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thebarneschronicles · 27 days ago

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Closer To Home IV

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Word Count: 8.7k

Synopsis: The storm changed everything. A week spent trapped together, moving around each other like it was second nature. Mornings spent wrapped in his warmth, nights spent unraveling under his hands. And now, the words you’ve been swallowing for months are fighting to break free and you don’t know how much longer you can keep them in.

You love him. And he knows it. But love has never been easy for Bucky. And if you say it—if you let yourself finally speak the truth—will it pull him closer, or will it send him running?

Trigger Warnings: Emotional breakdowns; Angst, banter, and all the feels. Surprisingly no smut this time around... but their chance will come!

Closer To Home Masterlist

Author’s Note: The words are out... now we can focus on their other shenanigans. Loving to see your thoughts about this story and my ask box is always open if you wanna know more. P.S.: There'll probably be more updates this week, but I'm not setting it in stone. B xx

“Just kiss me. Keep my mouth shut, will you? Do it until I forget my name.”

The kissing had worked. The slow, lingering press of his lips, the desperate way his hands had explored your skin like he was learning you by touch alone—every moment had distracted you from the pressing truth of your feelings. And when he finally took you, when he split you open at your very core only to put you back together again with every roll of his hips, every whispered praise against your lips, it had done its job.

You hadn’t said it.

Those three little words that kept haunting you, lingering on the tip of your tongue every waking moment since Bucky Barnes had stepped into your life.

I love you.

They could cement everything you had built together or crumble it into dust. And yet, they pressed behind your teeth, growing heavier each day, aching to be voiced, desperate to reach his ears.

You loved him.

God knew when it had happened. Was it when you first read his files, when he was still just a name and a tragic history? Or when he first looked at you—really looked at you—after you were assigned to work alongside him and Sam? Maybe it was the day he effortlessly picked up the stack of reports you had been struggling to carry, flashing you that small hesitant smile he wouldn’t normally share with anyone.

Or was it that first night he offered to walk you home?

No. Who were you kidding? It had happened long before then.

It had crept in through stolen glances over mission briefings, through late-night talks over cups of coffee you always made for him without asking, in the hopes of stealing just a moment of his time. It had settled in the quiet, in the routine of his grumbled, "Morning, doll," when he found you in the communal kitchen, in the way his tired eyes softened when you gave him that worried look as he walked in, battered and bruised from a fight.

And now, it was torture.

Because you couldn’t stop thinking about it.

The snowstorm had come and gone, the city slowly crawling back to life after nearly a week buried in ice. You and Bucky had spent those days together, and you had been blindsided by just how easy it had been—how natural it was to cohabitate. As if this was something you did all the time, as if domesticity had always been woven into the fabric of your relationship.

In the midst of unspoken feelings and a push and pull you actively ignored, you learned things. That he liked to watch you cook, leaning against the counter with his arms crossed, incapable of hiding he was mesmerized. That he didn’t mind washing the dishes afterward, sleeves rolled up as he worked in comfortable silence, so long as you kept him company. That he’d rub your ankles while you lounged on the couch after hours spent bustling around the house, his strong hands kneading into your skin with practiced ease, relishing in the way your breath hitched when he squeezed just right.

He was the perfect boyfriend.

Except he wasn’t your boyfriend.

Because you couldn’t call him that. Could you?

You groaned, pressing the heels of your palms against your eyes, your head dropping onto your desk. Hours had passed, and you still couldn’t concentrate on anything. Your mind was consumed by the what-ifs, spiraling around the impossible tangle of your relationship with a 1940s super soldier who carried more trauma than you could count on both hands.

Fantastic. Just great.

The faint scuff of boots outside your door jolted you back to reality. You lifted your head just as Sam Wilson leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, an all-too-knowing smirk tugging at his lips. He held a file in one hand, but the amusement in his eyes told you he had other priorities.

"Well, did I just catch you napping on the job?"

You snorted, leaning back in your chair. "I wish. And good morning to you too, Sam. How can I help you?"

"Mission stuff," he said, tossing the file onto your desk. "Figured I’d go over it with you before Barnes shows up to derail our day with his useless questions. Also, wanted to check in—how was your week harboring a former assassin cyborg in your apartment?"

You pressed your lips together as memories of those days surged through your mind—his touch, his warmth, the way his eyes held you like you were something he never wanted to lose, the hunger in them when you straddled him. You hesitated, caught up in the memories, which was enough to set Sam off.

"Did you talk about it yet?" he pressed.

"About what, exactly?" you asked, feigning innocence.

"Oh, I don’t know—your big ol’ feelings? The fact that you two have been dancing around the subject for months? Did you ask him to be your boyfriend yet?"

With the playful lilt in his voice and the mischief dancing in his eyes, it was hard to believe this man was a war veteran—let alone Captain America.

You rolled your eyes, tapping your nails against the desk. "Don’t you have aliens to fight, Cap? Kittens to rescue? Children to kiss?"

"I’m Captain America, not a politician," Sam shot back, dragging out a chair and dropping into it with a pointed look. "So, that’s a no?"

You exhaled sharply, rubbing at your temples and urging the flush on your cheeks to go away. "We didn’t really… talk much. Not really."

Sam let out a long whistle, shaking his head. "Damn. Didn’t think Barnes had it in him."

"Sam—" you groaned.

"Oh, come on. You spent a whole week holed up with Terminator, what do you expect me to do? Just sit back and not pry?"

"You are way too invested in my love life for someone who has yet to offer a single useful piece of advice."

Sam grinned, leaning forward. "Alright, spill. What happened during the storm?"

You hesitated, glancing down the hallway to make sure Bucky was nowhere in sight. When the coast was clear, you exhaled, shoulders sagging. "We stayed at mine for most of it, but one night, we went to his place, and… I kind of lost it."

Sam’s smirk faded. "Lost it how?"

You swallowed hard, fingers twisting together. "I broke down, Sam. Full-on sobbing, ugly crying—everything. He wanted to know why, and I just—" Your voice caught, and you forced yourself to push through it. "I told him. That I know about Hydra. The torture. And... I saw the way he lives, like he’s punishing himself. Like he doesn’t think he deserves anything good. It wrecked me."

Sam’s expression tightened, but his voice stayed level. "And how did he handle it?"

You let out a humorless laugh, shaking your head. "I didn’t give him the chance. I was about to say ‘I love you,’ and I panicked. So instead…" You sighed, dropping your gaze. "We slept together. More than once. And now everything’s a mess because I’m—" The words caught in your throat, heavy and terrifying. "Because I’m in love with him. And he knows. But I haven’t said it to him yet."

Sam blinked, then let out a low whistle. "Damn. Maybe I should start brooding—chicks love it."

You shot him a glare, but your heart wasn’t in it. He held up his hands in surrender. "Alright, alright. So you’re in love with him. What’s the problem?"

"Everything," you whispered, the weight of it pressing against your ribs. "I love him, Sam. And I haven’t told him because… I don’t even know if I should."

Sam’s teasing faded, his voice softer now. "Why not?"

You swallowed hard, staring out the window as if the answer was somewhere out there. "Because I don’t know if he’ll stay. He’s lost so much already. People, time, parts of himself. What if I tell him, and it’s too much? What if it pushes him away? Or worse—what if he doesn’t feel the same?"

Sam exhaled, shaking his head. "You really are in your own head about this."

"That’s helpful," you shot back, voice thick with sarcasm.

He leaned forward, forearms braced against the desk, voice steady and certain, that way he usually got when he was about to drop some wisdom. "Look. This is Bucky we’re talking about. Yeah, he’s been through hell. More than anyone should have to survive. But you know what else? He’s still here. He’s choosing to be here, with you. And if you love him, and he already knows—because trust me, he knows—then saying the words isn’t going to send him running."

Your chest ached, emotions clawing their way up your throat. "How do you know that? Because this… this is eating me alive, Sam. I just want him to stay. I want to love him. And I’m terrified he won’t let me. There have been so many times I almost said it, but I had to choke it back because…" Your voice cracked, a tear slipping free before you could stop it. "Because I know this will either be everything or it’ll be the thing that breaks us. And I don’t know if I can face it if it’s the latter."

Sam’s expression shifted, his voice unwavering yet gentle. "Maybe you should let him decide that."

“And what if he decides it’s not worth it?” The words barely made it past the lump in your throat. You dropped your gaze, unwilling to let Sam see the way your lips trembled, the way your hands clenched into fists against your lap.

“He’s had enough people deciding everything for him to last a lifetime,” Sam said, his tone edged with something firm. “Don’t be another one on that list just because you think you know what he'll do. Maybe, if you actually ask him about his feelings, he’ll surprise you.”

“You sound awfully sure of something you know nothing about,” you muttered, but the usual fire in your retorts was absent. It was just exhaustion now, doubt curling into your bones.

“Who said I know nothing?”

That got your attention. Your head snapped up, eyes narrowing. “Sam... What do you know?”

“Nothing,” he replied too quickly, the picture of innocence as he shrugged, but the smirk tugging at his lips gave him away.

“Samuel, I will call your sister.”

Sam’s smirk faltered for a fraction of a second before he recovered, but you caught it. He clicked his tongue, feigning nonchalance. “Yeah, about that—maybe don’t. You know Buck had a thing for her back when we were in Louisiana, right?”

Your jaw fell open. “He what?”

Before Sam could respond, heavy footfalls echoed down the hallway. You barely had a moment to process the revelation before Bucky strode into your office, his expression mildly suspicious, his vibranium arm clutching a pastel pink bag. The contrast of the bag’s soft color against his all-black ensemble was so stark it nearly gave you whiplash.

“There you are,” Sam boomed, standing with a grin as he clapped Bucky on the shoulder. “What’s in the bag, Barnes? Something sweet for your sweetheart?”

Bucky shot him an unimpressed look before his eyes landed on you, and his features softened instantly. “Breakfast. For her, not for you,” he clarified, lifting the bag slightly. Then his brows drew together, scanning your face with quiet concern. “Why are you crying? What did he do?”

“I’m not crying,” you rushed to say, though the evidence of your damp cheeks begged to differ. “It’s allergies,” You quickly wiped them with the back of your hands, forcing a smile. “What did you get?”

“I got you a bagel from that place you like,” Bucky said, stepping closer, his voice laced with something almost hesitant. "They didn’t have coffee, so I got you, uh… a strawberry matcha? The girl at the counter said you'd like it." He shifted slightly, as if bracing for your reaction.

You froze for a second, staring at him. The idea of Bucky—gruff, no-nonsense Bucky—standing at a café counter and listening to drink recommendations was almost too much. But then the weight of it settled in your chest: he’d gone out of his way. Remembered your favorite bagel. Chosen something new just because he wanted to bring you something—God, you were in too deep.

“That’s really sweet, Buck.” You pushed yourself up from your chair, unable to stop yourself from leaning in, rising on your tiptoes and pressing a kiss to his cheek. His skin was warm beneath your lips, his stubble rough against your fingers. “You didn’t have to go through all that trouble.”

“I wanted to,” he murmured, echoing something you had said to him so many times before it almost felt like second nature now. For a moment, Bucky just stared at you, his blue eyes tracing your face like he was trying to decide on something. Then, before you could fully process what was happening, he shifted slightly, tilting his head, and brushed a kiss against your lips.

It was soft—so soft it almost didn’t feel real. But it was enough to send your mind reeling, your breath hitching in your throat as a jolt of electricity raced through you. When he pulled back, his expression was unreadable, and you were too stunned to speak. Your fingers gripped the paper bag, anchoring yourself to something, anything, to help you process what had just happened.

And then Sam’s voice shattered the moment.

“Ah, look at the two of you. My favorite couple,” he said with a dramatic sigh.

Your entire body stiffened. “Sam,” you hissed, heat flooding your cheeks.

“What?” Sam shrugged innocently, though the smirk tugging at his lips said otherwise. “I’m just saying what we’re all thinking. Right, Buck?”

Bucky didn’t so much as flinch, but his jaw tightened slightly, a tell tale sign of his annoyance that only you seemed to notice.

“Sam, we haven’t even—” You started, grasping at some semblance of control over the rapidly unraveling situation, but Sam cut you off with an exaggerated groan.

"For the love of God, Barnes, put her out of her misery already," Sam groaned, nudging him with an elbow. "Tell her she’s your girlfriend. Tell her she’s got you wrapped around her finger. Do us all a favor."

You wanted to die. Right there. Spontaneously combust and vanish from existence.

“Anyway, that’s my cue to leave,” Sam said, grabbing the file he’d initially dropped on your desk.

“But we haven’t even discussed—” You started, grasping at the one thing that could spare you from the awkwardness sinking into your chest.

“We can discuss it later. Right now, I’ll leave you lovebirds alone to talk.” Sam said with an infuriatingly knowing look before turning toward the door. He paused, glancing over his shoulder with a wicked grin. “Oh, and by the way… I told her about Sarah.”

Bucky inhaled sharply through his nose, exhaling in a long, put-upon sigh. His tongue flicked over his bottom lip, annoyance now evident. “Sam…”

“Consider it payback for flirting with my sister. And what’s a little jealousy? It adds spice to the relationship,” Sam teased, stepping just out of Bucky’s immediate reach.

Bucky turned fully toward him, which only made Sam laugh, hands up in mock surrender. “She threatened to call her, man! I had no choice.”

Bucky turned back to you, groaning softly as he pinched the bridge of his nose. “I swear, he lives to torment me,” he muttered.

You couldn’t help but laugh, the sound easing some of the tension in your chest. “So… Sarah?” you teased, raising an eyebrow.

His head shot up, his blue eyes widening, genuine worry flickering across his face. “Nothing happened,” he said quickly. “With Sarah, I mean. There’s—there’s nothing to tell.”

You bit back a grin, warmth curling in your chest at his obvious distress. Reaching out, you took his hand, squeezing it gently. “Relax, Buck. I’m not upset. Honestly, I’m just shocked you had any interest in anyone besides that waitress before I threw myself on you.”

The corners of his mouth twitched, the tension in his shoulders easing just slightly as your words landed. “You didn’t force me into anything,” he murmured, his voice softer now, almost tender. His thumb brushed slow circles over the back of your hand, grounding you in the moment.

“Good,” you teased, pulling the pink drink bag closer to you with a smirk. “Now let’s try this strawberry matcha you so lovingly procured for me.”

You did it. You got over the awkwardness by skillfully dodging the subject. You nearly sighed in relief—right up until Bucky let out a noise, half scoff, half laugh, before his amusement faded into something else as he stepped closer.

“I know what you’re trying to do,” he mumbled, moving behind you with a calculated slowness, his presence looming but never overbearing. His arm slid around your middle, pulling you back against him, and your breath hitched as his chest pressed against your back. “And it won’t work.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you said, your voice unsteady .

Bucky held you in place, his lips brushing your ear as he leaned in closer, the warmth of his breath sending shivers down your spine. “Why were you crying?” he murmured, low and insistent, his lips trailing down to press the faintest kiss to the curve of your neck.

Your knees felt like they might give out, your eyes fluttering shut involuntarily. You sent a silent thank-you to the universe for the secluded corner your office was tucked into, sparing you the humiliation of anyone catching you like this—being thoroughly undone by your super soldier.

“Sam told me I suck at my job,” you lied, barely managing to string the words together.

Bucky chuckled, the vibration of it reverberating against your back. “You’re a terrible liar,” he said, finally twisting you around to face him. His arms circled your waist, holding you securely, leaving no room for escape—not that you wanted to.

“And your interrogation tactics are crap,” you shot back, trying to mask your flustered state with sarcasm. Your hands instinctively slid up to rest on his shoulders, fingers brushing against the soft fabric of his shirt.

“We’ll see about that,” he warned, his voice teasing but his gaze unwavering as it flicked over your face.

You took a moment to really look at him, letting your eyes trace over every detail—the softness in his gaze, the faint smirk tugging at his lips, the roughness of his stubbled jaw that you knew would scrape deliciously against your skin. Your heart raced as you took him in, suddenly overwhelmed by how effortlessly gorgeous he was. “God, you’re handsome,” you blurted, your voice quiet but sure. “It’s unfair.”

His smirk deepened, though his expression remained serious. “Compliments will get you nowhere,” he said, shaking his head slowly. “I will make you tell me.”

You considered his words, tilting your head as you let your nails trail lightly through the hair at the nape of his neck. “Maybe,” you said, your lips curving into a sly smile. “Maybe we can do it over dinner?”

Bucky’s brows raised slightly, a flicker of interest crossing his face before he recovered, the smirk returning in full force. “Are you asking me out, or is this another attempt to dodge the question?”

“Maybe both,” you quipped, tugging him just a little closer, your noses nearly brushing.

His gaze softened, his arms tightening around you. “Dinner, huh?”

“Dinner,” you confirmed, your heart thundering as the word hung between you.

The look in his eyes told you he was already on board, but his voice stayed teasing as he finally replied. “Fine. Your place. I’ll bring the food. But don’t think this means you’re off the hook.”

You laughed, leaning your forehead against his, but your insides twisted with the promise of the conversation that awaited you.

–

Instead of leaving work together, Bucky had, surprisingly, let you fend for yourself. You walked the few blocks back to your apartment with a jittery sensation that only grew more restless as you thought about how the night would unfold.

There was no avoiding it. Tonight, you'd have to talk about it, define your relationship once and for all, and you had no idea how it would play out. Or if you were prepared for it.

By the time you reached your door, you were wound so tight with nerves you were unable to sit still. You headed straight for the kitchen, hoping to lose yourself in the steady rhythm of baking. Soon, the rich scent of cinnamon and apples filled the small space, wrapping around you like a hug. The pie had barely cooled and you had just gotten finished spritzing your perfume when Bucky’s knock came at the door. You smoothed your hair one last time, and opened it with a breathless smile.

There he was. Casual, but devastating in his dark Henley and leather jacket, black jeans hugging his frame in all the right places. He had a bottle of whiskey tucked under one arm and a stack of takeout bags in the other—Thai food, from the place you’d offhandedly mentioned wanting to try. How did he remember it? You had no idea.

“You look nice,” he said, his voice soft, warm, and entirely too casual for the buzz of energy humming between you. His blue eyes swept over your frame, lingering just a second too long. You had thrown on a simple outfit after your shower—soft jeans and an oversized sweater that slid teasingly off one shoulder—but the way he looked at you made you feel like you were naked and exposed.

“Thanks,” you murmured, your cheeks heating as you lifted onto your tiptoes to press a kiss to his lips. He tilted his head slightly, deepening it for just a moment, accepting the way your hands cupped his cheeks to keep him steady, before pulling back with a sigh.

He couldn’t resist giving you another once over, before he got distract. “What’s that smell?” Bucky asked as he stepped inside.

“Apple pie,” you said, closing the door behind him. “I figured I’d take care of dessert since you were handling dinner.”

His brows lifted. “Apple pie? That’s awfully domestic…”

You shrugged, feeling the blood heating up your cheeks. “Thought it might remind you of home—or, you know, simpler times.”

Bucky hummed, setting the food and whiskey down before reaching out and tugging on the hem of your sweater. “Looks good on you.”

“Domesticity or the sweater?” You joked, closing the door behind you and leaning on it as you watched him. It never failed to catch you off guard—how effortlessly he settled into your space. Dropping the bags on the counter, peeling off his gloves and jacket, rolling up his sleeves. He moved like a man who belonged, who knew he was home, as much as he refused to call it home. The sight of it stole your breath.

His lips quirked. “Both.”

Dinner was easy, the two of you falling into a comfortable rhythm that felt as natural as breathing. He teased you about the mountain of spring rolls you’d pulled onto your plate (“Is that all for you, or am I allowed to have one?”), and you ribbed him right back for always stealing bites off your plate instead of sticking to his own. The laughter came easily, and for a while, the tension simmering under the surface felt like a distant echo.

That was, until Bucky leaned back in his chair, his expression shifting from playful to intent.

“So,” he said, folding his arms over his chest. “Ready for the Spanish Inquisition?”

You groaned, your head dropping into your hands. “Oh, come on. Can’t you let me off the hook?”

“Not a chance,” he said, his voice laced with humor but his eyes sharp. “I already let you off. Twice.”

The covert mention of the night you broke down didn’t go unnoticed. Lifting your head, you rested your chin in your hand, meeting his steady blue gaze with a pout. The stare-off felt like a challenge—like you were daring him to back off while he silently willed you to break. The only question was who would give in first. And you had no doubt—it would be you.

You’d do anything Bucky Barnes asked you to. Sighing, you pushed back from the table and stood. “Fine. If you’re going to interrogate me, we’re at least going to make it fun.”

"Fun?" His tone was doubtful, but the slight twitch of his lips gave him away. "In my experience, interrogations usually involve dark rooms and torture."

"Not this one. As tempting as it’d be to watch you try all that Winter Soldier stuff on me—" You cut yourself off before saying too much. This was already giving away enough. "We’re playing Truth or Drink." You nodded toward the whiskey he’d brought. "Grab your liquor, Sergeant, and meet me in the living room."

You plopped down on the soft rug in front of your couch, crossing your legs, an arm leaning over the soft cushions as you settled in. The rug’s texture was a comfort beneath you, grounding you for what you suspected was about to be a very revealing game. Bucky followed, setting the whiskey and two glasses down on the coffee table before sitting across from you, all the way down the other side of the couch.

“You’re so far away,” you complained, leaning forward slightly.

“It’s on purpose,” he said with a smirk. “Can’t let you distract me. I’ve got a mission here.”

His teasing tone made your stomach flip, but you masked it with an exaggerated sigh, rolling your eyes as you reached for the whiskey bottle. “Fine, Barnes. Let’s get this over with.” You poured a generous amount into each glass and handed him one. “You wanna go first, or should I?”

“Ladies first,” he said smoothly. Ever the gentleman—even when he was expertly deploying psychological and emotional blackmail.

Resigning yourself to your inevitable demise, you pretended to think, tapping a finger against your chin. “Alright. Tell me a story about you and Steve.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow. “That’s not a question.”

“Fine. Would you please tell me a story about you and Steve?”

He chuckled, shaking his head as he took a slow sip of whiskey. “What kind of story?”

“I don’t know... Something interesting. Something no one else knows. Something fun.”

For a moment, Bucky’s gaze drifted, lost somewhere in memories you’d never be able to touch. Then, a small, genuine smile pulled at his lips, and your chest ached at the sight of it. “Alright… Before the serum, before the whole ‘Star-Spangled Man with a Plan’ schtick, when he was just a scrawny kid, Steve used to put newspapers in his shoes to make himself look taller.”

You grinned. “That’s adorable.”

“Yeah, well, not so adorable when it rained and he forgot to take them out.” Bucky snorted, shaking his head. “One time, we got caught in a downpour on the way to a dance. Steve walks in, shoes squelching, and suddenly the whole place smells like wet dog and cheap ink.” He chuckled, eyes shining. “God, the way people looked at him. I had to convince the bouncer we weren’t trying to stink up the joint on purpose.”

You laughed, watching the way his shoulders eased, the usual tension in his frame loosening as he let himself revel in a memory that didn’t hurt to hold onto.

Then, before you could stop yourself, you blurted, “Do you think Steve would’ve approved?”

Bucky blinked, confused. “Approved of what?”

“Us,” you admitted, voice quieter now. “Me. Being with you.” You hesitated, fiddling with the edge of the couch cushion. “I mean, we only met a few times before… y’know. And from everything I’ve heard, he was pretty protective of you.”

For a second, you thought he might deflect, but instead, Bucky’s answer was firm. Certain. “Yeah. Steve would’ve approved.”

Your heart did a little flip.

“He would’ve liked that you take care of me,” Bucky continued, his voice softer now, the burn of his unvoiced gratitude not going unnoticed.

Something inside you melted. “See, this is why you need to sit closer.” You scooted forward, shifting toward him. “I need to kiss you and I can’t.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “Nice try, doll, but you’re not getting out of your turn that easily.”

You groaned. “Fine. What’s your question?”

“When was the last time you dated someone?” His eyes glinted with something unreadable, but his tone was casual. “Before... this.” He gestured again, this time between the two of you.

You scoffed. “That’s what you wanna know? Out of all the things?”

“Just answer the question, sweetheart.”

You groaned, pulling at the fluffy rug beneath you. “I don’t know, four, five years ago? I lost count. Last real relationship I had was before I got into this whole ‘girl in the chair’ thing. And it didn’t go well.”

Bucky frowned. “Why?”

“Communication issues,” you said vaguely, then sighed. “And the fact that he had a habit of sleeping with anything that breathed within a three-mile radius—except me. Which included both his best friends. And my roommate at the time.”

Bucky’s eyebrows shot up before he could school his expression back into something more neutral. “What do you mean ‘except you’?”

You shrugged, forcing nonchalance. “Exactly what it sounds like. He thought I wasn’t... good enough. Or at least not good enough for him.”

Bucky’s jaw ticked, something dangerous flashing in his eyes, but before he could open his mouth, you cut in, “You’re overextending your turn, Sergeant. I’m the one asking questions now.”

Bucky exhaled sharply, visibly annoyed that he couldn’t dig deeper into that revelation, but he nodded. “Fine. Go ahead.”

You hugged your knees to your chest, eyeing him. “Did you really have a thing with Sarah?”

Bucky groaned, tipping his head back against the couch, exhaling like a man who’d just been handed a life sentence. “I knew you wouldn’t just let this go. I swear to God, I’m gonna kill Sam.”

You grinned, biting back a laugh. “That’s not a no.”

Bucky rolled his head to the side to glare at you, but there was no real heat behind it. It made you want to kiss him. But then again, everything made you want to kiss him. “There was no thing,” he huffed, shifting so he was facing you more fully. “We flirted. That’s it. Nothing for you to worry about.”

“I’m not worried,” you said, though the way you hugged your knees closer and half-smothered your smile into your arm made him smirk.

“Sure. You’re jealous, though.”

You wrinkled your nose. “So what if I was?”

Bucky hummed, his smirk widening as he leaned in slightly, voice dropping to something infuriatingly smooth. “It’s cute.”

“Ugh. Shut up.” You stretched your leg out, nudging his thigh with your foot to change the subject. “Your turn.”

Before you could pull away, Bucky’s hand wrapped around your ankle, firm but warm. In one effortless motion, he pulled your leg over his lap, drawing you in like it was the most natural thing in the world. His thumb brushed absently against your shin as he settled back, casual as ever. But the way his fingers found the muscle of your calf—slow, deliberate, kneading just right—was anything but casual. A shiver ran up your spine. If he noticed, he didn’t say a word.

He stayed quiet long enough for your nerves to start creeping in. Then his grip tightened, just slightly. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, deliberate. “Did you ever think we’d be a one-time thing?”

Your breath hitched. “Us?”

His fingers traced slow, idle patterns against your calf—deceptively nonchalant. But the way his touch set every nerve in your body on fire? Not even close.

“Yeah,” he murmured. “This… thing we’re doing. Did you think it’d last? Or did you go in thinking it was just for one night?”

You hesitated. Out of all the things he could’ve asked, this hadn’t even been on your radar.

“I…” You exhaled, shifting slightly, suddenly hyper-aware of how close he was. How warm his hands were against your skin. “I never thought of it as a one-time thing.”

His gaze flickered—sharp, assessing, unreadable. “Why?”

You huffed, trying for annoyed, but it came out breathier than you wanted. “Why what?”

His smile was slow, knowing. “Why’d you think it’d be more?”

Your throat tightened. “Stop doing that.”

“Doing what?”

“Reading me.”

“Why?”

“Because some things need to stay a secret.” You swallowed. “Some things… you don’t need to know. It’s too much.”

His grin widened, dark amusement curling at the edges. “I’m sure I can handle it.”

You curled your fingers into the rug beneath you. “Fine.” The word felt heavier than it should. “Just don’t be mad if you don’t like it.” You pressed on before he could interrupt. “This, you… it was never something I could walk away from.”

His fingers stilled—just for a second—before resuming those slow, maddening circles. “And that’s a bad thing?”

You scoffed, mostly to deflect. “For me? Yeah.”

His thumb pressed deeper into your skin. “Why?”

You sighed, dropping your head back against the couch before meeting his gaze again. "Because I got attached. One kiss, and I was already in too deep. And now? Now, I don’t know how to want you halfway. If you had only ever wanted me for a night, I would’ve taken it. Even if it broke me.” Your voice quieted. “And now we’re here, and it’s been months, and if this goes wrong—” You swallowed hard. “If you suddenly realize you don’t want this, or me, or that it's all too much— I don’t think I’d come out the other side in one piece.”

Bucky didn’t speak right away. Just watched you, unreadable as ever. Then, his thumb traced a slow, deliberate path along the curve of your knee, sending another shiver down your spine. “I know”, he said after a moment. Then, softer—raw, stripped of bravado:

“That’s what scares me.”

His words burned, low and true, cutting deeper than you expected. It wasn’t hesitation. It wasn’t doubt. It was something else entirely.

It was honesty.

And in that moment, you felt it—the shift. He was cracking open, piece by piece, letting you see the soft, bleeding parts of him that no one else had ever touched.

He let you see him. All of him. Let you peer in for as long as you wanted, as if he had made peace with it. That there was no wall you couldn’t bring down, so he just accepted it.

And maybe that was the real weight of it. Not the sex, not his past, not your willingness, but this—this terrifying, aching certainty that he could ruin you. That you’d let him. That if he asked, you would lay yourself bare at his feet and never ask for anything in return. He knew that if he asked, you would give him everything. Every last piece of yourself, until he was whole and you were the one bleeding.

Silence stretched between you, thick and humming. His eyes stayed locked onto yours, searching, waiting. And you realized—this was the test. Not the chase, not the tension, not even the words you hadn’t yet spoken. The test was whether you could hold his gaze, whether you could sit in the weight of this moment and not look away.

Your breath came shallow, chest tight, but you didn’t look away.

You couldn’t.

Not when his fingers curled just a little tighter on your thigh, like he was feeling the way you trembled. Not when his gaze flickered down, tracing the shape of your lips, the quickening pulse at your throat, the way your body betrayed you in ways your words refused to.

His voice was softer this time, but no less intense. “You know… I don’t do halfway either.”

Damn him.

The air between you turned electric. Your pulse hammered against your ribs, a warning and an invitation all at once.

“Bucky…” Your voice barely cleared a whisper, but he heard it. His fingers slid a little higher, grazing the sensitive skin of your thigh.

“What?” His tone was laced with challenge, teasing, but his eyes—his eyes were dark. Intent.

You let out a shaky breath. “Don’t… don’t play with me, okay?”

His smirk faltered, something shifting in his expression. “Is that what you think? That I don’t feel the same way? That this is some kind of game?”

“I don’t know.” You swallowed. “You’re hard to read.”

“I’m easier than you think.”

You shook your head. “I can’t read you right now.”

Bucky hummed, tilting his head slightly as you shifted, letting your arm rest against the couch behind him, seeking another point of contact. Your fingers slipped into the soft strands at the nape of his neck—an experiment, really. His lashes fluttered shut, just for a second, and your stomach flipped. Gravity, that’s what he was. A force pulling you in, impossible to resist. God, you wanted to climb into his lap and devour him whole.

“You can read me,” he murmured, eyes still closed. “You’re just scared you’ll see something you can’t ignore.”

Your heart pounded. “You always say that… Like you’re so sure I’ll wake up one day and decide you're a monster.” Your voice was quieter now. “That I'll finally see you the way you see yourself. It's not going to happen, Bucky.”

“That’s not what I mean.” He finally looked at you, his voice quieter now, but no less sure. “I mean… you’ll finally let yourself believe I feel the same way about you as you do about me.”

Your stomach flipped violently.

The air thickened, pressing in from all sides, and suddenly, you weren’t sure if you could breathe right. His words settled deep, threading into places you weren’t ready to touch—places that made you want too much, feel too much. It was too honest, too real, and if you let yourself linger there, you might drown in it.

So, you did the only thing you could. You swerved.

You sucked in a breath, forcing a smirk. “You really gotta stop saying things like that.”

His brow lifted slightly. “Like what?”

“Like… things that make my heart feel like it’s about to explode.” You made a vague, fluttery motion near your chest. “It’s very inconsiderate. You should warn a girl before you go throwing around words like that.”

Bucky huffed out something that almost sounded like a laugh, but he didn’t take the bait. His gaze stayed steady, unyielding, like he was waiting for you to actually sit with what he’d just said.

Nope. Not happening.

Instead, you let a wicked grin curled at your lips, a lifeline in dangerous waters. “Okay, I have a good one.”

Bucky’s eyes narrowed, wary but intrigued. “Go on.”

You bit your lip, leaning in like you had a secret too tempting to resist. “That first night we had sex… was that your first time since the ’40s?”

For half a second, he just blinked at you, like he couldn’t believe the words had actually left your mouth. Then, with a groan, he tipped his head back against the couch. “Jesus Christ.”

He laughed, but you caught the way the tops of his ears tinged red, his cheeks following suit. “That bad, huh?”

You gasped, swatting at his chest. “I never said that.”

He smirked, reaching for his drink. “Can you get me another one? I might not recover from this.”

You laughed, fingers curling tighter in his hair before dragging down the back of his neck, feeling the way he shivered under your touch. “If I tell you the truth about it, your ego will get so big we’ll both suffocate in this room.” You tilted his chin up with a knuckle, your lips brushing his in a soft kiss. “Come on, tell me.”

He took a slow sip of his drink, but you saw through him. He was stalling, rolling the words around in his head, figuring out how much to give away. Your heart picked up pace, watching the way his jaw worked, the way his fingers flexed.

Finally, he exhaled. “Yeah,” he admitted, voice quieter. “It was.”

You swallowed, lips parting, but before you could respond, he continued.

“I didn’t even remember how good it felt. Not until—” Bucky sighed, leaning back into your touch as if it steadied him.

“Until?” You urged him on, your nails dragging lightly against his scalp.

“Until I had you naked under me, wrapped around my fingers.” His eyes darkened, and his voice dipped lower, sending a shiver down your spine. “You were so wet and so… warm. When I—”

“I remember,” you cut him off, voice barely above a whisper, pressing your mouth to his shoulder to ground yourself.

And you did. You remembered the way he had frozen, realization crashing over him like a wave, the way his breath had hitched when he finally understood what it would feel like to be inside you. The memory sent a delicious shudder through you, and when you glanced down, you found his hand still on your leg, fingers tracing absentminded circles over your skin.

“So do I,” he admitted, his laugh coming out breathy, almost disbelieving. “Thought about it more times than I’d like to admit.”

You bit your lip, sliding your palm over his stomach, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breath. “You don’t have to just think. You can do it again,” you murmured. “Anytime. Anything you want, you can do it to me. You know that, right?”

His breath hitched, those piercing blue eyes locking onto yours, holding you captive. In that moment, you understood—he wasn’t letting you slip away. Every dodge, every joke, every attempt to steer the conversation elsewhere, he unraveled it effortlessly, guiding you right back to where he wanted you. "Why do you offer me so much?" His voice was low, edged with something unsteady. "Your body. Your trust. Why do you give yourself to me so freely?" The illusion of a lighthearted game shattered, the bourbon forgotten on the table, its amber warmth abandoned in favor of something far stronger—the charged air between you. It pulsed with the weight of everything you refused to admit, with the inevitability of what came next.

It felt like being caught in a storm’s eye, a vacuum where time stretched and condensed, where the world outside ceased to exist. There was only this moment, this man, and the unrelenting gravity of his presence. You could either surrender and give him the truth he was so keen to obtain, or wait for him to relent, to spare you, to step back and let you escape once more.

But you knew—God, you knew—he wouldn’t. His gaze was unwavering, his body coiled with the kind of patience that promised he could outlast you. He would outlast you. He had outlasted every single person in his life, why would you be any different? He wasn’t just waiting; he was chasing, methodical and unshakable.

And you? You were already lost. Because deep down, past all the resistance, you knew there was only one ending to this. You would give in. You would tell him what he wanted to hear.

Because how could you not?

Your chest tightened under the weight of his stare, each word peeling you open. "I want you to take it. To have me." The confession felt too vast, too exposed, but you forced yourself to continue. "You always hold back. Always deny yourself of everything good. I don’t want that for us. If you—if you don’t want this, it won’t be because I never gave you the choice."

His expression didn’t waver. “Is that the only reason?”

“I—” Your inhale was shaky, your eyes searching his.

“Do you only want this because you think I need something to hold on to?”

“No.” The word ripped from your throat, immediate, your head shaking, your voice cracking under the weight of it. “No, Bucky. That’s not… I don’t want to be some rehabilitation for you. I want to be with you. All of you.”

Your fingers twisted into his shirt, clinging to the fabric like a lifeline, like letting go would unravel you completely. “You don’t understand… I chose you, even when you never asked to be chosen.” A breathless, humorless laugh escaped you, sharp and fragile all at once. “But I couldn’t help it. With you, it’s like I finally—” You exhaled shakily, searching for the words, for air, for him. “Like it’s finally right. It fits. We fit. It’s like I was always meant for this. Meant for you.”

The confession scraped against your ribs, raw and aching, and you blinked hard, forcing back the sting behind your eyes. “I’ve never felt like this. For anyone. Never trusted anyone enough to—to let myself be claimed, to be theirs” Your voice barely held, a whisper on the edge of breaking. “But with you, it just… happened. You looked at me and it was over. I want you to be the one I belong to.”

Bucky’s lips parted, his breath shallow, but his voice was firm. Certain. “Because you love me.”

The moment he said it, you felt it—the trap snapping shut around you with perfect precision. You had to hand it to him; he was a damn good interrogator. You hadn’t even suspected that this was where he was leading you. Your breath hitched, emotions rising too fast to control, clawing at your throat like something primal, something desperate. His hand was still on your ankle, grounding, waiting. But he let you move, sensing the shift, the way your body coiled like a spring, the way your lips trembled as you fought against the inevitable.

“You’re not being fair,” you choked out, voice cracking as you turned your face away from his unwavering gaze.

“I just want to hear it, doll.”

Your chest ached. You squeezed your eyes shut, fingers curling into the fabric of your own sweater like you could hold yourself together if you just squeezed hard enough. “You know why I can’t.”

“I actually don’t.”

“You’ll leave. It’ll be too much…” you whispered, the words barely more than a breath. “You’ll run. And I don’t want to lose you because of my stupid feelings.”

Silence stretched between you, thick, suffocating. The air felt electric, charged with everything you weren’t saying. When you finally dared to look at him, his expression was unreadable, something soft, something searching. And then, just the slightest tilt of his lips—sad, knowing.

“Doll…” His fingers trailed slowly up your calf, not teasing this time, but tethering. A lifeline. “I’m here.”

“Until when?” The question was a wound, raw and bleeding. The first tear slipped free before you could stop it. The second followed before you even realized it was there. Bucky’s grip faltered, his fingers tightening—then loosening—like the words had landed somewhere deep, somewhere fragile.

Then, he let out a rough, breathless laugh, but there was no humor in it. “Until you’re done with me.” His voice was quiet, resigned. Like he already knew the ending to this story before it ever happened. “Until you don’t love me anymore. Until you realize what a mess I am and find someone better.”

Your breath stuttered, your heart hammering against your ribs so hard it hurt. “There’s no one better. No one else.”

You didn’t push him away when he reached for you, cradling the back of your neck with steady, careful hands. His touch was warm, unshakable. The kiss that followed was a collision—of fear, of longing, of too many unspoken things. It was salty with tears, but it tasted sweeter than anything you’d ever known. Bucky cupped your face, thumbs chasing away the stubborn wetness on your cheeks, lips moving slow, deliberate, like he had something to prove to you. And you let him. You let him tilt your head back, let him drag a hand down the length of your throat, let yourself drown in the sensation of him.

He tasted like bourbon and longing and home, and you drank him in like he was the only thing keeping you alive.

You couldn’t get enough.

Not when he pulled you onto his lap, not when he tangled a hand in your hair and tipped his head back against the couch, letting you take what you wanted—what you both wanted. Not when your kisses turned frantic, desperate, until your lips were bruised and swollen from the way you couldn’t stop, wouldn’t stop.

“You ready to tell me now?” His voice was a rasp against your lips, breathless, hungry. His fingers tangled into the hair at the nape of your neck, his free hand dragging under your sweater, fingers mapping the heat of your skin. “I wanna hear it, sweetheart. Do you know how badly—” he pressed a kiss to your jaw, your throat, your shoulder, “—how badly I’ve wanted to hear it? Since that night at my apartment? You were crying for me, and I—”

He was unraveling. And so were you.

You barely had time to react before he moved, pressing you down against the rug, his hands burning paths down your thighs as he spread them open, pressing himself against you, a shuddering breath escaping his lips as he hovered above you.

“Tell me you love me,” he demanded. “You want me to take what I want, don’t you? You want me to claim you? This is it, sweetheart. This is what I want.”

Your breath caught. This version of him—raw, unfiltered, pleading—it stunned you into silence. Your fingers dug into his shoulders, his name barely more than a whimper on your lips as his mouth found your skin again, leaving bruises, leaving proof.

Your hands were trembling, your pulse a thunderous rhythm beneath your skin. Fear curled in your belly, a living thing, coiling tight around your ribs, squeezing your lungs. You had never been so afraid of words before, of the weight they carried, of the way they could change everything in an instant.

“C’mon, sweetheart, say it,” he murmured, his voice a rough whisper against your lips. His hands gripped your waist, grounding himself in the reality of you, as if touch alone wasn’t enough. “I already know, doll. I just—I need to hear it.”

His voice was softer this time, but no less commanding, no less desperate. His eyes searched yours, stormy and endless, as if he were trying to commit you—this moment—to memory, afraid you might slip through his fingers like sand.

His breath hitched, fingers tightening ever so slightly, his forehead pressing against yours. “Give me something real,” he rasped, his voice thick, aching. “Let me hold onto it.”

“James—”

“Say it.” His voice cracked, a raw, broken thing, like he was shattering before your eyes. “Please, doll. I’m begging you.”

Your lungs burned, your heart a frantic drumbeat against your ribs, an erratic melody of terror and longing. Your throat closed around the words, refusing to let them go, but you knew—God, you knew—you couldn’t hold them in any longer. Not when he was looking at you like that. Like you were the only thing keeping him tethered to this world.

“I love you,” you finally breathed, the confession slipping from your lips like an exhale, fragile and trembling.

The effect on him was instant, visceral, breathtaking.

A sharp inhale. A flicker of disbelief, of something breaking and rebuilding all at once in his expression. His hand tightened at the nape of your neck, his forehead falling to rest against yours as if the weight of your words had stolen his balance. His breath was uneven, shuddering against your lips, and for a moment, he didn’t move, didn’t speak, just held you there in the space between heartbeats.

His lips parted, but no words came out—not at first. His breath hitched, his fingers curling slightly against your skin like he was afraid to let go. Then, finally, in a voice so raw it nearly shattered you, he whispered, "Say it again."

“I love you.”

#bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky x reader #bucky barnes fluff #bucky x reader smut #bucky fanfic #sebastian stan #sebastian stan fanfiction #marvel fanfic #marvel fanfiction #james buchanan barnes

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suzran · 9 days ago

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Character re-designs for a new au I am cooking up. Danny (previously homeschooled) is a new transfer student at Casper high and he gets to know Sam (A-lister diva) and Tucker (techno geek) who are strangers to each other.

So basically a canon rewrite with more realistic developments (Maddie, Jack and Vlad are way more responsible, lol) and a bigger focus on the trio and their shenanigans at Casper high.

Also let’s just say Danny is not the only one with a secret.

Picture with no writing under the cut.

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riongeee · 8 months ago

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Imagine Sebek getting a small fluffy animal as a pet, one that isn’t afraid of him. And that pet absolutely hates Malleus. Like anytime Sebek leaves those two alone the pet would just start glaring at Malleus.

Oh my god that's evil, I love it >:)

Sebek gets like a squirrel or a sugar glider maybe even a ferret that just absolutely abhorrs Malleus is GOLD.

The angst potential too >:)

Listen, it starts out as Sebek feeling lonely and being recommended getting a pet or something. For once, he's like 'yknow what, why not?' and goes to a pet store (or Sam because he probably DOES have animals. Not sure if that's ethical but hey....)

Every other animal is just a bit wary of him, he's half-fae(of the crocodile variety) and quite loud, so it's understandable enough. Just about as Sebek is about to leave a brave ferret or sugar glider just begins climbing him. He obviously gets flustered and tries to get it off before he realises it's not scared of him :0

Yeah he brings it back and he's so excited he sets up a whole little area in his room, making sure it's warm enough because if he can't stand the cold diasomnia, his pet probably won't be able too either.

Once he's fairly settled in with his pet and names it, he goes around Diasomnia to introduce it.

Except... the pet hates literally all of Dia3. Not even others, just Dia 3 specifically.

Lillia at first was amused and tried to interact with the little thing before getting bit and glared at. He's befuddled to say the least and Sebek scrambles to apologise.

Silver is absolutely astounded, usually animals flock to him in droves. Yet this little thing sits on Sebeks shoulder and glares at him as if he smells of week old socks. (Sebek probably didn't personally introduce his pet to Silver because he was worried it would like Silver more, that's how it's always been afterall.)

Malleus is the one the pet seems most averse to, it hisses and claws and just generally for some reason can't stand Malleus. Malleus is hurt but understanding but begins to distance himself from Sebek more to not aggravate the pet. From Sebeks perspective however, Malleus just hates him. So he turns to spending more time with his pet as comfort and eventually joining in with first year shenanigans.

Eventually, due to how much his pet hates Dia 3, Sebek begins to distance himself instead. Diasomnia don't even realise until they begin to notice the absence of the things Sebek used to do. The silly meals he used to cook(always with the best nutrition for wakasama), the sparring sessions, the thoughtful help and just missing the sunny boys presence after it's gone.

They try talk to him but that pet always gets in the way glaring at them, leading to Sebek leaving the room. Diasomnia are left with the impression that they have lost their youngest.

They try talking again when he is with the first years only to hear his laughter and stop in their tracks. When was the last time they illicited such a thing from Sebek, had they ever? Lillia even watches in distracted horror as Sebek walks over to the first years and ruffles Sebeks hair while asking him if he wanted to try a new recipe.

All this caused by one little pet :)

#sebek zigvolt #twisted wonderland #twst sebek #diasomnia #lillia vanrouge #malleus draconia #silver twst #twst first years #HAHAHAHAH #I am a firm believer in Diasomnia and Sebek angst #They do not treat my boy Sebek righttttt

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zepskies · 1 year ago

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Smoke Eater - Part 7

Pairing: Firefighter!Dean Winchester x F. Reader

Summary: Dean Winchester is the cocky, but well-respected Lieutenant at Firehouse 25. He leads by example, but he’s also known to break a few hearts. He’s starting to crave something he’s never had, though. Something stable. Something real.

That’s when he meets you, on a truly terrible day, trapped in a rickety old elevator.

🔥 Series Masterlist

AN: So I don't know why it takes me exactly seven chapters to get to the smut, but so far that's three different series where that's happened. 😂 (Never Say Goodbye, Break Me Down, and now Smoke Eater. Go figure! 🤷🏽‍♀️)

Word Count: 6,200 Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! For smutty smut and baking shenanigans, tinge of angst.

Part 7: “Cherry Pie & Lemon Drizzle”

You liked Dean’s apartment. It was on the second floor out of three, and a modest, clean, comfortable space.

Though overall it felt very “dude bro” in décor. You supposed that made sense, considering it was just Sam and Dean living here.

And while you still hadn’t met Sam (he was working late tonight), it gave you a chance to do something you’d been very much looking forward to doing with Dean…

“Not for nothin’, this is probably one in three of the best things I’ve ever put in my mouth,” said Dean.

True to his word, his mouth was full. You giggled as a flake of pasta spewed from his mouth.

“Oh really? Makes me curious about the other two,” you said mischievously. And you handed him a napkin to blot his face.

You sat across from him in the small dining room adjacent to the kitchen. The table itself was barely big enough to fit in the space, feeling more like a nook than a room, but it sat three people. That was usually enough for Sam and Dean, and occasionally Eileen when she came over.

Dean chuckled, his brows dancing. “Oh, I’m sure you’ll find out.”

Your face warmed at that, despite your amusement. You had made dinner, for which Dean had been more than enthusiastic.

“You mean I get an actual chef making me food? Sign me the hell up,” he’d teased.

Never mind that you weren’t an actual chef. You had focused on patisserie in culinary school. He didn’t seem to mind though, as he’d devoured two servings of salmon and fettucine alfredo, even down to the steamed broccoli. You had to admit, it warmed you inside to see him enjoy your food.

You’d promised to cook for him last week, and he hadn’t let it go until both your schedules opened up enough for you to come over.

He now hummed in satisfaction as he finished off the last bite on his plate and wiped his mouth with the napkin.

“Thanks for this, sweetheart. I needa have you around here more often,” he said, tossing you a grin.

You smiled back. “It’s my pleasure.”

It wasn’t the first time Dean had invited you over to his apartment, but for the life of you, you didn’t know why it had taken you so long to accept.

…Well, okay, you did know why. You were reluctant to leave your grandfather alone, potentially all night. But George had been adamant about you going out for as long as you wanted, on the promise that he’d check in every few hours until he went to bed.

“Okay, ready for dessert?” you asked.

“Uh, yeah,” Dean said. He still thought about those cookies you brought to the firehouse, almost a month ago already.

Damn, has it really been that long? he thought as he helped you collect the dishes from dinner. He followed you into the kitchen, where you already knew the lay of his land.

Sam couldn’t cook for shit, so it usually fell on Dean to be the figure of culinary expertise. But he had no problem making way for you, especially if you were going to look over your shoulder and wink at him like that.

“Good, because you’re going to help me,” you informed him.

Dean’s smile grew. “All right…what did you have in mind?”

While he started on the dishes in the sink, you hauled out even more ingredients from a big grocery bag you’d brought and stored in the refrigerator. He watched you out of the corner of his eye and spotted lemons, among other things.

“Lemon drizzle cake,” you replied. “One of my grandma’s recipes. I just need a mixing bowl and a cake tin.”

“Good, because we’re not very Betty Crocker in this place. Let’s just say my kitchen tools are limited,” he said, raising a brow at you. “You know, if you wanted to bake, I’m sure you’ve got all the proper bells and whistles at your house. We could’ve done this over there.”

You paused to consider the question he wasn’t quite asking, because he had a point. You could’ve invited him over your house instead. You joined him near the sink and leaned against the counter, tapping your nails on the tile surface.

“Well, as you know, I live with my grandpa,” you said.

“Good ol’ George,” Dean grinned. “That guy’s hilarious. Like the fourth Stooge.”

He particularly liked the story you’d told him about the time George had bought you your first makeup palette when you turned fifteen, but hadn’t told you it was face paint…the kind that clowns used.

“And I’d love for you two to get to know each other better. Don’t get me wrong. But barring the fact that we probably wouldn’t have much…privacy,” you pointed out with a subtle smile, trying to ignore Dean’s resulting smirk. Never mind that you two hadn’t needed “privacy” just yet.

“I guess I’m just not used to inviting people over. I’ve been trying to limit the exposure to germs in the house,” you admitted. At Dean’s quizzical look, you had to explain.

“My grandfather had cancer last year,” you said. “He had surgery to remove the mass, and did well, considering his age. He’s in remission now…but I’m still looking after him.”

You’d gone with him to see his primary doctor a couple of weeks ago for that persistent cough. While the doctor seemed to think it was George’s asthma acting up, you’d still scheduled an appointment with his oncologist.

And while your thoughts led you down an all-too familiar path, Dean processed this with a nod of his head. He shut off the sink. After drying his hands, he looked over at you and brushed your cheek with his thumb.

“I’m glad he’s doing better now,” he said. His brows furrowed. “And your grandma passed just a few years before that?”

You nodded, letting out a deep breath. “Yeah. It’s been a long few years.”

So, Dean took an inventory in his mind as he rested a comforting hand on your back. You took care of your family. You could cook. You were beautiful. And still, you kicked ass at your job and seemed to have the rest of your shit together.

He had to admit. The more he learned about you, the more he liked you.

“Anyway,” you shook your head with a smile. “Sorry. Ready to bake?”

Dean’s lips quirked as he followed you to the other side of the kitchen. He stepped behind you and letting his hands fall to your waist. His lips skimmed the side of your head, pressing a kiss there.

“Okay, Rachael Ray,” he teased. “Teach me your ways.”

You were trying to measure out some sugar in the bowl first, but you giggled with a warm blush as he kissed his way down your neck.

“Are you actually going to help, or are you just going to distract me?” you volleyed back.

Dean hummed against the crook of your neck. “Can’t I do both?”

You picked up and egg and raised it level with his face.

“Hmm, should I try cracking this against your forehead?” you pondered.

His teeth playfully nipped your skin in retaliation, making you flinch with a yelp. The egg actually cracked in your hand.

“Shit,” you laughed, and you quickly dropped as much of it in the bowl as possible. But getting fractals of the shell in the bowl disturbed your anal sense of meticulousness. When it came to cracking eggs, you typically had nothing if not precision.

You shot Dean an accusatory look over your shoulder. He just grinned back at you.

“Am I helping yet?” he joked.

You chuckled dryly in response. “Just you wait.”

A few more minutes and “helpful” distractions from Dean later, you successfully had a cake batter in the bowl. You were hand mixing up a storm and sorely missing your Kitchen Aid mixer. Dean was right though; his cupboards had little more than one cake pan, one mixing bowl, and one wooden spoon.

At home, you had a modest collection of cookware and bakeware that rivaled Williams & Sonoma. Though that had been a gift from your grandparents, when you graduated from culinary school. (Your grandma had picked them out before she passed.)

“What’s your favorite dessert?” you asked Dean. You were pretending not to catch him sampling the batter with a finger while you buttered the cake tin.

“Ever?” he asked, rubbing a licked finger on his jeans.

“Yeah. Number one top favorite.”

“Hmm,” he contemplated with a cross of his arms. “Pie, I guess.”

You smirked. That explained his little man-child display a few weeks ago, when you’d tried to share his blueberry pie on your second date.

“What flavor?” you asked.

“I dunno. I’m not real picky,” he said.

“Come on. Everyone has a favorite flavor,” you reasoned. “I’m more of a cake girl myself, but even I love a blueberry pie.”

Dean eyed your teasing grin with a growing smirk of his own. He remembered that day in your office just as well as you.

“Okay, fine. Apple, I guess,” he replied. You gave him a mocking look.

“Really, the most basic of them all?” You tsked at him, shaking your head. “What happened to Mr. Rocky Road?”

Dean chuckled, but he leaned against the counter next to you. Instead of giving it to you right back, as usual, he looked more thoughtful. A gentler look grew on his face. It caught your attention.

“You know, one of my earliest memories…” He looked up at you then, more self-deprecating.

You realized he was about to admit to something, maybe embarrassing, or maybe just vulnerable. Your smile softened too as you paused in what you were doing.

“You can’t leave me hanging on that one,” you said. And you drew closer with a hand soothing up his arm.

He glanced over at you. “I remember being…four, probably. My mom made pies during Christmastime. Cherry, pecan, whatever. But my favorite was her apple pie. I still remember it, because I haven’t had a pie since that tasted like that one.”

Your heart clenched, but your insides also warmed. Not just at the story of his mother, but the way Dean told it, his voice softer, steady, and deep. It told you a lot about him without him having to explain; just like you, he knew what loss was.

You curled your hands around his bicep and pressed a kiss to his shoulder. Then your gaze drew back up to his.

“Have you talked to your dad since the last time?” you asked, a bit cautiously. “About his investigation of the fire?”

Dean sighed deep through his nose. “No.”

But despite his father’s warning, he had spoken to Sam.

“It’s different this time, Sam. The brand marks are the same,” Dean argued with his brother, this time in the living room. He sat on the couch while Sam stood, trying to process everything Dean had just told him about Mary’s potential murder.

“You saw the pictures yourself?” Sam asked.

Dean frowned. “No, but Dad—”

“Dean,” Sam cut him off as he gripped at his temples in frustration. “This is what he does. He sees evidence where he wants to see evidence. I’ve been down this road with him too, you know.”

“Yeah, I know,” Dean gritted out. John had roped Sam into helping him a few times, using his ADA status to look into different leads that ultimately hadn’t panned out.

“They always look like connections to him, but they never end up being anything more than his obsession,” Sam said.

He was firm, and Dean understood why, but his gut was telling him that it was different this time…

Still, he had no choice but to let it go. For now.

Dean shook his head of that memory. Instead, he tried to focus on being here with you. He liked this little yellow sundress you had on, despite the fall chill starting to set in outside. As usual, your hair was clipped up away from your neck while you got ready to put the now full cake tin into the oven.

He came over behind you and freed your hair from the clip, letting it all tumble down. You yelped and glanced over at him.

“Dean,” you chided, even though you were smiling. “My hair’s going to get in the batter.”

“I’ll keep it away, don’t worry,” he said lightly. He curled some of your hair around his hand so he could once again press a tantalizing kiss to the back of your neck. He felt you shiver.

You subtly leaned back against him, even as you whined in protest.

“Can you just let me get this in the oven?” you asked on a laugh. He smirked against your skin. You did manage to get the cake in the oven, but his lips and teasing hands were unrelenting as you tried to start cleaning up.

So you felt you had to take matters into your own hands. A mischievous idea had you smiling. You reached out for some flour that had spilled on the counter.

You turned, and before he realized what you were up to, you marked his forehead with an arch of white against his skin.

“Simba,” you said in a deeper voice, trying to mimic Mufasa from The Lion King.

Dean’s brows rose along with his widening eyes. He’d never seen you do something that childish, but it sparked his competitiveness as he blinked a bit of flour out of his eyes.

“You’re real proud of yourself, aren’t you?” he asked.

Your little smirk was answer enough. You flicked a bit more flour onto his shirt.

Dean chuckled darkly. “Okay, you asked for it.”

Both a gasp and a giggle caught in your throat.

“Oh, no.”

He reached past you for some flour off the counter and flicked it down at you, into your hair, across your face. He grabbed your flailing wrist and marked your cheeks. All the while, his grin grew ever deeper at your shrieking protests.

But you grew devious. You stuck two fingers into the bowl and scraped out a gob of raw, yellow batter. You were fully prepared to fling it into his face, but Dean grabbed your wrist.

“Ey, ey!” he raised a warning finger with his free hand. “You’re about to take this to a new level.”

You met his gaze through your lashes with a playful smile. “So?”

Dean raised a brow at you. He could admit, you had audacity. All he could do was call your bluff.

He took one of your battered fingers into his mouth. Your eyes widened at the feel of his soft tongue swirling around your finger, sucking it clean. All the while, his eyes never broke from yours.

Lord have mercy, you thought. Really, it was the only coherent one in your head.

He soon released you with a soft pop, before he did the same to the second finger.

Your breath hitched, and your blush was a living thing spreading down your neck, even as warmth pooled between your legs. By the time your second finger slid out of his mouth, you had to reach back to grip the counter just to steady yourself.

His arm slipped around your waist, and you reached for his face with both hands, bringing him down for the hottest kiss you’d ever had in your life. Teeth clicking, lips and tongues warring and devouring. Your fingers slipped roughly through his hair, while he gripped your hips and ass with a passion just shy of bruising.

You almost didn’t register the way his hands slipped under your thighs, to then heft you up onto the counter. You gasped into his mouth and clung tightly to his shoulders. He chuckled and positioned himself to stand between your legs.

“What, need a little warning?” he teased. Though he was breathless as your soft lips veered away from his, starting a burning path across his jaw and down his neck. You left the remnants of your lipstick all along the way, but it was the occasional graze of your teeth that had him moaning for you.

“Maybe,” you whispered coarsely against his skin, uttering a small laugh, “Sometimes I forget how damn strong you are.”

He scoffed. “Sweetheart, if I can heft a grown man on my shoulders up a flight of stairs, I can get you up on a little counter.”

You snorted in response. Perks of dating a firefighter.

And you shoved off his plaid shirt from his shoulders. Dean helped you by letting it drop the rest of the way to the floor, followed by his black undershirt.

You couldn’t believe this was the first time you were seeing him with his shirt off. It was a damn shame, really. But you caught the bit of smugness curving his lips at the way you were ogling, first with your eyes, then with your exploring hands over his toned arms and chest, and the solid plane of his abs, all the way down to his belt. You started undoing the clasp.

Dean couldn’t believe he was doing this, but he stopped you with his hands gently curling around your wrists. You looked up at him in confusion. To him, you looked unbelievably sexy then. Thoroughly kissed, hair tousled, a strap of your dress fallen to one shoulder while your lacey black bra peeked through.

Just the memory of having your curves in his hands had his dick hardening in his jeans, but he blew out a breath.

“Dean?” you asked. “What’s wrong?”

His hands tightened on yours as he peered down at you. “Are you sure?”

You blinked incredulously. “Did I look not sure?”

He paused, licking his lips. He raised a hand to hold your cheek.

“I just…you know I’m trying to do this right with you,” he said. “I just want to know…”

He couldn’t seem to finish what he was trying to say, but you thought you understood. You smiled up at him warmly. You leaned up for a kiss, softer this time.

“Dean, I trust you,” you said. And you could finally say it with no reservations. “I think this feels real. More real than anything I’ve had in a long time… What about you?”

When Dean smiled, it was warm, melting away the doubt in his eyes.

“Yeah, me too,” he said.

He seemed sincere. Maybe this man spared few words when it came to how he felt, but you’d seen a glimpse of the deeper parts. He felt things deeply, down to his bones.

His fingers sunk into your hair, and he guided you into a kiss. It was slower, but no less heady and wanting than the first. Your arms wrapped around his middle, letting you flatten your palms against the muscles in his back. But just as you were getting comfortable, Dean broke the kiss. He flashed you a smirk.

Before you could ask what the hell he was about to do, he’d hefted you back into his arms and over his shoulder. You squawked in protest as your whole world tipped over. Your face thudded on his back with a soft oof, your hair loose and falling like a curtain. Your hands accidentally fell against his ass.

“Ooh, someone’s handsy,” Dean teased.

“Dean!” you exclaimed, despite your peals of laughter. “Is this really necessary? I think I can find your room just fine.”

“Call it an officer’s escort,” he supplied.

“That’s for policemen!” you argued.

You couldn’t see it, but you could imagine the way he was grinning from ear to ear as he carried you through the apartment. You never noticed just how long his bowed legs were as he strode onward. But it felt like his shoulder was digging into your appendix.

Grunting in frustration, you slapped his ass again for good measure.

Dean laughed. “Hey, you’re only fueling my fire, baby.”

He slapped your ass right back, since he had an even better vantage point. He even slipped a hand underneath your little sundress and squeezed the inside of your thigh teasingly.

Your answering yelp, and the futile kick of your feet, had him laughing harder. His cheeks were aching.

Finally he reached his room, where he shut the door with his foot. He was gentle as he eased you off his shoulder and laid you down on his bed. You let out a breathless huff once your head hit the pillows. Your face was all red from being suspended upside-down, your hair a mess, and your dress pooling over your folded legs.

You gave Dean a playful glare. “Get over here.”

His smirk deepened, but he obliged you. He chucked his shoes off first, just like you let your sandals slip off the side of the bed.

He soon made his way up the bed, until he was hovering over you with his arms braced on either side of your head. He liked the way you were all laid out for him over his sheets, your wild hair spread over his pillows. He’d pictured something like this before, but nothing came close to having you for real.

He just didn’t know you’d been dreaming of the same thing.

You hadn’t allowed yourself to truly fall for someone, not in a long time. You’d been too focused on pivoting after school, on building your career, on taking care of your family. You’d dated here and there, but nothing had stuck for more than a few months. Even then, you’d never felt half of what you felt right now.

It scared you a little, but it also made you feel alive. Being with Dean made you feel that way.

So you took his face between your hands. His stubble rasped against your palms and the pads of your fingers. You didn’t mind that though. He’d left it a bit long for a shave last week. When you’d mentioned off-hand that you liked the thicker scruff (thinking it made him all the more handsome), he’d kept it for you.

Now, he seemed like he was waiting on your cue.

You guided him down to you. He kissed you hot and slow, while a hand moved to your waist and clenched in the material of your dress. He slipped a heavy thigh between both of yours. The pressure was welcome, but you wanted friction.

You bunched up the skirt of your dress and aimed to slip it off, but Dean stopped your hands.

“That’s my job,” he teased.

“Then how about you get to it?” you countered with a smile. He rose a brow at you.

“A bit bossy, but I can dig that,” he smirked.

His kisses dropped against your neck, down your exposed neckline, and he peeled down the straps of your dress one by one. Your breathing became more labored as he touched you, squeezing a breast over the bra as he exposed more inches of your body.

Your fingers carded through his hair on a sigh as he made his way further down. Though he finally got impatient enough to work your dress off all the way, followed by his jeans and your bra and matching lacey panties. He lavished attention what felt like all over your body.

Really, he was just strategic. He stopped in places where you lost breath, moaning his name. Like the spot just under your ear, where he sucked hard enough to make you see stars. Or over your breasts, taking a pebbled nipple in his mouth, swirling with his tongue like he had the cake batter off your fingers.

His hands mapped out the soft planes and curves of your body for the first time, sometimes smooth and grazing, sometimes adding pressure that made warmth continue to pool between your legs.

He went further still, wrapping an arm around your thigh and pressing nipping kisses along the inside. All the while his mouth drew closer to the place you wanted him the most. Even though you still raised up on your elbow and gave him a questioning look.

“Really? You want to…” Your voice came out in a whisper.

Dean looked up at you with puzzled brows. “Why not?”

You shook your head, your eyes widening marginally.

“No reason, I guess. I, um…I’ve never had someone do this for me first.” And certainly not on the first time having sex.

Dean frowned.

“Really?” he asked. “A guy’s never gone down on you first?”

You blushed. “Well, maybe with his fingers, but not…”

He shook his head and let out a breath. You felt it between your thighs, and your core clenched in anticipation.

“Okay, baby. I gotcha,” he said. He guided you back down with a gentle hand. “Just lie back and relax.”

You smiled, despite your lingering blush, and you stroked the hand that rested above your stomach. That hand soon slid down as he once again kissed and licked down your thighs. They quivered a bit as his fingers slipped between your folds.

“So fucking wet for me already,” he said in approval. You peered down at him, unable to help a smile.

“You want a medal?” you quipped.

Dean’s brows rose.

“Oh, I’m about to earn it.” His eyes found yours. “You know what my real favorite pie flavor is?”

Your brows knitted together. “What?”

A familiar smirk crossed his lips. “Cherry.”

Before your choked surprise could be broken with a laugh, he began.

And he wasn’t lying, about any of it. The pads of his fingers began toying with your clit, and that alone had your breath hitching and your hips squirming.

He held you down with one hand on your lower belly while his tongue joined his fingers, seeking your heat and finding the hot channel where you craved to be filled. You gasped.

“Oh, God,” you uttered. Once his warm tongue began rolling inside you, you almost couldn’t breathe.

He worked you over with fingers, lips and tongue until you were arching off the bed, fists clenched in his hair and in the sheets, releasing broken gasps of his name. He didn’t relent until your thighs stopped shaking around his head. Your knees were damn near pinning him there.

He eventually withdrew, wiping his mouth and nose with the back of his hand. He moved smoothly back up your body and heeded the pull of your hands on his arms, and then his face. You tugged him down for a sloppy kiss.

“How’s that for a first?” he asked breathlessly. His tone was teasing, but he was half-serious you thought, by the look in his eyes.

You were honest, without a hint of a joke. “Fucking incredible. Just like you.”

Dean wouldn’t admit it then, but what you said warmed him. He looked down on you with a smile.

Your hands caressed his face, down his neck and firm chest, and further still to caress his straining length over his boxer briefs. Dean let out a halting moan at your gentle touch.

“What if I want to return the favor?” you asked with a smile. He made a sound deep in his throat when you cupped him more firmly, letting your thumb brush over the head.

Well hello, you thought. He was thick, and a bit bigger than your first thought. Your already sensitive core tightened at the thought.

Meanwhile, Dean squeezed your arm. His hot gaze bore into yours.

“Very, very tempting.” His thumb brushed your lower lip. “I’ve no doubt you’ve got some talents yourself.”

You smiled under the pad of his thumb. Part of you was contemplating some retribution, sucking it into your mouth the way he’d done to your fingers in the kitchen.

“But I’m thinkin’ I want to skip to the part where I have you coming apart all over again,” said Dean. His head bowed near your ear, though his lips skimmed the side of your face. “This time, from the inside.”

His voice was deep and threaded with grit. You bit your lip on a giddy laugh. You managed to nod, sweeping your shaky fingers through his hair.

“Okay, next time then,” you promised and gave him a sensuous kiss. “But first, just want to make sure you’re ready for me…”

You pushed at the center of his chest so he'd let you sit up, so you could lean down to slide his underwear for him, down to his knees. He helped you the rest of the way, kicking them off his legs. When he came back, you soothed warm hands along his thighs. Then you took his cock into your hands. Dean dropped his forehead onto your shoulder with a grunt, again squeezing your arms as you touched him properly for the first time.

Dean had a habit of impressing you, and this was no different. You liked the feel of him in your hands, warm and thick and heavy.

After licking your hand to coat it with some wetness, you experimented for a moment in how you stroked him, trying to get a feel for what he liked just as he had for you. He gasped and jolted on one particular twist, and he finally stopped you with a hand on your wrist.

“Okay, baby. Keep that up and we’re not gonna get much farther for a while,” he said coarsely.

It was satisfying to know you’d made him feel even a fraction of how he’d made you feel.

You pressed a purposeful kiss into his neck. “I told you, next time I’ll take care of you for real.”

He chuckled, cupping the side of your face.

“Oh, you’re about to. Believe me,” he said.

He kissed you long and deep, until you were once again breathless. The two of you were kneeling in the middle of the bed like you had all the time in the world. And yet, you wanted him more than ever.

“I’m on birth control,” you told him between more fervent kisses, hands drifting, feeling skin to warm, dewy skin, breaths mingling.

“And I’m clean,” he said. You nodded, hesitating…

“It’s our first time,” you said. “Condom, just to be safe.”

He hesitated only a beat before he nodded back, agreeing to your request. “Yes, ma’am.”

He broke from you briefly. He turned and dug into his nightstand while your nails drew light patterns down his back. It was distracting in the best of ways. A trill of excitement had his hands moving quickly, ripping the foil packet open and fitting himself with the condom.

When he was ready for you, he turned and hooked an arm around your waist. You twined your arms around his neck, and once again, you let him lay you down. His kiss came first, and then his fingers between your legs, past your folds to stroke you back to life.

You moaned into his mouth and wrapped your legs around his hips. Though he surprised you again by hooking your legs over his shoulders. Your brows raised at him, and he shot you a wink.

“Trust me, you’ll like it this way,” he said.

You did trust him. Your hands caressed down his neck, down his chest, and you subtly urged him with your heels on his back, encouraging him where you both knew he needed to be.

And with one slow push, his cock was stretching your inner walls with slow, delicious friction. You both groaned at the feeling. His forehead pressed against yours. His hand trembled slightly, brushing your hair away from your face. And he began moving inside you in steady strokes.

Dean was putting his all into this tonight. He thought your promises to take care of him next time were as endearing as they were sexy as hell. Even now, you were touching him wherever you could reach, occasionally moaning his name in his ear, encouraging him with every thrust inside you.

Fuck, he was right, you thought. He was reaching places deep inside you, filling you to the very brim. And you were already on the edge of pleasure, brows furrowed, biting your lower lip so hard that your teeth nearly broke the skin…

Your fingers slipped down between you to further part your folds and rub your already sensitive clit. Dean caught the hint and moved your hand to do it himself, as in time with his thrusts as he could. Finally, you unraveled for the second time that night. Your gasp gave way to a moan.

Your tightening walls gripped him like a vice. His release hit him with the same force, choking a near shout out of him. His hand was a bit too tight in your hair, he realized, so he forced himself to ease up.

He petted over your hair instead as he came down with ragged breaths. After he released your shaky legs back to the bed, he leaned mostly on his elbow and thigh instead of sinking all his weight onto you.

You appreciated that. You soothed up and down his back while you panted for breath.

“Wow,” you managed to say.

Dean’s chuckle took him by surprise too.

“Yeah,” he agreed. He turned his head to press a sloppy kiss where your neck met your shoulder.

Just then, a distant-sounding jingle reached your ears. It was familiar…and you remembered it was the alarm on your phone, which was probably in the kitchen.

“Oh shit,” you gasped. “The cake’s still in the oven.”

He blinked. “Well, I don’t smell burning, so we’re good.”

“Dean! You’re a firefighter, remember?” you laughed, but you still tapped his shoulder so he’d roll over. Reluctantly he did, but he still took you with him, even after he’d slid out of you.

You yelped and clung to his shoulders to balance yourself. “I gotta get the cake!”

“Five more minutes,” he grumbled into your neck. He also liked the way your breasts were pressed against his chest.

“It’s going to be so…damn…burnt!” You punctuated each of those syllables with a playful smack on his arm, until he finally released you with a lazy smirk.

You shook your head and huffed in amusement. Sliding out of bed, you searched around for your dress. The first thing you found was his discarded undershirt. You slipped it on real quick and cautiously padded out of Dean’s room. You didn’t know if Sam was back from work, but this was not how you wanted to meet him.

The halls were quiet, so you didn’t think he was home yet. You managed to get to the kitchen unscathed, where you turned off your timer and grabbed some oven mitts. You opened the oven and pulled out the cake, setting it down on the counter. Your eyes narrowed at the almost perfect dome on top.

“What’s the verdict, Chef Ramsay?”

Dean leaned in the doorway, dressed in a pair of gray sweatpants and nothing else. The view was delectable, but you sighed and gestured at the cake with a shake of your head.

“It’s burnt.”

“What? No, it’s not,” he refuted. He joined your side and stared down at the top of the cake, which was half browned. “Looks all right to me.”

“Trust me, it’s going to be dry,” you said, “even with the lemon drizzle on it.”

It was the perfectionist in you that smarted with disappointment. You didn’t want to serve anyone something you weren’t proud of, especially Dean. But he just leaned over and pressed a kiss to the side of your head.

“Don’t beat yourself up,” he said. “I’m still gonna eat the crap out of it.”

You glanced at him, unable to help a small smile. He grinned back.

“Anyway, I think it was worth it. Don’t you?” Dean said. He pulled you in towards him by your waist, and you went willingly, resting your hands against his bare chest. You let your nails drag against his skin a little as you contemplated.

You looked up at him with a grin of your own.

“Yeah. Definitely worth it.”

Dean later sat with you again at the table, this time with your chairs closer together as you each ate large slices of delicious cake (even if it was a bit dry). Out of the corner of his eye, he noted the copious number of dishes still left in the sink and the flour and batter sprinkled across the counter.

He knew Sam was going to have a conniption when he got home (in the morning at this rate). He was probably crashing at Eileen’s apartment tonight.

Good, Dean thought. That meant he’d have the place all to himself, with you.

“You know, I just realized something,” he said.

You knew that look in his eyes. He was about to say something smartass.

“What’s that?” you asked. He reached out and thumbed at your chin.

“I just got my dessert twice in one sitting,” he remarked. “That’s pretty damn good, if you ask me.”

You snorted in laughter. You also blushed, but you were unable to stop smiling either.

You set down your fork and eased back from the table. Your hand on Dean’s shoulder encouraged him to do the same, so you could sit across his lap. He welcomed you with a warm hand on your bare thigh. Already it was creeping under the shirt you borrowed.

You stroked his cheek with the back of your hand and gave him a mischievous smile.

“Think you could handle another serving?”

AN: 🫣 Was it everything you wanted it to be? lol I love me some baking innuendo. What did you like more: eating the cherry pie or making the lemon drizzle? 😏❤️‍🔥

In Part 8, Dean's past comes a knockin'...

Next Time:

While you were getting dressed, a phone buzzed on one of the nightstands beside the bed. It was Dean’s phone.

You went over to it curiously as you fixed the straps of your dress. The screen showed a missed text message from last night, around 10:00 p.m., and another one this morning. You read the latest one with a sinking feeling in your chest.

From Marissa: Surprised I didn’t hear back from you last night. The offer still stands. 😘

Keep Reading: PART 8

Dean Winchester Masterlist

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#Cherry Pie & Lemon Drizzle #Smoke Eater #Part 7 #dean winchester #Firefighter!Dean Winchester #dean winchester x reader #Dean Winchester x female reader #firefighter!Dean Winchester x Reader #dean winchester x you #firefighter AU #dean winchester AU #spn #supernatural #zepskies writes

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lesbianpepsi · 2 years ago

Text

would it be a sin if i stayed?

pairing: ghostface!sam carpenter x fem!reader

summary: you find out your girlfriend is hiding something from you

words: 3.120k

warnings: mentions of murders, gf!sam, knife, scream shenanigans, stab wounds, treating wounds, fear of cheating(?), swearing, bad writing

authors note: so it's been a minute huh, excuse the rusty writing i've been in pain and in a writers block

Everyone's entitled to their own secrets; there's nobody in the world that doesn't have at least one secret.

Some people have small secrets such as not liking a certain food but saying they like to please the other person. Others don't have such sweet secrets.

The darkest secret you have is the fact you slit your ex's tire once after she cheated on you, it's not insanely dark or even cool, it's simply just a secret that you don't want people to know about.

Yet there's people in your life that hold such darker secrets, ones that could never be revealed to anyone; not even their most loyal loved ones.

Unbeknownst to you that person is Sam Carpenter, your girlfriend of over a year.

—————

Me (17:29pm): i'll get started on dinner soon then?

Sammy<3 (17:32pm): Yes please. Hopefully I'll be done soon with my shift and can hopefully even help you a bit with the cooking! 👩‍🍳😊

Me (17:33pm): maybe i'll postpone for a bit then

Sammy<3 (17:33pm): No, start cooking. You need to eat and Derek is a bastard who won't let me off early anyways 😂😂

Me (17:34pm): fineeeee

Me (17:34pm): see you soon then, love you <33

Sammy<3 (17:36pm): I love you too, Y/n ❤️

Me (18:12pm): i finished making dinnerrrr:))

Me (18:22pm): sammmm

Me (18:29pm): sam?

Me (18:31pm): please answer me sam, where tf are you?? ik you finish your shift at six

Me (19:06pm): Sam this isn't funny, please answer my calls.

You bite your bottom lip nervously as you reread over the messages hoping to see that small bubble pop up any second.

Sure traffic was a reasonable reason to why Sam's late but she'd always message you after finishing her shift at work.

Sam's one of those people who never leaves the house without her phone being higher than 80%, meaning her phone being dead wouldn't explain it. She always made sure it had more than enough battery in case Tara or you called her and there was an emergency

So why the fuck isn't Sam answering your texts? You can't help but worry after everything that's happened to the poor woman and her family with Ghostface.

You've already tried calling her three times to no avail. Nervously you switch over to Tara's contact as your thumb hovers over the call button, debating whether you should ask her if she's seen Sam or not.

If Tara hasn't seen her and Sam is in fact just running incredibly late then you're just going to worry the younger Carpenter for no reason.

"Fuck." You mumbled to yourself as you lowered your thumb to dial Tara, deciding it's worth the risk.

Just as you're about to press down you hear the doorknob to your front door jangle, immediately you whip your head around to see Sam entering calmly.

You drop your phone and rush over to her throwing your arms around her desperately as you cling to her.

Sam doesn't say anything as she slowly raises her hand to your back, rubbing it up and down slowly.

"Where were you, Sam? I thought something had happened." You say worriedly as you pull away staring into your eyes intently, noticing a glimmer in her eyes that you have never seen before.

Her eyes looked darker, almost a lustful look in them.

She sighed as she smiled apologetically. "Some girl puked all over the place so I had to clean it up so I wasn't done till six thirty, then my phone died so I couldn't text you."

You ponder for a second on the possibility of Sam's phone actually being dead since the messages and calls went through, meaning it would be impossible for her phone to be dead.

Biting your tongue you nod as you smile at Sam, just relieved to have her here.

"Okay, glad you're safe then. I've made a plate for you so you just need to reheat it." Sam grins as she presses a quick kiss to your cheek making your ear burn just as they did the very first time they kissed you.

"You're the best." She says and you chuckle giving a weak smirk. "I know right, the best girlfriend."

Sam pulls away from you as well, finally giving you a proper look of her. You tilt your head confused as you notice the baggy black hoodie she's wearing, practically devouring her and hiding her arms and upper body.

"You didn't leave wearing that this morning." You comment mindlessly as you grab the end of the sleeve, rolling your fingers around the soft texture.

Sam stiffens as she roughly pulls her arm away from your grip, crossing her arms over her chest. You frown at her abruptness.

"It was in the trunk of my car." Sam replies dismissively with a wave of her hand before turning to enter your room.

You remain where you stand a little frown toying on your lips. What was that about? You thought as you glanced at the doorway to your bedroom, the light being flickered on by Sam.

"I'm just gonna take a shower real quick then I can eat dinner and we can watch some movies?" You hear Sam yell from your room also hearing the erratic movement from her as you walk closer.

Leaning on the doorway you see Sam placing her phone, car keys and work badge on the dresser.

"Want me to reheat your food for you?" You suggest with a smile. Sam nodded her head as she turned to face you, placing a gentle kiss to your forehead this time as she whispered, "I love you so much." before passing you and locking herself in the bathroom.

A few moments later you hear the loud sound of the shower water hitting the bottom of the tub before it gets muffled by Sam entering the shower.

Against your better judgement you glance back into the room where Sam's phone is kept, the desperate urge to check it gnawing at you.

You didn't want to snoop through it, no, you just wanted to see if she was lying or not. Which you basically already knew she was.

You glance back at the bathroom door before rushing into the room to look at Sam's phone.

Reaching the drawer you picked up her phone and to your horror the movement of you picking it up lights the screen up.

 Sam's phone wasn't dead.

She lied to you.

Sam wouldn't cheat on you, right? No, Sam would never. She loves you too much for that.

Right?

Shaking your head in hopes of getting rid of those thoughts you place Sam's phone back into its original position, staring at it before leaving the room to reheat Sam's plate of food.

You trust Sam with your life and more and don't believe she's cheating on you since she's already quite possessive and protective of you after Ghostface.

After placing the plate into the microwave you move back into the living room, dropping down onto the couch with a sigh as you wrap your fingers around the TV remote, pressing the on button.

The TV started up and immediately you were introduced to the loud male voice of the news reporter. You pulled out your phone and didn't pay much attention till you heard him utter a line that made your blood run cold.

"-two male victims stabbed to death near Parker Street, the police have no lead suspects as of now but a CCTV footage has been leaked showing the brutal murder and the killer wearing the infamous Ghostface costume."

Your eyes widened as you slowly lowered your phone, pushing yourself up the couch as you straightened your posture.

Ghostface is back? It doesn't help that Parker street, that's the street where the bar Sam works at is at.

"Sam!" You yelled and panicked as your eyes remained focused on the screen.

You could hear the shower stopping before moments later the door the bathroom being thrown opened and Sam rushes into the living room soaking wet with a towel wrapped around her body.

"What's wrong?" Your girlfriend asked as she moved to your side, holding your face with a possessive grip as she turned it to the side to see if you were hurt.

You shake your head making her let go and nod towards the TV, Sam takes your hint and turns to focus on the screen.

She's silent for a moment, her breathing eerily calm as her eyes meet with yours.

"Ghostface is gone, we don't have to worry." She says as her hand glides into yours.

Your brows furrowed in confusion as this is a total 180 reaction to how she reacted last time when Tara's classmate was murdered, and it wasn't even confirmed it was Ghostface at that time.

"Sam, the person was literally wearing a Ghostface outfit and two people were murdered on the same block where you work! This cannot be a coincidence." You rush out as you look down at your phone where it lay on the couch. "We have to call Tara, Mindy and Chad. I'm not letting you all go through this again." You say as you grab your phone but you're stopped by Sam's hand wrapping around your wrist.

Looking up at her confused you see a blank expression on her face, not a panicked look you expected to see.

"This is not our Ghostface, Y/n, calm down, please." Sam replies, moving her hand to interlock with yours with a tight grip.

Your jaw slackens as the crease between your brows gets even bigger.

"A dude in a Ghostface outfit killed two people near where you work, Sam!" You insist on trying to make Sam notice how dire this situation is.

She shakes her head as she shuffles a bit closer, the droplets falling off of her and a few dropping onto you.

"My Ghostface doesn't do random public killing, this is very out of character. It's probably just some psycho who's using it as a disguise, Y/n. It's fine. I'm safe, Tara's safe, the twins are safe and you're safe." You're speechless at Sam's smooth words, never hearing her so calm and confident.

Last year she threatened to move countries instantly when it wasn't even confirmed it was about them.

You let out a humourless chuckle as you shake your head. "And what did Mindy say when Tara was acting like you right now last year? It's a bit too close to home."

Sam shakes her own head as she flashes a smile that never fails to make your heart skip a beat. "You trust me, don't you?"

You let out a barely audible scoff as you nod your head at the question as if it was a stupid question to ask.

"With my life and more Sam." Sam's smile softens as she nods her head gently, as if knowing what you were going to say.

"So trust me on this, my love." She whispers, raising her wet hand to lay on your cheek lovingly. "Please." She adds in a whisper as her thumb runs up and down your cheek slowly.

You maintain eye contact with Sam as you begin to feel yourself getting lost in her dark brown eyes, unconsciously nodding your head slowly.

Sighing you snap out of your trance as you smile weakly at her, squeezing your interlocked hands.

"I trust you."

—————

A few days have passed and the only person other than you who's showing concern over the murders is surprisingly Tara. The girl who was very adamant last year that this almost exact scenario wasn't related to them in any way.

You've been texting her non stop about your worries about the entire situation but you haven't said anything about your concerns about Sam.

She lied to you, sure it was something very niche but with the timing of the murders; something just felt off.

You have also noticed that Sam has been even more loving lately, not that she isn't always wonderful to you, but it's more than usual.

You love the attention but you still can't help but feel that there's something wrong.

It's a Saturday night and Sam's working the night shift again, you're not doing anything special so you decided to sleep in early.

It's around two in the morning when you get awakened by a slam of the door, it immediately sprung you out of sleep since you've always been a light sleeper since the entire Ghostface incident.

You rub your eyes as you slowly sit up, glancing around the room and notice Sam isn't in bed.

Concern runs through your veins immediately as you push yourself off the bed to stand up, your feet hurting the cold floor as you move towards the door. Is it a complete dumb move to investigate the random loud noise? Yes, absolutely. But you can't help but think it's most likely Sam and maybe she's having another one of her attacks.

"Sam?" You yell out softly as you open the door and glance around your small apartment, squinting your eyes to see better in the dark.

There's no sign of Sam but then you notice the light peeking through the bottom of the bathroom door. You definitely didn't leave the bathroom light on.

You head towards the bathroom door and go to open it but it's locked, you frown as your concern grows.

"Sam? Are you there?" You ask as you keep trying to unlock the door but to no use.

A muffled grunt is heard through the door before you hear Sam's raspy voice.

"Go back to bed, Y/n, I'll join you soon." Sam's muffled voice says as another low grunt is heard. That doesn't help your nerves at all.

You can feel your heart pick up a pace as you desperately keep trying to unlock the door.

"Open the door, Sam, please." You beg as you keep trying to open the door, shaking the doorknobs desperately.

"No." Sam says sternly, making you shake your head at her stubbornness. "Sam if you don't unlock this door I swear I'll kick it down. Please open the door."

"No I-" Sam goes silent for a moment before continuing her words. "You can't see me like this, you'll leave me."

"Sam I love you more than anything in this world, if you're hurt I want to see you and help you. Please." You say sincerely as you still your moments on trying to open the door, trying to show Sam how much you care for her.

She doesn't say anything for what feels like an eternity, your fear growing with each passing second as you swallow nervously.

Then you hear it, the door unlocking but Sam doesn't open it for you. Immediately you throw the door open and scan your eyes to find Sam sitting on the edge of the bathtub wearing her usual grey tank top, tight black cargos and thick black boots with bruises and a singular stab wound on her arms.

Your breath hitches as your eyes widen dramatically, your fear about Ghostface attacking Sam again being confirmed.

Sam refuses to make eye contact with you as she sloppily tries to patch herself up, wrapping a bandage around below her shoulder that's already staining with a ruby red shade.

"Let me help." You whisper as you move to stand in front of her knowing in the frenzied state Sam is in she wouldn't tend her wounds properly.

She finally looks up at you and you notice the look of pure fear in her eyes, it breaks your heart.

Sam stiffly nods her head as she lets go of the dirty bandage and lets it fall gracefully onto the floor.

You don't take notice of anything else around you as your entire focus is only on your bleeding girlfriend.

As you focus on the slash below her shoulder you see that she's sterilised it and only needs help with bandaging it up.

You grab a new roll and gently hold onto her elbow for a grip as you begin to tightly wrap the bandage around her wound.

As you keep wrapping enough layers around your eye's unconsciously flicker over to the bathtub, and the moment you see the objects scattered inside you feel your heart drop.

A bloodied knife is peeking out through a thick pile of black which almost looks like a blanket but that isn't what catches your attention. The bloodied Ghostface mask thrown carelessly near what you presume is the cloak is what makes your heart come back to life and rapidly speeds up.

Suddenly everything makes sense.

The lie about her phone being dead when it wasn't, coming home late and the very calm reaction to the murders.

Sam wasn't attacked by the Ghostface on the news; Sam is Ghostface.

You can pull your eyes away from the hollow eyes of the Ghostface mask as you keep bandaging Sam's stab wound up, the feeling of shame making your throat tighten.

Not ashamed of Sam but the fact you don't immediately want to run away. Call the cops or even scream. Instead you stand there as you treated her wound.

"That's enough layers, Y/n." Sam's quiet voice breaks you out of your stare as you avert your eyes back to hers, stilling your hands as you lock with her brown eyes.

Oh those big brown eyes.

Grief swirls around in her eyes as if she's already grieving your relationship; grieving her life.

You take a deep breath as a shaky smile slowly forms on your lips making Sam's eyebrows scrunched together confused.

"I'll never stop loving you." You whisper to her as you finish bandaging her wound up, dropping your hand from her elbow to place on her cheek.

Sam leans into your touch laying her own cold hand over yours, looking up at you with a softer gleam in her eyes.

"I'm not a bad person, I only hurt bad people I promise." Sam whispers in a gravelly voice. You feel some reassurance from that but what shocks you the most is the fact you're not sure if you wouldn't have minded if they were bad or not.

Would it be a sin if you stayed with her? Probably. But killing is most definitely a bigger sin which only makes you think of one thing.

 You and her will still be together in the afterlife.

"Let's go to bed, my love." You whisper as you offer Sam your free hand to take to help stand up.

Sam stares at it for a moment before she complies and slides her hand into your hand, a small smile grazing her lips.

Everyone has their secrets and who are you to share them with?

—————

authors note: i'd do anything for sam (i hate this so fucking much)

#sam carpenter #sam carpenter x fem!reader #sam carpenter x y/n #sam carpenter x you #sam carpenter x female reader #sam carpenter x reader #melissa barrera x reader #scream six #sam carpenter angst #gf!sam carpenter #my fanfic stuff #my writing

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ao3wasntenough · 4 months ago

Text

Sorry I haven’t got to requests I’ve been off on a spiral, however I’m getting back into the swing and thought I’d share some old fun stuff me and @justayoungling cook up

Part 1

The following art taged with ‘OverPrime’ is an alternative universe of an alternative universe to my jet Sam au, where @justayoungling ‘s Atlas befriended and became like a brother to jet!Sam, and then they ended up in the transformers Prime universe

Simple no?

It’s all very disjointed but I’ll give brief summaries

To begin, the boys were very slow to warm up to the Prime crew, to their world. Sam struggled to meet tfp Optimus Primes eyes, or listen to him, without it bringing up the conflictions and problems with his Optimus. And Atlas and Arcee got off on the wrong pede and have a very antagonistic attitude to each other.

Bulkhead however was a fresh face with no emotional baggage and was more receptive to being casual or more open with the jets

So of course he got roped into their shenanigans

And the new trust with the jets ment they would cause hell for him and whatever he was trying to accomplish prime be damned, and when the jets needed his help, he helped

Ratchet’s ideas on the boys grew as his understanding of their life’s and their persons did

Part 2 coming

#OverPrime #transformers #transformers bayverse #cybertronian sam #jet!sam #transformers prime #tfp ratchet #tfp optimus prime #tfp bulkhead #tfp arcee #younglings atlas #art

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websterss · 1 year ago

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Hello - I know your requests are closed right now but, if you come back, can you write the proposal scene for the Dad! Ethan continuation thing? But every time Ethan tried to propose Samara keeps getting in the way with her antics. Even better if he pops the question without thinking after both he and Y/N are laughing after one of Samara’s shenanigans

(Don’t make me write the proposal scene💀🤣) So that was a lie.

𝐒𝐎...𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐍𝐀 𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐘 𝐌𝐄? — 𝐄𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐍 𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐑𝐘

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆(𝐒): angst, fluff

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 2,298

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: Ethan Landry x fem!Reader

𝐀/𝐍: Hope you enjoy it! and happy new year! <;33

𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

#The first time Ethan tries to propose, Samara is sick.

“Hey, you got a minute?” Ethan pops his face into the kitchen, where he sees Samara in your arms pushing against your chest and face. He rocks on his feet, his hand reaching into his back pocket, patting the black velvet box, he’s kept hidden from you for over a year since he had gone to Chad and Sam for their blessing.

“Y-Yeah what’s– Sammy baby–”

“No, no, no, no.” She shakes her head at you.

“-What’s up?” You huff, as she starts to cry out in discomfort.

Ethan takes a deep breath, his eyes glimmering with genuine concern as he looks into your eyes. “She ok?” His eyes travel down to her flushed face. He walks over and presses the back of his hand against her forehead.

“I think she has a fever. I came in here to take her temperature but it appears I’ve misplaced the damn thing…So I’m probably just going to take her to the bathroom. Let the room steam up and see if I can get her to fall asleep.” Ethan nods as you begin to walk down the hallway. He silently follows you both and finds a seat against the tiled floors, gesturing to you to hand over Samara.

Ethan smiles, taking Samara into his arms. Her feverish eyes stare into his, her expression one of pure adoration. She reaches a handout and touches Ethan’s cheek, her fingertips gently stroking his jawline. Ethan watches her silently, and a small smile crosses his lips. There’s a flicker of warmth in his eyes as he shifts Samara in his arms, and she leans her head against his chest. You look over your shoulder as you shake your dampened hand. The water fills up the tub making you grow closer to your little family from the loudness it emits.

“You just needed daddy to hold you huh?” You hum as you push back her curls.

Samara’s eyes flicker shut as Ethan strokes a finger down her face. Her expression sags and a smile breaks across her lips. “Mmm.” She coos, her fingers curling into a fist as she leans heavier against Ethan’s chest. She rests her head against his shoulder.

“What did you want to talk to me about?”

“Mmm?” Ethan bit his lip and looked up at you. “Oh, that…just what you wanted for dinner tomorrow. I was thinking of takeout again, Moreno’s around the corner.”

“Oh yeah, I don’t mind. Saves me the hassle of cooking.” You both laugh it out, the steam getting to the both of you but you didn’t mind it, Samara was getting her sleep.

–

#The second time Ethan tries to propose, Samara gets bitten by a dog at the park.

Ethan looks up from his seat after writing down some notes. He sees you and smiles, waving you over. He sets aside his textbook on the blanket. “You're late?" He teases.

"Not my fault…someone wouldn’t leave until we found her red hair clip." You huff as you plop down onto the blanket across from him. Your eyes softened though watching Samara run into her daddy's arms.

“Daddy!”

“Hi, baby.” Ethan cooed, as he pressed a kiss to her cheek. “Don’t you look pretty?”

“Mommy did it.” Samara turned her neck to give Ethan the full view of her space buns.

“Yeah, mommy is good with her hands huh?” You scowled at the innuendo he threw out. He bit his lip to keep him from bursting into a fit of laughs.

“Mhmm.” Samara hums, agreeing and completely oblivious to her daddy’s stupidity. You roll your eyes.

Ethan laughs at your grumbling. “So, I’ve been thinking..."

"That's never a good thing." You smirk, letting out a laugh.

He rolls his eyes playfully. “Shut up.”

“Mommy a doggy…” Samara pulls at your sleeve getting up from Ethan’s grip. “Can I pet it?”

“Yeah, baby…” You respond to her not fully growing aware of what her question entailed. "I'm all ears." You lean back and give Ethan your attention.

"I think we should...you know..." His eyes glance away for a moment as if contemplating whether or not to say something. He looks over to Samara then double takes as he weighs in at the fact she was growing closer to a dog without a leash. “Sammy!” He panics, taking off into a sprint, your mom instincts kick in and you sprint after Ethan. Your heart feels like it snaps into two after she lets out a bloody murder yell. Ethan picks her up, inspecting the hand she cradled to her chest.

“Oh my god, oh god!” You run a hand through your hair as you look closer.

“It didn’t break through her skin, it just indented her. It might bruise a little though.” Ethan reassured the ongoing battle he knew you’d be having right about now. You both took her back to the blanket, her signs of distress catching the other's attention.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry. Is she okay?” The missing leash appeared along with what you assumed was the owner.

“Yeah, nothing too serious, just some bruising that will hurt for a while.” Ethan looked her over once more, pressing a small kiss to the side of her head. “Did he bite you hard?” Ethan asked her. A pouty nod was her only response. “Yeah? We’re gonna go home now, but a bandaid on your booboo.” He gestured to the arm she was holding. When she heard home her eyes widened, and a smile crept onto your face.

“No, no, no. Icecream.”

“You sure you’re hurt?” He muttered to himself, but you heard him nonetheless. “She gets it from you.” He turned to you.

You gasped. “Me?”

–

#The third time Ethan tries to propose, Samara finds the wedding ring.

“Hey babe have you seen my tie–” Ethan called out to you as he entered your shared bedroom. He stopped at the door as he saw Samara sitting center bed with the black velvet box he’d gone through war to keep out of your sight.

“You’re what?” You called out.

“Uh…Nothing, nothing, I found it!” He cursed under his breath as he reached for the small child. He approached with caution cause one wrong move she’d cry and you’d be alerted. “Sammy.” She looked up playing with the box, his best bet was that she was trying to figure out how to open it.

“Pretty.” She held it out for him.

“Yeah it’s very pretty…pretty box baby. For me?” She nods and he grabs it from her. He goes to stand up and hide it somewhere where Samara wouldn’t be able to reach, but when she looks up at him with her eyes, the same eyes he gets to look into every day. Sammy may have gotten his devious smile and his curls, but she got your eyes. “You wanna see wants inside?”

She nodded eagerly. He chuckled, then plopped down the bed in front of her. “You can’t tell mommy about this though.” He smirked.

“Is a secwet?” He bit his lip, knowing she still couldn’t roll her r’s just yet, but her effort was one of the things he loved about his daughter.

“Yeah, it’s a secret, so don’t tell…shhhh.” He pressed his finger to his lip. She nodded and mimicked him. Now talking in a low whisper. When he lifted the lid, his heart soared at the way her eyes lit up. She let out a long gasp. She looked at him and then to the ring again.

“For mommy!” She gasped again.

“You think mommy would like it?” He looked at it with a funny face.

She nodded eagerly. “I want one too.”

“You want one too…I’ll see what I can do alright.” Ethan chuckled.

“Ethan, have you seen my heels?”

“Did you check in the closet by the door?” He called out over his shoulder, then threw a wink to Sammy.

“No!” He heard you rush to the hallway.

Samara then looked at the white heels that were by the door. She pointed at them then tilted her head at him as if to say Really. Ethan bit his lip to contain his laughter.

“Don’t look at me like that…” He did laugh this time. He needed to find his tie. It was date night, one where he was going to take you out for dinner, then hopefully propose, but seeing Samara plop back onto your pillows, he wished to stay home with the two of you now. He looked back at where your heels rest then back to the literal definition of trouble. “Sammy?”

“Mmm?” She sits up.

“You wanna do me a favor?”

“What?”

#The fourth time Ethan tries to propose, Samara holds your heels hostage.

“Sammy!” You run after her as she dodges and weaves her way around the apartment. “Sammy I really need my shoes baby.” You grow annoyed as Ethan chuckles from where he stands in the kitchen. “A little help here!” You sigh.

“Oh, c’mon—you seem to be doing fine.” Ethan grins, leaning against the wall, legs crossed as he watches you chase Samara around. “Why’re we in such a hurry anyway?”

“We have a reservation!” Your eyes almost fall out of their sockets.

“Well, I’m sure we can spare a few more seconds.” He leans off the wall and walks over. Sammy darts away, squealing and giggling, but Ethan easily catches her before she even reaches the living room. “Gotcha” He says, grinning.

“Really?” You huff, then shake your head.

“Oh, c’mon. Don’t be such a grouch.” He teases, then tickles her, making her laugh and squirm as she tries to get away from him. Ethan kisses her cheek again. Sammy squeals, hiding her face against his arm while he kisses her head, ruffling her hair.

"I don't mean to be it's just...I don't wanna be late. I'm sorry." You look down at the joyous smile on your daughter's face, and let your shoulders shrug. You could never be mad at her.

Ethan rolls his eyes—but not in annoyance, in fond amusement. “Well…let’s not keep mommy waiting now!” He laughs, then kneels on one knee beside her, you miss what he says to her in her ear. You quirk an eyebrow at your two troublemakers.

“Here mommy.” You look down at Ethan as you go to grab the heels, only it's not your heels that your hands touch. You immediately look down and your heart comes to a stop at the small black velvet box in your grasp.

“You wanna marry me?” He smirks. Then leans over to kiss Sammy on the cheek. She giggles waiting for your reaction.

"What?" You open the box and a simple 14 carat rests inside. Nothing too flashy, just pure elegance and simplicity. Just how you love your jewelry. Like your little family that you get to call yours. “What?” You exclaim.

He laughs. “Stop being cute, we don’t need another kid...” He jokes, taking a deep breath as if trying to steady himself. “I said you wanna marry me?” He smiles. “Cause I think we should get married.”

“W-What?”

Ethan chuckles once more. “I said, you wanna marry me stupid?”

“Well…yeah, but I-” You stumble over your words. “Why are you being so casual about this?”

“Cause...I’ve been trying to propose all month, but this one hasn’t allowed me to, so I figured I’d just involve her...that and my therapist said that it wasn't healthy to beat around the bush about this kind of thing.” He smiled sheepishly. “So wanna marry me or what?” He says casually again.

"Yes, you jerk!" You pout, smacking him playfully against his shoulder, your vision blurring from the tears threatening to spill.

“You like it, mommy?”

“Oh I love it, baby, thank you!” You bent down and kissed her. She beams up at you like you light up her night sky.

“I do have one condition though.” Ethan smiles, reaching into his pocket.

“What’s that?” You laugh hysterically as you glance down at the ring in disbelief.

"You have to wear that." Ethan smiles at your priceless reaction. You laugh as he takes the ring and carefully slides it onto your ring finger, a perfect fit.

Ethan smiles. A lightness fills his expression as an air of levity suddenly fills the apartment. “I-I know it's sudden, and it's not something we ever really talked about. But if these past four years have taught me anything– it’s that second chances are rare, and you should hold onto your person for as long as you can because you won’t know if you’ll ever see them again. I know I’ve hurt you in the past, and I will continue to spend the rest of our lives together making up for it. But what I also know, is that I want this more than anything, with you, with our baby.” He reached forward and pinched her cheeks while she now sat in your lap. “I know we already live together and we have an amazing kid and we basically treat each other like we’re married but I want to be married to you for real.” He pulls your hand gently towards him and presses a kiss on top of it. “So…you wanna marry me?”

“It’s a yes always.”

“Yeah?” His smile grows.

“Yes!” You breathe out a laugh as you bring him into a sweet slow kiss. “Always.”

“Good to know…” He smirks and kisses you once more.

“Mommy here.” You both pull away to see her extending her hands out with your heels. You both laugh as you pull her into your arms. Peppering her cheeks with a thousand kisses. “No, no, no, no, no!” She laughs as you both showered her with love.

#ethan landry #ethan landry x reader #ethan landry x fem!reader #ethan landry imagine #ethan landry imagines #ethan landry oneshot #ethan landry series #writings by juls #my gif #scream vi:hcs #writings by juls: ethan landry

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live-laugh-legolas · 7 months ago

Note

I've been thinking too much abt Frodo stealing mushrooms from Farmer Maggot and wonder if you could do hcs for what kind of silly little adventures the hobbits would get into with the reader?

This is really cute. Idk if you wanted individual hcs or group, but I’m making the executive decision to have this be a friend group growing up

Shenanigans w/ the Hobbits

-Growing up together you guys were the terrors of the Shire

-You are around the same age as Sam and Merry; Frodo was always kind of the wrangler and Pippin was the baby you all corrupted

-Blamed Pippin for everything because you knew he wouldn’t get in trouble because he was so young and he has pretty privilege

-You guys put on a Hobbit Talent Show where Merry did “magic” to make Pippin disappear

-It was very clear that Sam just carried him off stage but the adults clapped anyway

-Frodo is the oldest, but he certainly isn’t the most behaved

-Sam was always the one asking if they should be doing this as he helps lift merry up to toss him through a window to grab extra cookies or something idk

-As you guys got older your plans and activities because less known to the other hobbits

-More sneaking off together to go night swimming

-Better stealth missions to steal crops from Farmer Maggot

-Side note, I find it cute that in the book Farmer Maggot isn’t actually scary and is fond of the young hobbits; he even invites them for dinner

-Picnics are a common practice for you guys

-Usually pretty chill, just talking and telling stories and singing

-But once you guys climbed a tree and Pippin got himself stuck; like those cartoons when they get hung by a wedgie

-A favorite activity is to bother Sam while he is gardening or cooking

-Asking lots of dumb questions that he will try and answer anyway because he isn’t sure if you are serious or not

-Suggest weird food combinations that Pippin and Frodo for whatever reason actually end up liking

-Now you regret ever mentioning anything because now they dip pickles into peanut butter during your picnics

-You guys are the types to stay out late and not keep your voices down when walking home much to the annoyance of your neighbors

-But also I doubt you wake anyone who is asleep because hobbits I imagine are deep sleepers

-Sometimes you wake up to find one of them just in your kitchen eating your food; usually Pippin

-You guys basically have 5 houses because you all just invite yourselves in; Sam doesn’t though, he always knocks

-Pippin will barge in even if you are bathing; if he has a story to tell he is going to tell it no matter the circumstances

-Often though you guys quietly enjoy each others presence while doing your own things

-Sitting outside while Sam gardens and hums to himself; Frodo taking a nap in the sun, Merry reading, and Pippin smoking too much

-I think hobbits are big on physical affection so it’s not uncommon for you guys to lay on top of each other; head in one of their laps while they mess with your hair and listen to your story

-Always be prepared to be jumped on; Pippin could be anywhere waiting to pounce onto your back

-You guys will literally pull one of the others away from whatever they are doing to drag them to show them something

-Because no one is ever going to be left out even if they want to be

#lord of the rings #lotr #lotr headcanons #lotr preferences #frodo baggins #samwise gamgee #merry and pippin #meriadoc brandybuck #peregrine took #hobbits #lotr x reader #lotr x y/n

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aggro-my-beloved · 9 months ago

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Angel Face → David Shaw x Reader Imagine

note: i can’t write a grumpy david shaw i’m sorry he’s like .03% tsundere in this re-imagined meet cute between him and angel and his anger isn’t even directed towards them. i’ll be leaving a poll at the end for which paring you’d like me to write for next in this scenario. please like and reblog as it’d really mean a lot!

pairing: david shaw x gn!reader

summary: solstice bar is packed tonight for an up-and-coming performance by a local band, and security guard david is left as a stand-in for the usual bartender. just when he thinks he’s at his wit’s end, a stranger in desperate need of conversation and something to soothe their nerves makes this shifter’s thursday a bit more tolerable.

warnings: mentions of alcohol, mild swearing, damn crew as frat bois and other shenanigans

wc: 2.1k

estimated reading time: 10.5 mins

“Welcome to Solstice!”

At a certain point in the night, the patron’s slurred chattering morphs into white noise for David’s ears. While manning the bar, beckons and calls for another round are less distinguishable but still audible if he concentrates hard enough.

“Kitchen’s closed!”

“Soda or seltzer?”

“Special is a…” he turns the still full bottle on the center of the bar to face him. “A Port Charlotte single malt whiskey. You in?” Seconds later, he heaves a mix between a grumble and a sigh. “Course not.”

“I said the kitchen’s closed!”

“Try saying it louder,” chortles Milo. His dark stature barrels through the swinging door leading to the kitchen, behind the bar. Amidst his rapid collecting of fingerprint-stamped brandy bowls and red-kissed crystal stems, his hand flies up to release his chestnut waves from the hairnet securing them. “Don’t think they heard you the seventeenth time.”

“Remind me why I agreed to pick up a Thursday for Sam. I never work Thursdays.” David raises his voice the farther Milo retreats into the kitchen. The clinks of glasses tickle his ears but do little to nothing to ease his nerves. The cook returns with a pristine array of cocktail glasses sat on a black tray. If there’s anything David admires more than his colleague’s house-made wings, it’s how he can make the same dingy glasses sparkle night after night with a quick wash.

“Because…” he sets down the tray carefully on the open bar space perpendicular to David, in between the ripened limes he prepped hours ago, and the beer taps. “Ash and his band finally wrote enough decent songs for a gig here and we agreed to be here tonight to support him.” What Milo didn’t know is that the extra tips made between David and Asher tonight were in contribution to the soot-covered kitchen drawers at their home–courtesy of the main act’s drummer insisting he fulfill his oatmeal craving. There wasn’t a chance in hell those two were getting the security deposit back, not if the cherry-oak wood soaked in gray and smelling of cinder and their landlord’s new vendetta had anything to say about it. The two shifters were already ripped a new one last week for their scratch marks on the recently renovated hardwood flooring, which they credited to “dog sitting for a friend.”

“And no more animals!” The unempowered and oblivious landlord scolds them, red in the face.

“Yes sir.” They reply in unison.

Ash tries choking down a smug laugh and fails miserably. David smacks him on his chest.

Milo grabs a handful of peanuts from a stray bowl set aside to be washed, and pops them in his mouth, savoring the salt dancing on his taste buds. “Also,” he makes out through munches, “Sam’s out tonight from sun poisoning.”

David scoffs at this. “So he says. Tank was flirting with him so much last night, I could hear them from my post at the front giving stamps.” The promises of what his younger sibling would do to the fanged creature behind closed doors cued David to shudder. Before disappearing behind the kitchen door once again, Milo quips:

“Better hearing it than smelling it.” David refuses to ask the cook to elaborate and instead shifts his attention to the front entrance, where drunken yells and chants resound. His lips curl down in a fierce scowl as the melded odor of sweat and liquor becomes six bodies more pungent. Like a cavalry, they march in with arms looped through one another’s to keep stable. If the young faces weren’t already a dead giveaway for what would be in store for David tonight, their tacky shirts did enough talking. Each one color-coordinated for a significance the man was too exhausted to mull over, but all reading: “Straight Outta D.A.M.N” in giant, bold font.

“You’ve gotta be shitting me–Hey, Milo, were you just not gonna tell me it’s the E and E’s Annual Frat Bar Crawl tonight? Because that’s a pretty fucked up thing to do to a bartending security guard!”

“What!” Milo’s accented shriek rings through the building, and he peeks his head out of the aluminum swing door to view the staggering group of drunkards for himself. “Ah, fuckin’ hell..” He fully steps out from behind the door and cups his hands around his mouth. “Hey, hammered frat dudes!” A couple of heads from the group turn in his direction. “Yeah, you guys! Kitchen’s closed!” He turns to pat David on the back of his shoulder, over the white rag he’d been drying glasses and countertops with all night. “You got this, buddy.”

“Uh uh, I don’t think so.” The man shakes his head in disbelief, and a chorus of whines echo from the group of empowered frat members. One brave soul steps forward, the beefiest of them all. He dons a shamrock green shirt with the sleeves (poorly) cut off and a pleading set of eyes. His deep voice floats to the bar from where he stands, almost devastated. “Even for fries?”

Milo is halfway through his strut back into the kitchen but is halted by David’s hand gripping his shoulder. “Even for fries, Milo?” The man cocks his head to the side, jutting out his bottom lip in a pout. They both knew why he was playing so coyly; resorting to the rarely used puppy dog eyes; mimicking the man’s tone from moments before. It was the same reason they consulted Asher’s band to play tonight. As much as either of them try to deny it, the bar needs the business. And if Sam’s claims during their Super Smash Bros tournament from weeks beforehand weren’t all talk, he’d hate to see what the vampire could do with just a walker and pure unbridled rage at tonight’s numbers.

Through gritted teeth, the shorter of the two mutters something about putting his hairnet back on before continuing his journey to the clean fryers.

“Come on in, people!” He waves a hesitant arm in his direction, encouraging the clan to venture further. The solemn whines morph into cheers as they proceed their march to the bar. Though he was dreading it at first, the orders were easy enough. Bud Lite, Rum and Coke, two more Bud Lites, another Rum and Coke, and a Mojito. In addition to this, anungodly amount of fries, but that is for Milo to deal with.

Halfway through the intoxicated army's orders, he spots a straggler trying to squeeze through the ever-growing crowd anticipating their next round and tonight’s show from the local, up-and-coming Howl’s Highway. Asher thinks the name is awesome. David thinks it’s one step closer to breaching covert to several unempowered beings who may be wandering into Dalia from out of town. They agree to disagree.

“Excuse me,” the voice croaks. “Sorry.” It pipes up every few seconds, complemented by the sight of shuffling bodies. Finally, a face pops up before him, splotched with red and with bloodshot eyes, but not from any addictive or bitter-tasting substance, other than heartbreak. David can sense their aura with the proximity. They are devastated, even more so than the student begging for a plate of fries.

“Evening, Angel. What can I get for you?” The patron’s mouth falls open, and without intent, David does the same. He was never fond of pet names at the bar, rather he viewed it unprofessional as much as he did embarrassing. This is why Sam mans the bar, and he manhandles the bastards before they can order a drink. But no, tonight he needs to strip off the leather jacket and tough exterior and ask himself: what would Sam do?

I can name someone.

Milo, politely get the fuck out of my head and cook your goddamn–

“Uh…” The unempowered stranger gnaws on their bottom lip in thought.

“Hey man, we weren’t through ordering!” His mouth retraces the snarl from earlier, and he apologetically directs his attention away from the distressed figure and to another fart member. The most inebriated and demanding of them all, if David had to guess from his words coming out like fondue. This one had a red shirt and an overall bad attitude.

“Ah,” he holds a finger up, allowing the man to pause. “Let me take their order, and I’ll come back to you, okay?” He offers a thumbs up to the man, hoping this will mollify him.

“No, not okay.” He crosses his arms, a newfound flame lit in his eyes. Oh great, just when I thought I was done putting out fires this week. Now the red shirt makes sense–fire elemental. “We were here first-“

He hopes for his friends’ sakes, he’s much more pleasant sober.

“Dames,” Greenie butts into the argument. The one in red simmers down at the feeling of the large hand resting on the small of his back and drawing gentle circles. “It’s alright, he’ll only be a minute.”

“Y-yeah, maybe we can go find some uh–some good seats for the band tonight and come back?” A meek voice offers. He’s hidden behind the other members of the group, all that is visible of him is a pair of round frames and a flash of gray on his upper body. Similar to how they breached the entrance of the place, the squad links arms to continue their journey deeper into the crowd.

“God, those were some tacky shirts. Straight Outta DAMN? What does that even mean?” The newest customer shakes their head in disgust as they eye the backside of the frat disappearing into the sea of bodies. “Seems like you’ve got your work cut out for you tonight.”

“Who, the Bud Lite bunch?” He waves a hand nonchalantly. “We get ten of those on nights like these.”

“Well, I hope that was your tenth and final bunch of the night. I don’t do too well around rowdy people.”

“So what brings you to one of the most packed bars in town tonight?” David quirks a brow at the stranger.

“Well, the pictures online made it seem a lot less busy.” They rub the back of their neck with a sheepish smile coating their face. “I just needed to get away from…I got dumped tonight and wanted to drown my sorrows.” David tries not to be offended by how invisible they are to the public and the stranger’s acknowledgment of it. The bigger chains are killing them. More recently, they’re treading on the outskirts of Dalia and monopolizing over each empty plot of land they deem a cash cow.

“Your wish is my command. What’ll it be?” David crosses his arms, causing his muscular arms to bulge against the thin fabric of his white tee. Simultaneously, the hem of his shirt rides up to reveal a very tan, very toned v-line vulnerable to the wandering eyes of the one sitting before him. They try not to make it obvious. Menu, eyes, menu, abs, arms, back to menu.

“Maybe an Espresso Martini?” They peer up to lock eyes with him again. Truthfully, they hadn’t read a description of any drink on the list and were taking a lucky guess.

A few seconds of silence transpire before David responds firmly. “No.” They almost choke in disbelief, and their heart rate picks up.

“Pardon?”

“You need something stronger.” He decides, ultimately picking up a few bottles that the dejected newbie couldn’t decipher the labels of. Their eyebrows stay furrowed as David fills the cobbler shaker with a handful of ice cubes and a generous amount of liquor.

“C’mon, trust me. What’s in here,” he shakes the stainless steel vigorously for emphasis, “ain’t gonna kill you.”

“I think a hole-in-the-wall bar is the last place I should be told to trust a stranger.” David considers this and hums.

“I think the alley in the back of this place might take the cake.” Wiggling in the leather barstool from anticipation, their eyes stay concentrated on the clear glass as a slow strain of amber liquid occupies it. Before sliding it to their side of the bar, David is sure to garnish it with some orange zest.

“Go ahead, it’s on the house,” David smirks, before retreating to the kitchen to help Milo plate the heaps of fries.

“For real? No, I have to owe something.”

“It’s a new recipe. I wouldn’t even know what to charge you.” The man admits. “Go on,” he insists, prior to disappearing behind the swing door and being greeted with Milo’s sassy commentary on how David’s going to be working overtime to help him clean tonight.

As the cook is balancing plates onto his arms, he hardly feels the burn of ceramic against his arms. For all his senses are concentrated on his new patron–more specifically, the sound of them sipping his innovation and a delightful hum leaving their lips.

“Damn, that’s good.”

He ponders shortly after, amidst delivering fries to the ravenous elemental crew, I think I’ll call it Angel Face.

＊＊＊＊＊＊＊＊＊＊＊＊

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thoselethalarts · 1 month ago

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𝕾𝖊𝖛𝖊𝖓 𝕿𝖜𝖎𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖉 𝖂𝖔𝖚𝖑𝖘 - Character Addendum

#2 - Achos and Lupe Algea

Some of the only real "twisted" characters that I actually have as part of my TWST cast, lmao. Meet the imp twins, twisted from Pain and Panic! They're part of a small "next generation" thing I've built with @dragon-simp, but I've become extremely attached to them lately after building them in TS4, so I couldn't resist drawing them and giving them some proper love.

Name: Lupe Algea Voice Claim: Tony Sampson Gender: Male (He/They) Species: Imp Faerie Birthday: July 25th Starsign: Leo Height: 145cm Eye Color: Amber yellow Hair Color: Carmine red Homeland: Isle of Lamentation

Dorm: Ignihyde School Year: 1st Class: 1-D, No.06 Occupation: Let's Play Livestreamer, Student Club: Magical Shift Club Best Subject: Flying

Dominant Hand: Left Favorite Food: Pepperoni grilled cheese sandwich Least Favorite Food: Tomatoes Dislikes: Losing, apologizing Hobbies: Video Games Talents: Mixology

Personality: Lupe is a little self-centered and prideful, so he usually doesn't think his actions or words through before he says or does something. He's the biggest cause of his own grief as he finds it difficult to apologize when he messes up or hurts someone he cares about. He's also a bit of a thrill-seeking daredevil, and either charges headfirst into things or is easily goaded into doing something stupid or dangerous in equal doses. This behavior pays off when he's playing games, however, as he'll find speedrunning tricks that nobody else thinks to consider due to the risk, odds, and luck involved in his skips. He considers himself a gourmand, and despite proclaiming to have high standards of food, he likes to eat anything and everything at least once. He has a seemingly bottomless appetite, and is often seen snacking on something, especially if he's doing something that requires extra focus and brainpower. His hardy appetite also gives him a great deal of energy and strength. He does video game livestreams regularly on the weekends, and wants to one day be famous. He frequently competes with his brother, Achos, over video games and menial tasks. The two of them will also argue and bicker, but are quick to put their differences aside if they have a shared enemy.

Unique Magic: “Feel Our Pain” - Creates a link between him and his target, making it so any pain and bodily damage he would ordinarily feel is instead deflected onto his opponent. He can afflict anyone within line of sight, and the magic lasts for as long as he has the mana to spare and he keeps his concentration on keeping the spell active.

--- --- ---

Name: Achos Algea Voice Claim: Sam Vincent Gender: Male (He/They) Species: Imp Faerie Birthday: July 25th Starsign: Leo Height: 150cm Eye Color: Amber yellow Hair Color: Cerulean blue Homeland: Isle of Lamentation

Dorm: Ignihyde School Year: 1st Class: 1-E, No.05 Occupation: Student Club: Photography Club Best Subject: Transformation, Transmutation, and Familiars

Dominant Hand: Left Favorite Food: Pita gyro Least Favorite Food: Stringy cheese Dislikes: Being looked down on Hobbies: Programming Talents: Fabric Arts (Knitting, Stitching, Cross-stitch)

Personality: Achos is an anxious imp that is almost always fretting over something. His frequent hesitation and paranoia make up for Lupe's lack thereof, and he's frequently seen being either dragged into his brother's shenanigans or attempting to drag him out of them. He fidgets almost constantly, and picks up as many hobbies as he can to occupy his mind in his downtime. He busies himself to the point that he often forgets to eat, but tends to remember more regularly when Lupe pesters him to cook for him (or if he sees Lupe snacking on something). He hopes to one day strike it rich, and will do almost anything to try and save a couple bucks. He one day wants to work in programming and digital security for STYX, both to make his mother proud and to one day become so wealthy he doesn't need to worry about finances again. He frequently competes with his brother, Lupe, over video games and menial tasks. The two of them will also argue and bicker, but are quick to put their differences aside if they have a shared enemy.

Unique Magic: “Feel Our Fear” - This spell clears his mind of all his anxious emotions and makes him increasingly more bold and reckless, while simultaneously afflicting whomever his target is with high amounts of anxiety, paranoia, and panic. He can afflict anyone within line of sight, and the magic lasts for as long as he has the mana to spare and he keeps his concentration on keeping the spell active.

#ツイステッドワンダーランド #Twisted Wonderland #TWST #twst oc #oc #original character #imp #devil #pain and panic #achos algea #lupe algea #don't let achos fool you he's just as much of a shithead as his brother is

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silme-lorien · 9 days ago

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HIII HIII! Fav hcs abt the hobbits (in general)? 💁‍♀️

hi moot! ty for asking!! <3

here are some of my fav hobbit headcanons:

—sam—

he loves sewing. he learned his from his mother when he was young, and on the quest he brought a little sewing kit and would patch the fellowships clothes when they got rips/holes

he saves flowers that he likes and presses them in a little notebook

he sings while he gardens, making up little songs for flowers and plants

—frodo—

he was obsessed with the history of elves as a kid and would ask bilbo hundreds of questions about the elves he met on his journey (he was super excited to meet legolas and then got pretty much ignored)

drinks insane amounts of tea. like industrial quantities. got withdrawals on the quest probably

he is just so forgetful. he forgets where he puts things, he forgets to do things, he forgets that he’s already done things. my adhd coded boy

—merry—

was The Responsible ™️ one growing up with all his cousins, according to his parents, but in reality he just made sure that nobody died during the shenanigans that HE planned

he is the only one of the four hobbits that can swim well

tries to grow his own pipe weed at least once a year. it always dies

—pippin—

he was completely sheltered by his parents. once he was old enough merry started telling him everything that he wasn’t allowed to know

picks up rocks on the quest. he loves rocks. at some point gandalf is walking near him and hears a bunch of rocks grinding together and finds at least eight or nine in pippins pockets. (they are thrown into the nearest river)

he loves arts and crafts. like he makes little stick houses and things like that in his free time

hope this was adequate my brain is officially cooked for now

#the hobbits #hobbits #ask #headcanons #lotr #lord of the rings #the lord of the rings #jrr tolkien #lotr books #frodo baggins #sam gamgee #merry brandybuck #pippin took

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xoxobuckybarnes · 3 days ago

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February 2025 Reading List

Complete

It's a Funny Story... (Rated: M, Words: 6K) by perfect_plan

Summary: Bucky just had the most mind-blowing sex of his life with a handsome stranger and nothing can ruin his day. That is until he goes out to breakfast with his room mate to meet Sam's best friend who just moved to town.

And a cradle for your heart (Rated: T, Words: 2K) by ryoorisuru

Summary: Now, at sixteen months old, Sarah refuses to be laid in her crib for the night unless the arm is laid down beside her. Nineteen pounds of unyielding vibranium, with a grip that could crush a human skull as effortlessly as it could an egg, and she makes it look almost precious. Endearing. Something to be loved; worthy of being loved because she loves it.

i knew from the first time (Rated: T, Words: 20K) by liionne / @liionne

Summary: "Actually, uh, I just wanted to say that I'm flattered, but - well, I'd appreciate it if you didn't send me stuff like that. Brock's kinda protective over me, and if he thought I was getting love letters from another guy--" Steve's brain whites out. "What?" "The letter you sent me," Bucky says, holding up a plain teal envelope with his name and address written in neat script on the back, a stamp pressed into one corner. "Oh, god."

Worth The Wait (Rated: M, Words: 16K) by gaytommykinard

Summary: Newly-single Steve finds himself stuck with an expensive series of cooking classes and is reluctant to go alone. His problem is solved when Sam suggests that he asks out his cute neighbor from across the hall, Bucky. In which there are cooking shenanigans, a lot of flirting, being mistaken for a couple, rooftop picnics, a couple cosplay, and two idiots who fall in love.

Misfits (Rated: E, Words: 53K) by gryffindor17

Summary: Growing up is hard. Growing up and realizing you're in love with your best friend is even harder.

Two Supersoldiers and a Toddler (series) by biblionerd07 / @biblionerd07

Shyest (Rated: T, Words: 29K) Summary: SHIELD discovers that HYDRA took a DNA sample from Captain America and a DNA sample from the Winter Soldier and tried to breed a perfect supersoldier. Steve and Bucky suddenly find themselves the parents of a three-year-old boy who won't speak. Milestones (Rated: T, Words: 77k) Summary: Continuation of "Shyest"; all the important steps in life with two super-soldiers raising a kid.

Love You More (Rated: T, Words: 36K) by Squeaky & art by Loeily

Summary: Steve is fine raising his young son as a single dad. He misses his late wife, Peggy, every day, but his job with Stark Industries is fulfilling and he loves his friends. He doesn't need anything or anyone else. But then Pepper Potts hires Bucky Barnes, the new daycare provider for Stark Towers, and everything changes. Steve knows that Bucky is attracted to him, but Steve totally, completely and utterly will not allow himself to feel the same. He can't. Because he has a million-and-one excellent reasons to not fall in love with the smart, funny, kind and sexy-as-hell Bucky Barnes. If only his heart had gotten the memo...

More Than Just Saving the World (Rated: T, Words: 26K) by EveryDayBella / @everydaybella

Summary: Steve and Bucky are happy, healthy, and Avenging. It's a different world than the one they grew up in and they have options they don't even think about. Until one lazy afternoon while Bucky channel surfs.

#Stucky #Steve and Bucky #Steve Rogers #Bucky Barnes #fanfic #XOXOBUCKYBARNES' Stucky Fic Reading List #february 2025 reading list

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audrey-carr1 · 7 months ago

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The Heiress and the Lady of the House (part 3)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

A/N: I have been wracking my brain trying to figure out where I want this story to go. I think I have an idea now. I have also decided to switch to first person, I find it way easier to write that way and hopefully you all find it easier to read. I am going to switch over the other parts as well. We even have two new characters to join the fun!

word count: 3k

warnings/tags: fem!reader, original characters, usual shenanigans, mentions of hetty/trevor

End of November- end of month 1

Hetty's been avoiding me. It's been two weeks since we danced and kissed, and she hasn't spoken a word. Now she'll barely look at me, and if she does it's like she sees straight through me. I notice her hang around Trevor more. Whilst at first, I thought it was Hetty being her usual cryptic self, I notice that her touches on him linger more than she usually does. Recently, thought I saw Trevor checking her out. Yet again it’s Trevor he checks every girl within the Woodstone property line out, so I’m not sure I can look into that entirely.

“What is wrong, you have long face like horse,” Thor asks.

“Oh nothing, just silly girl stuff,” I say

“Would you like to talk about it? Thor really good at listening and giving advice. If you have enemy, I show you how to crush skull. Very easy,”

“She’s not having enemy trouble, she’s having love trouble.” Sass interrupts

“Shush!” I say hoping he lowers his voice.

“Am I wrong?” Sass says with a know-it-all all smirk.

My lack of answer causes his smirk to grow into a smile.

“I appreciate the concern, but I feel like I should talk to Het-” I catch myself, “I should talk to the person who is giving me a long face before I go sharing my feelings,”

“Nice save,” Sass says before leaving with Thor. I groan inwardly.

I don’t have much time in the day to talk to Hetty as I'm constantly tied up with guests. The upcoming holidays have brought a larger amount than what I had initially thought, so I feel like I’m being pulled in hundreds of directions. I barely have time to spend with the ghosts, let alone any time to myself. Thankfully Sam and Jay had the insight to allow me to hire a little holiday help. A couple of friends from university have been wanting to meet up with each other, so I offered them seasonal positions. It’s like killing two birds with one stone. Before they arrive, I sit the ghosts down to tell them of the upcoming changes.

“Everyone I want to let you know that I will have a couple of friends helping me to keep this place running. They do know that I can see ghosts, and they as of recently know about you. They will only be here until after the New Year, then it’ll be just us all over again,” I explain, “My friend Nadine is going to stay with me in my room while my friend Riley will be staying at my house. This way we don’t lose any rooms, and I do not have to have any shenanigans from trying to bunk you people up. Nadine is a chef, so she’ll help me with the cooking. Riley is my jack of all trades so he’ll do anything I ask.”

The ghosts nod their heads in agreement and simply go about to milling around as they usually do.

“y/n can we help with decorations? Now that we have you around, we can help get the house all festive since we can touch things!” Flower suggests.

“I love it! That’s a great idea Flower!” I say.

“What is?” Flower questions

Oh, Flower. “Alright, I should have expected that,” I say before going off to the basement.

Soon the ghosts and I begin to bring out the holiday decorations. Instead of putting up a commercial tree, Thor and I went out to the forest to cut down a pine on the property and brought it back to the house. Pete and Trevor string the lights while Flower begins to sort through the ornaments under the guidance of Sass. Alberta and Isaac string together the popcorn garland, and Hetty oversees the entire operation.

“Aren’t you going to help Hetty?” Isaac asks

“As Lady of the House, I am helping! By supervising,” Hetty says nose slightly in the air

The front door chimes before a familiar voice yells out “Hello!”

I gasp, quickly leaving my post at the popcorn bowl to go to the lobby.

“Nadine! Riley!” I practically squeal.

I first run to Nadine, we exchange kisses on the cheek before embracing in a hug. Then I go to Riley who picks me up and spins me with ease.

“Oh, it’s been too long!” He says squeezing me in his arms.

“Alright, you can put me down, stronghold,” I laugh as he places me back down on my feet. As he puts me down, I happen to look in the direction of the room I just left. I see the ghosts peering their heads around the corner like children before quickly going back into the room. The only one who does not move positions and stands in full view is Hetty with an unreadable expression. I assume it’s Hetty being curious, and I shoot her a wink before I take Nadine and Riley into the kitchen.

“How have you been since graduation?” Nadine asks while she and Riley sit at the table

“The same, honestly just trying to find my place in the world. Now that I’ve become a heiress, I feel as if I’ve been operating on autopilot,” I reply. I grab a snack tray from the fridge before making my way to them

“Yeah, how come you never knew your grandmother was super loaded?” Riley questions before popping a grape in his mouth.

“Honestly, we never talked about it. She always made sure I knew the importance of hard work probably so when I became an heiress I wouldn’t act like an entitled one. My parents said they saved for me to go to any school I chose. The money I received from their death went to an account I only used to pay for my car and rent. Now I work to keep myself busy, and this isn’t bad gig. I have 8 forms of entertainment plus guests to keep me busy ” I say

“Speaking of 8 forms of entertainment, what about that ghost you said was cute,” Nadine asks.

“Can you keep your voice down? They’re dead, but they hear everything. They would never let me live that down if they found out,” I say feeling a blush on my cheeks.

“Have you told them how you can see them yet?” Riley asks.

“I haven’t spoken to anyone about it, besides my two trusted friends,” I say referring to them.

“They don’t ask questions?” Nadine questions

“Oh they are plenty curious, but I tend to avoid the subject as much as I can. We just figured out that I can do more than see them. Anything I touch, they can also touch,” I tell them.

“Oh, so they can eat and drink now?” Riley asks now sitting up in his seat.

“Not necessarily. We tried that, and it ended with a lot of food ending up on the floor,” I say remembering the memory of Sass trying to eat pizza and failing miserably.

“I guess you can say it goes straight through them,” Riley says knocking his head back in laughter. Nadine and I look at each other and roll our eyes.

“Oh come on guys, that was funny!” Riley says trying to get us on his side.

“Sure it was,” Nadine mocks.

“But back to before, how is it exactly that you can see them? We know that you had that drowning incident, but that doesn’t really explain how you can see them,”

“Well, it’s not like exactly read up on it. I just know that I had a near-death experience, and I guess since I was in between two worlds, I can see both sides,”

“Yeah, but you’re saying only the ghosts have powers. Your boss Sam sees ghosts, but she doesn’t have a power,”

“She was only clinically dead for 3 minutes. I had a full-blown Meredith Grey incident, and I was dead for a while,” I say.

“Well “Meredith Grey” maybe a part of you is still trapped on the other side, you never fully returned,” Nadine says

“I don’t know Nadine, like I said I don’t really read up on it. I just accepted that it happened. In fact this is the longest I’ve talked about the incident outside of therapy,”

“Sorry, we don’t mean to push,” Riley says putting his hand on mine

“No, I understand, I would be curious too,” I say turning my hand over and giving her hand a squeeze.

“Are any of them in the room now?” Nadine asks looking around for a sign of them

“No, in fact, I don’t hear them either. Let me check that they haven’t fallen in some hole or have been ghost-napped again,”

“Again?” Riley asks.

“Long story,” I say getting up from the table.

I turn the corner exiting to be met with 6 guilty faces. It’s like watching children getting their hands caught in the cookie jar.

“Oh, this is the kitchen guys, not the living room. Onward men…and women,” Isaac says as they hurriedly leave.

“I thought we were going to the kitchen to eavesdrop on the living to see if we could get any hot gossip,” Flower says before Alberta drags her along with the rest of the group.

“They were eavesdropping weren’t they?” Nadine asks.

“Oh most definitely,” I say chuckling to myself.

“Were they all there?” Riley asks.

“Most of them, Trevor and Hetty were missing, but they tend to go off a lot more often as of late,” I reply walking back to the table.

Riley and Nadine share a quick look before quickly returning their gaze to me.

“How about I give y’all a tour?” I ask.

Beginning of December - month 2

I turn the corner to go towards the lobby, and I almost trip over a left-out decorations box. Before I fall to the floor, Riley is there to catch me. Thor was right, I really need to watch my step around here.

“Watch it, Princess, would hate to break the merchandise,” Riley laughs as he steadies me on my feet.

“Oh, you two get a room already!” Nadine teases from the top of the stairs having seen the scene from the top of the stairs. She descends the stairs and goes out the front door. No doubt going on her morning run.

“Oh my knight in shining armor, you couldn’t afford me if you tried. I’m quite expensive with the most expensive tastes,” I tease back.

“Oh you wish,” Riley says picking the box and taking it to the basement.

I roll my eyes. “Oh, I most definitely do. I’d take a night with those muscles any day,” I say before he’s out of earshot. I turn back to my task, and I see Hetty.

“Hey Hetty,” I say giving her a smile.

“What is the relationship between you and this Riley?” Hetty asks looking me in my eyes.

“Um friendly? I guess,” I say raising an eyebrow in confusion.

“You guess?” Hetty’s eyebrow also raises in question. I try not to focus on the warm feeling I get when she looks at me like that.

“Riley and I are just friends, and we have been since my freshman year of university,” I tell her.

“So you recently saying you "wouldn’t mind a night with those muscles" meant nothing? ” Hetty questions

“Meant nothing,” I assure Hetty.

Hetty purses her lips, pondering my answer. She lets out a “hmph” before going on her way.

“Hetty?” I ask before she leaves completely

“Sorry, I have to meet with Trevor,” Hetty says without missing a beat

“Oh, I was going to ask if you wanted to go for a walk. The guests don’t check in for another couple of hours and-” I begin.

“Sorry dear, I simply must go,” Hetty says before trotting off.

I try to ignore the burn in my throat. I shake my head at the feeling of loss and jealousy.

I try to keep my mind focused on the guests and running the B&B as efficiently as I can. “No use crying over spilled milk,” I tell myself.

Riley, Nadine, and I work quite well together. Riley is a great fit at the front desk charming the guests as they check in. Nadine has been a great help in the kitchen, she always seems to know exactly what it is that I need. I dip my tasting spoon into a new pasta sauce recipe I’ve been wanting to try.

“How does it taste?” Nadine asks

“It’s fine, I think I’m missing something,” I say.

“Here let me taste,” Nadine says. I hand her the tasting spoon.

“Taste like you need just a pinch more garlic and maybe a dash more of the red wine,” Nadine says handing the spoon back to me

I do as she suggests, and I moan in delight as I taste the now-perfected sauce.

“Oh this should be bottled,” I say.

“The heiress is going to start a sauce company? What will Ragu do?” Nadine laughs as she finishes dipping the dessert fruit in chocolate.

“You want some of the leftover chocolate?” Nadine asks dipping her finger into the bowl.

“Is the sky blue?” I ask turning my sauce off and putting it off the heat. I wash my hands and also dip my finger in the bowl. As I bring my finger to my mouth, a bit of chocolate falls on my chest. Before I can get to it, Nadine has reaches her finger over to grab the missed chocolate and brings it to her mouth.

Hetty enters the kitchen at the exact moment Nadine's finger swipes the chocolate from my chest and to her lips.

“Oh I see we just let everyone eat off of each other,” Hetty says in annoyance before exiting the kitchen. “She might as well just lick it off you the next time,”

“Nadine, excuse me for a moment. Ghost duty calls,” I excuse myself placing the dish towel in my hand on the counter.

“Oh yeah, of course, I’m going to finish putting up the small decorations if you don’t mind,” Nadine says untying her apron.

“No you go ahead, I’ll finish in the kitchen once I’m done,” I say leaving the kitchen to catch up with Hetty.

“Save me some chocolate!” Riley calls from the lobby.

I find Hetty upstairs living room.

“Hetty, what is going on? Your temper with me seems to be at a short fuse,”

“It has not,” Hetty says avoiding my gaze.

I hear Riley call for me, and I wish he had better timing.

“You might want to go see what your muscled desk boy wants,” Hetty says.

I nearly scream in annoyance and frustration, but I decide not to.

“This conversation is not over,” I say before I storm past Alberta heading down the stairs. Alberta heads into the living room with Hetty and blocks Hetty from exiting.

“Hetty what is going on?” Alberta asks

“I haven’t the slightest idea of what you’re talking about,” Hetty says

“You are driving that girl up a wall, and not in a good way,”

“I have not. I have been simply-” Hetty begins.

“Ignoring her,” Isaac says cutting Hetty off as he enters the room.

“Oh great another gossip,” Hetty says as she sits on the couch,” Please tell me what my other grievances are.”

“Hetty we are worried about you. When she first got here, you were so excited to have as you said “another woman of high status” to join you. Then you walked around like the cat who got the cream once you finally kissed her,”

“I did not,” Hetty says fidgeting with her hands.

“You most certainly did!” Alberta laughs, “ She must be some kisser because it was almost as if you sat on the washing machine again.

Hetty blushes at the memory, she hates her how her friends can see through her facade.

“Hetty what is it that makes you act like this?” Isaac says sitting next to Hetty

“That’s the issue, Isaac. I do not know! I haven’t felt like this since I tried to run off with that painter,”

It dawns on Isaac,” Hetty do you know what it means?”

“Obviously not,” Hetty says waiting for Isaac to enlighten her.

“Hetty, you two were practically inseparable. The two of you were practically finishing each other’s sentences, going on walks, and having movie dates,”

“Oh remember when you told me that you enjoyed how the sun made her eyes sparkle on your walks,” Alberta chimes in.

“Remember that one time, we caught them cuddled up watching Bodices and Barons?” Isaac adds.

“Oh, how could I forget they looked so cute! (y/n) draped over Hetty with Hetty’s arms possesively wrapped around her,” Alberta says.

“The both of you are absolutely incorrigible,” Hetty says in defeat.

“And you’re blushing and in love!” Isaac says kicking his feet in the air.

“I most absolutely am not,” Hetty says snatching her hands away.

“Hetty and (y/n) sitting in a tree. K-I-S-S-I-N-G,” Alberta begins to sing.

Hetty simply puts her face in her hands. Hetty was so out of sorts even her mannerisms were becoming too unladylike for her. Hetty decides it’s time to grab the bull by the horns.

“If you two are done acting so childly, I am going to go and find and talk to (y/n),” Hetty says rising from the couch. She blames the butterflies in her stomach on the sudden change of posture rather than nerves.

“Finally! Have fun and don’t come back until you look like you’ve had fun with the washer,” Alberta calls. This sends Isaac and Hetty in a fit of laughter.

Hetty leaves the room and goes to enter your bedroom. Hetty begins to debate on whether she should enter or not, and then on a whim decides to enter the room. Upon entry, she has to fight to keep down a gasp as she watches Nadine kiss you. She quickly leaves the room and feels the butterflies in her stomach turn to lead.

#hetty woodstone x reader #cbs ghosts #hettyxreader #hetty woodstone #isaac higgintoot #sassapis being sassy #flower being flower #alberta is here for the laughs

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