illuminate it - a thin chain is tangled around your fingers - you unclench your fist, the small pendant of a necklace now dangling from your palm, blood-covered and trembling violently along with you.

You swallow thickly - your throat feels tight and dry, like you could choke on nothing.

You look at Scott.

You look back at your hands.

You look at the man on the floor.

All while starting to hyperventilate.

“I don’t- didn’t-” you whisper, voice cracking, hands shaking so violently you nearly drop the locket. You swallow again in a desperate, but ultimately fruitless attempt at grounding yourself.. “Scott- what happened?”

He doesn’t answer. He just continues to stare down at the body, like he’s only just registering it all.

Your eyes dart to the necklace still dangling from your palm. The chain is looped around your fingers. Any tighter and it'd be cutting off your circulation. You have no idea when you grabbed it, or how long it’s been there.

But something in you refuses to let go.

Scott had it before. That much you remember. What is it that guy - the - HA - the dead guy lying on the floor said? ‘Took this from your buddy over there’... or something similar. Which means you’re not giving it up now.

You look back at the body.

Back at the blood smeared across your arms.

Back at Scott - red-knuckled and wide-eyed - as he slowly turns himself to face you fully.

There’s something fraying at the edges of his composure - panic, disbelief, pain. His face is streaked with blood, a shallow cut beneath one eye still weeping. His jaw is clenched hard enough to tremble, doing very little to help the gash on his lip. You can see how stiffly he’s holding himself now - like his ribs ache every time he breathes. He’s probably almost as disoriented as you.

“I-" he sputters, his voice cracking, eyes flitting over the ceramic shards littering the floor around you all. A vase, you think.

After clearing his throat, he continues, “I didn’t mean to hit him that hard.” His brows pinch inward as he speaks, like he’s trying to convince himself just as much as you. His eyes flick down to your bloodied arms, then jerk away, back to the body. “I woke up and… he was on top of you. I didn’t know if- if he’d hurt you or-”

You follow his eyes to a gash in the back of the man’s head. His hair is matted thick with blood and bits of….

Your stomach flips.

You reel sideways, crawling backwards in a blind scramble until your back hits the wall and before you can control it, you retch, bitter bile burning its way up your throat, landing onto the floorboards. You choke on an acidic sob and he finally moves.

Scott steps towards you. Bloodied hand running through his hair, shaking.

You shake your head, unable to process it all. It hits the wall as you slump back, breath hitching, silent tears tracking down your cheeks. They sting as you wipe your mouth on your shoulder, crusted blood peeling off of your skin.

Scott draws in a deep, shaky breath, visibly trying to pull himself together. He wipes his own face with the heel of his hand, smearing sweat and blood into a tired blur across his cheek as he swears under his breath.

“What- what do we do?” you whisper through sporadic pants.

He glances back toward the body. You do too, briefly, and your stomach twists all over again at the sight.

“We leave,” Scott says, the words clipped, like he’s already made the decision and just needs you to agree.

“What?” Your voice cracks with disbelief. “We- we can’t just leave- he’s fucking dead.”

“He’s not dead,” Scott cuts in sharply, and for a second his composure wavers again, voice cracking in denial. “I think. I don’t know. But we can’t stay.”

You shake your head, wiping your eyes with your sleeve, forgetting how sodden it is. “We have to call someone - an ambulance - or - or, the police-”

“No,” Scott says, firmer now, making you flinch. He pushes himself down to your level with a wince, bracing a hand on the wall. “No CCTV here. No one saw us come in. This place is secluded as hell, we don’t even know who he is. We’re trespassing. If we call someone now, we open up a whole can of shit we can’t afford.”

“You can’t be serious,” you whisper, shrinking back from the hardness in his voice. “We leave him? Just- pretend this didn’t happen? What… what about the other guy? What if he’s coming back?”

Scott exhales shakily, grimacing.

“Then we make sure we’re gone before he does. Whoever they were, they weren’t here for a friendly chat. If we stick around, we’re putting ourselves in their hands. And you…” He trails off, eyes flicking to your bloodied clothes, your shaking hands. “We don't have time for that.”

You don’t answer. You can’t answer. Your pulse is still thrumming in your ears, your limbs numb, throat closed tight.

He lowers his voice again, gentler this time. “Please. Let’s just go. Get cleaned up.”

He extends a hand out to help you up.

You pause, glancing down at your hand, still shaking - the necklace’s chain still looped tight around your fingers like you’ve been clinging onto it for dear life. You hesitate, then hold it out toward Scott, your voice wrung out.

“This is yours.”

He looks at it, frowning for a moment before he looks back at you. “Keep it,” he says, quieter now. “We’ll take a proper look once we’ve got our heads screwed on.”

You nod, reluctant, not sure you even want to hold it anymore, but not trusting yourself to let go either, as you allow him to pull you to your feet. You wipe your fingers on the edge of your sleeve and look around, searching shakily for your bag.

It takes a second to register what’s missing.

“My notebook…” Your voice falters, eyes scanning the dark room again in a blind, rising panic. “It’s gone.”

Your heart kicks hard in your chest. You push away from the wall too quickly, the room pitching as you turn in a frantic circle, hands shaking. “No- no, it was right there - in my bag-”

Scott’s expression hardens, voice going flat. “Cunt took the fucking ledger, too.”

You swallow down a noise that might be a sob, the room closing in. Your breath comes fast and shallow. You press a trembling hand to your mouth and stare down at the bloody mess on the floor, the open, repulsive, mushy mess splurging out from the skull just inches from where you’d been lying.

Just like that, a second wave crashes over you.

“Oh God,” you whisper, staggering back a step. “Oh God - oh fuck, I-”

And then-

A sound from the hall.

A bash, then a creak of a floorboard. Footsteps.

Scott straightens instinctively, posture tight as your eyes widen. He shifts in front of you without thinking, arm half-extended as if to keep you behind him. You both freeze. Your breath catches on an involuntary hiccup.

Then a voice- your names, loud, from just down the corridor.

Sam.

Scott's shoulders drop but he shoots you a quick look still - wide-eyed, breath tight - as if to say how the hell do we explain this?

And then he's there too, bursting through the doorway you'd tried to escape from, chest heaving, your phone clutched in his hand.

His eyes take in everything at once- your wild, teary expression, Scott’s bloodied knuckles, the corpse on the floor.

As he does so, his face changes - contorting in slow, dawning horror.

“...Jesus Christ.”

____

please trust me when i say: this will all make sense <3

#sam drake #samuel drake #uncharted #sam drake x reader #samuel drake x reader #tsi

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