#sam page gif pack

[whtvrgifs]

click here to be taken to my gif pack masterlist where you’ll find a link to 303 gifs of sam page in joy for christmas (2021).

[marvelfanfn2187a113]

Where to Run

Sam and Dean Winchester & little sister!reader

Requested by @deansobssessedgirl

Synopsis: you’re on the run from the British Men of Letters, and you meet your big brothers for the first time.

Entering the United States unnoticed had gone better than you thought it would. As soon as you got through passport control, you dug into your backpack—the only luggage you had brought with you, and it contained all you owned—and pulled out two pieces of paper. You considered them both for a long moment—one, an over a decade-old letter with the name of a small city in black ink in the middle of it, and the other a list of cities, one circled in red.

The list would take you to a nearby Men of Letters bunker in Lebanon, and the letter…

The letter might just lead you to your father.

…

“And you’re sure we haven’t already been to this one?” Sam asked his big brother as they pulled up to a storage facility.

“Of course I’m sure. I would’ve remembered one so close to Lawrence,” Dean said.

“What do you think dad kept in here?” Sam questioned, his curiosity getting the better of him as Dean led the way to the right storage room.

“Who knows?” Dean shrugged. “Let’s just hope one of these works.” He jangled a small set of keys on a ring that John had left in the car—they contained a spare key for the Impala as well as John’s old truck, and several storage facility keys. Dean had thought that he and Sammy had been to all of John’s secret storage places, but after scanning John’s journal for the hundredth time, he caught sight of an address scratched in the corner of a page with a storage number.

“It’s this one,” Sam spoke up, grabbing the keys from Dean and trying a few before one finally worked.

The room was small, but packed full. Sam and Dean—after carefully scanning for traps—split up and began to go through their father’s things.

“Hey, I think this file cabinet’s locked,” Sam said from one corner. Dean lifted his head, but didn’t go to his brother’s aid, too busy going through a box of odds and ends.

“Or you just didn’t pull hard enough—maybe if you had any muscle in those noodles—“

“Ok, ok,” Sam interrupted with a scoff. He rolled his eyes, but didn’t dismiss Dean’s theory—he yanked hard on the file cabinet, and it jerked open in a cloud of dust. Coughing, Sam reached down to shuffle through what was inside. “Hey, there’s only one file in here.”

“Fascinating,” Dean said in a tone that said exactly the opposite.

“There’s a birth certificate inside,” Sam said, and suddenly his voice caught. “With…with dad’s name on it.”

“Dad’s birth certificate?” Dean asked, mildly intrigued.

“Dean…not dad’s.”

“What?” Dean was by Sam’s side before Sam had even seen him move.

“Y/N Winchester, born to John Winchester and…Jane Doe.” Sam frowned, his brow crinkling. “I wonder why dad would use his real name when the mother used a fake.”

“This can’t be real,” Dean insisted. “I mean…I know with Adam…but another one?”

“Let’s see,” Sam mumbled, putting the certificate inside and checking the rest of the file. “Pictures.” Sam held up a stack, which Dean immediately snatched from him. Sam ignored this, because he’d found his own details to focus on. “And letters.” Sam grabbed the first letter from a stack of dozens, and began to read. “Dear John…our girl turns one today…”

Dean tapped Sam’s shoulder and held up a photo of a little Y/H/C girl blowing out a singular candle on a pink cake.

Sam moved onto the next letter, skimming it.

“Dear John…I put Y/N in gymnastics because it’s the only way I can get her to work on strength training and endurance.” Sam’s brow crinkled in confusion, but he was distracted when Dean held up a photo of the same girl, a few years older, in a gymnastics leotard on a balance beam.

“What do you think she meant by training?” Sam asked. “Do you think she was a hunter?”

“Could be.” Dean shrugged. “Maybe that’s why she signed her letters Jane Doe.” Dean pointed to the bottom of the letter, where “love, Jane Doe” was written.

Sam was about to pull out another letter when his fingers froze on the paper.

“Dean…”

“Hm?” Dean asked distractedly, still going through photos.

“Dean look at this.” Sam flipped the paper around, and on the back of it was a watermark—an indicator of who made the stationary.

It was the Men of Letters insignia.

…

“Lebanon, please,” you said to the taxi driver. “I’ll direct you to a more specific location when we get there.”

The man shrugged, unbothered, and began the journey.

You desperately wanted to go to Lawrence in search for your father, but you had to be realistic—you hadn’t eaten all day, you were jet lagged and exhausted, and you needed a plan of action. You needed to recover and regroup, and you needed to do it in a secure location; you needed to feel safe. In fact, you were so wound up that you flinched when the radio came on.

“—o one seems to have any information on who is causing the recent string of murders. The chief of police has offered no comment, other than a warning that the people of Lawrence should stay indoors when possible, and be alert. But there’s no denying the oddity of the case—the mass murderer seems to have some kind of vampire ideologies, with each of its victims drained completely of their blood. In other news—“

“Hey, driver!” You called out, and he glanced over his shoulder to indicate he was listening. “I changed my mind. Take me to Lawrence.”

…

“It’s gotta be another djinn.”

Dean would’ve groaned if he didn’t have a mouthful of hamburger to swallow first.

“Not those again,” he said after a gulp of beer washed down the last of his burger. They’d finished going through John’s things—Sam taking the file of your pictures and documents with him—only to leave and stumble upon a case. Dean had wanted to stop at a diner on the way back home, but he hadn’t expected to walk past a news stand to see a paper with “vampire killer” written across the front. It took Sam less than ten minutes of reading the paper, as well as a little time on the internet, to render the paper completely wrong.

“It doesn’t fit with a vampire. No teeth marks, no signs of struggle, the bodies were found in a different location from where they were taken—it’s definitely a djinn.”

“Ok, so silver knife dipped in lamb’s blood.” Dean sighed. “We happen to have one of those?”

“I think we still have the one we used last time in the trunk,” Sam said.

“Then let’s get going.”

…

You picked up a machete after being dropped off by the cabbie, hoping beyond hope that the radio had been right (even if they were kidding) about it being a vampire—there were several monsters known to drink blood, and if it was anything other than a vamp then things might get tricky. Normally you would be more prepared, but it wasn’t like you could get your weapons through customs when traveling to America, and you’d had to travel light so you could move more quickly. The British Men of Letters worked quickly, so you couldn’t take any chances. And buying up strange kinds of weapons near an old Men of Letters bunker was definitely too high a chance to take, so all you could do was hope that it was a vamp.

You’d done so much research about Lawrence that you barely even have to wonder where the creature might be hiding out—while researching Lawrence, you’d almost automatically noted the places where a supernatural being might be inclined to hide, so all you had to do was see which one was closest to the bodies that were dropping.

Then you were ready to hunt.

…

“I’m telling you, this has to be it. It’s nearly equidistant to all the bodies, and it’s the perfect place for a djinn to hide out.”

“You don’t have to sell me on the location, I believe you,” Dean told Sam. “But you do have to tell me how to get there.”

“Turn right here…yeah, and a left at that stop sign, and then we’re there.”

“So are we just not gonna talk about it?” Dean asked after a beat of silence as he followed Sam’s directions.

“Talk about what?”

Dean scoffed. “I don’t know, maybe our little sister?”

“I don’t know what to say, Dean,” Sam sighed. “There’s no address anywhere in the documents or the letters, and we don’t even know her mother’s name, or if Y/N even goes by Winchester. Her mother used an alias, it makes sense that the kid would go by one, too. We have no reason to believe that she’s going by the name on her birth certificate, so we don’t have the first clue on how to find her.”

“Well it feels like we have to do something,” Dean argued. “I mean we don’t even know if this kid knows about dad—for all we know, she thinks he’s still alive. She deserves to know.”

“Why the sudden interest?” Sam questioned. “You didn’t seem all this interested when we found out about Adam.”

“That was different,” Dean sighed. “With Adam…Adam was just some normal, innocent kid who saw dad once a year for a baseball game and knew nothing about the life. This kid—Y/N—with the talk in those letters about training, and the Men of Letters insignia…she’s in this life, Sam, I can feel it. And since dad’s not around anymore…I think it’s our job to make sure she’s ok.”

“And I’d be happy to do that,” Sam insisted. “If only we knew how to find her. But for now, let’s do what we can do—take out this djinn.”

…

The sight of a car in the parking lot of the abandoned warehouse worried you—even if it was a beautiful car.

“Chevy Impala,” you mumbled to yourself. “67, I think.” You shook yourself, moving your mind back to the task at hand, rather than the conversation you were having with yourself. Hopefully the car here didn’t mean that its owners were anywhere near the warehouse—the last thing you needed was some innocent people getting in the way and getting hurt.

Seeing no one around, you hefted your machete and headed inside.

…

Dean gestured at Sam to be quiet as he peaked around a corner. Signaling that the coast was clear, Dean led the way through the warehouse, the silver dagger gripped in his steady hand. Dean was just signaling Sam to wait so he could check around another corner when—

“Hey!”

“Jeez—what?”

Dean stopped himself just short of cutting not a djinn, but a Y/H/C girl wielding a machete that was aimed at him.

“Hey, easy.” Dean took a quick step back, raising the knife and his hands in the air. “We’re not—“ Dean’s words died in his throat when he got a good look at your face.

“Dean,” Sam breather from beside him. “It’s—“

“No kidding.”

“What are you talking about?” You demanded, lowering the machete just a little bit. “Who are you guys, what are you doing here?” You didn’t want for an answer. “You have to get out of here, there’s a—“ your eyes fell to the silver dagger.

Sam’s gaze followed your own to the weapon in Dean’s hand before he looked back at you.

“It’s not a vamp,” he said, gesturing at your machete. “It’s a djinn.”

You lowered your machete completely.

“You’re hunters?”

Dean couldn’t keep the astonished smile off his face.

“And you’re Y/N Winchester.”

The machete was back up in an instant.

“Who are you?” You demanded for the second time. “Men of Letters?”

“Easy, easy,” Dean said, taking a step back as you advanced on them. “I’m not—“

“Guys!”

Sam’s warning proceeded the arrival of the djinn by a split second—just enough time for Dean to dodge the blow that the djinn tried to land on him.

“Hey!” Your call turned the attention of the djinn, who grabbed hold of your arm before you had the chance to move away. He twisted your arm behind your back until your machete was crashing to the ground and you were crying out in pain.

“Here!” Dean’s call came a second before the silver dagger was hurtling at your face. You snatched it up with your free hand and twisted it so it was facing the djinn a moment before you plunged the dagger into the djinn’s side. He howled with pain and released your arm, giving you an opportunity to spin around and stab again, this time in the neck.

The djinn went down without a sound, and the thud of his fall echoed through the empty room. For a long moment, only the sound of heavy breathing could be heard. That is, until Dean took a step towards you.

“Back off!” You yelled, raising the blood-soaked dagger.

“Are you serious?” Dean scoffed. “Hey, I just helped save your life.”

“I’m not going back!” You were starting to look panicked as you backed away from the brothers. “So-so just tell Lady Bevell, or Ketch, or Mick, or whoever recruited you that I’m done! I’m not a part of the Men of Letters, and I never will be!”

“Hey, hey, easy,” Sam soothed. “We’re not Men of Letters.”

“Then how do you know who I am?” You challenged.

“Because of John Winchester.”

Sam’s response froze you in your tracks.

“J…John Winchester?” The dagger was slowly lowering. “You know him? You know where he is?”

The hope in your eyes was like a punch in the gut to both brothers. However, it was gone in an instant and replaced with a harsh suspicion as you raised the knife higher again.

“How do I know you’re telling the truth?”

“That’s how we know who you are, kid,” Dean insisted.

“Here—“ Sam’s hand was halfway to his pocket when you pointed your knife at him and he froze. “Easy, ok? I’ll go slow.” He slowly reached in, and you relaxed slightly when he pulled out a small bundle of papers. “We’ve got letters that your mom sent to him, with some pictures.” Sam held them out, and you hesitantly took them, thumbing through the stack while occasionally glancing warily at the boys.

“They stop,” you mumbled.

“What?” Dean asked.

“The letters, they stopped…at least ten years ago.” You looked back up at the boys as you spoke. “Is…is there more, or…”

The despair on the boys’ faces spoke for itself. Your lip was already quivering as you tucked the letters away, still holding onto the knife but keeping it pointed down.

“Is he…is he dead?”

“Yeah,” Dean sighed. “About ten years ago.”

Sam could tell you were trying not to cry, trying to act like they hadn’t just ripped the rug out from under you.

“You know, I—I didn’t even know him—“ your voice cracked. “But I…gosh, I re-I really wanted to.”

You let Dean take the knife from you after he put a gentle hand on your shoulder.

“Um, so.” You wiped your hand over your face, trying to brush away any stray tears as you tried valiantly to pull yourself together. “So how did you two…”

“He’s…he’s our dad, too.” Sam said. Your eyes widened slightly as you absorbed this information.

“Wait, you…were you…from his wife?”

“You knew about her?” Dean asked.

“Not really,” you admitted. “John…dad, he…he never liked to talk about his past, but he did mention his wife in one of his letters…he said her death was what made him become a hunter.” Your lips quirked up as you remembered. “He said if I ever saw a yellow-eyed demon, send it to hell for him.” Your eyes went back to Dean and Sam. “Is…is that how he died? Hunting demons?”

“Kind of,” Sam said. “It’s…it’s a long story.”

“What about you?” Dean said suddenly. “If you know Lady Bevell and the rest, and you know they’re here recruiting, then you’ve got something to do with the Men of Letters. Not to mention their insignia on the back of those letters.”

Just the mention of the Men of Letters had you on edge again.

“Maybe we should talk about this at a more secure location,” you suggested. “There’s an old Men of Letters bunker not far from—“ you cut yourself off when you caught the look between the two brothers. “What?”

“We know,” Sam said. “We’ve been living in it.”

Dean noticed your fingers twitch, as if you were thinking about reaching for a weapon.

“And I’m supposed to believe you’re not Men of Letters?”

“Our grandfather was one,” Dean said. “He left us a key.”

You seemed to consider this. Dean watched as your eyes got a faraway look, and he knew you were trying to remember something.

“Mom said that John was from a line of the Men of Letters. It was one of the ways she tried to get him to join.” You shook yourself of the memories. “Fine. I’ll go with you, but that doesn’t mean I trust you.”

Dean couldn’t help the way a smile twitched just slightly on his lips before he dropped it.

“Fair enough.”

…

You were quiet the whole way to the bunker, and although your brothers had questions they sensed you were tired and on edge, so they refrained. Dean kept glancing at you in the rearview mirror the whole way, and he was happy to see the way you slowly put your guard down—mostly out of exhaustion—as you relaxed into a light slumber.

You awoke with a start when Dean pulled into the bunker’s garage, the echo of Baby’s engine reverberating loudly.

“Home sweet home,” Dean crowed as you stepped out of the Impala. You didn’t say a word as he led you inside, but the moment the three of you settled down around the kitchen table, you finally started to talk.

“John met my mother on a hunt. She was just visiting America, vacation or something, but she happened to stumble on a case. They met…and well, I came along.” Both brothers noticed you skipping over the details, for which they were grateful. “But while mom was still pregnant she tried to convince dad to join the Men of Letters.” Sam noticed the way you kept switching between dad and John, as if you either weren’t sure what to say, or you weren’t sure what the boys were comfortable with. “He didn’t like the idea, and he didn’t want that for me, either. They fought about it, and mom left the country to go back to England. She was still pregnant…” Dean saw your fists clench and unclench as you blinked rapidly. “Dad, he…he never saw me in person. Any-anyway, she still wrote to him, and she let me read his letters. She said he deserved that much, at least. Dad was always telling me hunter things—I think he was hoping I’d end up a hunter, like him.”

“Why did you?” Sam spoke up. “I mean, if your mother raised you with the Men of Letters…”

“She kept a lot from me,” you said. “The…morally ambiguous parts.” At Dean’s strange look, you scoffed. “Ok, let’s be real, the straight up evil parts.” This got a grin from both brothers. “But she, uh…” the lightheartedness in the room was gone in an instant. “She died last year, and well…people stopped lying to me. I realized all the crap they really did, and I ran.”

“And what, they’re after you?” Dean questioned. “I mean it’s not like the mafia, right, I mean you can just leave.”

You nearly laughed out loud.

“I wish they were as sloppy as the mafia. No, you can’t just leave, especially not me—just because I’m a kid, doesn’t mean I couldn’t have over a decade of Men of Letters’ secrets stored in my brain. That’s why I came here, I…I wanted to find dad. To find family, protection.” You took a deep breath. “I want to be a hunter, not a Man of Letters.”

Dean found himself speaking before he even thought about what to say.

“Why do you have to be either?”

“What?” You said at the same time as Sam. Dean glanced between you before continuing.

“You’re just a kid—you’ve got your whole life ahead of you. You don’t have to be either, you could be whatever you want.”

You blinked up at Dean, as though the thought had never occurred to you.

“I…I don’t…”

“Look,” Dean began. “Don’t decide just now. John may not be here, but we’re family too, kid. There’s an empty bedroom down the hall, you should get some sleep, get settled in…then maybe we could talk about this hunting stuff, ok? The important thing is, you’re safe here. Let’s just say we don’t like the British Men of Letters anymore than you do. They’re not getting in here, and they’re not getting to you. Everything else can wait for later.”

You felt a smile—a true smile—etching its way into your face for the first time in so long. You looked up at this man—your big brother—and you couldn’t help but feel that everything was going to be ok. Whether you decided to hunt or not, or whether the Men of Letters came after you, you knew one thing for sure—

You really had found your family.

Taglist:

@nyotamalfoy @mrvlxgrl @chocorade @aestheticdaisies @inlovewhithafairytale @that-wannabe-vangoghgurl @casmustdiee @987coley @deadlymistletoe

[fr3sh-tragedies]

Serenity

[Shadow of the Tomb Raider] Lara Croft x Female Reader

Word Count: 5.12k

Proofread: Yes

Content Warnings: Touch starved Lara (?), feelings of homesickness, fear of death, mentions of mourning, brief descriptions of wounds

Categories:

Angst Fluff Mix

One-Shot Preference Headcanon

[A/N]: Wanted to try a bit of a different format for the summary, hope it makes sense.

Enjoy!

Harsh winds whipped past the shape of the land, bending around every mountain and down every ravine and valley like ribbon. Shivering harshly and clutching onto her heavy coat, Lara sighed, planting herself in front of the campfire she had set up. As the flames crackled to life and began to grow, she scooted closer, holding her hands out towards the blazing heat in an attempt to warm them. She huffed out hot air into her cupped palms before rubbing them together and shifting to hold them out again.

She repeated this motion a few more times before wriggling her fingers around a bit. Once she was sure they were warmed up enough, she slipped her journal out from her traveler’s pack and took her pen out. She flipped over to the next blank page, beginning to jot things down with stiff hands. It started with her summarizing all that had happened during the current expedition up until that point, but quickly shifted to her feelings of homesickness. It wasn’t the manor or her private apartment she was missing, however. She was missing the woman waiting for her back home.

A small smile of content formed on her lips at the mere thought of her.

“God, [Y/N], I wish you were…”

She shook her head as a chill ran down her spine, as if she was being reminded of the brutal conditions she was in. With a small struggle, she scribbled out the ending of the sentence before starting a new one.

“No, I wish I was there with you. I didn’t realize how much I’d miss you. Especially how warm you are. It’s freezing out here, although I’m not sure what I was expecting. Even when we stayed by the hot springs for a bit, my hands were too frozen to do anything. Writing this right now is extremely difficult because we’re headed toward the peak of a mountain where the snow is really dense. The altitude levels are getting high, and it’s making some of the crew sick, so we had to set up camp in the meantime. Aside from Jonah, the crew here doesn’t really care for all of this. They’re either doing it for the media exposure or for the money. The majority of them have made it clear that they aren’t doing it for the sake of discovery. I do kind of wish you were here in all honesty. Jonah is interested in what we’re looking for, but it always takes some convincing with him. With you, you’re always on board immediately. And, according to the others, you share the same level of enthusiasm as me. I guess I never really noticed it.

“Which is honestly a bit of a surprise. I know I can get a bit…aggressive about these things, or obsessive. People tell me I start getting picky about things once I realize they don’t have the same interests and intentions as me. And Sam wonders why I don’t like hanging out with other people.”

She laughed softly to herself, skimming over her words before she continued writing.

“Except you, of course. I wish I could bring you along with me to these expeditions, but I’m just…worried Trinity is going to get to you somehow, and aside from Jonah, you’re the only one I have left. If they got ahold of you, I don’t know what I’d do with myself. I’ve lost too many people already. I can’t lose you too.”

A small pause. She wasn’t sure what to do with herself during these trips anymore. Before she had met [Y/N], she had gotten used to sleeping alone and spending the majority of her time alone. She could go on journeys without worrying about returning home to someone. She didn’t want to die, that wasn’t what she was thinking of. She just didn’t feel guilty about trips taking longer than she initially planned. Deep down, though, she knew [Y/N] understood. Each time she’d make it home to her girlfriend, she was always greeted with relief and excitement rather than annoyance and resentment.

During the nights where she was alone on the expeditions, she could eventually get herself to fall asleep for short periods of time, pretending she was back home in bed with her girlfriend, cuddled up together under the blankets and sleeping in.

Another thing she had to readjust to was doing things solo. The only thing she tended to do on her own at the manor anymore was paperwork. [Y/N] would do everything with her there: researching, reading, cleaning, taking trips to different cities, and so on and so forth. She had grown so accustomed to that to where she found herself itching to talk to someone or move around at the campsites when she used to just sit there and think to herself.

She genuinely enjoyed the idea of having someone to come home to every time, but it still caused guilt when anything went wrong. There was a near-constant worry that her job was straining the relationship, regardless of what [Y/N] told her.

She had never been in a relationship before, so she really had no idea what to expect. It was stressful trying to learn how to open up to someone, but once she realized she could fully trust [Y/N], she found it much easier to start talking about her past.

Another sigh slipped past her lips, her gaze dropping down to the page of her journal again.

“I can’t wait to get home to you again. And honestly, I never thought I’d be able to say that. With how often I’m traveling, I figured I wouldn’t find someone who was willing to put up with my constant researching and preparing. I suppose I could take you on easier trips where I know Trinity won’t be. I could teach you how to go rock climbing and the basics of how to survive out in the wilderness.”

A sense of fondness washed over her, remembering how Roth would take her backpacking and traveling to random places so she could learn all of his tricks.

“If Roth were still here, I bet I could’ve convinced him to let you come with us to one of our training expeditions. He loved teaching all about journeying. He probably would’ve talked your ear off the way he did with me.”

Once more, a soft laugh escaped her.

“I’d honestly give anything to hear him lecture me about trusting my instinct again. You would’ve loved him. He was a good man.”

She studied her entry, repeatedly skimming over Roth’s name scribbled out in her shaky handwriting. 

“I wish you could’ve met him.”

She frowned at the memory of what happened in Yamatai, guilt beginning to bubble up to the surface again. She sighed, trying to shift her focus to something else.

“I can’t wait to get back home to you. I miss you. Hopefully I’ll be able to see you sooner rather than later. I already want to come back just so I can be with you again. I love you.”

Gently, she shut her journal and tucked it away again, dropping her pen in on top of it before zipping the bag shut. Once she placed the bag to her side, she shifted to turn back to the fire, which had grown to a decent size. Her unfocused gaze watched the flames in front of her dance wildly to the bitterly cold gusts of wind. Soon, as she waited for Jonah to call her over, her mind wandered off, her body shivering, aching, and craving to be in her warm, plush bed by [Y/N]’s side again.

The expedition finally came to an end. Unfortunately, it had taken an extra three days thanks to Trinity’s operation disrupting everything. Lara was returning home with another artifact, one which she planned to donate to a local museum instead of adding to her personal collection. She asked Jonah to drop the artifact off for her, her expression alone telling him all he needed to know. He agreed, knowing she just wanted to get home to [Y/N] again and rest. Once the plane landed and they disembarked with their luggage, Lara instantly found her car still parked in a private garage she had paid for ahead of time.

She hopped in instantly after tucking her small amount of luggage into the trunk, started the engine, and sped off toward her home. The majority of the drive there, she reflected on what had happened during the expedition. Although she had been in a warm environment for hours on the way back, she still felt chilled to the bone after swimming in glacial waters for hours on end. All she craved was to get home and warm all the way up so she could sleep comfortably, even though she knew the moment the numbness subsided, her joints would ache even more.

Once she finally arrived, she parked her car in her usual spot and headed inside, completely forgetting about the bags in the trunk. Her body felt like it would collapse any minute, so she was desperately trying to get inside and find [Y/N].

With a great deal of effort, straining the aching muscles in her arms and back, she shoved the main door open leading into the front parlor. Before any of the servants could lead her somewhere to get her injuries treated or get changed into warmer clothes, Lara made a beeline to the stairs leading up to the second floor of the main building. She wobbled down the hall to her bedroom door, weakly pushing it open with a small grunt of pain. She didn’t spot [Y/N] in the bedroom right away, so she checked the bathroom attached to it.

She wasn’t there either. Odd.

With a groan, she forced herself to trudge back out of the room and down the hall, planning to check the library next. And if she wasn’t there, she’d search the main study. Before she could make it to the doorway leading to the library, [Y/N] stepped out carrying a couple of books. When she spotted Lara, her face lit up, excitedly placing the books aside on a nearby console table and rushing over to the brunette. At the sight of [Y/N] heading her direction, a small surge of energy bolted through Lara’s senses. She beamed over at her and opened her arms, sighing in relief when the smaller woman leaned heavily into her embrace.

“Lara, you’re back! How was the trip? Find anything good?”

Lara grinned wider at her enthusiasm–a breath of fresh air to have someone show genuine interest in her own passion. “Yeah, we found an old artifact, but I told Jonah to just go donate it to the local museum. I don’t have much space left on the shelves in my study, and I don’t want to clutter our room with them.” [Y/N] chuckled at her words, a small nod as her response as they remained in their embrace a moment longer.

At length, much to Lara’s dismay, [Y/N] leaned back. One hand dropped down to gently take hold of the brunette’s, and the other lifted to cup her cheek. At the feeling of warmth against her face, Lara leaned into the touch, her eyes shutting as she sighed. “C’mon,” [Y/N] started softly with a warm smile, “let’s get you patched up and changed. Then you can get some sleep.” Before she could try to refute, Lara yawned and nodded, wearily following the smaller woman’s lead as she carefully tugged her toward the bedroom again.

Once in there, she sat Lara down on the bed, retrieved the First Aid kit from the medical cabinet in the bathroom, and joined her on the mattress, which the brunette seemed to immediately sink into. She pulled out a damp rag she had also grabbed and began to dab cautiously at the scratches and cuts littered across Lara’s skin. When she began to apply the antiseptic, she earned a few hisses of pain, though they quickly died down with each passing second. All the while, Lara’s eyelids were growing heavier. She did her best to bite back her yawns, though most of them still snuck through.

After cleaning all of the visible marks, [Y/N] stitched up what she needed to, and applied bandages to what was left. She quickly packed the kit back up and stored it in the bathroom once more. Then, she helped Lara head into the bathroom and get undressed, helping her step into the bath when the warm water filled up enough. Once the brunette was situated and comfortable, [Y/N] took her hair down for her and began to rinse and lather it with the shampoo she had set up beforehand. Once her hair was clean, she then washed Lara’s back, shoulders, and mostly everything but her stomach, legs, and mostly whatever was underneath the water, which she let the Croft do on her own.

By the time Lara was clean and wrapped up in a towel after stepping out of the tub, [Y/N] left and came back in carrying a pair of clothes that had just been pulled out from the dryer. She gave the brunette a bit of privacy to get dressed. Lara hummed contentedly at the warm, soft fabric brushing across her skin: a pair of black fleece pants with a slightly oversized gray t-shirt.

She stood after tugging her clothes on. After folding the towel back up enough to hang on the rack on the wall, she flipped the lightswitch off and left the bathroom, finding [Y/N] standing by the bed with a tray in her hands. Curiously, Lara walked over and sat down at the foot of the bed with an eyebrow raised. Before she could question what it was, [Y/N] moved to hand the tray to her, revealing her favorite dish warmed up and placed nicely on a plate.

At the sight of it, she blinked, and soon looked back up at her girlfriend, who had moved to her own side of the bed. “Go ahead and eat. I wanted you to have something in your stomach so it doesn’t growl and wake you up like last time.”

With a pleased grin, Lara nodded and shifted up to her spot in bed to prop herself up against the headboard. She was quick to pick up her fork and dig into the dish, clearly grateful to have something prepared for her instead of needing to fix something for herself the way she had done the past few days in the wilderness. It saved her a lot of time and energy, all of which she could spend on recovering from the trip. Within minutes, the plate was clean and her cup was empty. She moved to get up and bring it to the kitchen downstairs, but [Y/N] was quick to stop her and take it from her hands. “Hey, no, go ahead and stay here, alright? I really just want you to relax for a while.”

Even if Lara had planned on refusing the help, it would’ve been no use, as [Y/N] was already by the door by the time she finished speaking. She quickly slipped out of the room, leaving Lara there to wait. She hadn’t even had a chance to nod. She sighed, shuffling downward to bundle up underneath the thick blankets layering her mattress and tugging them partially over her head. The moment her head made contact with her pillow, she groaned in relief, the plush surface welcoming her and pulling her into a partial slumber already.

She fought to stay awake a little longer, however, wanting to be cuddled up against [Y/N] as she slept so she could hear her heartbeat. Ever since the two had started sharing the bed, that’s how Lara fell asleep. It’s why going on long expeditions was so difficult sometimes–she had no heartbeat to listen to, no breathing she could hear but her own, and no warmth to lean into when she got a chill or had a strange dream that kept her eyes pried open in alarmed confusion. Another yawn pushed past her lips, her eyes slowly fluttering shut. Just as she was close to being lulled into sleep, the bedroom door creaked open again. [Y/N] stepped inside and turned the lights off, then headed over to the windows and closed all the heavy curtains, leaving a very dull light in the room.

She then crawled into her side of the bed, though she was quickly met with Lara scooting over and pressing her head against her chest, planting her ear directly over the girl’s sternum to hear the steady thumping of her heartbeat resting safely behind her ribs. A sigh of relief made its way from Lara. She wriggled over a bit, nuzzled her face further into the blankets, and finally settled for a position. With a small smile, [Y/N] rolled over just enough to wrap both of her arms around the brunette’s torso. She pulled her closer as softly as she could.

“Did you wanna talk about the trip?” She whispered softly. A bit of a delay, but Lara answered with a small shake of her head. “No,” she murmured almost inaudibly. “Maybe tomorrow.” [Y/N] nodded in response. She slid one of her arms over a bit, earning a groan of disapproval, though it was quickly replaced by an even fainter groan of pleasure once her fingernails began to gently rake through Lara’s brunette locks. [Y/N] repeated this motion for a while before changing to let her nails scratch soothingly at the sore muscles of the taller woman’s back. “Mmm, what about you?” Lara finally managed to slur out after a few minutes.

[Y/N] hummed, confused. “What about me?” She questioned quietly. Again, there was a pause before she got a response. “What about your day? Tell me…about your day.”

“Oh. Well, it wasn’t very eventful, to be honest. I just helped some of the maids and then read a few books. That’s why I was leaving the library when you made it in.”

“Mmh.”

Lara groaned and shuffled even closer. “I missed you so much,” she whispered. [Y/N] beamed down at her, pure adoration in her eyes. “I missed you too.” She pressed a kiss to the brunette’s forehead, to which Lara responded by scrunching up her nose and leaning her head forward, wordlessly asking for another one. The smaller woman complied after letting a gentle giggle slip in between breaths and pressed a longer kiss to Lara’s head, earning a small huff of satisfaction.

For a while longer, [Y/N] continued to talk about whatever came to mind. Lara wasn’t entirely listening, she just wanted to hear her voice, but [Y/N] already knew that. She didn’t mind. She could talk about seeing a bird on the window sill, and Lara would still find it calming solely because she could hear her speaking. She could hear the low rumbling and vibrations in her chest with every word spoken, and on top of the sound of her heartbeat, it was like the ultimate white noise for Lara.

She wasn’t entirely sure why it brought her so much comfort, but she certainly wasn’t complaining. It helped her fall asleep and stay asleep, which is something she struggled with for the longest time. Being able to get a proper night’s rest felt so refreshing.

Especially after having to be on high alert and sleep lightly for weeks on end during most of her journeys.

After a while, [Y/N] ran out of things to talk about. However, knowing that hearing her make noise was what helped Lara fall asleep, she opted to sing softly instead. An hour or so must’ve passed before Lara’s breathing deepened and slowed, evening out as her body signaled she was fully asleep. After finishing the song she had been practically humming at that point, [Y/N] stopped singing. When she fell silent, her own eyes beginning to droop from fatigue, Lara tugged her closer, unconsciously trying to find the source of the noise again. She settled after a moment when her hearing focused in on her heartbeat once more.

She mumbled something under her breath, though the blankets muffled most of it. The other half of the incoherent speech was caused by her lack of conscience. [Y/N] didn’t mind it though. Finally being able to hold Lara safely in her arms again after two and a half weeks was all she had been wanting. She glanced down at her, smiling tiredly and pressing a gentle kiss to her head again before yawning and closing her eyes.

Soon enough, she fell into a deep slumber as well.

The following morning, the sun crept in through the blinds, alerting everyone of its wake. Bright golden beams trailed their way into the bedroom, sneaking up the covers and making Lara suddenly aware of her surroundings again. She grumbled, calloused fingertips grasping at the hem of the comforter that had slipped from over her head and tugging upward, desperately trying to block out the warmth that stirred her awake. It had been years–until she met [Y/N], anyway–since she had been able to sleep in peacefully without the overwhelming worry of needing to constantly accomplish something. She wanted to stay asleep at least long enough to finish her dream.

For a moment, she smirked to herself, noticing just how soft she had gotten once her relationship had been established with the other woman. Had they never met, nor had they gotten as close as they did, she’d likely still be awake at this hour, buried away in her personal study with stacks of books and loose files strewn about.

With a sense of bitter hesitation, one in which she debated falling back into the dream she had been having just a moment prior–which thankfully wasn’t another nightmare keeping her awake–she let her weary eyes flutter open. A small shove downward let the covers fall free from over her head again, begrudgingly allowing the sunlight to caress her features in a more willing manner. A sigh of relief slipped past her lips once she was able to let her eyes adjust to the blazing beams of light dancing around with each small movement.

After a moment of gaining her bearings, she yawned, drowsily rubbing the exhaustion from her eyes as she shifted over to find [Y/N] still resting at her side. The corners of her lips perked up into a small smile of contentment at the sight. She hummed, shuffled up to let her head rest even in front of [Y/N]’s, and gazed over at her.

The light that had disturbed Lara of her rest now brought her a sense of peace. The warm glow of the amber streaks lighting up the room seemed to embrace every little mark across [Y/N]’s skin, highlighting each scar and stray freckle. Never before had she seemed so at ease in her slumber–or maybe Lara had been too focused on holding her close to have noticed. She noticed it now, though.

And she intended to savor every minute of it.

Moments passed, and her hands were itching to feel the softness of the woman’s skin. With a slight ounce of uncertainty, worried she might stir her awake, she finally lifted her hand from the spot on the mattress next to her and drove it up to let the backs of her fingers graze over [Y/N]’s cheek, huffing out a small sigh at the warmth as though she hadn’t been pressed tightly against her mere moments before.

Her fingers trailed up to tuck a few loose strands of hair behind the sleeping woman’s ear, slowly and silently shuffling forward to press a featherlike kiss to her forehead. At the feeling of soft lips and touches against her skin, [Y/N] began to wake, her brows furrowing together momentarily in thought, as if she were stuck between her dreams and lucidity. Her features softened just as quickly as they tightened, followed by her eyes flitting open and instantaneously focusing on the smitten gaze in front of her. She hummed, grinning and letting her hand slide up to gently take hold of Lara’s. With a small squeeze to her lax hand, [Y/N] turned her head to press an equally soft kiss to her palm.

“Morning,” she murmured against her skin, letting her focus flicker back toward the deep brown eyes now somehow filled with even more love than before.

“Morning,” came her faint reply.

“Are you feeling better now that you’ve slept?” Lara grinned, nodding almost unnoticeably. She carefully slipped her hand from [Y/N]’s, then letting it trail down to the smaller woman’s hip. Once moving a bit closer, as well as shuffling back down further into the comforter, she wrapped both arms around [Y/N]’s waist, tugging her closer and letting her head fall against her chest. Once [Y/N]’s chin moved to rest atop the brunette’s head, Lara sighed, her eyes fluttering shut once more. “Yes, but if I’m being completely honest, my entire body is aching right now. So much happened before I got back.”

She chuckled, wincing to herself at the sudden jolt of pain that erupted from the nerves in the skin taut against her stomach. “I don’t know if I can physically get up yet. Or if I'll be able to at all today.”

A playful snicker sounded above her, prompting her to lift her head and look up at [Y/N]. “Are you sure that’s why? Or do you just want to stay in bed and cuddle like this for the day?” Lara rolled her eyes with a smirk of her own. “I’m telling you: every single muscle in my body is painfully sore. I could get up if I absolutely needed to, but I don’t, so I’d really just prefer to stay here.”

With a moment in between the playful banter, Lara dropped her head back against [Y/N]’s chest. She waited, pondering what she wanted to say as her nails gently scratched at the soft fabric of the shirt she leaned against, sighing silently at the feeling of the motion being reciprocated in a far more soothing way. As she focused on [Y/N] tracing random shapes and words against her scarred skin, subconsciously wondering if she could make out anything specific if she focused, she closed her eyes.

“But even if I somehow wasn’t sore like I am now, I’d absolutely want to stay like this for the day. I missed you,” although her voice had already started off gentle, her tone only seemed to drift further into silence. Whether it stemmed from sheepishness or fatigue, [Y/N] didn’t know. She didn’t mind it, however, and instead pulled her closer. “I missed you too. So very much.”

She paused, one of her hands stroking the brunette strands sprawled out on the mattress behind Lara as her brow creased in thought. “I do worry about you though,” she admitted after what felt like hours, not sure if Lara was still even awake at the moment or if she had heard her. She had, however, and was quick to gaze back up at her, partially hidden way beneath the comforter. Her eyes, which had just been staring at her with a mix of blissful fatigue and love, were now a concoction of bleary concern and confusion. “Why?”

“Because sometimes I worry that something is going to happen to you while you’re away, and I’m never going to know. I mean, I know you won’t go down without a fight, but I’m still terrified that there will be a day where I see you alive for the last time. That thought alone plagues my mind every single time you leave, and it just…scares me?” She scoffed. “No, it’s so much more than just feeling scared. I’m terrified beyond belief that a thought like that could somehow become a reality.”

She hadn’t realized she had begun rambling until Lara shifted up to be eye-level with her again, a far more serious expression taking over. With her features creased with concern, Lara cupped [Y/N]’s face, the pads of her thumbs stroking away the tears that she hadn’t even realized had fallen. When had she started crying?

“I promise you I’m never going to let that happen, alright? There’ve been so many times I shouldn’t have been able to survive, but I did. Like you said: I won’t go down without a fight. And now that I have you here, I have all the more reason to fight to stay alive. I couldn’t bear the thought of never coming home to you. Just…don’t ever worry about me not coming home, okay? One way or another, I’ll find a way to get back to you.”

Her tone softened with every passing word, her heart and mind filling with relief upon seeing a gentle smile grace [Y/N]’s lips. She returned her grin and leaned forward to rest their foreheads together. “Even if it means I have to admit to Jonah that I’m wrong,” she added with a fake annoyance and a small roll of her eyes. [Y/N] couldn’t help but chuckle at her words, allowing Lara to finally let out a small sigh of solace.

“I wouldn’t trade my time with you for anything,” she reassured, trading roles and pulling [Y/N] into her chest instead. “Not for an artifact, not for a trip to some uncharted land, not for my studies, not for anything. I know I may not be the best at showing it, but I truly love you, [Y/N]. I promise you that I’ll always find my way back to you.”

At her reassurance, [Y/N] nuzzled closer to focus in on her heartbeat, unable to bite back the wide smile that stretched across her lips. “I love you too,” she whispered.

Her words were true, she just wished she could find a way to prove it to her every day. Regardless of how invested she could get in her studies or research for her next expedition somewhere far away, she wouldn’t trade these moments of serenity for the world. She treasured them far more than any artifact she had discovered, and would do anything to ensure more of those memories could be made. Not even the strongest forces out there would stop her from returning to the one person she could call home, and she vowed, one way or another, to make sure it stayed that way for good.

[hiddcngifpacks]

SAM HEUGHAN as JAMIE FRASER ; OUTLANDER (2014); SEASON 1

click on the source link to be redirected to the gif page. all of these gifs were made by me from scratch, so i ask that you respect my work and don’t claim as your own. please like and reblog if you have found these useful. use them at your leisure for rp'ing. enjoy!

gif count: TBA content warning: sexual themes, nudity, fighting, blood, injuries, kissing, hugging, use of weapons & more

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[honeyryewhiskey]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐊 𝐎𝐅 𝐇𝐄𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐄

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ𝐢. 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐃 𝐁𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐓

read the prologue ! story intro ! — sam and dean's search for answers to break the bond are thwarted by a call from Missouri. Another premonition like the one that lead them to you, another hunt. — warnings!! hunt-level violence, guns, etc. strong language. spooky scenery. 4.9k words

The library was a relic of another time, draped in dust and quiet resignation. Shadows pooled in the high corners, untouched by the weak fluorescent lights overhead, their uneven hum adding a ghostly edge to the stillness. The air was heavy and stale, carrying the faint, damp tang of mold that clung to the yellowed pages of forgotten books. Dust motes floated in slow, aimless patterns, disturbed only when the long, battered table received another soft thud of a tome. Its surface, marred by graffiti and deep scratches, bore the marks of restless patrons and years of neglect.

From your sagging armchair near a window in the corner—a relic as weary as the library itself—you observed the brothers. The chair groaned beneath you with every shift, its springs wheezing in protest like a creature disturbed from sleep. Dean sat at the scarred table, hunched over a pile of open books, his expression dark with frustration. The sharp, irritated rustle of his turning pages cut through the thick quiet.

Sam moved with quiet determination, his tall silhouette weaving between the densely packed shelves, disappearing into their shadowed depths and reappearing moments later with another precarious stack of books. The subtle rhythm of their movements filled the room with a sense of purpose, a stark contrast to the library’s forgotten stillness.

Your fingers absentmindedly combed through your hair, a futile gesture to calm your own simmering frustration. It radiated off you in waves, thick and tangible in the air. Dean felt it—he didn’t have to say a word. His gaze snapped to you each time you sighed too long or shifted in the noisy  chair, his eyes sharp with unspoken reproach.

If Sam noticed the tension swimming in the dust between you, he gave no sign. He buried himself in his work, his focus unwavering. Books piled around him, covering every inch between him and his brother. Their cracked spines and faded titles were the only defense against the weight of whatever they were searching for. His eyes flickered between one volume cradled in his forearm and another spread open before him, the faint scratch of his pen breaking the heavy silence as he scribbled notes.

“Hey, uh, this one’s about something called an Ailouros,” Sam murmured, his voice soft as that slight midwestern twang wrapped itself around the foreign word. He didn’t look up, his attention fixed on the page. “It says it’s a cat familiar—is this about you?”

“Ai-louros,” you corrected smoothly, the syllables rolling off your tongue with the lilting cadence of a language long buried under the sands of time. Your voice carried the faintest echo of your native tongue, a relic of a life lost to centuries of adapting, shifting, and bending to the weight of new dialects.

Sam blinked, his cheeks tinged with embarrassment as he mumbled, “Right, sorry. I took Latin instead of Ancient Greek in college—”

“What’s it say?” Dean cut in, his impatience slicing through the air.

Sam’s gaze snapped to his brother, the irritation in his expression barely concealed. He lingered there for a moment, his mouth opening as if to argue, but instead, he gave a resigned huff. His eyes flicked toward you, uncertainty flashing across his face before he lowered them back to the book in his hands.

“It says Ailouros was human once,” Sam began, his voice careful, his words feeling heavier with each passing moment. “Before Hecate turned her into a cat. She was… a love witch.”

Dean’s scoff was low, incredulous. “A love witch?”

“Punished,” you interjected before Sam could respond, your voice as steady and cold as the dark wood of the table beneath his hands. Your gaze meandering from the open window to the boys as they gave opposing looks of curiosity and mild disgust, “For her deviant use of magic. Condemned to serve as Hecate’s companion for eternity, so the biggest witch of them all could harness that love witch’s abilities for herself.”

The myth was short, a measly little testament of the reason for your existence. You’d once read it over, and over again when myths became prose. A life, a sacrifice—all wrapped up into two paragraphs in forgotten text.

Sam shifted uneasily, his grip tightening on the book as the weight of your words hung in stale air. Dean’s gaze narrowed, flicking to you with a mix of curiosity and irritation. “So, what? You’re her glorified magic lap cat?” His hands wave about as he speaks, and beneath the rough tone you catch the faintest hint of sincerity in his question.

Your lips curl into a small grin, but there was no humor in it, only a quiet, simmering defiance. “Something like that,” you murmured, tossing your head back against the chair, your focus back on the view of the dreary parking lot, the setting sun a deep blue backdrop to Dean’s impala. 

“Alright, well, it doesn’t say anything about the magic of the bond or how to break it.” Sam exhaled heavily, closing the leather-bound tome with a soft thud. His shoulders slumped under the weight of the unsolved mystery, his gaze flicking toward you. “Is there anything you can give us to go off of?”

“We could kill her,” Dean interjects, his tone casual, the way one might suggest grabbing a burger.

Sam’s head snapped toward him, disbelief etched across his face. “What?”

The older brother shrugged, leaning back in his chair like it was the most logical suggestion in the world. “Don’t look at me like that, Sammy. She dies, and poof—no more magical lady-cat bond. Problem solved.”

A dry laugh escaped your lips, the sound devoid of any real humor. “Sure, we’ll just ignore the tiny detail of immortality being stitched into my bones.”

Your eyes slip back to the brothers, a quiet stare down in hushed argument ensuing between the two as you continue, “I could write you a list of all the ways I’ve been killed in the last thirteen centuries if you’re really committed to the idea. Maybe you’ll finally be the one to make it stick.”

Dean tilted his head, his green eyes narrowing with a challenge, the smile on his lips taunting and crass. “I mean, I wouldn’t be opposed to notes.”

“Dean!” Sam’s voice cut through the tension like a whip, his exasperation palpable. You’re not sure if it’s the bickering or the lack of progress in their studies that have him on edge, but it’s certainly bubbling at the surface. “No—Dean, enough.” he ran a hand over his face before turning back to you. “Ailouros—”

“Don’t call me that,” you snapped, the name landing like a stone in the quiet space between you.

“Fine. Whatever you want to be called,” Sam relented, his voice calmer but no less insistent. “Just listen—both of you.” His gaze moved between you and Dean, commanding attention with his tired eyes. “No one is dying. We’ll find another way.”

The library fell into silence once again, the heat between you and Dean giving way to Sam’s demands. Though, while the younger one buried his furrowed brows in another weathered book, Dean hardly kept his focus on the task at hand. If he wasn’t watching you with a look somewhere between agitation and utter confusion, he was mindlessly flipping pages while tapping along to his humming. 

He looked entirely relieved at the faint sound of Sam’s phone buzzing in the pocket of his jeans. 

“Missouri?”

On the other end, a voice spilled out in frantic, disjointed bursts. Your heightened senses diped into the conversation with ease, the woman he called Missouri stumbled over her words in a panicked rush. “Sam? It’s happening again—another one. Another witch. I saw it. It’s going to happen tonight.”

Sam stiffened, his jaw tightening as he processed her words. “Hey, hey—slow down. What did you see?”

“A witch, Sam,” she sighed, her voice cracking under the weight of the premonition. “She’s going to die, and if you three don’t move, it’ll be too late.”

Your interest piqued at the woman’s distress. Your witch was nothing more than ash in a fire pit, but you knew all too well of the slippery tricks of divinity.

Whatever was happening, it most assuredly was Hecate’s doing. 

Sam murmured a quick assurance before hanging up, his expression grim as he looked between you and Dean. “Missouri had a vision. Another witch is going to be murdered tonight.”

Dean was already grabbing his jacket, his expression hardening into that determined, no-nonsense mask you were starting to recognize all too well. “Then let’s go.”

You stood, smoothing the fabric of your jacket as you prepared to follow. The weight of Missouri’s words hung over you like a storm cloud, a reminder of just how high the stakes of this unseemly bond had become.

The cool evening air greets you like a sharp inhale, crisp and biting against the adrenaline still thrumming in your veins. The gravel crunches beneath hurried boots as you follow the brothers, your gaze bouncing between their purposeful strides. The Impala looms ahead, dark and hulking, as if bracing itself for another wild ride. It isn’t until Dean revs the engine and peels out of the drive that you lean forward, clearing your throat to break the tense silence.

“I suppose this might be worth mentioning,” you start, your tone deliberately casual as the car rockets down the winding backroads. “You may have killed my Hecate, but she—technically—isn’t dead.”

The words barely leave your mouth before the Impala swerves violently, tires screeching as Dean jerks the wheel. Both brothers whip their heads toward you, twin masks of disbelief and alarm painted on their faces. Dean’s voice is sharp enough to cut glass.

“What did you just say?”

“My gods, do you always need to hear things twice?” you grumble, the spike in his tone scraping your nerves raw. Irritation simmers just beneath your skin, your nails digging into the worn leather of the backseat.

Dean’s jaw clenches, and Sam, ever the mediator, jumps in, his voice more measured but no less tense. “What do you mean she isn’t dead?”

You resist the urge to roll your eyes. “I mean, she’s a literal fucking goddess. Did you really think she’d put all her eggs in one basket? That she wouldn’t have, oh, I don’t know, backup plans for situations like—let’s say—being murdered?”

Dean growls something low under his breath and slams his foot harder onto the gas. The Impala groans in protest as you’re thrown against the backrest, the engine roaring as the scenery blurs past in dark, shadowy streaks. His shoulders are wound tight, tension radiating off him like heat from a wildfire.

From the passenger seat, Sam shifts awkwardly, yanking a weathered leather journal from beneath a stack of maps and flipping through its brittle pages with urgent fingers. “Alright,” he mutters, his tone clipped and nervous, “maybe we should call Bobby or something. Dad doesn’t have anything in his notes about handling this.”

Dean exhales sharply, his knuckles whitening against the steering wheel. “No—I mean, yeah,” he grumbles, his frustration barely restrained, “but first, we need to figure out what the hell is going on with Missouri’s vision.”

Sam sighs, rubbing his eyes with a roughness as if he can physically push the tension away. “Right. You’re right.” He tosses the journal onto the seat, its weight landing with a muted thud, before turning his attention back to the crumpled map in his lap.

“You sure Missouri gave us the right coordinates?” Dean gruffs, his voice taut, a frustrated edge threading through his words.

Sam glances up from the map, his forehead creased in thought. “She seemed sure enough, but—”

“But nothing,” Dean snaps, his eyes narrowing against the dark road ahead. “If Hecate’s not as dead as we thought, and we’re running blind here, I don’t want to walk into a trap.”

The Impala hurtles deeper into the night, its rumble echoing like a war drum in the heavy silence. From the backseat, you watch their agitation swirl in the cramped space, a storm brewing on the horizon of their nerves. The faint scent of leather and gun oil mixes with the cool night air as you settle back into your seat, bracing yourself for whatever chaos comes next.

Sam breaks the silence without looking up, his voice a mix of irritation and focus, “The turn should be coming up. Just keep driving.” 

He clicked on a flashlight, popping it between his teeth as he used both hands to manage the map. He scans it for a second under the soft light. 

“You know,” you said idly, your voice cutting through the low hum of the engine, “this whole sneaking-around-in-the-dark thing makes a lot more sense if you actually know where you’re going.”

Dean glanced at you in the rearview mirror, one eyebrow arching in annoyance. “If you’re gonna critique the operation, maybe you could lend a hand instead of being a backseat commentator.”

You smirked, your eyes still fixed on the passing trees. “I’m just saying, if the point of all this is to stop someone from dying, the scenic route isn’t exactly helping.”

Sam sighed, lifting the map higher to block out both of you. “We’re close,” he muttered, more to himself than anyone else.

A few minutes later, Sam pointed toward a turnoff, and Dean steered the Impala down a narrow gravel path. The headlights illuminated the overgrown edges of a driveway that seemed to vanish into darkness. Finally, the car rolled to a stop in front of a crumbling Victorian house, its crooked silhouette looming against the storm-heavy sky.

The three of you stepped out of the car, the cold air wrapping around you like a shroud. The house looked like it had been plucked from a nightmare—its windows gaping like hollow eyes, the front door whipping against it’s frame, a wicked thudding sound cutting through the night.

Sam, having ruffled through the trunk's arsenal, slams it back down, “This should be it.”

Dean adjusted his jacket, his other hand resting on the hilt of his gun. “Great. Creepy house in the middle of nowhere. Classic.”

You stepped forward, arms crossed, your gaze sweeping over the property with the kind of detached calm that unnerved them both. You tilted your head, fixed on the energy emitting from the house, “There’s a ghost in there. And a witch.”

Dean turned to you, his brow furrowing. “What? How do you know that?”

You shrugged, tucking your hands into your pockets. “I just do.”

Sam looked between you and the house, his frown deepening. “Wait—what do you mean, you just know? Are you sensing them or something?”

“Something like that. I recognize the change in frequency, the way the world around us reacts to things like ghosts and witches.” You glanced back at them, your cool expression rivaling their shared bewilderment. “These are things not of this earth, it’s gonna disrupt the natural energy around it—can you stop looking at me like that?” You huff, a slight unease crawling up your skin as you feel the words you speak setting each brother more on edge. 

Dean opened his mouth to retort, but Sam cut in, rubbing the back of his neck. “Alright, alright. Let’s just figure this out. Come on.”

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. The storm rumbled above, thunder rolling like an omen as the three of you stepped onto the warped wooden porch.

The house swallowed you whole as you stepped inside, the door’s thudding coming to a creaking halt behind you like a final warning. The air was suffocating, heavy with the scent of mildew and something acrid that clung to the back of your throat. Shadows stretched unnaturally across the peeling wallpaper, flickering in the dim glow of Sam’s flashlight as he swept it across the room.

“Not exactly Home Sweet Home,” Dean muttered, his voice low but carrying in the oppressive silence.

“It’s too quiet,” Sam said, his brows furrowing.

You tilted your head, your eyes narrowing as you scanned the room. That same, familiar pull stirred in your chest, the one that told you something wasn’t right. “It’s not quiet. It’s waiting.”

They both glanced at you, but before they could question the cryptic remark, a faint noise drew your attention. It was a whisper—no, a murmur—coming from deeper inside the decaying house.

Dean signaled for everyone to move. He led the way cautiously, his gun drawn, while Sam kept close behind, an iron bar in one hand and his flashlight in the other, cutting a narrow path through the darkness. You followed, your senses prickling with every step.

The sound grew louder as you approached the living room, where the faint glow of candles illuminated the witch. She sat cross-legged on the floor, her eyes glossing in the beam of Sam’s flashlight, nothing but the whites of her eyes showing. Her lips moving monotonously in a silent chant. Strange symbols marked the floor around her, drawn in dark, sticky strokes that gleamed faintly in the candlelight.

Dean’s grip on his gun tightened. “Looks like she’s having a one-sided chat with Casper.”

“She’s talking to the dead,” you corrected, your voice sharp and quiet. “But this isn’t dangerous magic. This is typical witch work—necromancy. Nothing that should’ve caused what Missouri saw.”

As if in answer to your words, the witch convulsed violently, her body arching as a guttural scream tore from her throat. Her head snapped up, her rolled back eyes now dark and sunken, filled with malice that didn’t belong to her. The candles around her flared and extinguished in an instant, plunging the room into darkness. A sickly screeching moan rolled out of her throat, reverberating off the walls in a lewd symphony. 

“Dean—”

Before the warning could fully leave your lips, the witch lunged—her speed unnatural, a blur of motion that barely gave Dean time to react. His gun barked, the salt round hitting her dead center in the chest, but it only staggered her for a heartbeat before she charged again, relentless.

The ringing in your ears was the first signal, a primal alarm buried deep in your being. It yanked at you like a marionette string pulled taut, instincts igniting like wildfire. Your irises burned with an otherworldly green glow, the power surging through you as you stepped between Dean and the witch without thought, without hesitation.

She struck, but your body moved faster. Nails extended into razor-sharp claws, wicked and unnatural, catching her neck in a vice-like grip. The momentum of her attack pushed you both back, but with a snarl, you twisted her around, slamming her spine into the hard ground. The impact sent a tremor through the earth, and you crouched over her like a predator caging its prey.

Her strength was monstrous, bone-deep and unyielding, matching yours blow for blow. But your heightened senses sharpened the world around you—the subtle shifts of her muscles telegraphing her next move as if time itself had slowed. You dodged, countered, and struck, every movement calculated and feral.

It wasn’t enough. Her bony fingers found their mark, clawing into the flesh of your neck with a strength that burned. Pain flared white-hot, momentarily cracking your focus. That single heartbeat of distraction was all she needed.

With a guttural roar, she surged upward, her raw power overwhelming yours. You hit the ground hard, the breath punched from your lungs as the world tilted sideways. The earth felt cold and unyielding beneath you, your vision narrowing as her shadow loomed, but the green fire in your eyes refused to dim.

Dean’s voice cuts through the chaos, “get off her!”

The witch was wrenched away as Dean grabbed her from behind, pulling her up and slamming her against the wall. At the same time, Sam dove forward, a fistful of salt in his hand. He shoved it into her mouth, forcing her to swallow it as she thrashed violently.

The ghost detached itself with a bloodcurdling scream, their opposing forms flickering in a pale light as the spirit ripped itself from the witch’s body—dissipating into the air. The witch crumpled to the floor, barely conscious, her breath coming in shallow gasps.

Dean crouched beside you, his hand on your shoulder. “You good?”

“Peachy,” you muttered, wincing as you pushed yourself upright.

Sam knelt by the witch, checking her pulse before lifting her into his arms. “She’s alive. We need to get her out of here.”

The three of you hurried back to the Impala, the thunderstorm whipping a raging wind outside. Sam laid the witch in the backseat, her eyes fluttering open as she stirred.

“What were you doing in there?” Dean demanded, his voice sharp and cutting through the tension like a blade.

The witch’s chest heaved as she struggled to catch her breath, her voice rasping, “I was... I was trying to contact a spirit. For a customer.” She swallowed hard, her words trembling but steadying. “She said... she said she needed closure.”

Sam’s frown deepened, his eyes narrowing as he crouched beside her. “What spirit?”

Tears welled in her eyes, glistening in the faint moonlight slipping through gray clouds. “Evelyn,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “Evelyn Monterose. It wasn’t supposed to go like this. I’ve done this ritual a hundred times, but this... this wasn’t normal.” Her trembling hands gripped the fabric of her skirt, knuckles white as if clinging to a sense of reality slipping away.

“Hecate.” you retort dryly, each brother tossing you a sideways glance, brows furrowed. 

“What?” The woman throws out meekly. 

“Alright, it’s alright,” Sam soothed, his focus back on the shaken woman, his concern bled through his soft tone. “You’re safe now.”

Dean’s jaw clenched, his teeth grinding audibly as his fury bubbled beneath the surface. His boots crunched on the gravel as he stepped forward, but Sam raised a hand, cutting him off.

Dean exhaled sharply through his nose, his green eyes dark with frustration as he turned toward the Impala. “We gotta burn that ghost, Sammy,” he growled, already making his way to the driver’s side, his movements brisk and purposeful.

“Hold on a minute, Dean,” Sam argued, standing to his full height. “We need to get this woman to a hospital.”

Dean spun back, his expression hard as steel. “Fine,” he bit out through gritted teeth, his irritation barely contained. “Drop me and the cat off at the graveyard. We’ll find the grave. You take her.”

Sam hesitated, his gaze flicking between Dean’s stubborn resolve and the witch’s tear-streaked face. Finally, he nodded. “Yeah, okay. That works.”

The night air was thick with tension as Dean climbed into the Impala, his jaw set like granite. Sam’s worried glances kept finding you and the witch in the rearview mirror. The car rumbled to life, its low growl matching the storm brewing in Dean’s expression. As they pulled away, the headlights swept across the trees, their shadows stretching long and ominous, like specters watching them vanish into the night.

𖤐 𖤐 𖤐

The graveyard was silent save for the steady scraping of Dean’s shovel against the compact earth. The storm had subsided, leaving a thick fog in it’s wake. The mist snaked around dozens of headstones, the moonlight casting crooked shadows across the wet grass. Dean stood knee-deep in the hole he’d been digging, dirt smudged across his face and arms, his flannel rolled up to his elbows. 

“Y’know,” Dean called over his shoulder, pausing to swipe a forearm across his sweat-dampened brow, “this ain’t that bad. Good ol’ manual labor. Builds character.”

You stood at the edge of the freshly dug grave, arms crossed, the toe of your boot idly nudging a loose clump of dirt. Your unimpressed expression spoke volumes. “Says the man who looks like he lost a fight with a mud monster.”

Dean smirked, the corners of his mouth twitching as he patted the shovel against the growing mound of damp earth. “What, scared of a little dirt? I figured you were tougher than that. Especially after watching you go after that witch like a rabid animal.”

You rolled your eyes, his teasing hitting a little too close to the rawness of instinct. “You were in danger. That sort of thing... triggers something in me. It’s not exactly flattering to be summoned into fight mode like some wild beast.”

“Flattering?” He grunted as he hefted another shovelful of dirt over his shoulder, the wet soil landing with a satisfying slap. “Nope. But it was pretty damn awesome.”

You snorted at his boyish grin, unable to suppress the laugh bubbling up from your chest. “Mhm, save the compliments, Hunter-boy. I’m still not getting in that grave.”

Dean jabbed the shovel into the ground and leaned on it, looking up at you with that familiar mix of challenge and mischief. “Oh, come on. You’ve been around for centuries. Don’t tell me this is where you draw the line.”

Your gaze locked on his, narrowing as you weighed his words. There was something disarmingly genuine in the way he stood there, dirt-smudged and grinning like a kid getting away with mischief. It was such a stark contrast to the tense chaos of the day that it gave you pause.

With an exaggerated sigh, you uncrossed your arms, letting them drop to your sides. “Fine. But only because I can’t stand the sound of your voice when you’re trying to be persuasive.”

His triumphant grin spread wide as you hopped down into the grave, your boots sinking into the freshly turned soil. You grabbed the second shovel leaning against the mound and thrust it into his waiting hand.

Dean chuckled as he took it, the lightheartedness in his tone cutting through the weight of the night. “See? Teamwork. It’s beautiful.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you muttered, your lips twitching into a reluctant smile. “Just dig.”

Together, the two of you worked in near silence, the rhythmic crunch of shovels biting into damp earth filling the cool night air. Shadows stretched and shifted under the pale light of the moon, and the sharp scent of churned soil mingled with the distant rustle of leaves. When the coffin finally came into view, Dean wiped his brow with the back of his hand and hoisted himself out of the grave. He moved to the duffel bag lying nearby, pulling out the salt and lighter fluid.

“You want the honors?” he offers, holding up the matchbox with a casual flick of his wrist.

“Be my guest,” you step back, confirming your words to let him take the lead.

Dean poured the salt, the grains scattering over the brittle remains like sand over stone, and doused the coffin with lighter fluid, the acrid smell stinging your nose. When he struck a match, the tiny flame bloomed into life, painting his face in flickering golds and oranges. He dropped it into the grave, and the fire roared up instantly, heat pulsing against your skin as the flames devoured the remains.

The two of you stood in the glow of the fire, watching as it hissed and cracked, sending embers spiraling into the mist laced yard. For a long moment, the world around you was silent save for the blaze, the gravestones standing sentinel in the silver moonlight.

“I chose this.”

The words tumbled from your lips, breaking the quiet. Dean turned to you, his brows knitting together in surprise. “What?”

“This,” you repeated, motioning vaguely toward yourself. “The curse. Being a familiar. I chose it.”

Dean’s expression hardened, a flicker of confusion and curiosity in his green eyes. “Why the hell would you choose to live like this?”

Your gaze dropped to the fire, its reflection dancing in your irises. “I had to,” your voice carried the weight of tucked away pain. “It was either me or one of my sisters. Hecate demanded a sacrifice, and I wasn’t going to let her take any of them.” 

You swallowed hard, your tone softening, though, still laced with bitterness. “So, I volunteered. Figured I could handle it. Immortality, servitude—whatever it took to keep them safe. Let them live a full life and die when their time came.”

Dean was quiet, his face unreadable as he stared at you. His eyes bore into your face, but you couldn’t find the strength to lift your gaze from the fire. It was a confession so buried, words not a single soul ever cared to hear. Releasing the truth felt like baring your neck to hands that could snap the life from you if they wanted to. 

Finally, he spoke in a whisper, the usual bite to his husky voice slipping into a gentle ease. “Huh. Can’t argue with that.”

You shrugged, trying to shove the vulnerability away. “It’s ancient history now, another page in the book of myths. Doesn’t matter.”

“It does.” 

“Why’s that?”

He shrugged, the weight of his words hidden behind his usual nonchalance creeping back into the corners of his tone. “Maybe I had the wrong idea about you.”

The unexpected tenderness of those words made you falter, your shoulders stiffening against the strange sensation of being seen. Vulnerability clawed at your chest, small and unfamiliar. You managed the faintest tight-lipped grin, but quickly looked away, clearing your throat to break the moment. “Alright, I think I like you better when you’re glaring at me like I ruined your life. Are we done here?”

Dean nodded, a knowing smile creeping in as he stepped away from the grave now reduced to embers. “Yeah, we’re done. But next time? You’re doing all the digging.”

“Not a chance,” you shot back, brushing past him and heading toward the Impala.

Dean’s chuckle carried through the air between, his footsteps crunching softly as he followed. “We’ll see about that.”

finalllyyyy i finished chapter 1!!! and do i smell a.. a... friendship??!!

tags <3 @jollyhunter @bluemerakis @deanangel @bitchykittenconnoisseur @youdontknowe @kittycain @kaz-2y5-spn @bauilivus @scarletqueenx @floralscented @deansbeer @titsout4jackles

THANK U ALL WHO ASKED FOR TAGS IT LITERALLY MAKES MY HEART SO HAPPY

[crazyunsexycool]

Between the pages of a journal

Pairing: Stucky x 40s!Reader

Summary: You had been in a relationship with Steve and Bucky up until the time they went off to war only to lose them both. Years later when Steve and Bucky have reunited the receive the letters and journals you had written. Through them they learn about your life without them.

word count: 6.0k

Warnings: character death, the blip/snap, implied domestic violence, major angst, some fluff... let me know if I forgot something.

A/N: Not really sure how I feel about the ending but over all I loved writing this and I hope you like it too.

Steve stood with a bouquet of your favorite flowers in his hands as he looked down at the slightly dirty headstone. One that sat towards the back of the small cemetery with your name on it. His fingers trace over your name after placing the flowers down. The date of your death mocks him. It was the day he woke up. The day that he had come back to life was the day yours had ended. In fact the difference had only been a few hours from the time that you closed your eyes for the last time and the time he opened his. 

On good days Steve was grateful for that. You didn’t have to watch him walk back into your life looking as he did all those years ago while you were stuck in a bed, withering away. Wishing you had been able to live the life they had both promised you. On bad days he hated he didn’t get to say goodbye. But he had already been through the process of seeing someone he loved die when Bucky fell off the train. He wasn’t sure he would be able to do that with you. It had been you who begged him not to go. The fear in your eyes when Bucky got his orders still haunts him and it doubled when he told you he had been accepted. Now all that Steve has is the headstone with your name on it to grieve for both of his greatest loves. And he did it often.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hope. 

Something Steve hadn’t felt in a long time. It bloomed in his chest the longer he looked at his long lost love. But just as quickly it faded.

“Bucky?” Steve stood in the middle of the street. Chaos erupting all around as he looked at the brunette with confusion and concern. 

“Who the hell is Bucky?” 

Just as quickly as he was there, Bucky was gone. Steve tried to look for him but there was no use. He had been arrested along with Nat and Sam. 

If there was one single word to describe Steve Rogers at the moment it would be determined. As much as it hurt that his oldest friend and lover didn’t recognize him. Steve knew he had to save Bucky. If not for him than for you. It was one of the promises he made to you the morning he left. He would keep Bucky safe and they would come back home to you. At least now he could keep half of the promise. 

The next time Steve would see Bucky it would be in a helicarrier. Blow by blow Steve tried to remind Bucky of who he was, what they meant to each other. In the end Bucky walked away after saving Steve. Still it was better knowing he was out and free than knowing that he was still under hydra’s control. 

It would take some time but eventually Steve would find Bucky once again. With time and help, Bucky was free of hydra’s control and they slowly rebuilt their relationship. Soon Bucky began to remember you as well. 

Now Steve didn’t feel so lost or so alone. The ache of loss was still there but it was made easier when he was able to turn in bed and find Bucky asleep next to him. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

There were many things Bucky and Steve needed to adjust to in the modern times they were now living in. Being able to love each other without fear of being persecuted was a liberating experience. So they found themselves walking hand in hand on a beautiful Saturday afternoon through a small park in Brooklyn. The same park that the three of you frequented when you didn’t have anywhere else to go. 

You always packed a picnic and your journal, Bucky always had a new book to read out loud and Steve always had his sketchbook and pencils. There was one specific tree the three of you preferred to sit under. It was close to a small pond with the best shade and it was surrounded by bushes which afforded you the privacy the three of you craved.

 While to the outside world it looked like you were being chaperoned by Steve while on a date with Bucky, the reality was that you were dating them both. This little corner of the park allowed the three of you to be free to love, touch and kiss each other as you wished. 

It was this tree that provided cover for the three of you so long ago that Steve and Bucky came to look for now. Where Bucky carved your initials in the trunk within a heart. They hoped the tree was still there and they were gladly surprised that it was, initials included. The only difference though was the fact that there was a wrought iron bench in the once cleared space. Steve and Bucky make their way over.

“Y/N, would have loved to have a bench here.” Steve commented as he sat down. 

Bucky hummed in agreement as he inspected the small plaque screwed into the armrest. 

“Steve, look at this.” 

The blond leans over to look at the inscription. His breath catches in his throat.

‘Til the end of the line. 

A couple of tears hit the small plaque. Steve’s chin rests on Bucky’s shoulder and his arm wraps around the latter’s waist. They both just take a moment to look at it and appreciate that you had taken time and money to have this placed here in their honor. It felt like fate mocked them now that it was them that used this bench to remember you. For the remainder of their time in that park Steve and Bucky talk about their past, especially about you. 

“Remember when she chased Tommy Phillips down the street with a broom?” Steve chuckled but it took Bucky a moment before he smiled.

“He kept following her home, right? Always tried to ask her out whenever we weren’t there to walk with her.” 

“She ran right by me and only stopped because that cop was on the corner.”

Their smiles fade after a moment. 

“I wish she were here. She would definitely love all this shit.” Bucky said as he waved his hand around vaguely. 

Steve moved closer and gave Bucky a quick chaste kiss on the cheek before resting his head on Bucky’s shoulder. The blond took a deep breath before looking up at his love through his lashes. 

“It’s rude to stare.” 

“Well it’s not my fault you’re handsome.” Steve’s compliment makes Bucky blush. 

“There’s something I want to talk to you about.” 

“What is it?” 

“I think it’s time we go see her. I know she’ll want to see you.” 

Bucky looked up at him with a pained expression.

“What if she hates me?”

“She would never. She’s called me everyday since she heard you were alive.” 

“Ok, we’ll go.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Are you sure I look ok?” Bucky asked as the couple stood in front of a door waiting for someone to answer their knocks. 

“You look great baby, and trust me she’ll just be happy to see you.” 

Steve had cupped Bucky’s face with his hands and leaned in to give him a kiss. 

“What the fuck is going on here?” 

They parted at the voice.

“Hey, watch your mouth.” 

“I can say the same about you James.”

A staring contest happened until Bucky looked down.

“I’ve missed you, Becca.” Bucky said as he looked at his younger yet older sister. She was shorter and her hair was fully gray. The wrinkles were evidence of the time that had passed but the mischievous glint in her eyes told a different story. 

She opened her arms and her brother gladly accepted the embrace. 

It had been a shock to Bucky to learn that he had one living relative. Well one living sister, he of course knew of the kids all three of his sisters had but he couldn’t seek them out. Mostly for safety but truly he kept his distance because of his guilt. Who would want someone like him in their family? 

When they finally pull away from each other in a hug that felt that lasted years and seconds at the same time, Becca cupped Bucky’s cheek softly. Her thumb moved back and forth on his cheek as he leaned into her touch. This time her eyes were full of tears and relief.

“I’ve missed you too. Now come in, we have so much to talk about.” She had grabbed Bucky’s hand like she did when she was younger and they had to cross the street. 

They made their way into Becca’s cozy living room and sat down. Steve took the armchair while Bucky and Becca sat together on the couch. The latter started telling both of them everything they missed after they had disappeared, from meeting her late husband to her children and grandchildren. There were tears and laughs exchanged. 

“I think we should head out Becs. But I’ll come by again soon.” Bucky promised as they all got up and headed towards the door. 

“You’re both welcome anytime.” 

They stop at the door, Bucky and then Steve hug Becca. Before the door is opened Becca speaks up again.

“Oh I can’t believe I almost forgot. I have something for you.” Becca shuffled along into the hallway and opened a door to a closet. “I’ll need your help Buck.” 

He walks up behind her and she points towards two boxes high up on a shelf. Bucky pulls the first one down and hands it over to Steve before grabbing the second one. 

“What’s in here?” Steve asks, his curiosity piqued.

“Letters and journals. They all belonged to Y/N. She wrote the letters whenever she missed you and you know she wrote in her journals all the time.”

Bucky and Steve looked at each other and then back at Becca.

“Why did you keep them?” 

“Because she asked me too. The day she passed, I was with her and she asked me if I could hold on to them. Maybe someone would want to know about the love she had for both of you. It broke my heart when it was announced you were back.” She turned to Steve. “She would have loved to see you one last time.” 

“What happened to her?” 

“I’m surprised you didn’t ask earlier.” 

“We never stop thinking about her but it hurts to know she isn’t here anymore.” Steve says with a sad smile.

“When we were informed that you were both gone she was a wreck. Ma forced her to move in with us so that we could be there for her. She would stay up in your room for hours just writing. We could hear Y/N crying for hours on end. This was just her way of coping.”

Both men thanked her again and they were gone. On their way to their shared apartment in Brooklyn they didn’t really talk, each of them holding a box under their arm. It was heavier than anything they’ve carried in the past. It was all that was left of you.

They didn’t know it yet but their heart would break with every single letter or entry of your journal they read.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

March 10th, 1945

My love,

I received your letter last night. I’m so sorry you had to go through that alone. You know Bucky wouldn’t blame you, and neither do I. But please, if not for yourself than for me, take care of yourself. I don’t care that you have that serum, don't do anything reckless. We’ve already lost Bucky, I don’t know if I’d be able to live knowing I lost you too. 

I know you think the Barnes’ hate you but they don’t, they’re just as worried about you as they were about their son. They know how much we love Bucky and they can’t wait for you to come back home. 

I love you so much. I can’t wait to see you again.

Love, 

Y/N

P.S. I’m with you til the end of the line.

Steve tried and failed to swallow the lump in his throat, the tears won as they slowly trailed down his cheek and onto the aged paper. It was a response to the letter he had sent you, telling you about Bucky’s death. He felt so much guilt then, still did from time to time. Once Bucky was free of hydra’s hold he reassured Steve he wasn’t to blame. 

Steve was sure you’d blame him too. But the return to sender stamp with the date on the envelope the letter had gotten to him too late. It was just a day after he had crashed the plane into the ocean. Now decades later you gave him peace. Somehow he felt that it wasn’t fair. 

That night Bucky held Steve close. Placing soft kisses on his cheek and whispering sweet nothings in his ear. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Normally when they didn’t have missions or early training both men loved to stay in bed, pretend the time they were living in wasn’t real, that you’d walk in through the door at any moment and take your place in between them. That your lips would search for theirs and your hands would roam their bodies as gently but demanding as they did before. 

This time when Steve woke up the spot next to him was empty. He got up and walked toward the living room, the closer he got the more he could hear small sobs and sniffles. When he rounded the corner he found Bucky sitting in the middle of the room. Letters and journals sat open around him. Bucky was currently reading a journal and when he heard Steve’s footsteps he looked up. His eyes were rimmed red, it was obvious he had been there a while. 

“What are you reading?” 

“Nothing.” Bucky held the notebook close to his chest. 

“If it’s nothing then I should be able to read it too.” 

Bucky shook his head as his grip on the journal tightened. He averted his eyes when Steve sat beside him and held his hand out. Reluctantly the brunette moved to hand the notebook over but stopped. 

“You have to remember she was grieving when she wrote it.” 

May 3rd, 1945

 What did I do to deserve this? We were supposed to be planning the rest of our lives. Now I have to plan two funerals. The only thing in those matching empty coffins was my heart. 

What am I supposed to do now? Everything I had planned was with Steve and Bucky. 

 I hate not knowing what comes next and I hate them for making me love them. How could they do this to me? How could they leave me alone?

Steve put the journal down and sighed. He remembers going to the cemetery and finding the headstone that was being removed with his name on it, the one to his left was Bucky’s. He’d never allowed himself to put too much thought into what that must have been like for you. Mostly because he would break his own heart thinking about you mourning them alone. He knew it wasn’t fair and there was nothing that he could do to make it right. 

After that day they became obsessed with your writing. There were years worth of it but they decided to pace themselves. Instead of sitting down and reading for hours they instead decided to read one letter and one journal entry a day. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

July 4th, 1945

Dear Stevie,

Happy birthday my Love. I miss you so much but I find some comfort in knowing that at least you and Bucky are together somewhere, hopefully looking down on me. I went to the park today for the first time since you both went off to war. It’s not the same without you here but it was a beautiful day, you would have liked it.  

I signed up for an art class and it went as well as you would expect. Everything at my station, except the canvas had paint on it. Even my dress. But I think you’d be proud that I went for it. The little painting I managed to make is hanging up in the living room next to yours. If only we had convinced Bucky to paint something I would have a perfect set. 

I’ll never stop loving either of you.

Y/N

P.S. I’m with you til the end of the line.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Through missions and long days of training recruits, both men carried some of your writing with them. As time went by they noticed your shift from grieving to trying to survive. It was a journey for them reading your struggles in your everyday life. Steve and Bucky would be lying if they said they didn’t have a favorite letter or journal entry. There were some that reminded them of the happy young woman they had fallen for. Those were the ones they carried with them. 

****

Bucky had been through a difficult mission. He had been confronted by his past again and he was putting his walls up as he sat away from the rest of the team on the jet. Some of the others tried to talk to him but he just kept quiet and his eyes fixated on the wall ahead of him. Sam quietly walked up to him and placed an envelope on the seat next to him and walked away. That caught Bucky’s attention and he turned to see his name in your handwriting. He picked it up and opened the envelope as carefully as he could until he was able to retrieve the piece of paper out. 

August 25th, 1946

Dear Jamie,

I took the girls to Coney Island today. I know they wished you could have been here with us. Becca and Elizabeth finally convinced Mary to get on the cyclone. It reminded me of when you made Stevie go on and he threw up afterward.

 They had a great time. Maybe next time I’ll try to win something for them at one of those game booths but I’m not as good at them as you.

It was nice to be with them. They’ve grown so much in such a short time. You’d be so proud at how well they’re doing. Elizabeth has started reading all of your books and Mary is starting to like science more. But Becca looks the most like you and she’s taking the role of protective big sister very seriously (wonder where she got that from?). I promise to keep an eye on them since they like getting into trouble from time to time. 

I love you so much,

Y/N

P.S. I’m with you til the end of the line.

Bucky smiled as he imagined poor little Mary on the Cyclone. Then his smile got slightly bigger as he recalled the day you had mentioned. You had been so mad at him for making Steve get on. But it didn’t take much to get on your good side again. 

Bucky finally looked back up, his eyes meeting Sam’s. He nodded in a silent thanks to his teammate.

 It was no secret amongst the Avengers that both men had been in love and dated the same woman at the same time. No one really said anything, except the occasional joke from Tony. Sam and Nat took it upon themselves to ask them questions about you, especially when they seemed to be having a hard time at work. At the mention of your name they could see how the super soldier’s demeanor would instantly change. 

Their shoulders would drop, a small smile would appear on their lips but it was the sense of longing Nat and Sam saw in their eyes that really let them know you meant more to them than being just some girl from their past.

~~~~~~~~

They had been more than halfway through your journals and letters when they finally found another interesting entry. There was both a sense of relief and a bit of jealousy as they read it.

June 18th, 1950 

I’ve met someone. I’m still not sure how I feel about it but he asked me out on a date. Johnny Richards is his name and he seems kind. Becca has tried to make me say yes that Bucky would want me to move on but I’m not so sure he would, ha! He’d probably pout and cross his arms over his chest and give me his puppy dog eyes to convince me to not go out with him. 

Steve looked up to find Bucky sitting exactly how you had described him and he smiled. 

I think I’m going to say yes though. He’ll never be Steve or Bucky but I think I deserve to find some type of happiness. We’ll just have to see how the first date goes. 

They read the rest of that journal quickly. Your entries talked about how your dates with Johnny were going but mostly they compared him to them. Steve and Bucky weren’t even sure you realized that you were even doing it. With everything Johnny would do for you, you would write down how Steve and Bucky would have done it instead. They found it odd however that the journal was left incomplete. It prompted them to start looking through both boxes again only to come up empty handed. The one thing they did realize was that journal entries picked up in a new notebook with the year 1952. 

“That’s almost two years missing.” Bucky finally said after rechecking everything. A sinking feeling in his chest the longer they searched only to find nothing. 

“We can ask Becca tomorrow. We should get some rest.” 

~~~~~~~~~~

The next morning both men head over to Becca’s home hoping to get some answers. However when she opens the door she isn’t surprised to see them. She dreaded the conversation she was going to have with them but she still ushered Steve and Bucky into her living room. 

“What happened to Y/N between mid 1950 and 1952?” Bucky asked, not bothering to sit down. He feared he already knew the answer.

Becca sighed as she reached into the pocket of her robe and produced another letter. She held it out for Bucky to grab. “You should sit.” Is all she said.

December 24th, 1951

Mr. Barnes

Please help me. He keeps hurting me and I don’t think I’ll survive the next time.

Y/N

The writing was sloppy and in the corner there was a faded brown spot. Through tear filled eyes Bucky looked at it closer. 

“Is this blood? Becca, is this her blood?” He looked up at his sister with rage and a pain in his chest nothing would ever be able to get rid of. 

Bucky and Steve had sacrificed their life only for them to find out that their girl had been hurt and they weren’t there to protect her. They hated themselves. Steve more than Bucky because Bucky had been drafted, he didn’t have much of a choice but Steve? Steve had done everything he could to get into the army. He left you alone and for what? 

“When daddy read that letter he was enraged. Called up some old army buddies and they handled it. But Y/N, she was broken in more ways than one. When they got to the house he had beaten her so badly she could barely move. She was in the hospital throughout the new year. When she was released we brought her home again. Then she never left. Y/N took care of Ma and daddy ‘til the day they died.” 

Steve was fully sobbing now. No matter what he would have done, one of the people he loved would end up hurt. If he hadn’t  signed up for the experiment with Erskine, you wouldn’t have been hurt like this but Bucky would still be in with hydra. 

“You can’t blame yourselves.” Becca sighs. “If she could see you now, see that you’re alive and together, that you saved Bucky from those monsters she would be so happy.”

“She suffered the rest of her life because of us. Was she ever truly happy after this?” 

Becca looked away from her brother with a small frown on her face. That was all the confirmation they needed to know that you had never found happiness again. They left without another word to Becca or each other.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Steve and Bucky didn’t speak for a while. Anger rolled off of them in droves. The issue was that neither of them knew who that anger was directed at. Was it at themselves or each other? The war, the draft, the serum, or the son of a bitch who dared put his hands on you. 

Their relationship suffered, missions almost failed, they were more reckless than usual and it went on like that for weeks. There was no lecture from anyone on the team that could make them see that what they were doing would get them or their teammates killed. 

Steve and Bucky had one moment. A single moment when they realized that they weren’t to blame. They apologized and forgave each other for being cold and distant. It’s not what you would have wanted. Just as they were getting back on track Thanos happened and Steve lost Bucky all over again. 

~~~~~~~~~~

5 years later

The team had one chance and they took it. They defeated Thanos. Now Steve has another. He checks himself over again and smoothes out his hair. The day was beautiful just how you said in your letter. Everyone was already celebrating the 4th of July. But as Steve stepped out of the alleyway all he could think about was the conversation he’d he’d with Bucky before he left on his mission to return the stones.

“Don’t do anything stupid until I come back.” Steve said with a smirk.

“How can I? You’re taking all the stupid with you.” Bucky replied as he brought Steve in for a hug. 

Steve pulls back slightly only to connect his lips with Bucky’s. 

“Make sure you find her and make her happy. Don’t worry about me, I’ll be alright.” 

“Don’t worry Buck. Everything will be alright.” Steve smiles before heading up to the platform. 

“I love you.” 

“I love you too, Bucky.” With that final word Steve disappears.

Now here he was just a block away from the park he’d frequented when you were all together. All of the stones were back in place all he needed to do was find you. And that he did. You were sitting on the bench here and Bucky frequented. All of your attention was on the letter you were writing. Steve could recite it from memory now. 

He took a moment to admire your form. You were wearing his favorite dress. The one he bought for your birthday right before he left for the war. Your hair was pinned back the way you loved. Steve smiled, you were more beautiful than he remembered. He finally gathered the courage to step up to you and hoped that this would go well. 

“Is this seat taken?” 

“Yes it is.” You respond without even looking up.

“Are you sure I can’t have a seat kitten?” 

Your head snapped up in the direction of the intruder. His voice had been familiar to you but it couldn’t be who you thought it was. His eyes were so familiar to you but it wasn’t possible because the owner of those beautiful ocean blue eyes had died. Still the sense of familiarity made the ache in your chest lessen and the same of your lover slip from your lips.

“Steve?” 

“Hi sweetheart.” He said as he sat down next to you. 

With hesitant movement you brought your hand up to his cheek. Steve closed his eyes and leaned into your touch. 

“Am I dead?” 

The question made Steve chuckle. “You’re not dead, kitten, I’m really here.” 

The answer made you start to sob uncontrollably and your tears made Steve tear up. He pulls you into a hug and tries to soothe you as best as he can. After some time you finally pull away and look at him. Steve kisses your forehead, then your cheeks and finally presses a long awaited sweet kiss to your lips.

“How is this possible?” You say in between hiccuped breaths. “You died. You-your friend Howard, he showed up and told me everything.” 

Steve takes a deep breath and explains everything from waking up in the future to traveling back in time only leaving out the part about Bucky.

“So are you staying?” You look up at him through your still wet lashes. 

“I can’t stay-“ 

You pulled away from him and stood up. Heartbreak and anger rolled through you.

“Why would you come to see me if you’re leaving again? This is so cruel. Do you know how much I’ve cried for you? Since the moment you left to become a lab rat. It wasn’t fair then and it’s not fair now.”

“Hey,” Steve stands and cups your face. “I would never leave you again. I came to get you, if you’d like to come with me.” He pulls out a watch from his pocket. 

“What about the Barnes family? I can’t just leave them too.” 

“I think they’d be happier knowing you’re with me and Bucky.” 

A small gasp escapes your lips as you look from the watch to Steve who’s smiling. 

“Bucky? How is that possible?” 

“It’s his story to tell.” 

“He’s not dead?” 

“Nope. He does think that I left him to stay here with you though. But I think we deserve to be together again. So what do you say?” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~

The platform comes to life again a minute after Steve had left. To Bucky’s surprise and slight disappointment Nat appears. He disguises his heartbreak behind a smile as Nat walks down and hugs Sam and then him. 

“Glad to have you back.” He whispers into her ear. 

“Glad to be back.” 

“Come on, I’ll buy you a beer and tell you everything you missed.” 

“Buck, aren't you going to wait for Steve to come back?” Sam stopped him.

“Nah, I’m going to grab a drink with a friend. You can come if you want.” 

“You’re a jerk, you know that?”

“So I’ve been told. Now let’s go.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Bucky got home late. He had been trying to avoid the emptiness. Not only in the home he used to share with Steve but the empty feeling in his chest. It was the punishment he deserved or so Bucky thought. To live the rest of his life alone with only the thought of your and Steve’s happiness. He could make due with that. 

Bucky sets his keys in the bowl by the door and takes off his jacket. His thoughts were elsewhere so he didn’t immediately pick up on the fact that he wasn’t alone. Still, he was quick and he pulled the gun he always had on him out. 

“You can put the gun down, Buck.” Steve stepped out from the darkened office door. The streetlights filtering through the windows provide the only source of light. 

“Steve? What are you doing back?” 

“Did you really think I’d leave you alone?” 

“But what about Y/N?”

“She agreed with me.” Steve smirks.

“What are you-“ Bucky’s words die on his as you step out from behind Steve. “Y/N.” He said your name as if it was the most precious thing in the world. 

Bucky’s steps were slow and heavy, as if the world itself sat on his shoulders. You met him halfway way with arms wide open. Bucky fell at your feet, his arms settling around your hips and his head resting against your stomach. 

“Oh honey.” Your body shook as Bucky cried against you. All you could do was run your fingers through his hair. “It’s ok. We’re together again baby.” 

You managed to get on the floor with Bucky and cup his face and press multiple kisses over his face. 

“I missed you, doll.” Bucky says between kisses. It’s frantic and uncoordinated and desperate. 

Steve joins you both on the floor wrapping his arms around each of you. There are more shared kisses amongst the three of you. Someone eventually gets up and pulls the other two along with them. The first night the three of you stay awake just talking and catching up. You tell them things that aren’t in your journals and they tell you about living in the present. Reluctantly Bucky tells you part of what happened with hydra. You can see the guilt in his eyes and all you can do is comfort him. 

The sun is barely starting to rise when the three of you finally fall asleep in each other's arms. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~

When you did wake up you were disoriented by the room you were in until you remembered where you were. The bed was empty but even back in the past both boys were early risers. You fixed your hair and changed before walking out to find Steve and Bucky. As you neared the living room you heard more than two voices talking animatedly. 

“You still haven’t told us what took you so long.” A man said as you got closer. 

Steve opens his mouth to answer but his whole face lights up when you turn the corner and stand at the entrance of the living room. The reaction caused Steve’s friends to turn around and look at you. 

“I was picking someone up.” Steve says. 

“Please tell me you’re Y/N.” The woman had asked and you smiled and nodded. 

“Y/N, this is Nat and Sam.” 

“I have so many questions. Especially about Bucky.” Sam said as he stood up. 

Before he could even stretch his hand out to greet you properly Bucky came up from behind you and wrapped an arm around your waist and glared at Sam. He had flowers in his hand which he presented to you. 

“Thank you honey.” You kissed his cheek before turning back to Sam. 

“Let me put these in water and I’ll answer all your questions.” 

Bucky groans as Sam gives him a shot eating grin. You chuckle and when you come back you move to sit down. Eventually Steve and Bucky sit on either of you as Sam and Nat ask you about what they were like back in the day. 

With time this would become a routine until you met everyone on the team, including Howard’s son. They had questions and you had the answers. You were sure to include all kinds of stories, especially the embarrassing ones.

 It hadn’t gone unnoticed how much more relaxed and happy Steve and Bucky had been. Bucky smiled more and was more open with others. Steve had handed over his shield to Sam and was starting to enjoy his free time. Bucky was still required to go on missions but it was ok. Whenever he came back from a mission you and Steve doted on Bucky. From having his favorite movie on or playing his favorite songs and dancing in the living room to cleaning him up and cuddling in bed. Life in modern times wasn’t always easy for you but fortunately Bucky and Steve were always there to help you. 

You still wrote in your journal and on occasion letters for your loves for them to find. The entries were vastly different from what Steve and Bucky had first read. Your journals remained an ode to the love you had which transcended decades and heartbreaks and loss. Now they reflect your joy, love, hope and happiness. The love you had for each other grew with each passing day and you were able to build the home the three of you always dreamed of. 

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[magical-reid]

Unknown Past (part 1)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem!Barnes!Reader (No use of Y/N, reader is referred as Mrs./Dr. Barnes)

Setting: Modern MCU timeline, Avengers Tower.

Perspective: Third Person Limited (Reader’s perspective).

Word Count: 1.K

This will be a multi-part story inspired by my fic "Remembering James".

Hospitals were familiar, almost comforting in their routine. Between the soft hum of monitors and the sterile scent of disinfectant, you’d carved out a life here, even if you had no idea where you’d come from before.

You woke up one day, seventy years displaced, with only a few clues to your identity: a simple wedding band, dog tags clutched in your hand, and the name James tattooed on the inside of your wrist. The world said you were a super soldier, part of a classified experiment during World War II, but your own memories didn’t agree—or, more accurately, they didn’t exist.

James Barnes. Who are you?

You didn’t dwell on it often—there wasn’t time. The ER at Mercy General had a way of pulling you into its current, the hours bleeding together in a steady stream of triage calls and patient care. You’d gotten used to it, the sense of distraction that came with being useful.

But sometimes, like today, the questions crept back in. Your fingers brushed absently over the chain hidden beneath your scrubs, the cool metal of the tags grounding you. You didn’t know why you wore them, only that you couldn’t bring yourself to take them off.

The hospital pager clipped to your scrubs buzzed sharply, dragging you back to the present.

“Paging Dr. Barnes,” the voice crackled over the intercom. “Stark Enterprises has a… situation. You’ve been requested to assist the Avengers immediately. Pack your things.”

You groaned softly. Tony Stark always had a flair for dramatics.

Meeting the Avengers

You spotted them the moment they entered the ER.

Steve Rogers led the group, all commanding presence and tightly-wound charm. His bright blue eyes scanned the room with military precision, and you couldn’t help but notice the way he seemed to take up more space than anyone else. Behind him was Sam Wilson, cracking a grin at something Steve said.

But it was the third man—the one with long, dark hair and intense blue eyes—that stopped you in your tracks.

You knew him. Or you thought you did.

Your mind scrambled to place him. His face was familiar, though you couldn’t say from where. Maybe the news? He was the Winter Soldier—Bucky Barnes, you remembered suddenly—but here, in person, the sight of him struck a chord. Something inside you stirred, something that felt like… longing.

You blinked, shaking the thought away.

“Dr. Barnes?” Steve’s voice broke through the haze, his hand extended for a handshake. “I’m Captain Steve Rogers. Tony asked us to escort you to the Tower.”

“Of course,” you said, plastering on a professional smile, though your gaze flickered back to the man Steve hadn’t introduced. He stood stiffly, his expression unreadable, but his eyes stayed glued to you, like he was memorizing every detail.

“And you are?” you asked, directing the question to him.

“James,” he said softly. Then, louder: “Bucky Barnes.”

Your breath hitched. The dog tags hidden beneath your scrub top suddenly felt unbearably heavy.

James Barnes. My James?'

The Ride to Avengers Tower

The Quinjet was quieter than you expected.

Steve and Sam made polite attempts at conversation, but you were too distracted to focus. Your gaze kept flickering to Bucky, seated across from you, his gloved hands gripping the edge of his seat like it might keep him grounded.

Every now and then, you caught him glancing at you. His gaze would dart away quickly, but you felt the weight of it lingering, like a shadow at the edge of your vision.

You couldn’t explain why his presence affected you so much. He was just another face in the crowd of superhumans and geniuses you were being thrust into, yet something about him pulled at you.

When you arrived at Avengers Tower, Tony Stark was waiting.

“Welcome to the madhouse,” he said with a grin, ushering you into the sprawling building. “We’ve got state-of-the-art everything. Well, mostly because I built it. Steve’s already complained that it’s too advanced, but he’s still using a flip phone, so what does he know?”

You nodded along politely, but your attention kept drifting. Bucky hovered in the periphery of your vision, his expression unreadable.

“Barnes!” Tony called sharply, snapping his fingers in front of your face. “You with us?”

“Sorry,” you said quickly, heat creeping into your cheeks.

“Right,” Tony said, clearly unimpressed. “Let’s get you settled. Medbay’s this way.”

A Familiar Stranger

The medbay was, predictably, sleek and spotless. Stark had spared no expense, the equipment here leagues beyond anything you’d worked with before.

Tony launched into a rapid-fire explanation of the setup, but you couldn’t focus. Your gaze kept flickering to the reflection in the glass cabinets: Bucky, standing a few feet away, his eyes fixed on you.

“What’s his deal?” you asked quietly, gesturing toward him.

Tony glanced over his shoulder and sighed. “Oh, that’s Barnes—well, the other Barnes. Bucky. He’s… complicated. Steve’s bestie, formerly brainwashed assassin, now part-time brooder and full-time pain in my ass. Why? Did he say something weird?”

“No,” you said quickly. “Just curious.”

Tony gave you a long look, then shrugged. “Well, good luck with that. I’ll leave you to get acclimated. Try not to break anything expensive.”

He left with a wave, and suddenly, it was just you and Bucky.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke. Then, finally, he stepped forward.

“Do you need help unpacking?” he asked, his voice quieter than you expected.

You shook your head. “I’m good, thanks.”

He hesitated, then nodded. “Okay.”

As he turned to leave, you called after him. “Wait.”

He stopped, glancing back over his shoulder.

“Have we met before?” you asked.

His jaw tightened. For a moment, you thought he wouldn’t answer. Then, quietly, he said: “Yeah. A long time ago.”

Your heart stuttered. “How long?”

“A lifetime.”

Before you could ask anything else, he was gone.

Part 2

[kgficz]

Secrets of the Past

Dean Winchester x Reader, Elijah Mikaelson x Reader

Summary: You had left Mystic Falls and Elijah a long time ago, settling into your new Hunter lifestyle with Sam and Dean; keeping your past to yourself. When you find yourself in danger, would Elijah still care to help?

Word Count: 2.3k

“Wake up sleepy head, you’re worse than Dean” Sam said, tapping your shoulders as you groaned against the pillow.

“Go away” you mumbled before rolling over, facing away from him. It didn’t take long at all for the boys to see how much you weren’t a morning person.

The door to the motel room swung open as Dean walked in, holding a tray of coffees for the three of you. He looked over at Sam as he noticed you still in bed, rolling his eyes.

Dean brought one of the coffees up to his lips, taking a sip before letting out a loud and satisfied sigh. You rolled out quickly, perking up at the sound of him. He let out a chuckle as you sprung from the bed, rushing over to grab a coffee.

“Works every time” he said, looking over at Sam with a grin. Sam shook his head slightly before grabbing a drink for himself and sitting down at the table.

He had a newspaper laid out in front of him, scanning the pages as he looked for a new job. You’d already finished one a few days ago. You’d realised quickly these boys liked to stay on the move, giving you no time for a vacation.

You sat back down on the edge of the bed, enjoying your drink in silence as you attempted to wake up.

“I think I found something” Sam announced, calling Dean over to look at the paper.

“Hmm” Dean mumbled, leaning over Sam as he read it over. “Vamps. Definitely” he nodded as they looked at each other in agreement.

“Looks like we’re headin’ to Mississippi” he announced, looking over at you with the usual charming smile.

“Yay” you said flatly, still struggling to wake up. “Lucky us”

Sam and Dean began packing their things and loading the car as you got yourself ready; finishing off your drink.

Once everything was ready, you made your way to the car and climbed in the back.

The usual rock and roll music filled the car as you drove off, heading to the next destination. Your eyes gazed out the window, watching the trees as you drove down a long road. The gloomy weather felt comforting; you had never been much of a hot weather person. Watching the rain drops roll down the window brought you a sense of calm. You didn’t notice Dean glancing in the rear view mirror, looking over at you on the odd occasion.

After hours of driving in silence, you all pulled into a diner. Dean could only go so long without grabbing a bite which you greatly appreciated, noticing the growl in your stomach.

You were quick to get out of the car after you parked, walking almost as fast as Dean as he entered.

“I’ll get us some burgers” he said before you and Sam spotted a table to sit down at.

He pulled out the chair for you before you sat down; he always was a gentlemen. You gave him a small smile as you sat next to him.

“You doin’ okay?” Sam asked, feeling worried by how tired you had been lately.

“Yea.. yea I’m fine” you replied softly, giving him a small smile. “I’m rejuvenating” you added with a grin.

He smiled back at you in return. From the day he met you, he had always kept an eye out of you; feeling moderately protective to say the least. The both of them were.

Dean walked over with the burgers in hand, placing them down in front of you. He knew what you ordered for any restaurant now, knowing you like the back of his hand at this point.

He ate much faster than you and Sam, scoffing down the meal as though each one was his last. You smiled to yourself as you watched him, feeling quite relaxed in his presence.

“What are you looking at?” He mumbled, still chewing his food. You let out a slight chuckle at put your hands up in defence “nothing, nothing. Please, carry on” you replied with a smirk.

The three of you enjoyed your food, taking in a moment to relax before heading back out on the road. You always enjoyed the little moments you had with them, the time to breathe before you were back on the road again.

The sun was setting by the time you reached the border. You were already feeling sleepy as the area around you became dark.

Sam lead Dean to a hotel nearest to the hunt, allowing time to gather everything needed before looking into it further.

When you arrived at the motel, Sam organised the rooms. He couldn’t always get the three of you together, leaving you separated. They took turns on which one stayed with you, not willing to leave you on your own despite your protests. You’d lost count of how many times you told them you didn’t need a bodyguard.

This time it was Deans turn to stay with you whilst Sam slept in the room next door.

You carried in your things for the night before sitting on the bed furthest from the door.

“You’re coming with me tomorrow” Dean said. “We’re going to the morgue to check the victim while Sammy follows up with the detectives” he added before handing you a loaded gun.

“Don’t lose this” he said, raising his eyebrows at you.

“You say that every time.. when have I lost one of your *many* weapons?” You asked rhetorically, rolling your eyes at him.

“Can’t be too careful” he responded with a shrug, giving you a pat on the shoulder before he moved over and sat on the bed.

You quickly grabbed the remote, stopping him from getting his hands on it. “Hey!” He said, holding out his hand.

“Not a chance… I can’t watch anymore Dr Sexy M.D. with you” you replied, lying back against the pillow as you flicked through the channels.

“That was one time” he mumbled, giving up and letting you keep it.

“Oh please, I’ve caught you watching that crap on at least three occasions” you grinned before settling on some late night show.

He let out a huff as the two of you watched the tv, sitting quietly. You pulled out your phone, scrolling through your contacts until you saw Elijah’s name.

You let out a slow breath. Every time you hunted vampires you thought of him, not wanting to admit to yourself that you missed him. You hated how you left Mystic Falls without even saying goodbye, wanting to escape all the chaos that was going on back there.

The connection you felt to Elijah was instant; you understood each other. Although you were one of the people Elena ensured would be protected, you knew Elijah was doing so on his own accord.

You shook your head, trying to push away your memories and focus on the TV. As you drifted off to sleep hours later… he was still on your mind.

-

“Go on, it’s your turn” Dean smirked as the two of you stared down at the body laying on the steel table.

You gulped as you reached over, pulling up the shirt of the victim. There were marks all over the victim; their skin turning purple from the bruises. They clearly put up quite the fight. As you looked up towards the chest, clear bite marks could be seen by the collarbone.

“Bingo.” Dean said from over your shoulder.

“Only one victim so far?” You questioned.

“That we know of” he answered before you both got ready to leave.

“Maybe it’s not a nest then..” you said quietly, pondering.

“These guys don’t travel alone” he responded, clearly experienced when it comes to vampires.

You made your way to the car, deciding you would go meet up with Sam to see what he had found.

-

The three of you were back at the motel, debating on your next move. Sam had a bunch on where the vamps nest might be. All the was left was to decide on your approach.

They were quite thorough when it came to their plans; plotting out every possible way something could go wrong. They knew you could handle yourself which made it a lot easier. The bigger the group of hunters, the easier this was going to be.

You never truly classified yourself as a hunter. You couldn’t. Not after knowing “monsters” in your past. You always kept this to yourself. There was no need to open a can of worms; they didn’t need to know.

After a long debate on how you were going to go into the nest, Sam and Dean were finally ready.

You packed your things before going out to the car. The nest should only be a short drive if Sam was right. Every time you went into one of these, you felt a rise of nerves in your chest. Not feeling scared for your safety, but scared you might see him again. Elijah.

You sucked in a breath as you got into the car, your hand gripping the blade Dean had given you.

You tried your best to clear your mind as you drove, glancing out of the window and hoping this would be a quick one.

-

Raindrops landed on your skin as you approached the abandoned building. Graffiti covered the concrete walls. No person had been living here in a long time, that you were sure of.

Sam and Dean walked in first, keeping quiet as they looked around. You decided it was best to split up, Sam going one way whilst you and Dean went another.

You stayed close to Dean as you moved through the hall, continuing to look around in preparation for an attack.

Despite your best efforts to stay on guard, you would never be quick enough. You barely noticed the figure coming at you until Dean got knocked over against the wall; slamming into it hard enough that the blade dropped from his hand.

You felt yourself duck as the figure continued to move, only being seen as a blur in your vision. You swung your blade quickly, jamming it into the vampire.

The woman flared her fangs at you before pulling the blade from her arm and tossing it to the ground. She gripped your wrist, digging her nails into your skin until blood was drawn.

Dean came up quickly behind her, swinging the blade up high and slicing it through her neck. Her expression dropped as she fell to the crowd, her skin becoming pale.

“Thanks..” you huffed as you looked over at Dean. He gave you a smirk before gesturing you to follow him. He knew she wasn’t the only one.

You trailed behind him as he walked, your eyes scanning over him; taking in his broad shoulders. The gap between allowed for enough space for you to see a vampire approaching from the side.

Without giving Dean a chance to respond, you lept forward, swinging your blade at them; slicing through its neck. The vampire dropped to the ground quickly, not having a chance to cause any harm to either of you.

Dean turned around, looking down at the vamp and then back at you. He gave you a nod of approval before carrying on, causing you to grin to yourself.

You were too busy taking in your own win that you didn’t hear the noise approaching you from behind. Arms wrapped tightly around you as teeth sank into your neck.

You let out a scream, grabbing Deans attention before he ran over.

The vampire was too quick, pulling you away and out of his sight. Dean could only follow the screams for so long until you went quiet, lost in the darkness of the building. The vampire had taken you.

-

“Son of a bitch!” Dean yelled, standing across from Sam outside the building.

“Which way did they go?” Sam asked urgently as his breath quickened.

“I don’t know! It’s so damn dark in there I couldn’t see a thing” he answered, bringing his hand up to his forehead.

Sam let out a deep breath, trying to think clearly. He glanced around him, taking in his surroundings.

“I found Y/N’s phone” Dean said, pulling it from his jacket pocket. “No point tracking the damn thing now” he finished, clenching his jaw.

Dean stormed over to the car as Sam followed, slamming the door after the sat down. Dean kept his eyes forward, keeping his eye on the road as he took off; not being able to think clearly.

Sam opened up your phone, scrolling through it; not entirely sure what he was looking for.

“Hey.. check this out” He said, showing Dean the phone.

Dean leaned over, reading on of the contacts and the details below it. “Contact in case of emergency..?” Dean read out loud, raising his eyebrow.

Sam pursed his lips before clicking on it, calling the number. He placed it on speak for the both to hear.

After only a few rings, a voice picked up. “Y/N..?” Elijah answered softly.

“Uh no, this is Sam. Your name was down as an emergency contact” Sam said hesitantly.

“What happened?” Elijah asked, a growing concern showing in his tone.

“Are you a hunter?” Dean asked, clearly not trusting him.

Elijah hesitated on the phone, allowing silence to hang in the air. “Yes, of course” he replied, deciding to follow along with the conversation.

Sam decided to tell Elijah where they were heading and the road they were on, choosing not to divulge what had happened to you as of yet.

Within minutes, a figure appeared in the road; causing Dean to slam on the breaks. “What the-…” he muttered, staring at the man dressed in a suit; standing in front of the vehicle.

The boys got out slowly, Dean gripping his gun as he held it behind him.

“Where is she?” Elijah questioned, staring the two men down. He strolled forward towards Dean, looking over his face. “I won’t ask twice.”

[thetravelingtyper]

On the same page...(Simon 'Ghost' Riley x reader Bookshop! AU) pt 1

After a disastrous breakup, you, an American author, escape to a little London bookstore with your best friend. However, when one patron takes a certain interest in you, you wonder if your story has been finished after all...

Part 2, Masterlist

“You used to get it in your fishnets

Now you only get it in your nightdress

Discarded all the naughty nights for niceness

Landed in a very common crisis

Everything's in order in a black hole

Nothing seems as pretty as the past though

That Bloody Mary's lacking in Tabasco

Remember when you used to be a rascal?”

Smooth lyrics picked with a bass line and beats in on the radio, your ears perked up and catching the beginning of fluorescent adolescent you sighed. The song wasn't helping your down mood and you pick up your phone, ignoring the 10+ missed calls from your ex, and changed the song. After shuffling for a moment another piercing ring lit up your phone.

God leave me alone!

You sigh to yourself and toss your phone back on the counter of the bookstore as the door rings, announcing a customer. Your eyes flick to the door as a tall man enters. Lightly buzzed hair looks soft in the light and you catch yourself staring a little and he grins at you. You welcome him in and he nods then heads towards the history section. You watch how he carries himself. Strong and steady with a soldier's confidence. You think a little about it, the strength those arms carry before your phone rings again...

Your hand flies to your phone and you finally silence the poor thing, the buzzing remaining like a dying animal, a fit allusion to your past relationship. You remember the glittering smirks of the ladies and your fiance's grin, eyes shadowed with greed as you stood in a winning dress. The bastard ruined your image and your future with one moment, pulling the girl to him for a steaming kiss. Flashes of lights as the crowding press pushed past you and left you in the dark.

Glittering lights turned to stars as you left the gala alone, pushing the cheating bastard and your ‘friends’, truthfully venomous colleagues, to the back of your mind. You had gotten back home to your flat, packed everything you could, and kicked it to stay with a friend. You could imagine the headlines. “Downbeat author loses job and life!” You groan wipe a hand down your face and force yourself into the present.

You stand and shift your weight from foot to foot. It was a practice Sam had taught you when you both first moved out. His extended family was in the publishing business and owned a bookstore in London proper with an attached apartment on top. It was easy for him to steal his best friend away and across the pond for a new life chasing words through the drizzly streets of London.

Put yourself in the current moment, and learn to reset yourself if needed!

His warm voice rings in your ears and you smile, stretching and taking stock of the current moment. It was currently 5:36 on a Thursday, it was the middle of February so it was cold outside, currently not raining but cloudy. If you look you can see covered strangers pass back and forth outside the windows of the bookshop.

It had been a few months since you settled in but they were full of meeting Sam’s family and getting your writing career back on your feet. After the shame of the breakup, you had taken an extended break from writing. However restful for you, your manager was insistent on getting a book finished by the middle of the year, or year's end at worst. So you dutifully spent your time manning the bookshop and writing when you could bear to. But every time you opened that blank white screen you grimaced, seeing...

A large thunk on the counter makes you jump. Your eyes and mind darting back to the present.

“Aye sorry lass.” A thick Scottish voice apologizes and you catch first his smile, he's teasing.

You shake yourself out of it and reach over the counter to grab at his book, A History of Military Maneuvers.

“You certainly chose some dense reading material,” You quip at him as an easy smile lights up your face as well. You take the book and bag it, mentioning the price as he passes you a card.

“It's not too bad when you live it.” He explains simply. That would explain the physique.

“Did you serve?”

“I did once, not anymore. Took one too many and it put me on the sidelines. I found quieter work around the city.” He says it calmly but you catch his hand and rub his shoulder. It seems a sore spot for him. You think of your career back in the States and frown.

“I don’t blame you,” a hurt passes over your eyes. Your writer's brain latches onto his character. He seemed to enjoy part of his career, but you can see the injury in your mind's eye now, one moment normal then the next some career-ending injury.

“What do you do? I've seen you in the store before.” He brushes a hand through his hair a little ashamed.

You raise a brow,

“Been watching have you? I am an author back in the States for your information, Mr…?”

He grins at you and offers his hand across the counter,

“John, John MacTavish but my friends just call me Soap.”

You return his handshake. His hands are rough and completely engulf yours, a fact that makes your heart skip a beat at the realization.

His phone then rings and he pulls away from you to check it. 

“I got to get this love, but it was nice finally putting a name to the face. I'll be seeing ye around.”

With that Soap takes the bag and makes his exit into the cold evening. With his departure, you feel your spirits lift. Maybe, you think flexing your hand, there is a story to be written after all.

[sophiexrph]

TOHEEB JIMOH GIF PACK

by clicking THE SOURCE LINK you will be redirected to a page with 180 gifs of TOHEEB JIMOH as SAM OBISANYA in TED LASSO s1 (2020) made from scratch by me, sophie ! toheeb was born in 1997 ! please don’t edit these or add them to gif hunts and like or reblog if you use them ! :) also, click this link if you’d like to know about my commissions !

[whtvrgifs]

click here to be taken to my gif pack masterlist where you’ll find a link to 116 gifs of sam page in the bold type, season 4.  

[pochunts]

CHASE SUI WONDERS GIF PACK

— ✰ on the page linked below in the SOURCE LINK, you will find ( TWO HUNDRED AND FIFTY-SEVEN) hq gifs of CHASE SUI WONDERS sourced from her role as SAMANTHA YEUNG in episodes one - four of CITY ON FIRE (2023). chase is 26 but was 25-26 while filming this project. she is of chinese, japanese, tahitian, & white ( european ) descent, so please cast her accordingly. all gifs were cropped at 245x145 and were made from scratch by feifer for roleplaying purposes only. therefore, i am taking full credit for these.

gifs feature: Wyatt Oleff.

warnings/triggers: Blood, gun shot wounds (head trauma), drugs (weed), trains, neon lights, bars, scenes in the context of being shot (no visuals), head trauma (blood, gauze), person in and out of conscious state (two gifs), visuals of mushrooms, effects of hallucinogenic substance, open flames (fire), scenes in the context of removing of one’s clothes (no visuals are shown), partial nudity (visuals of underwear, shower), person kissing the other believing they’re asleep (person is conscious during this?), flashes (camera), scenes in the context of affairs, inappropriate relationships and nsfw content (faceless portions of older individual’s frame can be visibly seen - anything further has been removed).

sidenote: In the books, Sam’s character is written as a minor; therefore, DO NOT use any gifs at the end of this pack to inappropriately play out scenarios that depict such themes.

RULES FOR USAGE:

DO: LIKE or REBLOG if you found these helpful or have any intention of using these.

DO NOT:

add or compile into other sources ( gif hunts, gif sets ).

edit or claim in any way ( redistribute or resize into smaller forms - gif icons. giftangles, etc ).

use to portray the faceclaim in smut rps or real-life celebrity groups.

use these gifs as imagery/visuals for smut writing.

use to roleplay with characters that are minors or older individuals.

[kickingitwithkirk]

Winchester’s Folly

Summary: When Dean gets into trouble John decides to hide the truth for his family

Word Count: 984

*Dark! Fic-don't continue if you are disturbed by the subject matter.

Warnings: A/B/O, dystopian au, non/con, dub/con, incest, subjugation, pandemic, mentions of nudity, physical/mental abuse, mention of collaring/leashed, sexual/slavery, rut/heat, physical altercation, death/murder conviction, show level violence, parental dominance, trafficking, branding

*Additional warnings will be added

Square filled: @spnaubingo true mates

A/N: Still working on reigning myself in, keeping each part reader-friendly length, and have no clue how many parts this will end up being.

A/N II: a few notes about designations in A/O sub-genders for this story.

Alphas-Dominant (head of the pack/family) Subordinate (obey Dominant) Breeders (rare & highly coveted by the government. Can challenge Dominant for pack/family leadership)

Omegas -Domestic (mostly wiped out by plague, few natural born left) Feral (government-supplied breeders sold commonly called O's) House O’s (3rd generation+ Feral/Dominant breed. Used as servants/sex workers) Pack (rare & highly coveted by the government)

*Divider by @firefly-graphics

*No Beta-all mistakes are mine

PART V

Dean angrily stomped down the hallway and burst into the exam room, yelling, “Do you have any idea how fucking backasswards this state is, Dad!”

John blinked in surprise. Dean rarely spoke like this towards him as a Subordinate Alpha, which meant something was very off. Sam's ignored inquiry was another red flag. “Dean, what happened?”

“Do you know what they mandate done to prove ownership of O’s?” John was about to respond when the doctor reappeared, clearly unnerved by the angry scent rolling off Dean. “I need to speak to you privately, Mr. Winchester.” John doesn’t answer them back. “Dean, you got all the paperwork squared away?”

Dean acknowledged it was complicated, shifted his focus to the doctor, staring oddly at Sam, and barked, “You’re not his type, Doc!”  John ignored Dean's outburst and ordered them to wait outside the O’s room. They walked to another exam room, shutting the door. The doctor handed him a file. “This is the reason I asked to speak privately. It concerns your sons and the O.”

John read the first page. “The O’s file is flagged in the database? It was part of a lot taken during the bust of an illegal Pack distributor, and federal law requires spaying before resale?” The doctor interrupted, “Since I just examined it, I can attest this O is still fully intact. Heaven knows how Helms got hold of it.”

Anger crossed John’s handsome features, and snarled, “That son of a bitch! Her original purchaser accused Helms of selling them misrepresented goods. No wonder that Alpha sold her so cheaply.” He flipped to the next page and continued reading.

The next thing John was aware of was that he was seated on the floor. He knew most people would find this situation impossible, but he had had too much personal experience with the unbelievable to doubt it. “Mary’s obstetrician never said anything about us having twins!”

The doctor rolled a stool over and sat down before the big Alpha. “Was her physician at a government clinic?” John affirms the question, which makes the doctor sigh. “I bet she had an amniocentesis performed.” At John's expression, they said, “Some of their OBs order testing even if the ultrasound or blood work doesn’t show anything concerning.”

“Why would they do that?”

“Money. They use it to determine the sub-gender and designation because there are those among the elite wanting specific types of newborns. And twins with designations of Pack Omega and Breeder Alpha? It would’ve created a bidding war.”

John felt his lips moving, unable to vocalize the questions spinning in his mind. He did not want to believe the information when the doctor gestured to the results in his hands.

“I’m not lying about Sam and the Omega being twins.” John shook his head. “But I saw the ultrasounds. I would have known if I had a daughter!”

“With the older equipment, they could have already loaded someone else’s tape in the machine to fool you. And were you present during delivery?” John responded negatively.

“They drugged your mate, so she won’t remember the birth to smuggle the newborns out of the hospital directly. Something must have gone wrong since they only got your daughter, but it doesn’t explain how she ended up with that illegal distributor.”

John flashes back to seeing Mary and remembers how out of it she seemed after having Sam. Later, a shorter man appeared out of nowhere when he took Dean to the nursery, holding him up to see his new brother through its large window. He doesn’t remember their conversation, but Dean’s comment about not letting the man with the spooky eyes get Sammy stuck with him.

John's voice is hoarse. “How can she be a Pack Omega? And Sam a Breeder? They don’t exist anymore!”

“We might have evolved into civilized beings but still carry our ancestors' genetic makeup.” The doctor tapped a finger against their lips, “There was a theory that the reintroduction of Wild Pack DNA could reactivate Breeder genes within certain bloodlines, which would explain why the twin turned out a Pack Omega. She is your son's true mate.”

The doctor's words, certain bloodlines-true mate, pounded like a drumbeat, repeating in his keen mind and boarding on deafening when it hit him.

All this has something to do with Mary's death too.

“As that character in Jurassic Park said, life finds a way.” The doctor looked pained. “I must report all these results to the federal authorities by law. They will request a local retainer immediately and take them into custody. But since you have a court date,” the doctor calculated by wall clock, “In roughly thirty hours. I won’t send the results until then.”

John grew suspicious. “Why delay it?”

“I may participate in this system, but I’m not heartless. I have pups myself, and I’ve just dropped a metaphorical bomb on you. If these weren’t extenuating circumstances, you’d have legal recourse against Helms.”

John nodded in acknowledgment. “Thank you. Are you obligated to tell all my pups about these findings?” The doctor replied yes but gave a pointed look, “Your party has left before I could notify them.” They paused to ponder a moment.

“Perhaps this is an unexpected blessing. The judge must accept these test results, negating your son’s conviction because now they’ve been brought together, their wolves won’t allow them to be separated easily.”

John left the office but slipped out of the clinic's rear entrance instead of returning to the exam room. He walked out of the security cameras' range and pulled out his phone, dialing a number he swore never to use again. It rang twice before answering.

“I told you to lose this number, you son of a bitch!”

“It’s about my pups.” There was silence, then, “I’m listening.” John released his held breath, “Bobby, I need your help, or I’m gonna lose them all.”

Part VI

SPN TAGS: @donnaintx @lyarr24 @flamencodiva @lassie-bird @nancymcl @spnbaby-67 @leigh70

Dean/Jensen: @thoughts-and-funnies @stoneyggirl2 @beabutterfly987 @smoothdogsgirl

Sam/Jared: @idreamofplaid

WF: @slamminmine @ladysparkles78 @deans-spinster-witch @ilovetaquitosmmmm @strawblueberrys @mishkatelwarriorgoddess

[hiddcngifpacks]

HAYDEN CHRISTENSEN as SAM MONROE ; LIFE AS A HOUSE (2001)

as requested, click on the source link to be redirected to the gif page. all of these gifs were made by me from scratch, so i ask that you respect my work and don’t claim as your own. please like and reblog if you have found these useful. use them at your leisure for rp'ing. enjoy!

gif count: 312 content warning: kissing ; smoking ; nudity

more upcoming packs here

[itsplumwriter]

Baking for Bucky

POV: While browsing a small collector’s shop, Bucky finds a vintage WWII magazine from the 40s. He flips through the pages and spots a dessert recipe, asking if you could make it for him.

A/N: Just some fluffsss. I haven't written a fluffy piece in a while so I really hope you'll like this. I love baking, do y'all? It's such a comfort activity and I think it'd be so cute to bake for Bucky.

--- --- ---

“What are we making again?” you ask, pulling out the flour and sugar.

“Gingerbread. It’s a classic from the 40s,” Bucky says, flipping through the old-timey magazine. “Housewives used to pack it in their husband’s box lunches back in the day.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Housewife? I am a housewife now?”

He lowers the magazine, glancing at you. “You can be..."

You nearly trip trying to get the bowl. “Slow your roll, soldier...”

He chuckles as he helps you pull out the rest of the ingredients. You love him, obviously, and you could definitely see yourself marrying him. But you’re both enjoying the dating phase and there’s no need to rush things.

You add the ingredients to the bowl and stir it's contents carefully, noticing a concerned look on Bucky's face. "What's going on in that head of yours?"

Bucky smiles, enjoying the fact you know him so well. "The smell is just bringing me back... Usually sights, sounds, and smells bring me back to bad memories from my past, so it's kinda nice to have a smell trigger a good memory for once."

You smile and nod, hoping he'll say more; Bucky rarely opens up. When he does, you find it best to just keep quiet and let it flow naturally.

"I kinda miss the old days, you know?..." he continues. "Sometimes I hate that I was frozen for so long. That so many years were taken from me. Sometimes I wish I could have lived in the era I was supposed to.”

“I can understand that,” you say, nodding.

He approaches you, hugging you. “But the thing is if I hadn’t been frozen... I never would’ve met you."

He buries his head in the crook of your neck. "And that sorta makes it all worth it."

“Bucky,” you sigh. His words are sweet, but they make you upset. "I don't want you to say anything was worth what you went through..."

Bucky takes your hand, kissing your palm. “I mean it. And I meant it when I said I want you to be my wife...”

You smile. "Let's see how this gingerbread turns out first. You may change your mind..."

Bucky chuckles, rolling his eyes.

--- --- ---

The entire house is filled with the smell of gingerbread. A warm feeling enrobes the air, reminding you of Christmastime. You both curl up on the couch, eating a few slices with milk.

"You're clearly wifey material," Bucky chimes.

You raise an eyebrow. "Where did you hear that term..."

Bucky stares at you. "Sam."

You chuckle, shaking your head.

"No, but seriously... This has got to be one of the best desserts I've ever had."

You roll your eyes. "...Don't exaggerate, Bucky."

“I'm not! It's the loveliest thing I've ever tasted because the loveliest person made it for me."

You fiddle with a few gingerbread crumbs on your plate, blushing.

Bucky smiles to himself. "I remember one of my buddies used to have these all the time in his box lunch. He’d brag all the time to us that his wife made it for him... I can’t believe I had to wait nearly 90 years for my wife to make me some...”

You clench your jaw. “But I'm not your wife, Buckyy... I love you and I can see myself spending the rest of my life with you. But I don't think I'm ready just yet."

He gives you a soft smile. “No rush, doll... I believe I waited my whole life to meet you... It'd be an honor for me to wait a little longer..."

--- --- ---

AAAHHHH the flufffffff <33 love you all so much!! Did you like??

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Love you, dolls xo

God bless <3

[leiaofrph]

By clicking the link below you will be taken to a page with 159 gifs of actor Sam Neill in his role as Alan Grant in of Jurassic World Dominion. All of these gifs were made by me so don’t claim as your own, post in a separate post, or post in your own gif hunts. If you would like to crop these into gif icons please message me first as you MUST credit if you redistribute. Credit includes tagging me in your hunt, and including a link to this post on your post.

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