#spree cookie

[ruiiplume]

Father daughter summer time ☀️😎

[aingeal98]

I really hope Cass's plan in birds of prey works I want Bruce and Babs to stick the mission report on the fridge to commemorate Batgirl's first team plan that didn't end in someone dying.

[14carrotghoul]

WIP Not Wednesday/Google Search

Hi hi playing catch up! This week was NUTS (RIP MY CHILDHOOD DOG 😭😭) and am busy prepping for a crazy fun June so wanted to share some before more shit hits the fan!

Thank you for the tags @cha-melodius @firenati0n and @alasse9 for the Google game! I use incognito mode for literally everything BUT here are my latest rabbit holes, some sillier than others

The Game: share your last fic/writing related Google search, with as much or as little context as you want to give.

Insta stalking Casey to figure out where they have done author readings/ Q&As

Barbie swan lake constellation video

Swan princess butler name

Austin author events

Brooklyn author events

And thanks to @xthelastknownsurvivorx @heysweetheart-writes @cha-melodius @myheartalivewrites @littlemisskittentoes and @suseagull04 for today's and Sunday's tags!! Here is more infidelity fic bc I have zero self control w this one and hit 12.5k this week!

My best friend surprises me an hour later, holding more wine and a box brimming with goods from home.

“Angel from above, where is your luggage?” I hastily make room on the nearest surface for the box.

“This was an emergency. I have spare pants and my favorite shoes. Your wardrobe will suffice for the rest,” he answers before crushing me in a tight hug.

Percy "Pez, like the sweets" Okonjo has been a fabulous, beloved thorn in my side since we were precocious posh misfits at Eton. We were seated next to each other in maths so that I, the reserved sensitive boy who happened to be atrocious with numbers, could temper his loud mouth while learning a thing or two from him about algebra. This was a scheme that backfired tremendously, and we've raised hell together ever since.

Open tag bc my brain is a mess!!! And also tagging the friends above that haven't done the Google search game to do it!!! :D

[strangeswift]

The people have spoken. Will is next.

(Tw for death. Will is dead. Rip King.)

Will lay still. His limbs were mangled, broken and sticking out at unnatural angles.

El knelt by his side, her hand on his chest, willing him not to go. Memories came in flashes. She clung to them like a lifeline as she felt him slipping away.

Joyce was next to her, sobbing, pleading. El tried to tune her out, as she thought of the time Will let her tag along to the comic book store in Lenora and he bought her the Wonderwoman comic he saw her eyeing.

"Will, baby, it's mom, please don't go. I love you, I love you so much," Joyce said, sobbing.

El thought of the time that she, Will, Joyce, and Jonathan played Clue for family game night, and when Will noticed her getting frustrated, he discreetly showed her his cards.

"Wake up. Please, Will. It's your mom, I'm here, please. Please wake up."

She thought of all the times she walked through the halls of Lenora high, feeling safer knowing Will was right by her side, and he always would be.

"I love you. I love you more than anything. Please."

El pressed her hand to his chest and squeezed her eyes shut even tighter. She felt her nose gushing blood, so much she was almost choking on it, but she didn't care. It didn't matter. All that mattered was Will. So she sobbed and she choked and she used every ounce of resolve she had to hold on to him. Even though she knew. She could feel that he was already gone.

Then she felt her eyes roll back as she began to fall backwards. She barely registered Joyce catching her.

She could feel Joyce's tears falling from above and hitting her face, mingling with her own tears.

She could feel Joyce’s body shaking against her back as she supported her weight.

She could hear footsteps, running. Getting closer.

"Will?" It was Jonathan's voice. He sounded devastated.

El used what little strength she had to open her eyes. Her heart clenched at the sight in front of her. Jonathan cradling Will's body. Tears streaming down his face as he frantically shook his head. This isn't happening.

She couldn't quite believe it either, despite feeling the life leave his body.

Then she heard another voice from behind her.

Frantic. Insistent.

"She can save him!"

Mike.

She took a shaky breath before croaking, "Mike."

She couldn't open her eyes further, let alone turn her head to look at him, but she didn't have to. He stepped out from behind her and looked her straight in the eyes.

"You can save him," he said firmly, tears brimming in his eyes, his gaze hard.

"I... tried," she said, tears blurring her vision further. She was so close to losing consciousness.

"You tried?" Mike repeated harshly.

El choked back a sob. She did. She tried. She tried so hard. He didn't believe her. They wouldn't believe her, they wouldn't forgive her.

She couldn't forgive herself.

"Kid, he's gone."

Hopper. It was Hopper.

El could see him now, stepping into view, approaching Mike slowly like he was a scared animal. The same way he approached her in the woods that first time, years ago.

Mike ignored him.

"You saved Max. But you can't save him? He's your brother! Save him!" Mike demanded, his voice cracking.

El couldn't speak. She wasn't physically capable, and if she was she wouldn't know what to say.

"What is wrong with you?" Mike asked, stepping toward her.

I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. I tried. I'm sorry. I love him. I love him too. I don't know how to live without him. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Please.

"Mike. Enough." Hopper said, putting a hand on his shoulder to stop him.

Mike whipped around to face Hopper "No! She has to save him!"

"Kid," Hopper said sadly, his hand still on Mike's shoulder in a firm grip.

"Let go!" Mike sobbed, trying to push Hopper's arm away. When that didn't work, he tried pushing his chest, until he was sobbing too hard to keep fighting, and Hopper wrapped his arms around him. Mike collapsed, his body practically limp, and he would've fallen if it weren't for Hopper holding him up.

Hopper was looking at El and Joyce like he wanted desperately to go to them, but he knew he couldn't let go of Mike. And there was nothing he could do for them. For once, there was nothing he could do to fix it.

El could see the pain in Hopper's eyes. He was staying strong, for them. He was strong.

She could see the way he was supporting Mike's weight, because Mike couldn't even hold himself up.

Mike. He wasn't going to forgive her. He wasn't ever going to be okay again. Not for a long time at least. He loved Will, really loved him. Mike was saying something through his sobs. It might have been, I need to tell him. She tried not to think about what Mike needed to tell Will. He wasn't going to forgive her.

Joyce was rocking back and forth slightly, crying. She was stroking El's hair.

I don't deserve your kindness. I failed. I'm so sorry.

She could see Jonathan, still hugging Will. He had his face buried in Will's chest, and he was shaking.

She could see Will. Not Will. A corpse.

Her fault.

[duckduckngoose]

The ultimate decision of what to cook or bake next

[dizzybizz]

im making myself so hungry its not even funny

[bakedbakermom]

I know only three lines of Shakespeare

There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.

Life is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.

When this body housed a spirit, a kingdom was too small to hold it. Now two paces of the vilest earth is room enough.

[girlbossminerva]

Behold! White Choco Cookie (Sim version)

[chococookiez]

i have to retag posts a FUCKING GAINNN UGHHHHHH WHY AM I SO UNWELL

[jessamine-rose]

For the ask game I'm taking the 'rlly nice!!' from uwu and I'll be merging it with with crying but only after I removed 'will cry at any moment'

Also! It's been a while since I dropped by :(( I hope you've been doing well!!! Remember to drink some water if you haven't done so recently, and I'm sending my best vibes to you!!! :D

Aahh it’s Shiro!! Thanks for blessing my inbox with another visit, dear. Your answer..…..hmm the omission for crying is quite accurate~

I’m doing well so far!! Very hydrated, still deep in Miguel O’Hara brainrot, and currently in my housewife era another cooking spree >:3

[glitter-oracle]

IT'S FINALLY HAPPENING. THE OLD GRUMP IS CRUMBLING UNDER HER CHARM

let’s get married

series masterlist

summary: an undercover mission is nothing new for you or bucky. however, using the cover of a newly-wed couple is.

pairing: bucky barnes x agent!female reader

warnings: swearing, humour, fluff 🥺, mention of: murder, injuries, knives, and blood.

length: 4.1k

a/n: third part in the little bird series. written for my 3k celebration, the prompt is bolded. don’t hold the accuracy of the russian against me, i just used google ✌.

You peek up at Bucky out of the corner of your eye. 

His gaze is focused on Charlie as they deliver the mission briefing you’re too preoccupied to listen to.

This is the first time you’ve seen Bucky in six weeks.

The first time you’ve seen him since he sent you a whole basket full of flowers.

The first time you’ve seen him since realising you love him - that you’re in love with him.

No big deal.

As always, Bucky’s thick beard is neatly trimmed in the shape of his jawline, while his long hair is tied in a bun at the base of his neck. Gazing lower, you admire how the short sleeve of Bucky’s shirt stretches around his muscled right bicep that you’re eye level with and fight back a longing sigh.

Bucky’s hot. You’ve appreciated that fact since the start of your partnership.

Of course you’ve dabbled in a fantasy or two in the privacy of your bedroom, long before your recent revelation. You’re only human. A human with hormones and desires. 

I get horny, okay?

In hindsight, you should have realised those harmless daydreams were the product of something bigger. Of something you were deliberately ignoring until it slapped you in the face, smelling like flowers.

You can’t help but wonder how Bucky - the man who takes everything in stride, would react if you just blurted out those three words to him right here, in the middle of a mission rundown.

I love you.

“What?”

The world comes to a screeching halt with cartoon sound effects as you’re wrenched out of your thoughts so violently someone might as well have poured freezing cold water over your head. 

Darting your gaze back to Bucky’s face you’re relieved to see his attention is still directed at Charlie, meaning you didn’t accidentally declare your love for him out loud.

But if Bucky wasn’t speaking to you, that means he was speaking to Charlie.

He’s never spoken to a handler before, and not only that, he sounded…

Dismayed.

“What?” You repeat urgently, needing to know what was said.

You’re witnessing world history. Nothing fazes Bucky. Your first mission together well and truly proved that.

What’s the number for the Guiness World Record people?

Charlie looks from Bucky to you with a raised eyebrow. “I said, you’ll be using the cover of a newly-wed couple.”

“What?”

[THAT AFTERNOON]

Number seven of Daisy Court sits at the very end of a cul-de-sac and is essentially a copy-and-paste of every other house on the street.

The two-storey house is grey with white trimming and a dark, wooden front door. The concrete driveway you currently stand on leads to a one-car garage, while a pathway veering off to the left takes you up to the front porch.

The lawn is a vivid green and if you were to pull out a ruler you’re certain every blade of grass would be the Homeowners Association approved length of two inches.

For the foreseeable future, this is home.

Turning your head to the right, you look up at your new husband.

“Welcome home, honey.”

The lame joke only earns you some side-eye.

Along with the new house and husband are the names, Elise and James Prescott. At first you didn’t think it fair that Bucky got to keep his name but you dropped the subject when he - unlike you, was forced to undergo a make-over.

Bucky’s beard exists only in memory now.

His hair has been shortened and styled to curl around his ears, thick and fluffy. Every time your gaze lands on it your fingers twitch with the urge to feel.

The short hair and clean-shaven face make Bucky seem younger and less over life. 

Well, when he’s not frowning at least.

“Hello neighbours!”

Oh boy.

You and Bucky share a look.

Spinning around, you showcase a megawatt smile. “Hi!”

A man in his early thirties jogs up to you both with a friendly grin. “My wife is gonna be so mad she missed your arrival,” He laughs “She baked lemon bars for the occasion.”

Sean Weaver.

You recognise him from the surveillance photos in your information packet. One of the mission’s two main targets.

“Oh, that’s so sweet of her.” You croon, holding out your hand. “I’m Elise and this is my husband, James.”

My husband, James.

Your heart pounds out a sporadic rhythm at those words.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, I’m Sean.”

For a married man, Sean’s eyes linger a little too long in all the wrong places as he shakes your hand.

When he accepts Bucky’s hand next his face pinches into a slight wince.

It’s at that moment a car pulls up along the curb and an over-excited woman exits from the driver’s seat.

“Don’t tell me I almost missed the first introduction!”

Betty Weaver.

The mission’s other main target.

“Hello, hello,” The redhead grins, rushing up to wrap you in a hug. “I’m Betty, it’s so nice to meet you!”

Sean laughs at his wife’s enthusiasm. “Pumpkin, this is Elise and her husband, James.”

Betty releases you from her death grip, only to target Bucky next. 

You can’t stop the laugh that shoots out of you when Bucky’s face momentarily displays his horror before falling unreadable once more as the smaller woman squeezes him.

Thankfully she steps back after only a moment, falling into her husband’s side.

“It’s been so long since we’ve had fresh faces around here.” Sean states.

Betty nods in agreement before asking “How long have you two been married?”

“A week.” You smile, wrapping your hands around Bucky’s closest bicep and pressing the side of your face into it.

This is how couples act, right?

A gasp, “Newly-weds, that’s so sweet!” A squeal, “Is this your first house?”

“It is.” You grin.

Leaning forward to poke Bucky’s chest, Betty orders “Don’t forget to carry her over the threshold mister.”

“I’m sure he was planning on it before I interrupted.” Sean chuckles goodnaturedly, looking down at his wife. “How about we leave the newly-weds to it?”

Betty pouts, but nods. “We’ll get properly acquainted once you’ve settled in.” She promises.

“I look forward to it.” You beam back.

“Well, until then neighbours.” Sean nods, ushering Betty back to her car. 

You wave goodbye, one hand still around Bucky’s bicep as you allow him to lead you towards the house.

Three steps take you up onto the front porch and before you can even comment on Betty’s words, Bucky effortlessly sweeps you off your feet, cradling you in his arms bridal style. Instinctively, your arms loop around his neck, bringing your faces close together.

A squeal in the distance tells you the Weaver’s are still watching.

However, it’s hard to focus on anything when Bucky’s dark blue eyes are level with yours and only inches away. The back of his neck is warm against your forearm, and you can’t get over the feel of his bare skin on yours.

When Bucky speaks, his voice is low and rough. “Keys.”

Right.

Keeping your right arm around his neck, you dig the house keys out of your back jean pocket with your left hand. Bucky bends down when you get them free, allowing you to unlock the door and push it open.

He doesn’t straighten until he’s passed under the door frame and then he uses his foot to close the door behind him, blocking out the Weaver’s prying eyes.

Bucky lowers you to the floor slowly, waiting until you’re sure-footed before letting you go. 

A tense, unfamiliar air lingers between the two of you.

“Well,” You scratch at the back of your neck “I think that went well.”

Bucky hums, watching you.

You’ve never struggled to fill a silence before, but suddenly something that’s so natural for you seems so hard.

C’mon, think of the mission. There’s gotta be something you can -

“Betty seems so nice, it’s hard to believe she’s murdered like fifteen people.”

[THE NEXT MORNING]

You find Bucky standing on the porch, looking out at the quiet neighbourhood as the morning sun breaks over the horizon.

A frown is etched between his eyebrows as he glares at the road.

“What did the street ever do to you?” You mumble sleepily, holding out a cup of coffee. 

Bucky looks down at the drink, his eyes flicking to yours for a moment before he accepts the mug and stares at the road again.

“I hate cul-de-sacs, there’s only one way out and the people are kind of weird.” Bucky answers.

That has to be one of the longest sentences he’s ever spoken.

“Really? But everything about you screams suburbia.” You reply sarcastically.

Bucky’s mouth twitches.

“So…” Don’t ask, don’t ask. “I guess that means, you know,” Do not ask. “The whole wife and kids thing doesn’t appeal to you then.”

The mug pauses for a second on its journey to Bucky’s mouth before continuing. You watch as he takes a large sip and wonder if he’s going to respond.

Suddenly his dark blue eyes are piercing into you. “Do I have to like cul-de-sacs to want that?”

Why am I flushing?

“No, of course -”

“Morning neighbours!”

You both turn to see Betty jogging in place near your letterbox, waving eagerly.

“Morning!” You smile, waving back.

Grinning, Betty continues on her run. 

Bucky twists around and heads back inside, sighing “I gotta get ready for work.”

Right.

James Prescott is an accountant at a local firm where he works five days a week from eight in the morning until five in the afternoon, like a good, upstanding American citizen.

You try not to laugh too much at the image of Bucky in a small office, surrounded by chatty co-workers and demanding customers. 

As funny as it is, you can’t help but feel a little bad, having struck the better end of the deal once again.

Elise Prescott is an aspiring author and with her husband’s steady income, a stay at home wife.

Meaning, pretty much all of the mission’s reconnaissance falls solely on you.

Biting your lip, you try and fail to hold back your smile. 

“Goodbye honey.”

With his back to the street and any spying neighbours, Bucky doesn’t hide his glare. “маленькая птица,” He warns quietly.

“Have the best day at work.” You continue, speaking louder than you normally would because you’re positive people are listening in.

Unable to resist, you raise your right hand and lightly tap his cheek. “Go make those numbers your bitch.”

Closing his eyes, Bucky inhales very, very deeply.

Your giggle has his eyes popping back open.

Okay, I’ve tormented the poor man enough.

Rocking up on your toes, you press a kiss to the clean shaven cheek you just tapped. “Bye.” You say more earnestly as you take a step away from him and the car. 

Bucky studies you for a moment before climbing into the car and driving away. You wave until his car has disappeared down the street.

For just a second, the whole charade almost feels real.

[THREE DAYS LATER]

People always underestimate how boring and tedious undercover missions can be. 

Since Bucky isn’t home for nine hours each weekday, you spend your days alone, re-reading the same information about your targets while staking them out.

You’ve introduced yourself to the neighbours that border you - the Weaver’s and the Newman’s, and they’ve introduced you to their neighbours and so forth.

Each day you take two walks around Daisy Court. The first in the morning after you see Bucky off to work and the second in the evening, just before Bucky returns home.

It’s a good way to make observations, start conversations, and familiarise yourself with everyone’s routines - particularly the Weaver’s.

Sean works from home, which means you’ve had no chance to snoop, but Betty has been your saving grace. Though she works in the city, she’s home by four every afternoon and she always joins you on your evening walks. It’s easy to pull snippets of useful information from her and today she provides you with the best news yet.

“After weeks of nagging him, he’s finally booked a doctor’s appointment.” 

“Good!” You exclaim, “It’s always better to be safe than sorry.”

“Exactly!” Betty nods. “I’ll let you know what the doctor says tomorrow afternoon, his appointment is at quarter to two.”

No one will be home.

The two of you reach your driveway just as Bucky pulls in.

Glancing down at her watch, Betty sighs “I wish Sean was as punctual as your man.”

You don’t need to look at the time to know it’s exactly 5:15.

The driver’s door opens and Bucky’s long legs swing out before the rest of his towering body unfolds from the car. 

Betty nudges you forward with a grin like she does every afternoon and you give her an eye-roll over your shoulder but approach your husband nonetheless.

“Hi honey.”

You know there’s a chance Bucky might kill you once this mission is over for all you’ve put him through while the neighbours are watching, but you’re having way too much fun to consider stopping. 

“How was work?”

Bucky’s left eye twitches at your question as he shuts the car door and that makes you feel bad.

Sitting in a cubicle and being surrounded by people is going as well as one would imagine for him.

Leaning up on your toes, you press your now usual kiss to his cheek.

Bucky’s shoulder’s drop just slightly. “It was fine sweetheart.” He mumbles, placing a hand on your lower back.

Sweetheart?

Nodding at Betty, Bucky steers the two of you up to the house.

You’re too dazed to turn around and wave goodbye.

[THE NEXT AFTERNOON]

Peering out one of the second floor windows, you watch as Sean’s car disappears down the street. You’ve been on pins and needles all day waiting for him to leave for his appointment. 

Time to shine.

Rushing to your backyard, you use a strategically placed garden statue to boost yourself over the fence and into the Weaver’s backyard.

Using a lock pick to open their back door, you enter cautiously. 

Once you’re certain there’s no alarms for you to trip, you begin scouring the house. The layout is identical to your own and when you eventually wind up in the office upstairs it’s like striking gold.

You take pictures of every document outlining transactions, shippings, and other incriminating information. Every photo is automatically uploaded to a secure server. 

Just as you’re flicking through a notepad for any useful scribbles, you hear the front door shut.

Fuck.

Looking down at your watch, the numbers 2:07 glare back at you.

Seriously?

Of course Sean Weaver would have the world’s quickest doctor’s appointment.

Alright, think.

The office is probably one of the first places Sean will go to so you can’t risk slipping out now in the hopes of getting around him to head for the back door. Turning to the window behind you, you push it open and analyse the drop.

Nope.

However, the trim that goes around the house exterior just below the window is thick enough for you to stand on with the tips of your toes - it’s a risk though.

The sound of Sean’s footsteps on the stairs makes the decision easy.

Straddling the windowsill, you dangle your right leg out and lower it until your foot makes contact with the trim. Gripping the house exterior with your right hand and the window frame with your left, you swing the rest of your body out, placing your left foot beside your right on the trim.

Using your left hand, you pull the window close.

Okay.

Your whole body shakes with the effort of holding yourself on the small ledge. Your hands are sweating and there’s no real purchase on the house wall, just the small grooves in the panelling that you grip at with your fingertips.

It shouldn’t surprise you that you slip.

Somehow you keep the scream trapped in your throat as you fall.

Miraculously, you manage to grab the trimming you had been standing on, effectively halting your descent. However, the sudden stop jars your arms and causes your body to swing into the house.

You knew there was no real chance of you hanging there long with your weakened arms, but now your drop to the ground isn’t as great - but fuck does it hurt.

It’s your knees that absorb the impact of the fall before you land on your left side with a thump. If it had been grass beneath you it wouldn’t have been so bad. Of course, It’s just your luck that you’ve fallen into a garden bed of pebbles, your forehead connecting with the sharp edge of one.

With no time to waste, you crawl as fast as you can to the fence.

There’s no advantage of a boost this time around, so you jump as high as you can, grasping at the top of the fence with both hands. Using all of your remaining strength, you heave yourself up and over.

You drop unceremoniously on the other side, having no energy to slowly lower yourself to the ground.

This particular fall doesn’t hurt as much, the grass making for a much softer landing.

In the safety of your backyard, you lay unmoving on your side, trying to catch your breath as your body throbs all over. 

That was close. 

Too close.

You tell yourself you’ll get up on the count of three and when you miss that cue, you count to three again, then again, then again -

Bucky will be home in three hours.

Waiting for him sounds like a much better plan.

“Y/N.” 

The voice is unmistakable, making you frown.

Fuck, that was a fast three hours.

“маленькая птица.” The edge of panic is clear in Bucky’s tone as you hear him drop to the ground beside you before rolling you onto your back.

“Hi honey.”

Bucky releases a rough exhale you think might have been a laugh if he wasn’t so concerned. 

“You’re bleeding, what happened?” His words are sharp, demanding an answer. 

Just as your mouth opens to give one, Bucky’s lifting you into his arms for the second time this week.

God, I could get used to this.

“Y/N.”

Oh right.

“Sean came home earlier than I expected.”

Bucky’s grip tightens around you as you recount your less than stellar escape.

“How come you’re home early?” You ask after you’ve finished.

Instead of answering you, Bucky lowers you onto the bed you’ve been sharing and then disappears into the bathroom.

Groaning, you sit yourself up on the edge of the mattress. “I got some really good intel.” You call out to him.

Bucky re-emerges with a handful of first aid supplies that he places next to you on the bed.

Crouching between your legs, he pulls a knife out of -

Where did he just pull that out of?

Also, “What are you -”

“Stay still.”

Before he’s even finished speaking, Bucky’s slicing his knife up the right leg of your jeans, from ankle to thigh. 

He does the same to the left leg of your jeans, displaying your knees for his perusal. They’re red and already starting to bruise, but there’s no blood.

Ignoring the tingle his slashing sent up your spine, you say “You know, you could’ve just asked me to take them off.”

You’re starting to wonder how hard you hit your head and if you’re actually speaking as Bucky once again doesn’t respond, instead turning his attention to your arms. 

Bucky wraps a hand around each of your wrists, raising them above your head to scrutinise your forearms and hands. They’re scratched up real good and bleeding lightly.

The next ten or so minutes pass by quietly as Bucky cleans your scratches with careful movements.

He leaves the cut on your forehead last. 

Bucky’s metal hand cups your right cheek, the cold sensation an odd contradiction to the seemingly normal looking human hand you can see, courtesy of a cloaking device from Stark Industries for undercover missions like this one.

He cleans the cut above your left eyebrow as gently as he can but the pressure still causes you to wince.

Dark blue eyes cut to yours for a moment before focusing back on your injury.

You’re thankful for how lethargic your intense escape has made you, because if you were in an alert state right now you know your heart would be beating furiously at Bucky’s contact and close proximity.

Something he would’ve heard clear as day.

In fact, you’re feeling so lethargic your eyelids are beginning to droop.

“Hey,” Bucky murmurs “You with me?”

You hum, “Just tired.”

His metal thumb brushes over your cheek as he keeps working on your cut. “Gonna have to stay awake for a while, ‘til I know you’re okay.”

Eyes still closed, you huff.

“I’ll make you pasta for dinner.”

Your eyes shoot open at that and Bucky’s mouth tilts up in reaction.

“With garlic bread?” You ask hopefully.

Bucky’s nod makes you beam.

With a full stomach and Bucky’s permission to finally sleep, you crawl under the soft, white sheets of the king sized bed.

Curling onto your side facing Bucky, your eyes fall shut instantly, tiredness washing over you.

Reaching up, you gingerly touch the bandage Bucky placed over the cut on your forehead and your heart warms as you recall how he tended to you this afternoon.

“I never thanked you for the flowers.” You whisper suddenly into the darkness.

Despite calling Bucky not even an hour after you received them, you never said the words “thank you”. It had been the sole purpose of your call, but for some reason you couldn’t get the words out, couldn’t acknowledge what he’d done.

Acknowledging the flowers scared you, because it also felt like acknowledging your love for him - to him.

“You didn’t need to.” Is his simple reply.

“I did,” You disagree “They were beautiful Bucky, I… No one’s ever given me flowers before.”

The admission feels intimate, and you suppose it is. If you weren’t in such a drowsy state of mind you wouldn’t be saying any of this.

When Bucky doesn’t respond after a couple of minutes you stop fighting the urge to sleep.

“Я куплю тебе столько цветов, сколько ты захочешь, маленькая птица.”

Already drifting off, you mumble “English.”

“I’ll buy you as many flowers as you want, little bird.”

You fall soundly asleep at that moment, the confession heard only in your dreams.

[THE NEXT MORNING]

Pulling out a thick wad of junk mail from the letterbox, you close and lock the small hatch. 

“Morning neighbour.”

Forcing a smile, you turn to face Sean as he approaches. He’s shirtless, wearing only long pyjama pants.

Meh. Seen better.

“Hey Sean.”

Coming to a stop in front of you, he leans against your letterbox. “Any plans for the weekend?”

“Um,” You make a thoughtful expression “I’m not sure, I haven’t asked James yet.”

Grinning, Sean states “Being newly-weds, I think the plan would be obvious.” Leaning closer to point at the bandage on your forehead, he winks “Though it looks like maybe you’re getting a little too wild.”

Jesus.

You can’t decide whether to knee him in the balls or punch him in the nose, which sums up almost every interaction you’ve had with Sean.

The guy is a serious creep, something his file failed to mention.

You’re thinking of a response when a large hand slides over your right hip, settling on your stomach and pressing you back into a hard body.

Oh.

“Morning Sean.” There’s nothing friendly in Bucky’s tone.

Without waiting for a response, Bucky’s other hand weaves into your hair and tilts your head back until your eyes lock with his.

“I thought I told you to stay in bed.” He husks.

You’re certain your eyes bulge out of your head. 

It’s a good thing Bucky doesn’t expect a reply because there is not a single thought in your head. Just that sentence in that tone repeating over and over.

Fantasy fuel.

“Back inside.”

Yessiree.

Giving Sean a brief nod, Bucky takes you back to the house.

Stepping onto the porch, you’re still trying to remember your name when Bucky grunts beside you, gazing over his shoulder.

The arm around your waist tightens and the next thing you know, Bucky’s pulling you into his chest and kissing you.

Bucky’s mouth muffles your noise of surprise as his soft lips press against yours, absolutely bewitching you.

It’s the greatest kiss of your life and it only lasts five seconds.

Pulling back, Bucky’s dark blue eyes dart between yours, his pupils blown wide.

You can’t tell if it’s you or him who lunges forward to meet in another kiss. 

This kiss isn’t gentle, rather it’s bruising and greedy. Your hands find purchase in Bucky’s hair, the junk mail forgotten on the ground as you’re walked backwards into the house, Bucky kicking the door shut behind him.

[chickencat8]

uh. is it normal to feel Overstimulated from. too many bots

[stvolanis]

my minds just so full of thoughts of s3 rafe w/ his little housewife!!

he’s so freaking sweet. Gushing to all of his buddies at the country club about the cute little bell who makes him the best meals after a hard day of tormenting the pogues! And all of them are just like “yeah..uhuh..okay..” cause he never shuts up about you! But when you bring them all a fresh batch of peanut butter cookies with that warm smile on your face, they completely understand why Rafe is so smitten with you C:

Rafe would spoil you rotten for treating him so good! shopping sprees on the weekends, and duh, your nails are always done!! you said you wanted a new vintage von dutch mini skirt that barely covers your ass? Done! Rafe bough 5 of them in different colors and styles. Anything you look at for a little too long, or your fingers barely graze over, will be bought so beware!! Don’t even get me started on how Rafe would have flowers sent to you when he’s away on missions, always so pretty and fresh, and always your favorites.

but Rafes favorite part about his housewife? The way you let him stuff your cunt no matter what. You’re cooking? He’s got you bent over with his mushroom tip pounding at your cervix as you desperately try to flip the pancakes before they burn. you’re folding clothes? He’ll bounce you up and down on his cock till you lose focus of what you’re supposed to be doing, too drunk on the way he feels inside of you. Cleaning? Of course he stresses you out when his cum spills onto the freshly mopped floor, so he has you lick it up!! “S’not my fault it wouldn’t all fit in your mouth.” He’d huff out.

his breeding kink would be through the roof with you! his mind spirals at the thought of you with you belly round and swollen, evidence of how good he is to you. You’re so sweet and gentle, you’d be such a good mama to his kids! He can imagine himself walking into his home to the sight of you with a toddler that looks just like the both of you being bounced on your hip. You’d pepper him with kisses, and your little one would crawl out of your arms just to be with him.

Safe to say, Rafe is definitely obsessed with you.

don’t be shy, ask to be a part of the tag list and request things!!

TAG LIST: @elvisalltheway101 @epthedream69 @claire-elvisgirl @elvisrealgf @littlehoneyposts @ireallydontcareanymorebrooo @luxuriouslokistan-3 @foxevxid @sapriao @parkbabyj @xiyingly @jazminsjaz @likeits2002 @www-interludeshadow-com @khxna @my-fabulousness-has-arrived @floredaqueen

[papirouge]

It's 2023 and people are unironically still thinking "the White man stopped slavery 🥺" is a flaming gotcha

[seamistgale]

Bernard was being haunted.

His sus-o-meter isn't up to 100%, but if he's being real, it never is. The downside of being into conspiracy theories was that you were only partially sure which one was more skewed than the other. One day he could be convinced Batman is more cryptid than man, and then he'd stumble on some fascinating witness accounts that make him rethink the Vampire hypothesis.

This time, however, he's fairly sure this sort of freaky shit only happens to people in those cookie-cutter horror movies.

… Except this particular ghost might be of midwestern decent, or something, because they sucked at properly haunting.

Example number one:

It was rare that Bernard had dishes piled up. He lived alone, and occasionally Tim would come to his apartment; with a couple of games, some takeout boxes, and a movie later, there would be way more things to clean up than a whole weekend on his own.

The last time Tim came over, Bernard didn't bother cleaning up for the night, and then the trash just…. Disappeared.

Not like 'a burglar broke in for some weird fetish reason, and my trash is now gone' gone, but more 'the trash is in bags, the dishes are clean, and I swear the air smells fresher' gone.

That was strike one.

He brushed it off because Tim had been there. It was unlikely he just went on a stress cleaning spree at Bernard's place but… Well, Bernard's caught him doing way weirder shit. It's fine.

(it's not fine. You just didn't move things around on someone else's turf.

"…Clean up?" Tim echoed back from the phone, sounding as confused as Bernard felt the following morning. "I-- no, of course not!" and then hurriedly continued to reassure Bernard he'd never do that. Because Tim was nice like that, even after Bernard low-key accused him of giving him the Gotham equivalent of pissing in someone else's yard.

So, that was strike one in the back of his hindbrain that something was up.)

Strike two and three came together.

See, in Gotham's economy, sometimes your employer doesn't have your paycheck the week it should be. Who cares if you need to pay rent through or your landlord will double your rent? Neither your boss nor the landlord in question, obviously. So what he usually did was have a nest egg the size of his rent just in case.

But this month Bernard had splurged a little too much, so he was short. It was nothing big, he was just five bucks short.

The issue was, that his landlord was paranoid and was already breathing down his neck for not paying the next month's rent the day before the new month started. Like clockwork, his landlord put a warning under his door, ready to evict him the same day the month started if Bernard didn't have the rent in cash the next morning.

He knew the eviction notice was at the door, but chose to ignore it because it didn't matter, he'd get those five one way or another by the end of the day.

By the time he came back, two things were out of place. The first was the eviction notice on his table. Again, no one moved someone else's shit around.

Strike three happened while counting his nest egg, and would you look at that! He had more money than he'd counted. Nothing ridiculous, just… He had those five bucks now.

All these little things were easy to miss, or misremember, but Bernard was not most people. But the catch here was… All these things were good things. Sort of.

So not only was this happening when he wasn't around, but they were happening to his… Advantage? He'd even call it good fortune if one was willing to ignore the lack of privacy… And maybe he would have, if this wasn't Gotham. Privacy was a mix between a luxury and a currency. Sometimes a kindness.

In some ways maybe it would have been an effective scare tactic, to mess someone's shit up, but this was not the way he'd personally go about it if he wanted someone to leave the building.

So here Bernard was, staring again at the dishes he had placed as bait, because he wasn't an idiot and tempting a ghost into anything remotely violent was stupid. The dishes were cleaned.

He squinted at the ceiling, then at the rest of his apartment, trying to gauge whether trying to make first contact was going to get him more haunted, killed, or turn him into a Saturday morning cartoon.

Finally, he picked up a cup. Not a glass cup, because why would he give the ghost any ammunition, but a couple of fairly clear plastic cups, a marker, two sticky notes, and filled both cups with tap water decently enough so a mild tremble would be noticeable.

The first sticky note said "Yes", and the second, predictably, said "No."

"So." Bernard sat in front of the cups, feeling halfway like a dumbass for doing this in the first place, and halfway like he's about to do the worst decision of his life because it might just work. "You from out of town, or are you just really shitty at this?"

[withleeknow]

seasons of you.

pairing: minho x reader genre/warnings: established relationship, tooth-rotting fluff or at least i hope so lmao, not v edited and literally no one is surprised lol i sound like a broken record atp just adding that into every post word count: 0.7k note: inspired by a highly fucked up thing that @matchannie said to me yesterday lmao it has not left my brain since you said it you absolute monster

as always, i’d appreciate any thoughts or comments you may have, and please drop a like and/or reblog if you enjoy reading ♡

navigation / masterlist / ko-fi

minho falls in love with you four times a year.

minho falls in love with you in the spring, over blooming cherry blossoms and vibrant daffodils that greet you on your weekly sunset walk. over the feeling of your fingers intertwined with his own without soft fluffy gloves getting in the way, now that it's finally warm enough to retire that extra layer of protection for the season. over the sun coming out of hibernation and filling your days with golden light, falling upon your face and casting you in a magical hue. over the remnants of winter that still leave behind a palpable chill in the air early in the morning or late in the night, that has you reaching out for the comfort of his warmth. over your delighted smile when he brings home a bouquet of tulips after a long day at work. over your glassy eyes, reddened nose and flushed cheeks as he takes care of you when the seasonal allergies kick in.

minho falls in love with you in the summer, over picnics in the park where you both lay on blue gingham picnic blankets, your head on his chest, as you watch the clouds overhead drift peacefully. over watermelon gelatos passed between teasing lips, the confectionary melting too quickly for your liking under the blazing sunlight. over spontaneous drives to the beach even though neither of you can swim, but you go just for fun, just to build sand sculptures in the shape of your cat babies and stand on the edge of the water to splash at each other. over long naps on the couch on days where you're too lazy to venture into the outside heat, preferring to stay cuddled up together under the air conditioner with niki playing in the background.

minho falls in love with you in fall, over shared slices of pumpkin pie as you watch the leaves turn yellow and red right outside your window. over the adorable way you hide your face behind your hands on nights where he puts on a horror movie because he insists on honoring the halloween spirit. over your off-key rendition of taylor swift's all too well (the 10-minute version) for most of the season because you adamantly claim that it's autumn's official anthem. over weekends spent attached at the hip, baking sugar cookies for hours on end. over your crestfallen pout as you take note of how the days keep getting shorter and shorter, already missing warm sunny weeks with all your heart.

minho falls in love with you in winter, over matching scarves and beanies, even though he often has to carry them for you because you have a bad habit of forgetting them before you go out. over the first snow of the season because they say that if you witness the first snowfall with the person you love, then you will stay together for a long, long time. over sweet cuddles in bed as a bad christmas movie plays on tv, and you fall asleep on his shoulder about half an hour into the movie despite being the one to select the movie in the first place. over your return from a shopping spree with your girlfriends with nothing for yourself but everything for soondoongdori, from christmas themed clothes to treats and toys.

but then again, maybe it's not entirely accurate to say that minho falls in love you merely four times a year. if he wants to be precise, then he would say that he falls for you anew every morning he wakes up and sees you asleep in his arms like a delicate miracle granted by a star he once used to wish upon. if he wants to get technical, then he falls in love with you with every smile that you send his way, which is a terribly sappy thing for him to admit but it doesn't make the statement any less true.

minho loves you every day of every week, of every month, of every year. he's loved you before he even met you, when you were just a romanticized idea in his head and hadn't yet walked into his life like the angel he was always meant to find. he loves you every minute of every hour; there isn't a second where you're not on his mind, not a single beat of his heart that doesn't spell out your name. he loves you throughout the seasons and a million times in between.

permanent taglist: @onlyycb97wife @starsandrqindrops @borahae-reads @abbiestearsricochet @cutiespaghetti @anthropologykpopmultistan @moonlinos @mjnhoz @caitlyn98s @piercidh34rts  @stayceebs97 @linocz @yaorzu-blog @biribarabiribbaem @kayleefriedchicken @extrhotjne @caitxx1 @palindrome969 @todorokiskitten @azuna-sz @meanergreener @nxzz-skz @jazziwritesthings @poutypoutybin @bookyeom @jisuperboard @wyzminho @amarecerasus @channection @lastgreatamericandynasty1 @judeduartewannabe @chanshyunjin @firelordtsuki @astronomicallyyy @alm334 @lashaemorow

all rights reserved © withleeknow. reposting, translating and/or modifying is not permitted by any means. [posted 08.04.2024]