#and she haunts sam. of course.

[quietwingsinthesky]

Hello 🤗

Samifer and 32

Thank you! ❤️❤️

oh i love this song. also! very fitting for samifer! sam will be haunted <3

Jess's finger over the curve of his lip. Jess's hair tickling his skin. Jess's voice in his ears, but the devil's words, you're a monster, Sam, a terrible, broken thing.

Jess's ghost out of the corner of his eye when he's awake. The devil's hand in every tragedy that touches the Earth. Sam's fault. Our fault, she whispers, or maybe he wants to hear. When he looks, she's not there.

All the love he still has for Jess with nowhere to go. The devil in his bed, pressed flesh against flesh, give it to me, give me every last drop.

[send me an ask with a ship (or gen pairing) + a number from 1 through 100 and i will write a drabble based on the song at that ranking]

[thebarneschronicles]

Closer to Home

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Synopsis: As you settle into your new role as the team’s “girl in the chair,” helping Sam and Bucky with their missions, you find yourself increasingly drawn to Bucky's intense presence. His brooding silence is matched only by his watchful eyes, and despite his gruff exterior, your kindness begins to chip away at his walls. When Bucky insists on walking you home one night, clyou chalk it up to his old-fashioned sense of duty and think nothing of it. But as the night unfolds, you realize there’s far more behind his actions than just good manners, and your growing feelings for him may not be as hidden as you think.

A/N: This was supposed to be something else ENTIRELY. But it just unravelled and here we are! Please, feel free to let me know your thoughts about it! B xx

Closer To Home Masterlist

--

Your relationship with Bucky hadn’t started with fireworks or dramatic confessions—it began like any other normal relationship: after drinks and a movie.

It was a quiet evening, the kind that felt heavier after long hours at your desk. You were finally wrapping up for the night, shrugging on your coat and slinging your purse over a shoulder. The clock had just ticked past 10 p.m., though it hardly felt late to you. Still, your shoulders sagged under the tension of the day—hours spent poring over intel, trying to uncover scraps of information that might help Sam and Bucky on their next mission.

“You shouldn’t be walking home alone.”

You looked up to find Bucky leaning casually against the doorway, arms crossed. His voice was gruff but not unkind, his blue eyes shadowed but steady.

“It’s just a few blocks,” you replied, already bracing for the argument.

His jaw tightened—a subtle shift, but one you’d come to recognize as the start of his infamous stubborn streak. “Doesn’t matter. My ma would haunt me if I let you.”

That earned him a laugh. “Your 'ma' sounds like quite the character.”

“She was,” he said, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. It disappeared as quickly as it came. “C’mon, grab your stuff. I’ll walk you.”

You didn’t argue further, mostly because you were too tired to win, and partly because there was something oddly comforting about his protectiveness, even if it came wrapped in brooding silences and sharp glances.

Being around Bucky had taken some getting used to. You knew about him, of course—who didn’t? But nothing had prepared you for the sheer intensity of James Buchanan Barnes up close. His unrelenting stares, his quiet presence that somehow filled a room, and the way he seemed to carry the weight of entire worlds on his shoulders.

When you’d first joined their team as the “girl in the chair” (a term Sam insisted on despite your repeated protests that you were, in fact, a woman), you hadn’t known what to expect. Your days as a research journalist had been left behind in favor of a role that felt more like a sidekick to two superheroes. Never the hero, always the support.

“It’s not nothing, though,” Sam had told you once, catching you mid-eye-roll during a particularly grueling debrief. “You’re saving lives too, y’know. Every name, every address you dig up? That’s someone else’s tomorrow you’re protecting.”

Still, the job came with its own toll: exhaustion, migraines, and a constant ache in your wrists from hours of typing. But it also came with a quiet sense of purpose—and Bucky’s occasional company.

At first, his silences had been intimidating, his brooding presence almost oppressive. But you met him with unwavering kindness—bringing him coffee when he looked like he needed it, or letting him retreat into your office to escape Sam’s chatter. Slowly, the silences grew shorter, and the stares softened into something more watchful.

Now, walking beside him under the soft glow of streetlights, the quiet felt less like distance and more like understanding.

“So,” you said, breaking the silence, “is this a one-time chivalry thing, or do I get an official escort service from now on?”

Bucky snorted. “You’re assuming I’m doing this for you.”

“Oh, really?” you teased, grinning. “Who else is benefitting from my safe arrival home?”

He glanced at you, a spark of humor flickering in his eyes. “Sam’ll never let me hear the end of it if something happens to you. Man loves his lectures.”

“Ah,” you said, mock-serious. “So I’m saving you from Sam’s wrath. Got it.”

He didn’t answer right away, but his pace slowed slightly, his hand brushing the base of your spine as you turned a corner, like he was directing towards home. “Maybe I just like making sure you’re okay,” he muttered.

Your heart stuttered at his words, a quiet ache blooming in your chest, but you didn’t dare press him further. Hope was a dangerous thing, a fragile spark that had burned you one too many times before. It was safer to tuck it away, to pretend his words meant nothing more than what he’d said—a simple gesture of kindness, nothing deeper.

You were friends, after all... right? Or at least, friendly. He was kind to you, yes, but Bucky Barnes was kind in a way that felt carefully measured, like a soldier fulfilling his duty. He was a gentleman through and through, the kind who’d been raised to believe it was his responsibility to make sure no lady faced the dangers of the night alone.

“His mah would’ve expected nothing less,” you thought wryly, your lips tugging into a faint smile.

He was a man out of time, after all. Decades removed from the era he was born into, yet somehow still anchored there, even now. You wouldn’t have been surprised if the rules he followed were the same ones ingrained into him all those years ago. And maybe, just maybe, it was easier to believe that than to let yourself hope he cared for any reason beyond habit or honor.

“Almost there,” he said, his voice breaking through your thoughts. His hand hovered near your elbow, steady and sure, as if ready to catch you should you stumble.

The steps to your door loomed far too quickly for your aching heart, bringing an abrupt end to your time with the brooding soldier. Each step felt heavier than the last, as if your body was reluctant to leave his quiet, steady presence.

You paused on the final step, its height almost eliminating the difference between you and Bucky. It gave you just enough courage to look up at him, your fingers nervously twisting around the strap of your purse.

“Thank you, Bucky,” you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

He dipped his head in a single nod, his icy blue eyes flickering down to meet yours. His expression, as always, was unreadable, cast in shadows under the dim streetlamp. “Anytime.”

The simplicity of his reply made your chest tighten. You nodded in return, swallowing hard as your heart hammered in your throat. Turning away from him, you fixed your gaze on your front door, willing yourself to move forward, to end the moment before it unraveled you completely.

Friends. That’s all this was. It had to be.

So why did it feel so wrong to turn your back on him? Why did it feel like you were forcing yourself to betray something deeper, something unspoken, simply by walking away?

Your hand was on the doorknob before you realized you’d stopped moving, the quiet war between your heart and your mind reaching a fever pitch. You squeezed your eyes shut, battling the urge that rose in you like a wave.

Don’t do it. Just go inside. Let him leave.

But the battle was already lost. Before you could stop yourself—before logic could wrestle control away from the reckless beating of your heart—you turned. Your feet moved without permission, carrying you back down the steps toward him.

It wasn’t a decision so much as a pull, steady and undeniable, the words slipping from your lips as if carried on a tide of longing you couldn’t resist.

“Would you like to come up for a drink?”

The words tumbled out unbidden, your voice trembling just enough to betray how desperately you wanted him to say yes.

His reaction couldn’t have been more Bucky if he tried. His eyes shifted, and you swore you could see every emotion flash through them—surprise, hesitation, something a lot like longing—before they settled back into the stoic mask he always wore. Quiet. Unimpressed. Broody. And yet…

“I wouldn’t mind a beer.”

A laugh bubbled up in your chest, shaky with relief, and you motioned toward your door. “Well, come on then. I’ve got a six-pack that’s been waiting for some company.”

His presence filled the small apartment in a way that made your breath catch, the air somehow heavier, more electric. How many times had your silly, stubborn heart conjured up this exact scenario? Late at night, Bucky standing just inside your door, peeling off his worn leather jacket and tugging off the gloves that shielded both metal and flesh. Then, as if he’d done it a thousand times, he’d settle into a corner of your couch, legs spread, shoulders sinking back into the soft fabric like he belonged there.

“There's Heineken, Bud, and Corona,” you said, your voice only slightly betraying your nerves as you toed off your shoes and dropped your keys and purse by the door. “I think I might even have some whiskey stashed away somewhere. What’s your poison?”

He hesitated for a moment, his gaze trailing lazily around the room before settling back on you. “I’ll have what you’re having.”

Your stomach flipped, and you nodded, biting back the grin threatening to stretch across your face. “Sure thing,” you said casually, though you were certain the flush creeping up your neck gave you away.

You turned toward the kitchen, your heart doing an embarrassing little leap as you busied yourself rummaging through the fridge and cabinets. The clink of bottles felt absurdly loud in the quiet apartment, every moment stretching with the weight of his presence just beyond your line of sight.

“Nice place,” he called from the living room, his tone casual but laced with something warmer.

“Thanks,” you replied, grabbing two beers and popping the caps off with practiced ease. “I’d say make yourself at home, but it looks like you’ve already got that covered.”

When you re-entered the room, there he was—exactly as you’d imagined so many times before. His jacket was draped over the back of the couch, his gloves neatly set beside it, and Bucky himself sprawled out comfortably. His metal hand rested casually on his knee, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his lips as his eyes met yours.

“Here you go, Mr. Barnes,” you said, forcing a steady smile as you handed him the green bottle.

“To your first visit,” you began, raising your own bottle in a toast. You couldn’t help the way your gaze lingered, taking in the sight of his broad frame on your couch, the casual way he sat, the sheer presence of him filling the space. Warmth pooled low in your belly, and before you could stop yourself, you added, “May it be the first of many.”

His smirk deepened at that, a flicker of amusement flashing across his features. He raised his bottle silently, going for a sip—but you stopped him, your hand darting out to rest on his.

“Wait!” you blurted, your palm lightly pressing against his larger one.

His frown was slight, his gaze shifting between your hands before settling on your face. “Why?”

“You have to look at me when we cheers,” you explained, your voice a little breathless, a little unsure of what you were doing but too far in to back out now.

His brow arched. “And why’s that?”

“Bad luck if you don’t. Years of it.” You shrugged, suddenly feeling the ridiculousness of your own words but refusing to back down. “I mean, I can’t even count how many years... Probably best not to risk it.”

For a second, you thought he might argue. But then he chuckled, a soft sound that sent a flutter straight to your chest. “God knows I’ve had enough of that already, haven’t I?”

You giggled, your laughter bubbling out, light and carefree. The fact that he played along felt like a victory, a small but monumental crack in his stoic armor.

With a glint of something softer in his eyes, he tilted his head toward you, his gaze locking with yours. “Alright, doll,” he said, his voice quieter now, warmer. “Let’s do it properly.”

Eyes steady on yours, he clinked his bottle against yours, the sound sharp and satisfying in the quiet room. And then, he didn’t look away—not for a second—as he took a slow sip.

You followed suit, the contact between your eyes and his making your heart race so fast you thought it might burst. The heat in his gaze was steady, grounding, and yet it sent a thrilling, electric charge through you that made your knees nearly buckle.

“Better?” he asked, his voice low, the faintest curve to his lips as he lowered his bottle.

“Much,” you replied, somehow managing to keep your voice steady, even as your pulse thundered in your ears.

The air between you seemed to shift then, heavier but no less comforting—a new tension that simmered beneath the surface. If Bucky noticed the way your gaze lingered on him, the way your breath hitched every time his hand grazed your knee as he reached for another beer, he never said a thing.

He was the perfect gentleman, as always. Even when you slid closer on the couch, settling beside him on the plush cushions - even though there were a whole three other seats available to you. Even when you turned toward him, resting your head on your palm, your eyes tracing the strong lines of his face while you rambled about the mission reports piling up on your desk. He didn’t even glance at your neckline when you leaned over him to grab the remote, though you couldn’t help but steal a quiet inhale of his scent—clean, warm, unmistakably him.

“Alright,” you said, breaking the quiet. “I feel like I’m torturing you by making you listen to all this. Do you feel like watching something?” Your tone was cheery, light, but your heart raced at the thought of sharing something as simple and intimate as watching a film together.

With your eyes fixed on the TV, you missed the brief hesitation in his expression—the flicker of doubt that crossed his face and quickly vanished. Yet, neither the guilt, the fear, nor the pain that lingered in his soul seemed strong enough to stop him from embracing what you offered so openly: a chance to simply be. For the first time in what felt like forever, Bucky seemed just a little less burdened by the shadows of his past, a ghost of his old self and a lot of his new one urging him to give in.

“What’s on Netflix?” he asked, his voice low and casual.

Your head whipped around so quickly you nearly gave yourself whiplash. “How do you know what Netflix is?”

His lips quirked into a rare, genuinely amused smile, the kind that made your stomach flip. “I’m old, but I’m not that old, doll.”

“You’re 106,” you shot back, arching a brow.

“And yet, I still know what streaming is,” he countered, the smile growing. “I’m not living under a rock.”

“Well, I am impressed, Mr. Barnes,” you teased, settling back into the cushions. “What else do you know about modern technology? Please tell me you’ve at least heard of TikTok.”

His expression shifted into something closer to a scowl, but the playful glint in his eye betrayed him. “I know about TikTok,” he said, sounding almost offended. “And dating apps. God, the horrors,” he added, shaking his head dramatically as he glanced at his phone like it was some sort of ancient relic.

You couldn’t help but laugh, the sound warm and genuine, filling the cozy space between you. But beneath the humor, your stomach twisted with an unexpected knot. Dating apps?

“What about dating apps?” you asked, trying to sound casual, but the curiosity in your voice was hard to hide.

Bucky groaned, slouching deeper into the couch as though the thought of them physically pained him. “I don’t know, doll. They just seem... unnatural. All these profiles and swiping left or right, like you’re picking a product instead of a person. Not my thing.” His voice held a certain distaste, and the casual way he said it made you wonder if he was speaking from experience—or just his own strong sense of principle.

You bit your lip, trying to suppress the questions bubbling up inside you. Had he ever used them? Was he speaking from personal experience, or just from watching the chaos unfold around him? Your thoughts shifted uncomfortably, and you tried to steer the conversation back to safer waters.

“I get it,” you said, trying to sound nonchalant. “It’s... kind of weird, honestly. It’s like shopping for a date, but with less... quality control.” You shot him a teasing grin, but the tightness in your chest was hard to ignore.

Bucky chuckled, the sound a low rumble that was soothing, even though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Exactly. I mean, if I’m gonna meet someone, I’d rather it be... I don’t know, real? Not behind a screen.”

For some reason, his comment made your heart stumble, a traitorous beat skipping out of rhythm. You quickly dropped your gaze to your beer, hoping the reaction wasn’t written all over your face. Was he hinting that he preferred real, in-person connections? That he’d rather... meet someone like that?

You cleared your throat, feigning casual interest to mask the swarm of uncertainty rising inside. “So, how would you go about it? Finding a date, I mean. Is Sam your wingman?”

Bucky nearly choked on his beer, shaking his head vehemently. “God, no! Can you imagine? He’s too busy being Captain America to care about my love life... except when he’s accusing me of flirting with his sister.”

The corner of his mouth lifted into a smirk, and your chest tightened with something sharp and unwelcome. Jealousy. You bit down on your bottom lip, trying to chase it away. “I didn’t know you liked Sarah,” you said, and to your horror, the disappointment in your voice was impossible to hide.

Bucky raised an eyebrow, clearly catching the shift in your tone. “She’s great,” he said with a thoughtful nod. Then his lips curved knowingly. “But not like that.”

The heat crawling up your neck to your cheeks was impossible to ignore, and Bucky’s sly grin told you he’d noticed. Your relief collided with your curiosity, the two tangling into a dangerous need to know more. “Oh,” you started hesitantly. “So... if not her, then who?”

He took another sip of his beer, the pause deliberate. “Had one date with the waitress from that Asian place we always order from. It… didn’t go well.”

Your brows furrowed. “And you haven’t tried again since then?”

“Not really.” He shrugged, leaning back in his chair, the movement deceptively casual. “You know how it is these days—apps, algorithms, everyone judging you by a couple of photos and a bio. And who’s lining up to date a former assassin, huh? People know too much, too soon. Real connections don’t happen that way.”

The self-deprecating edge in his voice made your heart ache. You tilted your head, studying the way his vibranium fingers tapped lightly against the beer bottle. “Maybe,” you said softly, your voice steady despite the nervous thrum beneath your skin, “you’re looking in the wrong places.”

His gaze snapped to yours, sharp and searching. “Oh yeah?” he asked, voice low, almost daring. “And where do you think I should look?”

You swallowed hard, feeling the weight of his question, his attention. “Maybe a little closer to home,” you murmured, eyes resolutely fixed on the beer bottle in your own hands.

The silence that followed was electric, charged with unspoken possibilities that hung in the air like static. His gaze lingered on you, steady and intense, and you could feel it even without looking up. It made your pulse race in a way you didn’t dare acknowledge.

The truth was, you weren’t sure if you were just caught up in the moment—or if there was something more lingering in his words, in the way he was looking at you now.

You wanted to ask. The question burned on the tip of your tongue, begging to be spoken. But a part of you hesitated, afraid of the answer. What if this was nothing more than friendly banter? What if pushing further shattered the comfortable connection you’d built?

“Closer to home, huh?” Bucky’s voice was a low rumble, breaking the silence but not the tension. He leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees, and for a moment, it felt like he was closing the space between you. “And what does that mean, exactly? You got someone in mind for me, doll?”

There it was—that nickname. The one you pretended to hate but secretly adored. It sent a shiver down your spine, and you could feel the corner of your mouth twitch, betraying the smile you tried to suppress. His voice was so close it warmed you from head to toe. “I’m just saying,” you replied, forcing your tone to stay neutral, “maybe you’re overthinking it. Sometimes the best things are right in front of you.”

His lips quirked, his expression softening as if he’d caught onto something unsaid. “You think so?” Bucky asked, his voice quieter now, almost thoughtful.

You dared to turn your head and glance at him, and the way his blue eyes locked onto yours stole whatever breath you had left. “Yeah,” you said, your voice barely more than a whisper. “I know so.”

The moment stretched between you, fragile and heavy with unspoken words. You swore he was leaning closer, his gaze flickering briefly to your lips before returning to your eyes. And suddenly, the question burning in your chest felt inevitable.

“Bucky…” you began, voice trembling slightly, unsure of what you were about to say—or what he might say back.

“Yeah, doll?” Bucky’s voice was gentle, a thread of warmth in the charged air between you.

You hesitated, but the weight of your emotions was too much to carry any longer. “Is this a date?” you finally blurted, the words tumbling out before you could second-guess yourself.

For a moment, his expression didn’t change, and then he shook his head slowly. “It’s not,” he said, his voice steady but quiet.

Your chest tightened, and the disappointment hit hard, like a blow you hadn’t braced for. You tried to mask it, but your face betrayed you, your shoulders sagging under the weight of the rejection. The ache in your heart grew with every second of silence that followed, the room feeling colder with each passing beat.

What you missed was the storm raging behind his steel-blue eyes—the internal battle he fought against his demons, the ones that screamed he wasn’t good enough for you. Wasn’t good enough for anyone. He’d carried those ghosts for too long to ignore them now. But he wasn’t blind.

He’d noticed the way your smile softened when it was meant for him, brighter and warmer than it ever was for anyone else. He’d seen how you fretted over him after missions, your hands fluttering with concern even at the smallest scratch on his skin. And he’d felt the hope radiating from you tonight when you’d invited him over, your words laced with a vulnerability you rarely showed.

Bucky knew. He’d known for a while. And that knowledge both terrified and thrilled him. Love, in any form, was fragile—he’d learned that the hard way. But tonight, sitting here with you, he realized he couldn’t keep running from the possibility of it.

He wanted you. Your laughter, your kindness, your stubbornness, your touch. He craved all of it. And maybe he didn’t deserve it, but for once in his long life, he wanted to try.

Bucky set his beer down, his movements deliberate, and leaned closer. His flesh hand brushed against the back of your arm and the touch sent a shiver up your arm. 

“It’s not a date,” he repeated, voice low but filled with a quiet resolve that made your breath catch, hurt twisting at your heart.

Your brow furrowed, the downturn of your lips impossible to hide. “Heard you the first time…”

“This isn’t a date,” he pressed on. Then, with a small, almost shy smile, he added, “But it could be.”

Your heart skipped, his words hanging in the air like a lifeline. “Bucky…”

Cutting through your hesitation, his gaze locked onto yours, unflinching, steady. “If you want this… if you want me, I’m yours. I want to try.”

The vulnerability in his voice left you breathless, stealing any coherent thought you might have had. For the first time in what felt like forever, hope blossomed in your chest, warm and radiant. You didn’t hesitate this time, your lips curving into a soft, trembling smile.

“Is this because you’re afraid of the apps?” you teased, the quip breaking the intensity just enough for you to breathe. But your voice wavered slightly, and your eyes glistened with the tears threatening to spill. “Aren’t you afraid I’ll steal your virtue?”

Bucky chuckled, low and genuine, the sound sending warmth curling in your chest. “I’m not a damsel in distress, doll,” he said, his tone playful as his fingers brushed a strand of hair away from your face. The simple touch sent shivers down your spine, and you leaned into it instinctively.

“And you’re also not the big bad wolf you think you are,” you countered softly, your voice tinged with both affection and defiance.

“Well, technically…” His lips quirked into a lopsided grin. “I am the White Wolf.”

You rolled your eyes, the tension breaking into something lighter, something safe. “He jokes,” you said, shaking your head. “He could be kissing instead…”

His grin softened, and for a beat, he just looked at you, his hand still lingering near your face. Then, as if your words had given him permission, he leaned in, closing the space between you in a way that felt both inevitable and extraordinary.

“Guess I’ll take your advice for once, doll,” he murmured, his breath brushing against your lips.

The moment his lips touched yours, the world seemed to shrink to just the two of you. His kiss was gentle at first, a question rather than an assumption, as though he wanted to be sure this was what you truly wanted. His warm hand cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing softly against your cheekbone, while his vibranium hand rested lightly on your knee, grounding him in the moment.

You sighed into the kiss, your hand instinctively reaching up to thread through the short hair at the nape of his neck. The movement drew him closer, and he obliged, deepening the kiss with a soft groan that sent a shiver down your spine. His lips were soft yet firm, moving against yours in a way that spoke of patience and restrained hunger, like he was savoring every second of this moment.

His vibranium hand finally moved, finding your waist with surprising tenderness. The cool metal was a stark contrast to the heat of his other hand through the fabric of your shirt, but it pulled you to the reality of him—both the man he was and the one he’d fought so hard to become.

When you parted briefly for air, his forehead rested against yours, his breaths mingling with yours in the small space between you. His eyes fluttered open, heavy-lidded and brimming with emotions he didn’t have to say out loud.

“Doll…” he whispered, his voice rough and full of awe, like he couldn’t quite believe what had just happened.

But you weren’t done. You weren’t ready to let the moment slip away. Sliding your hand from his neck to his jaw, you tilted his face back toward yours, brushing your lips against his again, slower this time, savoring the taste of him. He responded immediately, his grip on your waist tightening as his mouth moved against yours with more certainty, more passion.

The kiss deepened, growing warmer, more insistent. Your bodies angled closer together, his presence consuming your senses. You could feel his heartbeat against yours, steady and strong, and the faint rasp of his stubble as it brushed against your skin only made the experience more intoxicating.

You weren’t sure how it happened—one moment you were pressed against the back of your couch, his hands and lips demanding your full attention, and the next, you were straddling his thighs. Your arms wrapped tightly around his neck as your harsh breaths mingled, the taste of his tongue intoxicating and impossible to resist.

For all his claims of being a man out of his time, Bucky Barnes knew exactly how to touch a woman. His hands were a perfect dichotomy: one warm and strong, the other cool and unyielding, but both equally firm and commanding. His touch left no room for doubt or hesitation, responding to every unspoken plea you hadn’t yet found the words for.

And his kiss? God, his kiss. You could write sonnets about the way his lips moved against yours, the way his tongue teased and claimed you, coaxing a need from you that you hadn’t known you were capable of. None of your wildest fantasies could compare to the reality of him, his body pressed against yours, solid and capable. The things it could do—what it was doing, what it promised to do—set your whole body alight with yearning.

You kissed him harder, deeper, needier, your hips moving instinctively against his. His groan rumbled low in his chest, a sound that only made you crave him more. But just as your movements grew more desperate, his vibranium hand clamped firmly on your hips, halting your rhythm. His flesh hand cupped your jaw, gentle but insistent, forcing you to break the kiss.

“Doll…” His voice was rough, laced with a warning that sent a delicious shiver down your spine.

You blinked at him, still dazed, heat crawling under your skin as you realized what you’d done. “Yes, I’m sorry, I know—I’m sorry,” you stammered, your cheeks burning with embarrassment.

His breaths came heavy, his chest rising and falling against yours as his steel-blue eyes bore into yours. The hunger there mirrored your own, and the restraint in his grip only made you want him more.

Your lips quirked into a small, teasing smile, your own need warring with the desire to break the tension. “Seems like I really am trying to steal your virtue, huh?” you joked, your voice light but shaky as you turned your head to press a soft kiss to his palm.

His lips twitched, the faintest hint of amusement breaking through the hunger. “You’re gonna be the death of me,” he muttered, his hand slipping from your jaw to trail gently along your cheek, his thumb brushing over your kiss-swollen lips.

Your free hand wrapped around his vibranium one, your thumb tracing the grooves of the metal. “Wouldn’t dream of it,” you murmured, your voice soft but laced with promise as you leaned in, resting your forehead against his.

For a moment, neither of you moved, the charged silence stretching as his hands anchored you, holding you steady but never pushing. His restraint was palpable, and you knew without a doubt—if you wanted more, he would give it to you willingly. But only if you asked.

You wouldn’t, though. Not tonight.

Instead, you leaned in, brushing soft, sweet kisses against his lips, your movements unhurried and tender. Each kiss felt like a promise, an unspoken assurance that there was no rush, no need for anything more than this moment. It took superhuman strength—the kind he had—not to let it escalate.

When you finally pulled back, both of you were breathless, your lips tingling and your cheeks warm. His eyes searched yours, and the way he looked at you—like you were the most precious thing in the world—made your heart swell. His thumb grazed your cheek, his smile soft and genuine.

“How about that movie?” he murmured, his voice low and teasing, though his eyes betrayed a depth of emotion that made your breath catch.

You laughed, the sound breaking the last remnants of tension and filling the cozy space around you. “Alright, fine. Let’s find something to watch, then. Any preferences?”

“Anything but those baking shows Sam keeps trying to get me into,” he muttered, his lips quirking in faint exasperation.

A giggle bubbled out of you at the mental image of Sam dragging Bucky into a world of frosting, sprinkles, and delicate pastries. The idea was so absurd yet so perfectly Sam that you couldn’t help yourself. Leaning in, you pressed a soft kiss to his jaw, your lips lingering just long enough to feel the faint rasp of stubble. “Deal. No baking shows.”

As the two of you settled back onto the couch, scrolling through movie options, the tension between you shifted again—this time, it was softer, lighter, wrapped in a warmth that felt safe and steady.

Bucky stretched his arm along the back of the couch, his fingers absently brushing against your shoulder as you leaned into him, your body naturally seeking his. And for the first time in a long time, you noticed something different about him. The shadows that usually haunted his expression seemed to have lifted, replaced by something quieter, something calmer.

Here, with you, Bucky wasn’t the broken soldier or the ex-assassin haunted by his past. He was just… himself. And in that moment, you realized that’s all you’d ever wanted him to be.

[jaewritesfic]

Everlasting Trio DPxDC Nobody Knows Au

I love nobody knows aus.

I love aus where danny flees to Gotham after a Bad Time with his parents.

So what if:

Sam moves to Gotham for college after graduation. Tucker has flown down from MIT over the semester break to spend the month with her. They've stayed very close knit.

They're having brunch at a small cafe maybe a week in, and suddenly Sam's hand darts across the table and grips his forearm so tight it hurts.

He startles and asks her what's wrong, but she doesn't answer. She's too busy staring across the room with a haunted look on her face. Tucker follows her gaze and goes cold and still with shock and disbelief.

They're both frozen because that? That looks like Danny.

Danny, their childhood best friend. Danny who came to their freshman year of high school a little different. Withdrawn.

Danny who kept pulling away and making excuses no matter how hard they tried to engage him, who looked more tired and ragged with every passing week.

Danny who disappeared without a trace shortly after he turned sixteen and who, though it largely went unspoken, they believed dead and gone forever.

"It's not," Tucker whispers weakly. "It can't be, right?"

The guy across the cafe is older than the kid they remember, of course. Around twenty, exactly how old they are. How old Danny should be. He's tall, tall like they and Jazz always assured Danny he would be once he hit a growth spurt and into his dad's genes.

His nails are painted and his ears are pierced and his hair is a little longer, but he sits in front of his papers and computer with eerily familiar bad posture and a pen tapping at his bottom lip like their Danny always did when he tried to focus.

He looks leagues healthier than their Danny did before he went missing.

He huffs a breath out of his nose and pokes his bottom lip out as he scowls at something on his screen, and before Tucker can even process the gut punch of such a familiar mannerism Sam is out of her chair and halfway across the cafe.

Tucker scrambles after her with half coherent protests.

He reaches the table as Sam slams herself down into the chair across from the doppelganger, the guy jerking in surprise and blinking up at his two unexpected guests with confusion and alarm.

Then, slowly, Tucker watches his face go pale and the confusion be replaced with dawning shock, recognition and something unreadable.

"Oh," Danny breathes.

[brokenbarnes]

Haunted Eyes

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Based on the Episode "The Power Broker" from the Falcon and the Winter Soldier. Zemo is offering the Winter Soldier to Selby for payment, but the reader plays his handler. Hurt/comfort type shyt

Warnings: canon level violence, slight panic attack, mentions of ptsd

A/N: Holy shit guys I haven't written (and posted it) in over four years. I hope you enjoy it, hopefully my writing as improved since high school!

You were unhappy with the idea from the start.

Your best friend, closest confidant, one you’ve watched grow into a new version of himself; forced to play the part of the man he used to be. Could you even consider the Asset a part of Bucky? Would it be rude not to? There’s been many long conversations about who he is now, how he defines himself in this modern era.

Zemo’s plan was awful enough that it could just work. Bucky back under the invisible muzzle of his former self, playing a part to appease a buyer who just couldn’t resist.

If that wasn’t awful enough, Zemo had a role for you as well. His field Handler, his orderly, his master. Someone he would obey every and any command from.

The thought of it made you sick. Your stomach rolled as you zipped up your disguise, provided by Zemo conveniently on the flight to Madripoor. A tactical Kevlar jacket, form fitting dark slacks and heavy combat boots.

Looking in the mirror, you fixed your posture to reflect one with authority. Shoulders back, chin lifted, hands on your hips. You could possibly make this work, if you could see it through.

Bucky didn’t say a word to you at the club. Neon lights, hazy blue smoke, the odor of too many bodies rubbing close together. The Asset is not supposed to speak unless spoken to, therefore his coldness shouldn’t have been a surprise to you.

“Ready to comply, Soldat?” Zemo smirked at him in Russian as Bucky followed you and Sam through the crowd.

You didn’t flinch, but you felt you heart tear in two at the empty look in his eye. How did it come back so easily? The Bucky you woke up to everyday had a warm look in his deep blue eyes, crows feet crinkling when he smiled at you. This was not your Bucky.

As a shady looking man placed his hand on Zemo’s shoulder, you ordered Bucky to attack. He did so without a question, reminding you of the fraction of the man you saw on the DC bridge almost a decade ago. He put men down without blinking, clearing the room as people gasped.

Selby’s lounge was tinted with green neon and a faint smell of cigarette smoke. Your stomach turned at the atmosphere. Zemo lounged in a modern looking chair, Bucky positioned himself between the two, Sam opposite. You stood near Bucky, posture stiff, arms behind your back, face rigid as steel. Bucky was the same.

Selby reminded you of a snake, draped over her disgusting couch, wrapped in expensive materials and reeking of designer alcohol. She eyed your soldier with a hungry gaze, a different emotion burned in your chest.

She greeted Zemo not as a welcomed friend, but as an adversary she couldn’t wait to see what the next move was. You read her well enough to know she was skeptical of Zemo, the rumors of him locked away were supposed to be true. So how was he in Madripoor?

One look at Sam’s face showed you he did not trust Zemo, not one bit. Apparently Bucky did somewhat, or didn’t care about trusting him, just using him to get to the next step. Bucky’s past wasn’t based on trust, it was based on obedience.

And fear.

Zemo remained relaxed in his chair, glancing over at Bucky who stood so stiffly in the corner. His eyes were emotionless, muscles slack. You knew if you placed a muzzle over his mouth, it would be like nothing had changed at all since he came into your life. All the progress he was working towards with you and Dr. Raynor would be gone just like that.

“In exchange for information of the serum, I offer you the Winter Soldier,” he smiled in his sinister way. “Along with the code words to control him of course.”

Selby sat up straighter on her snake skin couch, like a cobra raising it’s head before it attacks. She was interested.

“He will do anything you want,” Zemo mused.

You met Sam’s eye across the room, worried, curious, concerned. Bucky slipped back into the role of someone he never wanted to be ever again. Maybe just a little bit too easily.

“Anything?” She leaned forward, puffing her chest out slightly, eyes locked on Bucky. Not his eyes, anywhere but his eyes in fact. His chest, his shoulders, new and improved arm, thighs, his feet. But she did not look in his eyes.

“Handler?” Zemo’s cold, calculating eyes turned to you. “Care to demonstrate?”

The words were bitter on your tongue, but Zemo’s warning replayed through your head. You cannot break character if you want to live, you have to sell it.

“Ready to comply, Soldat?” You tried to not stumble over the Russian, the language you learned so many years ago. The language that haunted his nightmares, waking up mumbling in a Slavic tongue engrained in his consciousness. Speaking the language for the both of you meant something had gone terribly wrong.

The awful blank stare in eyes remained, but his jaw clenched as he nodded. “Yes, Handler.”

“Kneel, Asset,” you hated the tone of your voice. One you hadn’t used in a long time, one that was never meant for Bucky.

He dropped to his knees at your feet, eyes still staring straight ahead. You tried not to wince as his knees slammed into the hardwood floor without even a moment of hesitation from him.

From the sheath on your thigh, you lifted a knife to his neck. He didn’t blink as the blade pressed into his skin.

“The Asset is completely compliant to your every need,” your voice was brittle, like glass. It appeared strong but one push was all it would take to bring it all down. “He will fight, kill, destroy anyone you ask him to.”

Selby’s hungry eyes asked for more.

“The asset does not think for itself,” you continued. “Anything you ask it to do will happen automatically. Completely submissive for its handler.”

You swallowed hard, turning your attention down to the man at your feet. “Asset, lean forward.”

You watched as Bucky leaned forward, digging the blade into the soft skin of his throat. You fought to keep your expression neutral as a tiny bead of blood trickled over his Adams apple.

“He will do anything without regards for himself.”

Selby smiled, clearly thrilled with her new deal, turned to Zemo and gave up the name of the doctor working on the serum.

“Stand, Asset,” you said, just loud enough to be heard by the one who mattered most.

Bucky returned to his standing position, posture military perfect, eyes staring straight head. A small stream of blood drying over the stubbly skin of his throat.

You were grateful for the tactical jacket when the shooting started. Selby’s lifeless body stared up at you like a snake skin, a hole blown through her sternum.

Although the cover was blown, Selby dead from a mysterious assassin and a whole nightclub full of dangerous people below; you were grateful you were no longer Bucky’s handler. The mask he had donned was gone, the awful, haunted look in his eyes had vanished but left a trace.

Later...

Finding Sharon Carter in Madripoor was not on your bingo card for this mission, but you were grateful for the temporary shelter of her apartment. Bucky lost his Asset attire, Sam no longer looked like a pimp, you were able to borrow some of Sharon’s sensible shoes.

Your adrenaline crashed at Sharon’s apartment, after running for your life from Selby’s night club and a bounty placed on your heads. All of the energy you felt when playing the Handler drained out of you, it was all you had to try and listen to Sharon discuss her situation.

You pulled your feet beneath you on her fancy leather couch, resting your head in your palm against the arm rest. Your mind replaying the image of Bucky leaning into the knife in your hand.

Bucky sat on the other end of the couch, avoiding your eye contact, hands laced together in his lap.

You wished he would catch your eye, lift the corner of his mouth in a subtle smile, reach over and nudge your foot with his. But when he thought nobody was watching, his head hung low, staring down into his lap, bouncing his knee in the way you know meant anxiety was making his skin crawl.

Sharon was hosting a party in the gallery below her luxury apartment, full of questionably authentic art pieces and shady customers.

Although the customers were having fun, the four of you observed, on edge. Despite the open bar, nobody from your party was drinking, silently observing the life Sharon had built for herself.

Bucky noticed as you slipped away, seemingly uncomfortable in your own skin. He silently followed you from a distance, watching you take the elevator up to Sharon’s apartment. He waited and took the next car up.

By the time you reached Sharon’s apartment, your chest was tight and it felt like you were breathing through a straw. No matter how deep of a breath you tried to take, it was never enough air.

You stumbled your way into her bathroom, turning on the sink and watching cold water flow over your wrists. Bracing your forearms against the porcelain, you dropped your head, pressing your eyes into the damp skin.

Tears burned in your eyes, squeezing your eyelids together you tried to contain the guilt building inside.

The scary thing about Bucky was that he could sneak up on you like nobodies business, avoiding squeaky floor boards and balancing his weight just perfectly. He was still like a ghost in many ways, as much as he tried to erase it.

So when he knocked gently on the bathroom door, it startled you, moving you to quickly wipe your eyes.

“Y/N?” His voice was gentle as he called through the door.

You froze, trying to steady your breathing although you knew his super soldier hearing picked up on it through the door.

“Y/N, Honey, let me in,” he murmured, leaning his temple against the door, hand on the doorknob.

“I’m okay,” but your voice was shaking.

“Y/N.”

You sighed, wiping your eyes once last time before opening the door. Your super soldier was leaning against the door frame, arms crossed over his black long-sleeve shirt. Usually you’d admire how the material stretched across his broad chest, but your eyes were flooded with tears.

You let him in without another word, he shut the door behind him. Sitting down on the lip of the modern-looking tub, you ran your hands through your hair, trying to calm down.

He didn’t speak, his favorite tactic, which drove you crazy. Forcing you to fill the silence like an interrogation technique.

“Bucky, I…” you swallowed hard, guilt stirring in your gut as you looked at him. You blinked quickly before trying again. “Bucky, I don’t ever want to do that again.”

“Do what, Doll?”

“Be your handler,” you spoke the world like it was a slur, a bad taste in your mouth. “Make you… Make you…”

He tilted his head at you, observant eyes watching your every move.

“Honey, you didn’t make me do anything.”

You stood up, standing in front of him as he leaned against the sink.

He had wiped the blood away and the serum had healed the thin skin over his throat, you swore you could still see where your knife had nicked him. You reached out and gently touched the spot under his chin where you had pressed the unyielding steel.

“I hurt you,” you shook your head, chin quivering.

“I’m okay,” he shook his head. Your touch was warm against his skin, he reminds himself that he enjoys this feeling.

“I don’t want to be another person in your life that’s hurt you,” tears spilled over your cheeks now, dripping under the neckline of your borrowed shirt.

He closed his flesh hand around yours, the one that was still tracing the healed line on his skin. His clear eyes met yours, blurry with tears and guilt.

“You are not my handler,” he spoke quietly, but firmly. “I know the difference. You were playing the part, not that it ended up mattering anyway. You didn’t hurt me, Y/N.”

You looked down at your shoes and tried to focus on your breathing. Why was he being so nice to you? You became another figure of those that had hurt him, had turned him into a shell of a human.

“C’mere,” he murmured, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and pulling you against him. You let your head fall against his shoulder, listening to the metal hum under your ear, a sound that has always brought you comfort.

“There is never a good time to be playing the Winter Soldier,” he spoke softly, just for your ears only. “But if I had to choose anyone to be my handler, I’d choose you any day.”

“Don’t,” you wiped your eyes on the soft cotton of his shirt.

“Nah, I’m serious,” he took a deep breath, which reminded you to copy him. Something you do all the time for him. “You’re the one that’s pulling me out of all this. You know all the dark secrets of my mind.”

“Dark secrets?” You wrinkled your nose, feeling your muscles relax a touch.

“Mhm,” his warm hand felt good on your skin, brushing the tender skin of the underside of your arm. “I trust you.”

Trust was a hard thing for Bucky, you could count on one metal hand the amount of people he trusts. But if Bucky could still trust you after playing the antagonist of his nightmares…

And you knew what those nightmares were like for him, leaving him shaking, sweating, reeling for a grasp on reality. Out of all the handlers he had in his lifetime, you hoped you were the one that showed him the most kindness.

“I don’t want you feeling all mixed up now,” he squeezed you quickly before letting go. “There’s only room for one crazy person in this relationship.”

You wiped your eyes, sneaking a glance in the mirror over his shoulder. He blocked your reflection with his strong back, leaning in to kiss you.

You’re forgiven, he told you, pressing his body into yours.

And that’s all you needed.

[thevoidstaredback]

Part 1

Jazz was right. Jazz was always right, but he went against here at every turn because he didn't want her to be right. But she was, and he could do nothing to change that.

One month, he'd asked for, and one month he'd been given. In that time, he'd done his best to warn the other ghosts at every turn; yelling the news at them while they fought, opening conversations with it, even going so far as to leave messages at all of their lairs. Most of them didn't listen to him. But then the attacks started.

A week after the initial law had past had gone by as they all had, albeit a bit more tense on Danny's side. Ghosts came through the portal, did some damage, fought Phantom, were captured and taken back to the Ghost Zone, only to come back the next day.

The G.I.W and the Dr.s Fenton had taken no longer than a week to plan their attacks. Now that they could take specimens kicking and screaming to their labs, they spared no resources to do just that.

Danny watched, over the course of the month, helpless as the ghosts were captured and dragged to a place he couldn't help them.

Wouldn't help them. He is, above all else, a coward.

As ironic as it was, and he knew full well the irony, their screams and expressions as they reached- screamed for his help haunted him at night, kept him awake at night.

At the end of the month, Jazz found him under his bed.She was quiet, simply there to listen should he want to talk. And, god, he wanted, needed, to scream at the top of his lungs for the whole world to hear. It's unfair what's happening to his people, friends or not. It's unfair that he has to leave lest the same fate befall himself.

"I'm such a coward," he whispered to his wall.

"Self preservation isn't the same as cowardice."

"Then why didn't I help the others? My whole thing is helping people and I-" a sob floated up and out of his throat, cutting him off, "They screamed for me and I let them be taken away."

"And they're gonna hate you for that-" Danny flinched. "-but they would have done the exact same thing should the roles have been reversed. And you did warn them. It's their own fault for not listening."

He didn't have anything to say. Jazz would argue into submission of her point whether he liked it or not, and he didn't want that. Maybe one day, but he wanted to wallow for a bit, to acknowledge his failings.

"You were right," he whispered eventually. She hummed. "I have to go.

"I know."

"I don't want to."

"I know."

"It hurts."

"And it will for a really long time, Danny, and all the words in the world can't make that go away, despite what either of us want."

"Where would I go?"

"You could always join Dani?"

"And risk world domination?"

Jazz chuckled, drawing a huff of a laugh from Danny. "Yeah, maybe it's best you two don't stay together for a long time."

A minute passed.

"I don't want to leave you guys."

"You can always message us whenever you want. Leaving doesn't mean cutting contact."

"What'll we tell mom and dad?"

"Who says we have to tell them anything?"

"They'll notice eventually."

"Then I'll tell them some approximation of the truth."

"Like what? That I'm half dead and fled the continent to get away from them?"

"That you're traveling with a friend you meet through Vlad. That you were feeling copped up in this small town and you wanted to explore."

"How're you gonna get Vlad to agree to this?"

"He will."

He wasn't going to ask. Some things were better left alone. "What'll I tell Tucker and Sam? I can't leave them in the dark!"

"We'll tell them as much of the truth as you want them to know."

"They're my best friends-"

"That doesn't entitle them to knowing things you don't want them to."

Slowly, Danny crawled from under his bed and sat next to Jazz. "I guess you're right."

"We can get you out of town tonight, but that's as far as I'll be able to follow."

"...I know."

"I love you. You know that, right?"

"Yeah." A beat. "I love you, too."

She hugged him tightly, tears that he didn't mention wetting his hair.

Part 3

[greenglowinspooks]

The way that I’m brainrotting over a DCxDP crossover with a Danny who’s a vengeful villain rn

Like, let’s just say that the GiW finally get into contact with the JL. They need help neutralizing a threat, you see, and they’re on their last limb trying to keep civilians safe.

They have video evidence! They have studies to back their claims! The JL have to help them!

Unfortunately, the JL believe them. They join a fight against Danny, and defeat him due to being far more experienced than he is. Danny is locked away and experimented on by the GiW.

That would CHANGE a person. Your heroes turning against you and seeing you as a monster, being experimented on for who knows how long, not knowing if your friends and family are safe.

Danny gets out due to a simple mistake on the GiW’s part; having Blüdhaven as part of their transport route.

Of course the trucks were attacked, they’re government property!

So now, whoever decided to raid the government transport trucks (the Penguin or something) has a ton of experimental weapons with no idea how they work, and a heavily traumatized teenager.

Danny knows how they work. Danny can be useful! They won’t throw him out if he’s useful! And so, now Danny is working for the Penguin, altering the ectoplasm weapons to make them work on humans.

It’s a good deal for both parties. Danny gets to neurotically imprint on the Penguin like a small baby animal, and the Penguin gets a brilliant mind who will stop at nothing to achieve his goals.

But eventually, Danny finds out what happened to his family in his absence.

Jazz is in Arkham. Not as a psychologist, but as a “patient.” Apparently, she snapped and completely destroyed the house, leveled a few blocks of Amity Park, and conducted organized attacks on government bases (mostly GiW) for months.

Sam and Tucker helped her, eventually splitting once Jazz was captured. Sam travels to areas of extreme pollution, completely overgrowing them with her plant powers. Currently she’s in the Amazon rainforest, engaging in an ongoing feud with logging companies. Sam is winning.

Tucker faked his death, and Danny has no idea where he is. He only knows that the death wasn’t real because of a code that the three of them made together, just in case.

Ellie’s trapped in the Infinite Realms. Danny had a failsafe in place so that if she was ever cornered by the GiW, she would be sent to her haunt in the GZ. However, with the portal destroyed, she can’t come back. Danny just hopes she’s okay.

His parents are now top GiW scientists. They’re traveling the country giving speeches. They’re working on a battery powered by ectoplasm, but apparently started “having difficulties” around the same time that Danny escaped.

None of it is fair. None of it is right.

The Justice League destroyed his life, the lives of his friends, and they’re doing as good as ever. The GiW is respected, and his parents are happily working away for them.

Danny takes up some of his more experimental weapons and breaks Jazz out of Arkham. She’s a little different now, colder and more quiet, but she still loves him all the same. It’s an unimaginable comfort to him to see his sister again.

He can’t use his powers anymore. He’s so used to associating them with pain that even transforming into his ghost form is enough to take him down for hours.

However, he understands ectoplasm more than anyone else in the world. He knows how to use it in virtually everything; how it can become a weapon, how it can be used as a supplemental ingredient in poisons and nerve agents, how it can twist and distort the mind if applied correctly.

He doesn’t care what happens to him. He’s going to take down the GiW, and destroy the lives of the JL members who helped lock him away, just as they did to him.

No matter the cost.

[queeniewithabeanie]

Lady Gotham

Dpxdc Prompt #47

When Danny Fenton moved to Gotham for university the city noticed.

After all, before Lady Gotham was Gotham she was Samantha Manson.

It all started with the Nasty Burger explosion.

Mr. Lancer, Mrs. and Mr. Fenton, Jazz, Danny, Tucker, and Sam were all there. One moment, Danny was being confronted about cheating on his career aptitude test and the next all Sam could see was the familiar toxic green of the Ghost Zone.

Sam's first thought was did anyone survive? and her second was i need to find Danny.

She wasn't sure of the fate of anyone caught in the explosion, for all she knew she could've been the only one to die (unlikely), and if not that the only one to form into a ghost (sadly, plausible).

With worst case scenarios flooding her head, Sam began looking for anything familiar in the Zone. She'd never been without the infi-map before and now that she didn't have it she was lost.

She never had a chance of finding Danny because she fell into a portal after she'd barely begun searching.

When Sam became aware again, she found herself in a world similar to her home, but very different at the same time.

The times were different, this world barely in the 1700s. She was in a different location, somewhere in the northeast, but she couldn't tell exactly where yet. And most importantly, the world seemed more magical than the one she came from.

Of course, she tried to get home, but there were no natural portals opening up and no matter how hard she tried she couldn't make them herself.

After spending 20 years, more time than she had lived in her home dimension, in what had come to be named Gotham, Sam had settled down. She made friends with a family named the Waynes and though she would never forget Danny and Tucker she had an afterlife in this new dimension now too.

Sam protected the city best she could from anything that tried to harm it, making it her own haunt. Eventually the people around town started calling her The Lady of Gotham, later shortened to just Lady Gotham.

A century after joining the world, Sam was cursed and by extension Gotham was cursed too. She could no longer speak, and while she still tried her best to protect the city from outside harm there was nothing she could do about the corruption within.

She watched over the Waynes inside the limits of her haunt, them having become her family in this new world. And in return the Waynes tried to keep Gotham the best place it could be, attempting to keep it from becoming a cesspool.

Sam did her best, she did what she could and in return Gothamites had a certain pride in their city.

"It's terrible, but it's home" was the general sentiment shared by the citizens.

Soon enough the times were approaching to when she had been alive, and a new generation of Waynes emerged in her streets. When she failed to protect Martha and Thomas, Sam felt sorrow and let the shadows gather around Bruce to show him she was grieving too.

He left, but as many Gothamites did he came back. And when he came back it was with vengeance.

Her streets were more corrupt than they had ever been before, but Bruce came in like a knight in shining armor. No—not shining, but dark. Dark and jagged, but home and just as much a part of Gotham as Sam herself.

With Bruce becoming Batman, his partners weren't far behind. First Dick, then Babs, Jason, Tim, Steph, Cass, Damian, and Duke. And with so many Waynes, not in blood but in everything that mattered, trying to save her Sam felt more loved than ever before.

And then she felt a Danny Fenton, older than her's had ever gotten to be at 18-years-old, enter the streets. Sam, for the first time in forever, she longed for what could have been.

That night, the skies were clearer and the streets were quieter as Sam held on to Danny through the shadows and didn't let go.

Her knights wouldn't mind one more addition, she hoped.

[shurisneakers]

unsolved (xv)

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

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

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

Previous part || Series masterlist

It was two nights before Christmas. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

He thinks that’s good enough for Christmas Spirit.

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

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

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

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

“You’re my boyfriend.”

He narrows his eyes. “Starting now.”

“You’re my boyfriend.”

“Starting now.”

“You’re my-–”

“Stop it. Get help.”

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

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

“She’s not imaginary.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Didn’t get you shit.”

“Excuse me.”

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

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

“I got Steve socks.”

“What about Sam?”

“Socks.”

“Nat?”

“So–”

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

Bucky shrugs. “Suit yourself.”

“Did you get me socks too?”

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

“Bucky.”

“What?”

“You sound like the fucking Grinch.”

“Whatever.”

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

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

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

He stares at you. You grin at him. 

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

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

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

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

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

“Stop.”

“I’ll put a note on it, if it helps.”

“It does not, I hate you.”

“Guess I’ll cancel the socks then.”

“I’ll kill you, Barnes.”

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

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

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

He looked comfortable. In a good mood, even.

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

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

He only chooses to listen, chewing absentmindedly. 

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

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

“You mean like the story?”

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

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

“You’ve been resting all day.”

“I shoveled a driveway this morning.”

“For five minutes.”

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

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

“Completely different.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No one cares what Sam thinks.”

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

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

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

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

“Clock tower,” you remind him.

Oh.

God, that was so long ago.

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

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

“What?”

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

Bucky’s nose twitches.

Did he really want more people after him.

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

“This is too much effort.”

“Um.”

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

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

“What if I say it wrong?”

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

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

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

“I do,” Bucky says dryly.

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

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

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

He says it, not sounding even remotely interested. 

“Monstra nobis praeteritum, praesens et futurum.”

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

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

“Ut quod fractum est reparare possimus.”

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

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

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

“Melior homo esto ante lucem,” you finish.

You look at him expectantly.

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

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

“Got bored.” 

“I cannot believe–”

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

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

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

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

“Maybe he’ll bring socks.”

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

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

Nothing happens.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Someone sees it happening,” he says.

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

You’d never seen him leave a room faster.

Afternoon is spent at a volunteer event downtown. 

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

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

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

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

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

“Wasn’t thinking straight.”

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

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

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

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

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

Clint catches him under the mistletoe in the garage.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It has a face.”

“They all do.”

“It’s smiling at me.”

“Smile back.”

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

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

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

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

You bump your knee into his.

He bumps it back.

It’s too late when everyone disbands. 

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

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

You can’t sleep.

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

So you walk.

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

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

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

The hallway beyond the common room was empty.

As you shuffle along, something shifts.

It’s faint, but there.

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

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

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

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

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

But the scent is unmistakable.

Your chest tightens before your mind catches up.

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

She’s already there.

At the far end of the hallway. 

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

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

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

“Mrs Mullens?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The laugh that escapes you is soft, unsteady.

“Walk with me,” she says. 

You  find yourself nodding before it even registers. 

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

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

“How long has it been?” she asks.

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

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

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

“I know,” she says.

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

“I know that too.”

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

“You were scared,” she says gently. 

“I should’ve said goodbye.”

“You weren’t ready to.”

“Should’ve tried.”

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

You glance at her.

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

Your throat closes.

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

You blink hard.

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

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

She’s quiet for a moment.

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

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

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

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

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

You grin, despite yourself. 

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

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

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

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

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

Your eyebrows furrow.

And when you look at her to respond– 

You come up empty. 

Just gone.

But the air still smells like cinnamon.

You blink hard a few times, looking behind you. 

The silence fores you to keep moving down the hall. 

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

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

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

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

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

Someone’s sitting on it.

You stop, hand at the ready at your sides. 

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

It damn near knocks the breath out of you. 

They look like you. 

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

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

“What the hell,” you whisper.

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

You don’t give an answer immediately. 

“Well?”

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

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

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

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

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

“You here to warn me?” you ask. 

“Not exactly. Life’s fine.”

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

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

“Do we ever win the lottery?”

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

“What stocks should I invest in?”

“Chicken. Bouillon.”

“Do Bucky and I ever–”

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

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

“Nope.”

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

“We leave soon, I suppose,” you pose.

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

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

“Couple months. Year, maybe.”

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

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

You nod slowly. “Sounds pretty–”

“Lonely. Yeah.” 

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

“Nor did I.”

Another silence.

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

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

You look away. “Do you want people?”

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

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

“I don’t know anything else.”

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

“Yeah.”

You glance at them.

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

You look up. “That’s it?”

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

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

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

Your face cracks into a smile. 

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

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

No bench in sight.

And no you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Couldn’t sleep?” she asks.

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

She nods once, popping another olive into her mouth. 

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

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

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

“That’s not true.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah.”

“I still don’t know if I knew him.”

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

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

You smile, just a little.

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

 “You spy on everyone’s gifts?”

“I notice things.”

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

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

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

You still don’t take one.

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

Nat doesn’t blink. “Yeah.”

You laugh, soft.

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

You chew that over.

Nat kicks her heel lightly against the counter.

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

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

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

You don’t reply.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You stand quietly in the centre of it all. 

Bucky wakes up to Alpine pawing at his ribs.

It’s too bright out. 

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

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

Alpine judges.

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

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

Doesn’t see you.

You’re probably just late.

He sits on the couch.  

He gets up again.

Checks the kitchen.

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

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

He pulls out his phone.

No texts.

He scrolls. Finds your name. 

Types ‘Where are you?’

Deletes it.

Tries again.

‘You skipping Christmas?’

Deletes that too.

He settles on ‘You good?’

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

Wanders down the hall. Checks the gym. Empty. 

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

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

“You alright?” Steve asks.

“Yeah.”

The word comes out before he even thinks about it.

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

The snow keeps falling.

You’re not here.

He’s not worried.

He’s just… watching the door.

In case.

Just on time, it swings open loudly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You woke up ten minutes ago.”

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

Bucky settles in, eventually.

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

You’re still not here.

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

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

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

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

“Just stop threatening to sue me.”

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

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

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

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

Clint gets socks that don’t fit him. 

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

He doesn’t touch it.

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

“What the hell is this,” Bucky mutters.

A tie.

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

He stares at it for a full ten seconds.

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

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

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

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

The gifts keep coming.

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

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

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

The snow is still falling.

He checks his phone again. No new messages.

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

Your name was mentioned twice, but only in passing. 

It’s getting late now.

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

Thirty minutes to midnight.

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

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

The elevator hums softly on the way up.

He reaches your floor. Pauses at the door.

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

Nothing.

He lets himself in.

The lights come on with a soft click.

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

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

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

He looks at the clock.

Still time.

Karaoke has entered the equation.

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

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

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

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

He leans down, reaches in–

And hears the door open.

He doesn’t turn around.

“Took your time.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What was it?” 

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

“Why’d you look for it?”

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

He stares at you.

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

It was too short, you looked too distracted. 

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

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

You hold out the box.

He doesn’t take it right away.

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

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

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

“I’m fine, by the way,” you say.

“I know,” Bucky replies.

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

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

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

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

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

You look at him. “From you?”

“Yeah.”

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

“I’ve left it open.”

“Thanks,” you snort. “Go on, then.” 

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

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

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

He stares at them.

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

He picks one up. 

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

“You’re gonna try it anyway.”

He shakes his head, trying not to smile.

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

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

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

He freezes.

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

Not quite the originals he remembers. But close.

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

The Miniature RailwayDreamland – Coney IslandAdmit one – 10c

Bucky doesn’t say anything.

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

His fingers are still resting on the glass.

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

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

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

He sets the frame down gently. 

“Thanks,” he says softly.

You beam at him. 

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

Unlike him, you tear off the paper.

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

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

It takes a while to register what it is. 

Inside is a miniature house.

Not a dollhouse — not quite. 

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

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

The doors all open. The windows too.

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

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

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

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

“The team.”

“They’re glued down. Mine isn’t.”

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

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

“Tried to.”

You swallow hard. “I love it.”

Bucky’s mouth twitches.

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

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

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

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

His voice stays even. Distant, almost. 

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

You stare.

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

You feel your throat go tight.

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

You look at him now. Really look.

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

“Silent blenders,” you say, voice quiet.

He nods once. Eyes still on the little house.

You don’t say anything for a while.

And neither does he.

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

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

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

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

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

“Did you sing?”

“I don’t sing.”

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

He’s about to respond when something rustles overhead. 

You glance up.

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

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

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

He raises an eyebrow. 

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

“This is ridiculous,” he mutters. 

You stare at each other.

Neither of you moves.

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

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

Instead, he just steps closer.

The smile you have on falters. 

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

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

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

Your mouth opens and closes. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your hand reaches up to fist his stupid sweater–

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

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

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

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

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

You flick at him, telling him to behave.

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

You tilt your head. “Tagged us where?”

“On Twitter.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Peter brightens. “So you did see me!”

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

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

“No?” you ask incredulously. 

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

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

“Okay, yeah, fair.”

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

“Yeah.”

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

“I honestly thought you guys knew.”

“No,” you and Bucky both say at once.

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

“No,” Bucky says again.

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

Silence hangs in the air. 

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

You glance over at Bucky. 

He rolls his eyes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You glance up.

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

You both clock it at the same time.

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

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

“Which I don’t.”

You turn slightly to face him. 

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

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

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

You open your mouth. Close it. 

“Okay.”

You step closer.

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

You lean, slow. 

Your lips press gently to the corner of his mouth. 

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

When you pull back, you say nothing.

He blinks once.

“You missed.”

“Oh, did I?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

[hvlplvss]

| all webbed up

| colby brock x reader x sam golbach

summary: sam and colby’s annual halloween party commences. they decided to dress matching once again; spiderman and venom spiderman. and a certain girl has a thing for the spider boys.

warnings: mean!dom!colby, soft!dom!sam, degrading, praise, oral (m and f receiving), creampie,

authors note: this is not edited at all. i just wanted to get this out to you guys!! hope you enjoy!!

word count: 3.7k

the annual sam and colby halloween party was something you’d always look forward to. you’d been invited for the past five years, ever since your friendship began with the two boys.

but y/n couldn’t help herself. she secretly liked the boys. she had for a while now, however she never confessed her feelings. she didn’t even want to confront them to herself.

she knew they wouldn’t like her back. why would two of the biggest upcoming youtubers like her back.

y/n had begun editing the boys’ videos three years ago, once she finished off school. she’d studied media and film, giving her knowledge about everything. sam and colby had saw how well the girl did in her studies and her work and immediately asked her to help edit their videos as they were beginning to have tight schedules.

y/n of course agreed. this guaranteed more time with the boys. which it did. after a few months of working with them, they offered her a room at their house, which she also agreed to obviously.

as time progressed, y/n sometimes thought that the boys felt something for her, but she’d then convince herself she was being delusional. however, her bestfriend, lucia, would feed into the delusion and tell her that ‘they look at you as if they wanna fuck you’.

but that’s what bestfriends do. they won’t turn to you and tell you the truth if you really like someone so much. well lucia wouldn’t.

there was a knock at y/n’s bedroom door, she called out a small ‘come in’. colby walked into the room, his eyes immediately noticing her bare legs. y/n sporting an xplr hoodie, which was yet to be released, and which also belonged to sam.

colby shook his head and then looked at her face, “you hungry? sam said about getting take out,” colby asked.

“uhh, yeah. i just need to finish editing,” y/n spoke, quickly turning back to the laptop and pressing a few keys and the mouse.

colby moved towards her bed, coming to lay next to her. as he collapsed onto her bed, he let his head rest against y/n’s shoulder.

“this shit is freaky,” y/n looked to colby, “don’t get how you guys do it constantly,”

colby rolled his eyes playfully, “come on, you did that one video with us,” colby answered.

y/n smiled at the memory, but her face then contorted into embarrassment, “yeah and i literally cried, colby,”

he removed his head from y/n’s shoulder to look at her, “i don’t blame you! you got targeted the entire night. some of the things you faced had never happened to be and sam!” he comforted her, “what if we invited you again, somewhere that’s not as haunted or dangerous? you’d have me and sam, and i could invite a few others so it’s like a group video?”

y/n considered this for a moment, “maybe,” she said uncertainly, “i’ll see how i feel in the future,”

the blond boy then burst through the door, “what you guys up to?”

colby shook his head, “nothing. just tryna get y/n to get in a future video,”

“you should y/n! everyone loved you on the channel, and we loved having you in the video,” sam added.

“you’re distracting me! i’m trying to edit your video!” y/n smiled, pushing colby back.

sam came and sat next to her, on the other side to where colby was sat. the boys sat in silence, while y/n edited the video.

they’d never really understood how she did it. they understood little things and they could probably survive without her. but y/n understood it to another level. she understood what attracted viewers, what made the video look better and she knew secret little tips and tricks to make the video the best thing.

“i don’t know how you even remember all this,” sam spoke up, said boy standing up and walking to the door, “i’m gonna go order take out now. the usual?” he asked. colby nodded looking at sam, and y/n nodded without looking away from the laptop, sam disappears into the hallway.

colby watched for another minute, before speaking “right i’ll leave you to it,” colby pressed a kiss into the side of her head, “our smart girl,” he muttered, moving off the bed and out the door. y/n couldn’t hide or stop the redness that came to her face. ‘our’. colby had called her ‘our smart girl’. the praise had gotten to her. colby knew it would. he’d picked up on how she reacts to things not that long ago, he of course informed sam. and now they’d started using it to their advantages, just like now.

y/n had told the boys that she would head over to lucia’s to get ready for the halloween party. this was a yearly thing that happened. all because sam and colby liked to surprise y/n with their costume and vice versa.

the two girls had gone somewhat matching. cat woman and harley quinn. not matching exactly, but from the same company. lucia had gone with harley and y/n had chosen cat woman. and if she had to be honest, she felt sexy.

a tight black latex suit covered her body, high black stilettos on her feet, a black cat mask over her eyes and her hand held a whip. y/n’s lips were accentuated with red lipstick, standing out against the dark latex. eventually y/n gave up with holding the whip, she decided it was too much and she’d end up losing it anyways.

“come on, lucia,” y/n pleaded, “we’re gonna be late!”

lucia rolled her eyes, “there’s not even a certain time we have to be there. you just wanna go and see your boyfriends!”

y/n groaned at her words. “firstly, they’re not my boyfriends, they’re my bestfriends and my bosses. secondly i want to go now, because i fucking love halloween! plus, sam and colby throw the best parties ever!”

lucia stood up walking over to her closet to pick out her shoes, which she bought specially for this occasion. “fine, you go get in the car! i’ll be there in a second,” she replied, giving into y/n’s desperation to leave.

“thank you!” y/n grinned, kissing her bestfriends cheek and trying her best to run to the car with her heels on.

she jumped in the passenger seat of lucia’s car and waited. she thought about sam and colby immediately. she knew they’d look good tonight, no matter what they wore. her thoughts were interrupted with her phone ringing. she looked at the contact who called ‘sam🤍’. her phone read. she smiled at the name, admiring the picture of her and sam that came up. it was a photo from two years ago; a photo of sam kissing y/n’s cheek.

she then realised she still hadn’t answered the call, so she clicked on the green answer button and put the phone up to her ear. “hey sam!”

“hey y/n! uh- how long till you’re here?”

“i mean, im in the car waiting, but lucia’s is just getting her shoes on, then we’ll be over,”

“okay great. quite a lot of people have already arrived, but we’ll come look for you when you get here,”

there was some rustling on the other end of the phone. “hey y/n!” colby’s voice boomed through the phone.

“hey colbs,”

“how’s your costume?”

“yeah, pretty good actually. think it’ll beat yours this year,”

“is that so? well, your costume won’t be on for very long, anyways,”

what has he just said. y/n’s eyes widened and she bit her lip trying to hide her growing smile. lucia opened the drivers seat door, knocking y/n out of her thoughts of what colby had just said.

“alright, lucia’s just got in the car! i’ll see you guys soon!”

the boys said bye and y/n ended the call. “speaking to the boyfriends are we?” lucia smirked, pulling out of her driveway.

y/n rolled her eyes, but couldn’t help the smile that came across her face, “they’re not my boyfriends, once again, lucia!” y/n thought about it for a moment, should she tell lucia what colby just said.

“what you thinking about?” lucia asked.

“i-uh, well, when they just rang me, i mean it was a pretty normal call. then, colby started speaking and he made like a really flirty forward comment, and it seemed like he meant it in that way…” y/n explained with a confused tone.

“what did he say?”

“he said ‘your costume won’t be on for long, anyways’. so i took that as we’ll be taking your costume off soon,” y/n replied.

lucia’s giggled at what her friend had told her, “someone is getting fucked tonight!” she cheered, “by the two guys she in love with!”

“shut up lucia, im not okay! they’re probably just messing around, you know them,” she denied.

the girls walked through the door of the house, which was now fully decorated and it looked amazing. y/n had done quite a bit of it, but sam and colby and insisted on doing the rest.

lucia grabbed onto y/n’s arm and led her to the kitchen where there was an array of alcoholic drinks on the island in the middle. lucia took two solo cups and filled it with things that y/n didn’t even pay attention to, due to the fact she was looking for the two boys. “here you go, miss y/l/n,” lucia said, handing over a cup, “wait- what would your last name be if you guys got married. would you be a y/n brock? or a y/n golbach? or would you go double and do y/n brock gol-”

sam and colby appear behind y/n, “what you saying about us there, lucia?” sam asked jokingly.

y/n swings around to face them, noticing them costumes. how convenient. cat woman and spiderman. two spiderman’s to be exact. neither of them were wearing a mask, but they had the full body suit on.

colby had gone with the black version of spiderman. the venom spiderman, obviously. black being his colour. and be looked good, but he knew that. the black bodysuit hugged his abdomen and chest tightly, showing off what was hidden underneath, which y/n craved to get her hands on.

and then sam. the classic spiderman, the costume was popular, but no one could pull it off better than sam. he looked incredible. just like colby, the bodysuit wrapped around him perfectly, accentuating his body.

sam and colby eyed y/n up and down when she turned to face them, smirks rushing to their faces. “she was saying, none of your business,” y/n smiled sarcastically.

“ouch,” sam replied, shaking his head with a smile.

without y/n knowing, lucia had ran off, leaving her with sam and colby, who gave her a nod, too which y/n didn’t even pick up on.

“so, spiderman and spiderman. i’m a little underwhelmed, was expecting something way better,” she shrugged, placing her hand onto colby’s chest to feel the costume.

“someone’s feeling a bit mean?” colby asked with a cocky smile.

“not mean, truthful,”

“mhmm. well, i could say the same about yours y/n. think i’ve seen another cat woman here already,” sam spoke.

“but it’s okay, you’re the only one with our attention,” colby finished. slapping his arm on sam’s back and walking away with him, leaving y/n there, with furrowed eyebrows.

y/n thought she was making it up, or she was thinking too much into it. being delusional, once again.

y/n poured herself another drink, not noticing the oncoming presence. “what’s a pretty girl like you doing on your own, huh?” a deep voice spoke behind her. she perked an eyebrow and turned, coming face to face with a man she didn’t recognise. “i’m daniel,” he informed.

y/n cringed. she already had her eyes on two boys in particular. and daniel seemed to be pretty drunk already so she knew he’d be pushy, so she was straightforward, “and i’m not interested,” she thinned her lips, downing her drink and then walking away.

she wanted to go find lucia, so she pushed through the crowd of people who had made their way onto the makeshift ‘dance floor’, but a hand grabbed onto her wrist pulling her back.

“who was that?” it was sam.

y/n furrowed her eyebrows. how did he even see her? him and colby had left, there’s no way we could have seen her and daniel. “i don’t know. he just started talking to me,” y/n spoke truthfully.

sam’s hands moved down to y/n’s hips, who looked down, screaming internally at the action. “did you tell him to leave you alone?” sam asked, leaning into her ear and speaking lowly, keeping his hands on the nervous girls hips. she nodded quickly, “good girl,” sam moved his right hand up to the back of y/n’s head, holding her. he brought his hips forwards against y/n’s hips, who couldn’t even believe what was going on.

after a minute or so, y/n could feel another pair of hands join her hips, just a little above sam’s. sam leant into y/n’s ear, “be good for colby while i’m gone,” he spoke. sam’s right hand left one tight squeeze on y/n’s hip before leaving her hip. she watched the blond boy disappear into the sea of people.

that’s when she felt colby pull on her hips to press her bum into his cock, which was already slightly hard. he pressed his head into the crook of her neck, then eventually leaving open wet kisses on her neck. y/n closing her eyes and relishing in the moment, was turned around by colby, who looked at her with a dark stare. y/n’s arm locked around colby’s neck.

before y/n could even think about it, colby’s lips were on hers. kissing roughly and messily. there was a clash of teeth and every so often colby would bite on her lip, cause her to whine, which resulted in colby doing it a few more times for a reaction. colby’s hands moved further down her back, reaching and grabbing at her ass.

colby pulled his lips away from y/n’s, “let’s go somewhere else,” he said quietly, y/n’s stomach doing flips.

colby led y/n up the stairs and into her room, seen as it was the closet one to the stairs. as colby opened the door, y/n saw sam sat on her bed. “took you long enough. thought you’d ditched,” sam began.

“no, i’d never. someone just couldn’t keep their hands off,” colby replied, shutting the door behind me.

y/n looked between the two boys, who now stood in front of her. “i’m so confused, guys. what’s going on?” y/n asked, her brows furrowed.

“oh come on y/n. you’re not that stupid. thought you were our smart girl,” responded sam.

“we’ve seen you looking at us. we know all about your dirty secret,” colby said lowly, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear, “but that’s okay y/n. we think the same about you. isn’t that right, sam?”

he nodded in response stepping forward towards y/n, who was now corned by the two boys. “just wanna make you feel good, that’s all baby. can we do that?” sam asked.

y/n nodded shyly. sam immediately went in to kiss y/n, shocking her at first, but then melting into the kiss. his kiss was different to colby’s. colby was more needy, and rough when he kissed, he would bite on her lip as well. but sam’s kiss was gentler. he didn’t bite on her lip, or kiss her roughly. but they were both amazing either way.

y/n felt colby’s lips on her neck, sucking purple bruises into her skin. he moved her hair out of the way, gaining him more and more access.

sam pulled away from the kiss, “go get on the bed, okay?” y/n nodded, moving over to the bed and sitting on her knees, looking over to the boys who whispered to one another quietly.

the two boys finished speaking and walked over to stand in front of y/n. “you gonna be good for us? hm?” colby asked. y/n nodded, looking up at the two. after a few seconds, colby had removed the black suit, showing his boxers, which had a clear outline of his cock.

“go on, make yourself useful,” colby said. y/n reached for the waist band of his boxers, pulling them down. desperately, she reached her hand forward, gripping onto him in her hand, eliciting a groan from colby. y/n stroked him for a minute, before colby spoke harshly, “come on whore, suck my cock,”

y/n squeezed her thighs together, obeying what colby had said. she leant forward and wrapped her lips around his tip, causing his head to tilt back. y/n moved her head forward, letting his cock slide down her throat.

his hands found their way into her hair, gripping her roots tightly, using them to pull her down and back off his cock. he pulled her off, a string of saliva connecting from her lips to his cock. “be good to sam, yeah?”

“use your words, sweetheart,” sam soothed softly, placing his hand in her hair and gently brushing it out her face.

“wanna make you feel good sam,”

“such a good girl, aren’t you?” sam cooed.

sam pulled down his own boxers, letting y/n have a moment to catch her breath.

there was a clear difference in the way sam and colby acted in the bedroom. colby was assertive, mean, rough and straightforward. sam was more caring, sweet and slower with what he did and said. but they both complimented each other in this situation.

y/n licked up sam’s length, taking him into her mouth, “feels so good, baby. so perfect,”

colby had walked around the back of the bed, so he was now behind y/n. he grabbed her by her hair and pulled her off of sam, a whine escaping her lips. colby pushed y/n onto her elbows. “carry on, who’re. take care of sam,” colby instructed. y/n complied, going back to sucking sam’s cock.

colby reached for the zip on y/n’s latex suit, “as much as i love this, it’s gotta go,” colby uttered. he pulled the zip down, slipping the latex off of y/n.

she wore no underwear, nor bra underneath the suit. “such a desperate whore. just wanted to be fucked, isn’t that right?”

“don’t be mean, colby. she’s just needy,” sam countered, stroking y/n’s hair softly.

colby moved down the bed so he was now face to face with her pussy. “so fucking wet,”

he leant in, licking a stripe up her slit, causing her to moan out on sam’s dick. “that feel good, baby?” sam asked, y/n’s head nodding frantically.

colby moved his head further down, sucking harshly on her clit, causing y/n to writhe in pleasure, moaning around sam’s cock still.

colby brought two of his fingers up to y/n’s entrance, slowly pushing his fingers in. he started off with a slow torturous pace, y/n clenching around his fingers. he took note of this, increasing the pace of his fingers and his tongue, which flicked across her clit.

she could feel her release nearing, colby removed his mouth but kept his fingers pushing in at a relentless pace, “you gonna cum?”

sam removed y/n’s mouth from around his cock, letting her breath and answer colby. “yes,” she moaned, “please let me cum,” she begged.

“i don’t know about that. what do you think, sam?”

sam looked down at y/n. she was looking up at him, begging him to say yes, a blissed out look on her face. “i think she can. she’s been so good for us, haven’t you y/n?”

she nodded, “so good for you,”

“cum. fucking cum on my fingers, whore,” colby said, before diving back in, his tounge resuming to flicking back at her clit.

it didn’t take long for y/n to come undone on his fingers, moaning out and her eyes closing. colby slowed down his fingers, easing out of her. “you gotta have a go with her pussy, it’s fucking amazing,” colby told sam, speaking about y/n to him as though she wasn’t there.

the boys had swapped places now, colby stood in front, ushering her mouth back on his cock. rushing in to put his hands in her hair and pulling her down, causing her to gag around him. sam lined his cock up with her pussy, slowly pushing in, causing him to groan. y/n moaned at the feeling, looking up to colby, who’s head was back and his bottom lip in between his teeth.

as sam bottomed out in y/n. he gave her a few seconds to adjust. she clenched around him, letting him know he could move. sam held tightly onto her hips, pulling out of her and then slamming back into her. y/n’s mouth came off of colby’s cock, moaning out. but colby immediately came back in and put her mouth back around him.

they both thrusted roughly, synchronising their thrusts. y/n moaned out around colby cock, closing her eyes. “keep them open, whore,” colby pulled back on her hair, causing her to whine. “stupid whore, can’t even keep her eyes open,”

sam’s thrust began becoming sloppy, puffing into her. “gonna cum,” sam groaned, “cum with me, y/n,”

he reached his hand around to her clit, rubbing harsh circles. “cum for us, y/n,”she immediately let go, her orgasm washing over her. clenching around sam, as he followed suit. cumming deep inside her.

colby sped his thrusts up, stopped deep in her throat, releasing his cum down her throat.

sam pulled out of y/n, pulling his boxers back up. he walked around to y/n, crouching at her face level, “you okay?” he asked gently.

“i’m okay,” she nodded with a smile.

colby had walked away to pull his boxers back on and also grab a t-shirt for y/n, which actually turned out to be one of his own shirts, which she’d stolen.

“sit up angel,” y/n complied, putting her arms through the t-shirt, colby leaning in to kiss her forehead.

the boys sat opposite y/n on the bed, “so what happens now,” she giggled, a small smile on all their faces.

sam shrugged, “we’ll have to see about that. but something will happen soon. i promise,” he hinted, “but for now, we have a party to get to,”

y/n pouted, “but i just wanna stay here with my favourite boys,”

sam nodded, “i’ll go clear everyone out,” he left the bed and went to grab a t-shirt and shorts, which were his, but he’d given them to y/n. he left the room, shutting the door behind him.

colby scooted up the bed, opening his arms for y/n. who accepted with a big smile on her face.

“y’know, i’ve always had a thing for spiderman,”

[luna-rainbow]

@ashacrone sent me an excellent video essay about how and why CATWS is the best MCU movie and about half way through I had to stop and watch the real thing cos it made me so nostalgic and emotional 😂

New things I noticed this time around that I probably should have noticed ages ago:

The Winter Soldier theme has two distinct leitmotifs: there's the haunting digitised scream, and there's the percussion triplet. I think last time on a random rewatch I noticed that during the very opening of the Causeway scene, i.e. Steve, Nat and Sam are just driving on the road in the car with Sitwell, "the scream" comes on momentarily before their conversation takes place, as a foreshadowing. This time I noticed that during Nick Fury's car chase scene, much of the BGM was built on the Winter Soldier percussion triplets until it quietens suddenly and "the scream" comes on while the Winter Soldier comes into focus. I love the foreshadowing in the music

On the subject of music, the end of the line scene after Sarah's funeral plays a very similar tune to the end of the line/fall from the helicarrier.

I think I mentioned on the last rewatch that it's interesting Sharon says she was sent to "protect" Steve when he's a super soldier, and he probably clocked very quickly she was sent to monitor him, hence his very curt "neighbour" the next time he sees her. I think I may have written it in another meta too about whether Sharon (given her later going rogue as the Powerbroker) was a double agent who had a hand in setting up Fury's assassination. She somehow heard/noticed music coming from Steve's room before Steve, the super soldier with super hearing, noticed. Sure, maybe it's louder inside her room than it is from the hallway, but strange that she felt the need to bring it to his attention? It was almost as though she said it purposely to get Steve on edge -- remember Steve's reaction is then to climb through his window rather than go through the front door. This would have exposed his presence to the Winter Soldier who is most likely already in position on the opposite roof, especially if we go by the theory that the Soldier used Steve's eye line to triangulate where Fury was located. I know Pierce spends a lot of time questioning Steve about why Fury was in his apartment as though he wants to know what information Fury passed onto Steve (and that might be true), but likely part of the plan was also to frame Captain America in order to remove him from any kind of influence, so the Winter Soldier was instructed to wait until Steve was inside before finishing the assassination.

Steve's look when Fury shows him his phone that says "ears everywhere". It screamed "OF COURSE MY UNIT IS BUGGED OF FUCKING COURSE OF COURSE YOU DID IT".

There's this interesting small detail during Fury's car chase: he asks the AI to calculate the route, and he's told that one particular road is gridlocked, but there's another road that's more open. That is, of course, the road that the Winter Soldier was waiting for him on, which means SHIELD was controlling the lights/traffic to lure Fury into the trap. A callback later in the movie proves this -- when Steve dives through the glass ceiling and runs, Sitwell says, "All traffic lights in the district go red." So SHIELD had the capacity to control traffic, and they definitely did it to bring Fury into the Soldier's path.

When Steve was at the hospital after Fury's assassination, he was in his civvies, and Rumlow was rushing him to get back to SHIELD. Interestingly, when he arrives at SHIELD to speak with Pierce, he is in full battle suit (despite, obviously, the Strike team pressuring him to make things quick, he still took the time to change into his suit). The elevator fight is set up like an unexpected escalation given the civil way his conversation went with Pierce, but clearly Steve had been prepared for a fight as soon as he stepped foot inside SHIELD.

When he goes back to the hospital, he's back in a different set of civilian clothes and he doesn't don that particular suit again, instead opting to steal his old uniform from the museum. More than a statement against SHIELD, I wonder if he disposed of the suit because he's worried it had tracking embedded?

One minor detail during the elevator scene - Steve was initially standing near the back of the elevator and watching out the window. As the second group of people got on, one of the men says "excuse me" to Steve, forcing him to step aside and closer to the centre. Steve had already noticed Rumlow's team had their hands on their guns, but once he was forced into the centre he turned and gave the two guys who displaced him a very long suspicious look (one of them had the sweat dripping down his face). When Rollins gets on, that's when Steve was like "pretty sure all the players are here" and said the famous "does anyone wanna get out" line. I just love the way the action was set up, as they intentionally but subtly forced Steve into the middle and had him surrounded, which I think is also when it clicked for Steve.

Hilarious tiny detail when Steve and friends arrive at SHIELD HQ during the final act: they knock on the radio room and the guy who opens the door is faced with Sam and Maria pointing guns at him, and Steve going "excuse us". The guy throws his hands up and then does a little sideways wave to wave them through....XD Dude was like Cap I'm on your side <3

Look, if anyone can put themselves through the electrocution scene, Bucky actually lets out a strangled whimper before the electricity starts firing *heart shatters*

Steve's trembling voice as he pleads, "Don't make me do this." D=

Steve's thousand yard stare when Sam asks, "What makes you happy?" and his resigned, "I don't know." =(

I am firmer in my belief that Pierce intended for Bucky to die during the launching of Insight. In his speech to Bucky, he says "I need you to do it one more time". It just sounded very final (and besides, once the helicarriers are in the air, they don't have a need for an assassin who needs to be electrocuted every few days to keep in check). This might be partially why Bucky made no attempt to leave when the Helicarriers were crashing, because his mission was to bring down Steve and die there -- so Steve really did save him in more ways than one.

I feel like I love this movie more on each rewatch. So much thought was put into the script and the music and the action. Characters were so competent, which made the stakes feel so high and personal. The MCU really peaked with this movie and Black Panther.

[sacr1ficialang3l]

Good men die too, so I’d rather be with you⋆˚࿔

WARNINGS: mentions of injuries. fluff. smut (mdni). oral sex (m receiving). cannibalism references (again). everything is very cute. happy ending. 4.7k

You end up getting stuck in the house for three days.

The blizzard hit sometime after you and Dean had fallen asleep. The next morning, you woke up with freezing fingers, a window completely buried in snow, and Dean whining into your pillow to just “fucking get back in bed, sweetheart, it’s cold.”

You spent the whole morning rolling around on the mattress, too lazy and too comfortable to crawl out from under your thick comforter. It’s only around noon that the two of you made your way downstairs, only to find the door blocked by a mountain of snow. You redress the wound on Dean’s shoulder and then throw together a pretty shitty meal from the scarce food in your pantry.

To be fair, you had only expected to feed yourself. And you barely eat.

But Dean eats, a lot—and by the afternoon of the second day, you were left with one box of mac and cheese and a bunch of old green bean cans.

“I’m not eating that shit. I’d rather starve.”

“But if you die, I can’t make you cum.”

Dean ate the green beans.

That night, Sam called. You and Dean were sprawled in front of the fireplace, his head in your lap as he lay across the cushions, telling you more about the hunting life while you ran your fingers through his hair. You listened carefully, trying to dig deeper into the lore and less into how many times Dean almost mentioned the name of a waitress before cutting himself off.

“I don’t know much about that, baby. I see an evil son of a bitch, I shoot. You’d have to ask Sammy about the nerdy details.”

Speak of the devil—because immediately after, Dean’s phone started buzzing. He picked up, and Sam’s worried, static-filled voice echoed through the quiet living room.

“Dad called Bobby, and he said you weren’t with him and that there’d been a blizzard. Where the hell are you, Dean?

Dean calmly explained the situation as you kept scratching his scalp, until a tiny hum of satisfaction slipped from his throat. Sam heard it and immediately launched into a rant, threatening to knock Dean’s teeth out if he dared mess around with some random girl when he had you.

Dean shut him up before he could say anything too incriminating, but the words “don’t wanna see you brooding and pouting about it again,” and “everyone, even Dad, knows you lo—” still echoed in your brain days later. It was also adorable, how defensive Sam had sounded over you. You were going to buy that boy all the sweet-and-salty monstrosities he wanted the next time you saw him.

So Dean explained that he was with you, and Sam’s tone shifted from angry to smug.

“Finally grew the balls, huh?”

“Hi Sam,” you interrupted with a grin so big Dean rolled his eyes.

“Sorry you’re trapped with that dumbass. I wouldn’t blame you if you killed him.”

“Really nice, Sammy. Thank you.”

“Oh, believe me, the urge has been there.” You looked down at Dean, where he was staring up at you from your lap. “But I think I like him a little too much for that.”

Dean grinned and pulled himself up for a kiss, chaste and sweet.

“Ew, I’m hanging up.”

“Bye, Sammy.”

Dean tossed his phone toward the nearby loveseat, then immediately pulled you on top of him.

On the third day, it rained again.

The temperature had shot up suddenly, but it was raining so hard you still couldn’t make your way to the corner store, or even order a freaking pizza.

You offered to make Dean a water pie when he complained about missing his favorite sweet treat, and he chased you around the house trying to tickle you. He caught you, of course, so you ended up crying and begging for mercy near the staircase, until Dean decided you had been punished enough. Your laughter that afternoon was the loudest sound to ever fill the halls of this decaying, haunted house—except for that one time you tried to take away your mother’s vodka, and she screamed at you until the neighbors threatened to call the cops.

You made out on the floor until your hunger was so strong that not even Dean’s soft grunts when you tugged at his hair could distract you.

Today, you wake up writhing in bed, trying to push away the thick blanket that’s suffocating you. All the squirming wakes Dean, who groans and pulls you closer to his bare chest. It doesn’t help with the sweat sticking to your skin, but it does make the discomfort soften into a distant itch.

“What the hell are you doin’?”

You don’t let yourself be distracted by Dean’s deep, gravelly morning voice. Instead, you stare, mouth agape, as sunlight filters through the curtains, snow melted and gone.

You manage to slide out of Dean’s iron-tight grip and make your way to the window, gawking at the ground now covered only in puddles, water dripping from the trees and roofs, sunlight gleaming off sidewalks and cars.

Two big arms wrap around your waist, and Dean’s chin rests on your shoulder as he squints at the glaring sun, still half-asleep and adorable.

“How the fuck did this happen?” he mutters, words slurred. Then he turns his face and presses it against your hair.

Thirteen-year-old you would have an aneurysm if someone told her that one day she would wake up next to a shirtless Dean, and that he would be all clingy and soft like this.

You aren’t sure you’re not having an aneurysm right now.

“Fucking climate change,” you huff before yawning, making Dean chuckle as he slowly presses kisses down your neck. 

He pushes his hips forward, and you can feel his semi pressing right between your cheeks.

“Nuh uh,” you quickly push him away, giggling at his sleepy pout. You love moments like this, when Dean isn’t his father’s soldier or the town’s cool boy, but instead he is just gentle and warm and real. 

This Dean Winchester—the one that whines for kisses and murmurs soft praises against your neck as he fucks you until you’re cockdrunk and the one who stayed—is real.

Instead of giving in to the beast on your chest, who is howling to get its claws on him, you quickly make your way to your dresser and grab some clothes.

“We have to go buy something to eat,” you murmur as you grab a pair of clean underwear. 

“I know something else I can eat.” He attempts to press against you once more, and you almost cave in if it wasn’t for the piercing need to leave this house.

Because this has all felt like a fever dream. The sleeping and waking up together, the running around the house, the movie-binging and sweet-talking and not-leaving. You fear it has all been a cruel hallucination from your loneliness-riddled brain, and that the moment you walk out of the house everything will go back to how it was.

So you jump in the shower, throw on a pair of tights and leg-warmers under your shorts, slip in a puffy jacket, and force Dean to go get some actual food. He only accepts when you promise him some cherry pie, and you lend him an old black leather jacket you suspect belonged to your dad but which your mom never let be taken out of the closet. 

You two walk all the way to town, and you get a sense of déjà vu.

Dean spends the whole walk rambling about some wrestling fight he went to recently as you hum and nod, and it feels just like it did when you were sixteen. Only now, Dean holds your hand, and he looks at you with more affection than you had ever been the target of. When the blonde cheerleader from the other day walks out of the hair salon, he wraps his arm around your shoulders and presses you to his side as he throws her a friendly grin.

Instead of letting you walk into the corner store, Dean drags you to a nearby diner.

“We deserve some good old greasy food after being forced to eat fuckin’ vegetables for two days.”

He orders for the both of you because he knows you don’t like talking, and asks for it to be to-go after you whisper to him. He doesn’t let go of your hand as you wait for the food, and you’re finally struck with the fact that this is actually happening.

You drag Dean to the jukebox just so you have something to focus on other than how much you want to jump his bones.

Dean waits until you’re walking down the lonely road home before asking why you wanted the food to-go.

“I was thinking…” Your voice is still barely louder than the wind whipping through the trees, and you fidget with the sleeves of your jacket. Maybe you’re still sixteen after all. “We could eat in the woods, have a little—I don’t know, picnic?”

It sounds so stupid now, and you keep your eyes on the dirt under your boots as your cheeks warm with embarrassment.

But you’re not sixteen anymore, because Dean wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you in for a kiss. It’s slow, burning, and perfect. His hand tangles in your hair, and he sucks your lower lip into his mouth before leaning back.

“Picnic it is.”

Turns out the woods are muddy from the rain, and it’s still too cold to hide in the shadows like you usually do. So instead, you end up finding a small meadow that has been under the sunlight long enough to be dry.

You shrug off your jacket and lay it down beside a big patch of lupines, the scent of grape filling your nose as you sit down with your legs curled under you. Dean takes his jacket off too, but he doesn’t place it down to sit, and you don’t know if it’s because he’s not bothered by dirt and insects or because it might be your father’s.

You two dig into your food—burgers, fries, milkshakes, a piece of cherry pie, the whole package. Dean inhales his, clearly starving from your few days of confinement. But you eat slowly, savoring the food as much as you savor the moment.

A few butterflies roam in the distance, and somewhere far away, the roar of a waterfall can be heard. The breeze is still cold, but the sun shining down on you is warm and comforting. It shines down on Dean, and his hair catches just the smallest hints of honey-gold.

It takes you back. To that blonde kid you once stalked like a mourning spirit. To the time when his eyes were brighter, his shoulders less heavy, his smile more innocent. But maybe it had never been. Maybe you had just been blind to the curse that loomed over him, maybe you hadn’t noticed his shifting eyes or the demons that followed him around because you didn’t know they existed.

But now you do. Now you know. Now you can see it all, every part of Dean. Every insane, tragic, fucked-up part of him.

And you still fucking love him.

You haven’t said it again. You know you muttered it that night, when you handed your bleeding heart to him and he ran away with it. But Dean hasn’t mentioned it, hasn’t even tried. So you don’t either, because maybe he doesn’t love you—and that’s okay.

You will love him until the day you die, even if he doesn’t love you back.

So while he talks about the last hunt he was in—not the skinwalkers, the one before that—you stare at the silver scar on his eyebrow and the way his teeth flash when he grins. You watch as a ladybug climbs his arm, slowly making her way around his bicep.

Lucky.

You hear Dean murmur your name, and the edge in his words makes you look up immediately.

“I will have to leave tomorrow.”

The world stops for just a second. For a moment, you can’t breathe, and the butterflies are frozen mid-flight, and the waterfall falls silent, and the ladybug stops walking.

No, no, no.

You can’t go back. Back to those days of loneliness, of nothing but silence and dust, of nightmares and shadows. Of waiting, and longing, and crying. You can’t go back to a life without Dean.

“I can come visit, when Dad doesn’t need me. It will be hard, and he won’t like it, but—”

“Let me come with you.”

The words are out of your mouth before you can stop them. Dean stares at you with wide eyes, and you look back with nothing but deep-seated, all-consuming desperation.

Dean whispers your name, his expression darkening. “You can’t—” Tears fill your eyes against your will, and it looks like Dean is breaking at the sight of them. “It’s a hard life. It isn’t pretty. It’s dangerous, and you could get hurt.”

“I don’t care.” Even with tears in your eyes, your voice is firmer than it has ever been. “I can handle it, Dean. You know I can.”

Because you’ve handled worse. Worse monsters than bloodsuckers and moon-howlers. You’ve faced real monsters—the ones with friendly faces, the ones supposed to take care of you.

And Dean knows it, because he seems to hesitate. He stops himself from reaching for you, and you think you can see that same fire in his eyes. The same fire that’s burning inside you—the need, the hunger, the adoration.

“Sweetheart.” He sounds sad. Just so fucking sad. And you would let the world burn if it meant he’d never sound like that again.

Your pretty boy, doomed from birth. He deserved so much better.

“I wish you could come with me,” he whispers, not looking at you. “But I… I’m not the guy you think I am. There’s blood on my hands, baby. I—I can’t put you in danger like that. You can’t just leave—”

“And I should stay here doing what, Dean? Rotting away in that house like my mother did?”

That shuts him up. His eyes meet yours, and you know he’s so close to giving in. Because as much as you need him—as you can’t stand to be away from him, how much it hurts to watch him go every time, how much you fucking crave him like air—he might need you just as much.

“You’ve seen me handling a gun, Dean. I can be better. You can teach me.” The tears are gone, and your voice is just as decisive as before. You are not losing this battle; you’ve already lost too much. “I’m good with my knife, and I can help with research. You know I don’t scare easily.”

Your eyes soften where they lock onto his, his forest green meeting your tornado—still eerie, but toughened. “I’m not scared of you.”

Dean’s eyes close, and you know he’s given up. His mouth curls down, like you just slapped him. But his hands twitch, still aching to reach out for you, and the sigh he lets out is pure defeat and relief.

“You have to think about it.” He shakes his head when he sees you about to complain. “This isn’t a decision you make in one day. You will think about it.”

You take the small victory, dragging your knees up to your chest and wrapping your arms around them silently. Dean still looks conflicted, and for a long moment you two are lost in your own thoughts—lost, but together

You watch carefully—chin propped on your knees, humming a slow song under your breath—as a butterfly flies by. Small, blue, and fragile. She fights against the breeze that tries to push her back and finally settles on a lupine. You can’t help but smile at the sight.

“I’ve thought about it, you know?” You feel Dean’s head turn toward you, but you keep your eyes on the butterfly. Delicate, frail, but determined. “About you, about leaving. About following you to wherever you disappeared every time.”

More silence.

Come on, this is the moment. It’s now or never.

“I’ve known you since I was a child, and I used to feel sick every time I looked at you,” you murmur with a smile, fingers reaching out to fidget with one of the wildflowers. “It was just this—thing curling inside of me, simmering beneath the surface, turning in my stomach.”

There’s a long moment of silence, where Dean tries to decipher if it’s an insult or not, and you’re completely lost in memories that feel like ages ago and just yesterday at the same time. The butterfly’s wings flutter, like she might fly away again.

“It was love, I guess.”

Dean looks like all the air has been punched out of his lungs, and at this pace, you’ll end up making him pass out. He stares at you, dumbfounded, for a long moment.

“What did you say?”

“I love you, Dean Winchester,” you repeat, finally turning to hold his eyes with a certainty you never thought you’d have. All fear is gone, because it doesn’t matter if he loves you back or not. Your heart is his, and he deserves to know.

“So let me go with you, and I’ll follow wherever you go.”

“You know,” his voice is strained, choked out, “that’s emotional manipulation.”

That makes you laugh—a full-on belly laugh. Dean smiles at you, but then chews on the inside of his cheek, his eyes shadowing down.

“I’ve been talking to Dad about hunting on my own, and Baby is basically mine already.” You can almost see the gears turning in his mind, and you’re sure he’ll draw blood soon if he doesn’t stop abusing his teeth.

“We would hunt together, and we can take Sammy with us sometimes. Dad won’t like it, but—I don’t want you to hunt with him. But maybe…”

If you don’t stop him right now, you might just cry again.

Oh, John Winchester, one day I will catch you.

You leap forward, eliciting a small yelp from Dean as you tackle him to the grass. You swallow down any complaints as your lips press against his and your tongue slides into his mouth. He lets you in, opening up and wrapping his arms around you. He holds you like he’s scared you’ll disappear, like he’s terrified this isn’t real. But now, you’re sure it is.

Because perched in Dean’s lap, with the grass tickling under your palms and the sweet grape scent of the flowers, you’ve never felt more alive.

“It’ll be me and you against the world,” Dean mumbles against your lips, and you’ve never heard more glorious words.

“You and me,” you whisper back, cupping his face. In the distance, you catch the blue butterfly flying away. “Forever.”

Maybe saying goodbye to Marigold will be sad—you’ll probably end up taking at least one part of her with you—and you’ll have to ask Bobby if he can hold onto your book collection so they don’t rot along with the rest of the house. You will miss your roof and its warm clay tiles, and maybe you’ll even miss this awful town.

But you won’t have to live in a cobweb-filled home that was never really a home. You won’t have to hide under the covers from the ghosts of your past, and you won’t have to stare at the hole in the couch your mom left every day.

You won’t have to miss Dean anymore, because there’s not a place on this earth you won’t follow him to.

To hell and heaven and everything in between—you will follow.

“I love you.”

For a moment, you think it’s your inner voice—just your heart reminding you of your love for Dean. But the voice is too deep, too rough, and it vibrates beneath you. So you break the kiss, and this time you're the one gaping down at him, feeling like you might pass out.

“What?” The question comes out tiny, breathless.

“I love you,” he says your name devotedly, like it’s holy.

And finally, the beast breaks out of your chest. It tears through your ribs and crawls up your throat. It rips all your insides to shreds and forces its way out. You kiss Dean again, starved in a way none of you were expecting. He moans when your teeth crash, but the pain doesn’t bother you. You’re possessed—wild and feral.

You break the kiss only to yank his shirt off, ignoring his small sound of surprise. Dean tries to speak, but you shut him up with another kiss, just as violent. Tongues tangle and noses bump. His hands roam over your body, and he tries to pull off your shirt too.

But you’re all beast—insatiable and hungry. So you kiss the corner of his mouth, bite the soft flesh of his cheek. Nip at his jaw, lick your way up to his ear. You bite and suck down his neck, leaving red and purple bruises all around. Your hands trail down his biceps, leaving angry red lines across the firm muscle, savoring the feel of skin under your nails. You sink your teeth into the curve of his neck and shoulder, hard, leaving a deep bite mark. The indent of your teeth looks neat and perfect on his body.

Dean pants your name, hushed and trembling. “What the hell are you—” He’s cut off when you bite again, this time on his bicep. A sick satisfaction washes over you at the sight of the marks. They’re animalistic, filthy, almost grotesque. But the sight has you grinding down on Dean’s stomach.

“What the fuck has gotten into you?”

Dean loves you. That’s what’s gotten into you. Dean loves you, and he’s yours and you’re his. You will leave with him, and you’ll never have to miss him again.

“‘M gonna eat you,” you drawl against his chest, kissing down his torso.

So you get as close as you can to devouring him without crossing the line into actual cannibalism, while Dean groans and jerks beneath you. You trap his flesh gently between your teeth. You lick and kiss every scar that mars his body. You leave little bruises across his ribcage, another bite mark right over his heart. You pepper kisses down the trail of thin hairs leading south. Finally, you tug at his jeans, leaning back from his skin to admire your masterpiece.

Dean lies on the grass, hair tousled by your hands, lips bitten blood-red. He’s slick with your spit, shivering each time the cold breeze brushes over him. Marked all over, utterly yours, and you have to fight the urge to rip his boxers off right then and there.

Because you’re starving. Your tongue feels heavy, your mouth waters, and you’re just so, so hungry.

Dean hisses when you pull his cock out, long and red and—in a very sick, insane way—pretty. There are drops of precum on the tip, and it’s hard and warm in your hand. You lick your lips, feeling a little unhinged.

“You look kinda scary,” Dean breathes out, mouth parted as he looks at you. He throws his head back and groans when you suck the head of his dick into your mouth. “It’s hot.”

You’re unrelenting. Slurping and whining around him until you take him all the way down, until your nose brushes his hips and his cockhead hits the back of your throat, making you moan through a mouthful of cock. The vibrations make Dean jerk his hips up, grunting so loud that if you were a little less clouded with the intensity of your desire you would be worried about people finding you two. “Do that again, fuck.”

Your thumbs rub over his hip bones, tongue circling around the tip to collect precum before swallowing it down. The taste makes you moan again, and Dean’s hand finds its home in your hair, tugging and pulling in the way he has learned you love.

You relax your jaw and start bopping your head up and down, holding Dean’s hips down and savoring every moment of having him in your mouth. Spit dribbles down your chin as Dean keeps hitting the back of your throat repeatedly—you thank every deity that you don’t have a sensitive gag reflex. Because you love having Dean like this, deep inside your mouth, writhing and whimpering under you.

“You’re so fucking warm, I love you.” This time the whine around his cock is so loud that Dean’s cock twitches, finally making you gag slightly. “I love you, fuck. I love you so much,” he rasps out your name.

It makes you double down, head moving faster and throat tightening around him.

“I—I’m gonna come, sweetheart.” He talks through his teeth, pulling on your hair almost to pull you away. You don’t let him, nails digging into his hips and a hand moving to squeeze his balls until his hips buck up and he throws his head back, eyes squeezed shut and mouth parted in a silent moan.

Your teeth graze the underside of his cock. Just the smallest hint of them, for just a moment, but it’s enough to make Dean come. He makes a small, broken noise and empties himself in your mouth.

It coats your tongue in white, dribbling down the edges of your lips as you pull away. You use your thumb to collect it before it falls off, licking it clean right after. Somewhere in the distance, Dean groans and covers his eyes with an arm, breath ragged and softening cock twitching.

You just love the taste, love swallowing down every bit of cum Dean offers like it’s nectar. It’s the closest you’ll get to consume him in the way you want—to eat him down to the bone and taste his essence on your teeth. So you hum contentedly and make sure not a drop goes to waste.

“You’re a fucking demon,” Dean chokes out, still trying to catch his breath. You drop on top of him with a grin after tucking him back in his underwear, trying to protect him from the breeze that slowly gets colder as the sun starts to lay low.

“So you’re gonna kill me?” you ask lowly against his ear, pressing a peck on top of the hickey right under it.

“Might have to.” He pulls his arm off his face and looks at you with glassy, glowy green eyes. “Or you are gonna kill me.”

You giggle against his stubble, light and airy, because you finally have no reason to be sad.

No, you had a lot of reasons to be sad. But you can deal with all of them if Dean is by your side.

“I don’t know,” you whisper, lips brushing his jaw. “I would choose to die by your hands. It’s kind of hot.”

“You little freak. I can’t believe I fell in love with a psychopath.”

That night, after you pack your most important stuff and leave the rest with Bobby, Dean steals a car for you to drive to Montana, where Sam and the Impala are waiting. And maybe he uses a knife, and you have to drive away fast because the owner walks out of the bar and starts screaming at you. Maybe he keeps a gun in the center console. And you know the talk with John won’t be easy, and the horrors that hide in the dark might turn out to be scarier than you anticipate.

Because maybe Dean is not a white knight, some kind of moralistic hero. Maybe he’s not even the good guy sometimes. But you don’t care, because his grip on your thigh is firm but tender, and his eyes glance at you with warmth in the red lights, and he stops and buys you coffee every few hours without you even asking because he knows you love it.

You don’t care, because you love him. Because he loves you.

And you would choose him—with his baggage and his blood-stained hands and his shadows—over any “good man” any day.

And you will follow him through every adventure and misadventure until the day your heart gives out. And even then, you hope they bury you right next to him, so you two can rot together for the rest of eternity.

PREVIOUS PART |

NOTES: i'm not crying, you are. guys, we've finally reached the end of this adventure and i could not be more grateful and enamored with it. it has been such an amazing experience to write these two characters, to be able to write a character I love so much like this reader, she will forever live in my heart. the support and love y'all have given to this series is so fucking heartwarming and I'm trying not to be all sappy but I love you all so much. all your sweet words really motivate me to keep pursuing my passion, so thank you.

i will miss these two lovebirds so much, but im sure that wherever they are, they are fine because they have each other. btw, in my head, reader tries to make a demon deal to bring back dean after he goes to hell but no demon will accept, and she ends up returning to her house in sioux falls and only survives because bobby forces her to. then dean returns and it all goes up in flames.

Anyway! I will stop yapping now. But before, an important announcement. A lot of you sweethearts asked to be tagged in this series (again, thank you with tears in my eyes) but since I don't know how many of you want to keep being tagged in other works, I will delete everyone who was added for this series.

If you still wanna be tagged in the future, pls send me an inbox or comment below. love you all, and goodbye for now!

TAGS: @littlesoulshine @mostlymarvelgirl @pink-ghost666 @h8aaz @otteropera @xoswiftieprincess @tinas111 @blossomingorchids @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @plasticflowersinahistorycemetery @losers-clvb @pieandflannel @anxiety-prime-max @southernimpala @ohmykwonsoonyoung @mimiimmii @thanosisadilf @iamaslytherin0 @youroldfashioned @luvrgirls @faeriexxmoon @iluvchr1s @beelzebzb @taylor-will-be-the-death-of-me @rxouxcesss @yup-its-dez @n0t-vzin1s @tendertulip @halleybagel @melancholysanatomy @dollyfetti @5oftkitty @cupidzbunny @arcanehastakenovermysoul @kermits-bitch @zenoxl @hollywoodxrose @bitchykittenconnoisseur @sherlockstrangewolf @urfav-tz @risefallrise @darling-loki-01 @dina-winchester @zyra-7 @l0v33-rey<3

If you wanna be tagged in future works, let me know!!

[midniqhtt]

james buchanan ‘bucky’ barnes

masterlist • marvel • 04/04/24

˚‧⁺ ･ ˖ · ୨ৎ recs

𑣲 video games I @twoghostsfromeden

Sam Wilson attempts to teach Bucky how to play video games, but you have a different idea

𑣲 just like dad I @ladyfallonavenger

The Reader loses Bucky in the snap and life presents a whole new challenge.

𑣲 coming in hot I @nexusnyx (ao3 link)

When your best friend Sarah recommends you a mechanic of her brother’s trust, all you can think about and pray to is that he doesn’t rip you off. Your car is your prized possession and amidst all the worry and concern of your medical studies, drowning in even more debt sounds as suffocating as it would be. Of course, you never thought of the possibility of the mechanic being the problem. A hot, polite, gentle, and silent-type of problem. Drowning in debt would be easier to navigate than the blue of Bucky Barnes’s eyes.

𑣲 wallpaper I @cosmicbucky

bucky finds out how to change the wallpaper on your phone, and takes every opportunity he can to do so. until one day he doesn't have the heart to.

𑣲 consequences I @duuhrayliegh

𑣲 letters to santa pt2 I @ellemj

𑣲 need and wants I @/ellemj

𑣲 against the rules I @/ellemj

Bucky's trying to fuck you senseless so you'll have to sleep over. Isn't that how a friends with benefits situation is supposed to work?

𑣲 i hate you I @/ellemj

y/n has these weird mind powers where she can feel others feelings or make others feel hers...she accidentally during a very heated fun time projects everything she is feeling to Bucky, basically doubling his pleasure

𑣲 trust I @kgficz

Set during the end of ‘Captain America: The Winter Soldier’. You had been forced to work as a nurse for Hydra’s soldiers, you never expected The Winter Soldier to be one of them. What happens when he starts to care about you?

𑣲 glitter and goo I @welldonebeca

When you have to go on a mission to a different planet together, Bucky is hit by a mating ritual flower, and some feelings you two have been hiding come up

𑣲 accidental pic I @mostlymarvelsstuff

Reader recives Buckys nudes accidentally

𑣲 just friends I @cadaverousnight

A night of drinking makes Bucky bold and a harmless text makes him bolder

𑣲 worlds collide I @espinosaurusrexex

The world is ending. And there are two types of people: The ones that embrace the last pieces of happiness left, and the ones that just don’t bother anymore. When those two clash, there’s no way of knowing what will happen. But maybe, some hopes and dreams aren’t so different after all and the both of them get a chance at becoming more than just acquaintances.

𑣲 refuge I @/espinosaurusrexex

You had a track record of cracking tough cases, but this one proved to be your breaking point. The Winter Soldier was out there, thirsting for blood, operating in total anonymity, and leaving a trail of bodies in the cold Colorado snow. Then, just as a snowstorm was about to paralyse the town, Bucky Barnes appeared on your doorstep – lost, sweet, and in dire need of help. It all seems too good to be true, but what happens when his secrets come to haunt him and Bucky’s blurred past reveals a predicament neither of you saw coming?

𑣲 happy little accidents I @/espinosaurusrexex

In a world after the war, Bucky tries to get pieces of his old self back by joining an art class. He meets you and instantly falls head over heels. Now he just has to work up the courage to ask you out.

𑣲 serious questions I @/espinosaurusrexex

Bucky agrees to go on a date to make his colleagues shut up. Now, he just feels sorry for the poor woman that has to spend an entire evening with him. He really tries to make it work, though, because he actually enjoys her company.

𑣲 bad boys don’t buy flowers I @/espinosaurusrexex

Bucky would have never thought, he’d be chasing after a girl. Not when all of them usually fell at his feet. But when he finds himself entangled in a deal born out of a desperate argument with his assistant, he realizes there is nothing he wouldn't do for you: The independent florist who is adamantly dragging him to the homeless shelter every chance she gets. There is just one problem: Bucky doesn't know how to tell you. And the teasing from his friends is certainly not making things easier for him...

𑣲 new slang I @/espinosaurusrexex

𑣲 remember me I @/espinosaurusrexex

After a fight against the most notorious Hydra agent of all, Steve and you discover that your assumed diseased friend Bucky is still alive. Old wounds resurface as you are confronted with the grappling reality that you have lived vastly different lives for the past 70 years. Will he remember your shared history? And most importantly: does he still feel the same?

𑣲 unexpected I @pellucid-constellations

With all of his rough edges and impassive glances, Bucky Barnes looked to be the last person you’d find at an elementary school bake sale. Too bad Steve couldn’t make it, and dealing with a class hopped up on sugar wasn’t a feat you could manage alone

𑣲 i need him like water I @/pellucid-constellations

You think Bucky’s having an affair. He thinks… well you aren’t sure what he thinks. But he must notice the living room light is left on. Every night.

𑣲 flowers in the compound I @/pellucid-constellations

That girl from the flower shop seems to be taking up a lot of Bucky’s time.

𑣲 grip I @/pellucid-constellations

You knew Bucky didn't like his arm. You just didn't know how much until he accidentally hurt you with it.

𑣲 counting I @/pellucid-constellations

Time heals all wounds. Bucky’d been holding onto that proverb ever since blip. But time had never been particularly kind to him, so he opted to keep track of the sweet girl’s in his apartment building instead, the one that made him banana bread and took him to diners at two in the morning. Sometimes, you didn’t keep the same schedule. That made Bucky panic.

𑣲 everybody talks I @nickfowlerrr

𑣲 come back to you I @buckyalpine

What happens when a time travel mission ends up with a version of Bucky from the 40′s standing on the time travel platform.

𑣲 did you hear I @/buckyalpine

𑣲 40s bucky w/ nurse!reader I @/buckyalpine

𑣲 sunshine I @/buckyalpine

𑣲 spiral I @/buckyalpine

𑣲 pick me I @/buckyalpine

𑣲 untouched I @/buckyalpine

𑣲 tongue twister I @/buckyalpine

𑣲 wait what pt2 pt3 pt4 I @/buckyalpine

𑣲 can you not pt2 pt3 I @/buckyalpine

𑣲 choices pt2 I @/buckyalpine

𑣲 drabble I @/buckyalpine

𑣲 aching I @bbyboybucket

After Reader gives Bucky a massage, he realizes how much he likes her touch

𑣲 tiny match maker I @jamdoughnutmagician

Adjusting to his new life outside of the superhero business, Bucky makes the acquaintance of a very young, inquisitive girl.

𑣲 metal arm brrr I @bombsonboard

Every problem needs a solution. Bucky just isn't the biggest fan of yours.

𑣲 the cards were dealt I @bucky-fricking-barnes

Bucky and Y/N are the children of the two most prominent mob bosses in New York. When their parents use them as part of a deal, they’re left to figure out how their lives fit together.

𑣲 a different kind of valentine pt2 I @holylulusworld

Your fiancé breaks your heart on Valentine’s Day out of all days.

𑣲 happy birthday big grump I @/holylulusworld

Your new neighbor is a professional grump. No reason to not be nice to him on his birthday.

𑣲 april fools day (stucky x reader) I @/holylulusworld

Steve and Bucky ask you to join their prank.

𑣲 siren be bound to me I @darkdemeter

He is your captain. There is no place you'd rather be than by his side, nothing you could ever want for that is not him. You owe everything, your entire self, to him. And yet overboard and on the tide you set sail across in search for a great and ancient treasure, a song continues to seep through the cracks of your heart and soul... a song so familiar yet unknown.Forgotten. And Bucky reminds you yet again that there no place else for you that isn't beside him, that there is nothing out there

𑣲 curiosity killed the cat I @queers-gambit

after rescuing you from kidnappers, you overhear your boyfriend-turned-savior complain about how clingy you've become

𑣲 i’d back off if i were you I @thighs-of-betrayal-blog

𑣲 an unforgettable love I @/thighs-of-betrayal-blog

𑣲 hold the door I @/thighs-of-betrayal-blog

You’ve never met your new neighbor, not until an incident happens involving the apartments elevator. 

𑣲 out of practice I @drabbles-mc

reader is a mom, bucky hasn't dated in like 70 years

𑣲 next door to love I @jobean12-blog

When you made the move to the city you never expected your new neighbor to be so sweet and helpful...or hot.

𑣲 this spells love I @/jobean12-blog

Bucky is your best friend and he really is the best but he wants more, he wants everything, but the idea that it could ruin your friendship and he could lose you is too much...

𑣲 boom clap I @/jobean12-blog

Before tonight you wouldn't have been able to label your relationship with Bucky but after he gets home earlier than expected from a mission and shows up at the bar everything changes.

𑣲 everything you want I @/jobean12-blog

there’s no one you trust more than your husband and he always knows exactly what you want.

𑣲 meet my family I @skaye44

Your parents want to meet your boyfriend Bucky which you agree, but the whole family invites itself along for the meeting.

𑣲 my sun my star pt2 pt3 I @cosmos-coma

You wait up late for your boyfriend Bucky to return from his mission, but it isn't Bucky who finds you

𑣲 my everything I @mrsbarnesblog

The last thing that Bucky ever expected to see was the love of his life from the past trapped in one of the Hydra bunkers in the cryofreeze chamber. Yet here he was almost two days later, staring at your still unconscious body through the window at the medical wing, imagining the horror and disgust on your face when you found out that he was no longer the innocent and happy boy you knew before

𑣲 i trust you I @/mrsbarnesblog

when Bucky comes back from a mission with a knife wound there is only one person who can convince him to get help

𑣲 5+1 I @mrs-elsie-barnes

Whether it's on a mission, a work event or a holiday, your sleeping arrangements never seem to work out as planned. It doesn't really bother you until...it does. Confronted with a night sleeping apart, you and Bucky finally talk

𑣲 just like that I @navybrat817

Bucky suggests staying in a hotel together before an undercover mission, which would be fine if you didn't have a massive crush on the super soldier.

𑣲 begin again everything i wanted I @sergeantbuckybarnes

When you go to meet your friend at her work you see a cute guy had been stood up, so you’re going to be the best date of his life.

𑣲 amnesia I @/sergeantbuckybarnes

During a fight in Madripoor you get hit in the head resulting in forgetting the last ten years of your life. And most important, your boyfriend.

𑣲 diamonds I @angrythingstarlight

𑣲 chubby!bucky I @/angrythingstarlight

𑣲 more chubby baker! bucky I @/angrythingstarlight

𑣲 blow me away I @/angrythingstarlight

You just discovered that your boyfriend has never had a blowjob before and that’s a travesty. Good thing you’re about to blow his mind.

𑣲 not so bad I @literaryavenger

It's Bucky's birthday, but doesn't want to make a big deal out of it.

𑣲 happy birthday I @/literaryavenger

It's your birthday and the only person who doesn't seem to be excited about it is you

𑣲 body and soul I @theladybarnes

Reader has a conversation with Sam that leaves her a little confused before her date with Bucky. Includes probably the best romance movie quote to ever grace films.

𑣲 you’re my desire pt2 I @marvelouslizzie w/ @/notafunkiller

Your best friend drags you out on a double date. You were supposed to be Steve Rogers' date, but plans change pretty quickly and you end up in Bucky Barnes' arms.

𑣲 she chose me I @notafunkiller

Steve's hopes get crushed when he wrongly assumes you'd choose him over Bucky.

𑣲 bucky has a crush I @assembletheimagines

𑣲 buckyvision pt1 pt2 pt3 pt4 pt5 pt5.5 pt6 pt7 pt8 pt9 pt10 I @fictionalmemoirs

𑣲 eye for an eye I @christowhore

you come home one night to find bucky in bed with another woman. after threatening divorce, he begs for your forgiveness and tells you he'll do anything. he should’ve known to always be careful with what you wish for.

𑣲 just one more minute I @/christowhore

you grow tired of bucky constantly leaving you in dark when it comes to his feelings. finally, you have enough.

[nathanbatemanfucker]

Fault Lines Ch. 4

request: wanted to know if you could write something where the reader is a ex-winter solider (just like bucky, but maybe she doesn't lose her arm) and how she struggles to accept Joaquin. An overall angst to fluff.

pairing: joaquin torres x ex super soldier!f!reader

contents: canon typical violence, illusions to abuse and torture, ptsd and other mental illness, enemies to lovers, angst, fluff if you squint!!!

wc: 1,463

an: this one definitely broke my heart a little but it’s all for the greater good i promise <33

fault lines masterlist

It had taken a couple weeks and sifting through some painful memories, but with Joaquin and Sam’s help you narrowed down the most likely place that your target was laying low. It was another facility, this time in the desert.

Where you preferred the heat over the freezing cold, you could tell that they were struggling by their water intakes and sweat soaked shirts. You decide not to say anything— heat makes people grumpy, and between you and Sam there’s enough grump. That and you have something much more important to focus on as you approach the building.

Joaquin shifts his weight, scanning the compound through his scope from their vantage point on the ridge. Beside him, you’re unnervingly still, eyes locked on the entrance like you can will your target into existence.

“We go in quiet,” Sam says over comms. “No unnecessary casualties. We take them alive if possible.”

You don’t respond. Joaquin does. “Copy.”

He glances at you, but your expression doesn’t change. The mission has been communicated and is clear, but he can feel the storm rolling inside you. This isn’t just another takedown to you. It’s an ending. The culmination of everything you’ve fought for, suffered for, lost.

It scares him because he knows you would give anything for it. Maybe even your life.

__

Once inside, the air is sterile and stale, filled with the ghosts of past violence never fully faded. The three of you move like shadows, clearing room after room. Hydra’s presence here is weak—their numbers already thinned from previous operations.

Despite the ease, you don’t relax. Not yet.

Joaquin watches the way your grip tightens around your weapon as each room is cleared. The way your breath grows more even and steady as you step over an unconscious body, moving toward the command center. This is what you were made for. The thought unsettles him.

When you finally find him, your target is alone in the dimly lit room, scrambling for a weapon he’ll never reach. You’re moving towards him with swiftness before Sam can give the order, grabbing him by the collar and slamming him against the console causing his nose to bleed. The sight, the coppery smell makes something inside you burn with satisfaction.

The man is just as you remember him. He doesn’t have a name, not a proper one but you and other soldiers called him The Mire. A twisted scar on his face and shocking blonde hair that you’ve seen in your nightmares.

He laughs through the pain, the haunting sound growing louder when you press the barrel of your gun to his forehead. “You think this ends with me?”

Joaquin steps forward. “You can make this easy, or—”

The man barely spares him a glance. His focus is on you, his eyes glittering with mischief. “Go on, then. You’ve come this far.” His lips curl into something taunting. “I wonder—when you close your eyes at night, do you see their faces?”

Your grip tightens. Joaquin sees it instantly—the slight shift in your stance, the barely-there hitch in your breath. You’re…hesitating?

The man must see it too, because his demented grin widens. “Of course you do.” His voice lowers, smooth, insidious. “It’s the price we pay, isn’t it? Those of us who were made for something greater.”

Joaquin moves closer. “Cállate.”

The man ignores him. His eyes stay on you. “The experiments. The conditioning. It never really leaves, does it? You can pretend all you want, but deep down, you know what you are.” His head tilts. “A weapon. A perfect little instrument of death.”

Joaquin sees the moment the words hit their mark. You don’t flinch, but something in your expression hardens. His words conjure memories that make you want to be at the end of your gun.

The man exhales through his nose, like he’s at peace with whatever happens next. “They made you to destroy, and look at you. Right on script.”

Joaquin steps closer. His voice is quiet, but firm. “Hey.”

You don’t look at him. The barrel of your gun presses more firmly against his forehead. Better him than you, right?

“No eres tú,” Joaquin urges.

Your finger hovers over the trigger. This will fix everything. It’ll save you from your torment and allow you to move forward, right?

The man smirks, eyes flicking between you and Joaquin. “Oh, I see now,” he breathes out a laugh. “You’ve got your own little soldier whispering sweet nothings to you. That’s cute. You’ve thought about it right? What his neck feels like under your hands?”

Joaquin’s jaw clenches, but he doesn’t take the bait. “Walk away,” he murmurs.

The man keeps going, his grin widening. “It must kill you, doesn’t it? Knowing what you are. Knowing that no matter what, he’ll always be the one looking at you like you’re something more.” His eyes glint with something cruel. “But tell me, what happens when he finally sees you for what you really are?”.

Joaquin shakes his head, stepping even closer, voice just for you now. “You don’t belong to anyone but yourself.”

For the first time, your focus wavers, your gaze meeting his. Despite the daunting situation, Joaquin’s eyes are the warmest shade of brown you’ve ever seen. That warmth is at the core of who he is, spreading through every cell in his body and radiating off of him. You feel it’s contrast on the rough, cold edges of your makeup.

Joaquin doesn’t look away. “No eres un arma. Nunca lo fuiste. But you pull that trigger, and they win. They still own you.”

Your jaw clenches. Slowly, painfully—you lower the gun.

Your target’s laugh is cut short by Sam knocking him out cold. Joaquin watches you, but your face is unreadable.

It’s over. Hydra’s last head severed.

You thought that knowing he was done would drain the dread from your body, but you don’t feel any relief. There’s nothing but darkness and confusion, hopelessness finding its play in your belly.

—

The ride back to the local safehouse is quiet. Joaquin sits across from you in the Quinjet, waiting.

But you don’t say a word— you have a map out in front of you, developing your next steps. You aren’t sure where to go or what to do but you know you can’t stay with them.

Sam’s the first to speak. “You did good.”

His praise is meant to make you feel good about making the “right” decision but they just make you feel sick.

Softly, the words feeling foreign on your tongue, you say, “I don’t know what to do now.”

Joaquin leans forward, beating down the urge to reach out and grab your hand. “Then maybe that’s the point. You get to figure it out. And we could— I could—“

You hold his gaze, something soft he can’t name in your eyes. But then, just like that, it’s gone. “I’m not staying.”

Sam doesn’t argue. Neither does Joaquin as much as he wants to. You having choices is important him after the life you’ve been forced to live.

They watch you stand and grab what little gear you have before heading for the ramp. The Quinjet hasn’t even landed yet, but you’re already moving forward.

Joaquin stands, stepping closer to you. “No tienes que hacer esto solo.”

You smile— really smile— but even then it doesn’t reach your eyes. “I always have, baby bird. No te preocupes por mí.”

The ramp lowers and the night’s air rushes inside, cold without the beating sun.

You don’t say anything else and before he can try to find something to fill the silence, you surprise him. You step forward—just close enough for your fingers to graze his as you pass. A fleeting touch, barely there, but Joaquin feels it like a brand. Like an electric shock.

His breath catches and then he’s watching you fade into the sand, and soon into the mountains, something heavy settling in his chest.

Sam claps him on the shoulder. “You know, for someone who talks a lot, you were pretty damn quiet back there.”

Joaquin sighs, running a hand down his face. “Not the time, man.”

Sam snorts. “Oh, I’m sorry. You want me to pretend I haven’t noticed the whole thing you’ve got going on?”

Joaquin turns to glare at him. Sam grins.

“I mean, come on,” Sam continues. “She gives you one look, and you go all soft. And don’t think I missed the way she touched your hand before leaving.” He raises a brow. “You gonna tell me that meant nothing?”

Joaquin exhales, shaking his head. “I, uh, I don’t know.”

Sam hums, unconvinced. “Well, I’ll say this—you better hope she comes back. I don’t think you’d take it well if she didn’t.”

Joaquin doesn’t know what he could say to make Sam back off but deep down, he knows the man is right.

sfw joaquin taglist: @magikdarkholme, @plan3t-plut0, @mewmew222, @linnygirl09, @ezhz444, @karmaswitch, @badbishsblog, @glader13, @how2besalty, @happypopcornprincess, @hiireadstuffsometimes, @lisiliely, @spider-steve, @nolita-fairytale, @hrlzy, @faretheeoscar, @giuliahowlett, @abriefnirvana, @fanboyswhore9 , @sidkneeeee, @sophreakingfunny, @heartbreakgirlism, @peachyxlynch, @lomlbuckybarnes, @a-randomscrub, @ajcs150, @glimodejun, @isuckatmath, @arsonhotchner, @sidkneeeee, @galaxywannabe, @retrosabers, @marchingicenotes7, @marroonwitch, @jaebugzz, @that-girl-named-alex, @bxtchboy69, @moonymeloncholymoney, @mischiefmanaged71, @something-random-idk, @dualinstinct, @alevanswrites, @articel1967, @lanoviadestiles, @zolassalgorhythm, @peacefangirl

> ch.5

[millers-girl]

who we carry

chapter 6 of willow & whiskey

pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

summary: You, Joel, and Ellie slowly make your way toward Jackson, and each mile slowly begins to heal your heart little by little.

warnings/tags: age gap, adult language, tooth-rotting fluff

word count: 4.5k

series masterlist

Somewhere outside Lincoln, Nebraska – 2 weeks after the events of Kansas City

Henry and Sam’s deaths haunted you long after you buried them in Missouri. Every time you shut your eyes, you saw Sam’s lifeless body on the floor of the motel room, blood pooling by his head. You saw Henry, his wide, desperate eyes locked onto yours as he muttered a broken apology – then the sharp crack of the gunshot that followed.

That moment never faded; it had carved itself into the marrow of your bones, settling deep in your chest like an ache that refused to heal.

You tried your best to push through it, for Ellie’s sake. She wasn’t handling it well either – wasn’t eating much, wasn’t as chatty. Every day, as you inched closer to Jackson, her small hand clutched yours, gripping tight for hours on end. At night, she shuffled closer to you as she ate dinner; stuffed herself in your sleeping bag, head curled deep into your chest as if the steady rhythm of your heartbeat could somehow protect her from the weight of grief.

You were thankful she slept.

You weren’t so lucky.

Rest came only when exhaustion finally forced your body to surrender. On the rare nights you managed to drift off, it never lasted long. You’d jolt up in a panic, heart pounding, disoriented and breathless.

Joel noticed.

Of course he noticed.

He didn’t get much sleep either. He spent many nights sitting near the fire, keeping watch – for intruders, sure, but mostly for you. He saw how your hands trembled when you drank water to calm yourself, saw the way your eyes began to dart toward him before quickly abandoning their endeavor. He knew that look on your face. He’d worn it himself for years.

You pretended not to notice his gaze – pretended not to see the way his brow furrowed, and his grip on his rifle tightened like he wanted to physically fight off what haunted you. 

You thought ignoring it would spare him the worrying, but in reality, it only made him more restless. He wished you’d just look up at him once, with those big, warm eyes of yours. Wished you’d let him help.

After two weeks of this, he decided he was done wishing.

One night, the three of you camped on an open hilltop just outside Lincoln, overlooking the plains. On any other night, in any other world, the view of the vast emptiness could’ve been beautiful – in fact, in this one, it was, but it was also unsettling. 

Joel, as always, took “first watch” – which, realistically, meant he’d take watch for the entire night, wanting you two to get some sleep. 

As you shuffled around in your shared sleeping bag with Ellie, you could feel the air starting to get colder – autumn was on the way; you wouldn’t be able to sleep outside for much longer. 

So, you tried to enjoy the night sky for as long as you could tonight. With no city lights, the stars were incredibly bright, creating a rare peaceful moment for you as you traced constellations with your tired eyes.

At some point, your body betrayed you, pulling you into an uneasy sleep.

It didn’t last long.

You gasped awake, heart slamming against your ribs.

Immediately, you could tell this time felt different from the others. The usual tricks––deep breaths, drinking water, staring into the fire––did nothing. Your skin felt too tight, your lungs too small. Even Ellie stirred beside you, as if she could sense your distress.

Helpless, you turned to the one person who you knew would be watching.

When your gaze moved over Joel’s face, his eyes were already locked on you. You quickly shuffled out of the sleeping bag and made your way over to where he sat, and climbed into his lap. You burrowed into him, seeking warmth and comfort.

“Oh, baby,” he murmured, voice thick with worry in a way that made a lump form in your throat. He wrapped his arms around you. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”

His hand ran slowly and steady along your spine, grounding you, pulling you back to the present. You tucked your head into the crook of his neck, pulling his jacket tighter around you. The scent of leather and pine filled your senses and you clung to it like an anchor.

Your breathing eventually evened out. The night settled around you again.

After a moment, you lifted your chin, gaze drifting back up to the starry sky, now finding your favorite constellation – bright and unwavering.

“What are you lookin’ at?” Joel softly asked.

“Andromeda,” you pointed out. “She was chained to a rock as a sacrifice to a sea monster. On his way back from slaying Medusa, Perseus––of all people––rescued her, just in time.”

You snorted humorlessly to yourself. “It’s funny. She was trapped, bound to something she couldn’t escape from, waiting for someone to save her…”

Like you. 

Chained to your grief, to your guilt, to the memories that wouldn’t let you go.

And in some ways, Joel was Perseus. Scarred and weary, a man who had lived through unspeakable horrors and yet continued to move forward.

“Guess it’s a good story,” you said softly, leaning against his shoulder. “At least some people get saved.”

The silence between you stretched, heavy with the things you didn’t say.

Joel's voice was quiet but firm when he finally spoke.

 “Yeah, and some people fight their way out.” 

His lips pressed against your temple, gentle and lingering. A silent reassurance. A reminder that he saw your strength even when you couldn’t.

You swallowed hard, fingers absentmindedly twiddling with the rough hem of his jacket.

“I had a dream about Henry,” you whispered, barely audible, before correcting, “I had a nightmare about Henry.” 

Joel didn’t press. Didn’t make you meet his gaze. He just waited.

“I hesitated,” you coked out, “ – and I – I could’ve saved him, I could’ve saved them both if – ” 

The words felt like glass in your throat, each one sharper than the last.

Joel’s hand tightened on your back, warm and steady. “There’s nothing you could’ve done.”

Your voice cracked. “Then, why do I keep replaying that moment over and over? It’s all I can think about…” 

A long pause. Then, his voice, low and certain, said, “You did all you could… Ain’t ever gonna feel like enough.”

Something in his tone made you lift your head slightly. He wasn't just talking about you.

Your breath hitched, but you nevertheless nodded. The weight in your chest shifted, just slightly.

You exhaled, long and slow. “Then, how am I supposed to stop feeling this way?” 

Joel’s arms tightened around you. “You will,” he promised. “Time heals all wounds.”

You almost scoffed, almost told him that felt like bullshit – but then he added, “And, you have me and Ellie. We’ll get through this… That’s what families do.” 

Your breath caught in your throat.

Family.

The word settled in your chest, filling the hollow space where the grief had made its home.

For the first time in two weeks, you felt something other than sorrow. Something lighter, something safer.

You didn’t answer, just let yourself sink into Joel’s warmth, let the stars blur above you as sleep finally started to take hold.

This time, it felt different.

This time, you didn’t fight it.

Near the Rocky Mountains – 5 weeks after the events of Kansas City

The unforgiving torrential downpour slammed against the asphalt as you, Joel, and Ellie sprinted toward the only building in sight – a rundown farmhouse crouched in the a valley, surrounded by mountains on either side. 

You didn’t know how long the storm had been building behind you until it was suddenly everywhere, soaking your clothes and whipping your hair into your face as thunder angrily cracked above.

By the time you stumbled into the foyer and Joel hurriedly shoved the door shut behind you, you were drenched. Rain dripped from your clothes onto the worn hardwood floor, but your senses were focused on the sudden stillness inside.

The storm had blanketed the house in a dark, gloomy gray tone. Only the occasional flicker of lightning brightened the house, illuminating old, broken furniture, worn wallpaper, and a fireplace that looked like it hadn’t been touched in decades.

By the time you and Joel had cleared the house and secured the doors, Ellie was yawning and dropping her pack with a thud, murmuring something about a real bed before vanishing up the stairs and passing out on the dusty mattress.

You couldn’t even blame her. After weeks of sleeping on forest floors and cracked linoleum, even the sagging, moth-bitten mattress probably felt like a cloud. You lingered near the front window, peering through the glass at the storm that trapped you here. You should’ve felt unsettled, seeing as you couldn’t make anything out further than five feet in front of you. Instead, you somehow felt still, in a good way.

You weren’t even that tired tonight. Lately, miraculously, you’d been sleeping decently – well “decently” meaning not waking up every single night from nightmares. And you knew the reason for it.

It wasn’t time. It wasn’t healing.

It was Joel.

Now, across the room, he moved quietly, methodically checking the window locks. He hadn’t said much since coming inside, but he didn’t need to. 

What happened in Lincoln had changed things. He’d become quietly protective over you. In ways that weren’t obvious unless you were looking.

When he handed you dinner, you noticed he always made sure to give you the warmest portion, or the piece with the most meat. When you hiked, his hand was a constant – guiding you up tricky inclines, steadying you with a brush of fingers at your elbow. At night, when you shifted in your sleep, it was his jacket that was draped over your shoulders. 

Now, as you sank onto the couch near the fireplace, the change felt noticeable. Heavier, harder to pretend it wasn’t happening.

Joel knelt in front of you, undoing the laces on your boots with slow, sure hands. 

You arched a brow, teasing, “Are you obsessed with me?”

Joel turned to you, brows furrowed in curiosity, not confusion. No, he wasn’t confused because this wasn’t coming out of nowhere. He was intentional with his touches lately, and even he couldn’t ignore the way Ellie had snickered, “You guys are like an old married couple,” when he had leaned forward during the hike to adjust the strap of your pack on your shoulders. You’d nudged him with your shoulder when you continued walking, expecting him to push back, but he just let the touch linger.

The fire before you now cracked low in the hearth, Joel having brought it back to life. It cast a soft light over the ruined living room, and you hesitantly grabbed a blanket before pulling it over your lap, finally relaxing for the first time all day.

Joel settled in beside you, arms folded, gaze glued to the flames.

For a while, there was only silence. Then, he spoke, voice low. “You been sleeping better,” he noted. You hummed, nodding. “What changed?”

You chewed your lip, then finally admitted, “You did.” Joel didn’t move, but you felt the shift in the air. “It’s easier… when you’re around. Like I’m not carrying it all on my own.” 

He didn’t answer right away, but when he did, it was soft. “S’cause you’re not.” 

The words buried themselves deep in your chest, forcing you to realize how much you needed to hear someone say it – how badly you needed to hear him say it.

You exhaled deeply, leaning your head on his shoulder. He didn’t flinch, didn’t tense. Just let you rest there, warm and quiet and safe.

“Feels weird,” you murmured. “Letting someone else help. I’m used to taking care of Ellie myself. Doing everything myself.” 

Joel’s hand settled over yours on your lap. “Yeah,” he agreed, feeling that same change in his own life. “It does.” 

You glanced at him, eventually feeling your body catch up to your mind. You hadn’t meant to fall asleep, but the combination of the fire, warmth, and Joel’s steady presence made it impossible. 

You drifted off with your head on his shoulder, the sound of rain tapping on the window like a lullaby.

When you blinked awake hours later, morning light flickered through the warped glass, soft and golden. The storm had passed.

Joel was still beside you, arm loosely draped around your back, breath slow and even.

You looked up at him. He cracked an eye open and gave you a sleepy grunt. You gave him a questioning look and revelled in the fact that, though he shrugged, his ears turned pink. Yes, it was a big deal.

You smiled, resting your head against him again, letting the silence say everything.

Outside, the mountains loomed in the distance – tall and vast and daunting. But you didn't feel scared. Not anymore.

You had help now.

Somewhere in Central Wyoming - 2 months after the events of Kansas City

It was officially too cold to sleep outside comfortably. 

Your breath fogged in the morning air, fingers stiff around the straps of your pack as you trudged along the frostbitten road. Snow hadn’t fallen yet, but the wind had a bite to it now – sharp and unforgiving. Still, despite the numbness creeping into your toes, you couldn’t help but feel a little lighter. Not quite back to happy as usual, but something close enough to it that you didn’t question the lift in your chest.

Winter had always been your favorite season. Something about the way the world seemed to soften under fresh snowfall, how quiet and peaceful it all became. Like even the apocalypse had to slow down and take a breath. 

And then, of course, there was Christmas.

You knew it must’ve seemed silly to others––maybe even naive of you––but the thought of it still stirred warmth in your chest. Not the mediocre gifts you and Ellie exchanged, necessarily, nor the poor attempt at festive decorations. Just the idea of it. Joy for the sake of joy. An excuse to show people they mattered.

So when you asked Joel what he wanted for Christmas, it wasn’t a joke, but he seemed to take it as one.

He gave you a look like he hadn’t even heard of the holiday. “What are you talkin’ about?” 

“Christmas,” you repeated, keeping your tone light. “You remember Christmas, right? Presents under the tree, string lights, big fat jolly fella?” 

Joel scoffed, the corners of his mouth twitching with reluctant amusement. “’Course I remember Christmas. I was celebratin’ it before you were born.” He winced slightly, and you could tell he was doing the math. “Why’re you askin’?” 

“Because it’s almost time to celebrate,” you said simply, letting your fingers brush through the brittle tall grass as you three followed signs for the town of Casper. 

He glanced between you and Ellie, who was skipping a few paces head, before shaking his head. “Let me get this right – you two still celebrate Christmas?” 

“Why would we stop?” Ellie asked, furrowing her brow like he was the one not making sense.

Joel huffed. “Cause the world ended?”

“So?” you shot back. “Did the idea of presents end, too? Or showing people how much they mean to you?”

Joel didn’t respond. Just pressed his lips together like the thought hadn’t occurred to him. Like maybe it had, once, and he’d burned his mind of the thought.

“What’d you get each other last year?” he asked after a pause.

“I got Ellie a guitar.” 

That seemed to jolt him a little. His eyebrows rose. “Y’know how to play?” he asked Ellie. 

“I tried,” Ellie muttered, eyes meeting yours. “But the person teaching me – I mean… I didn’t really have anyone to teach me. Not many books, either. I had to leave it behind at the apartment.” 

Joel was quiet for a long second. Then, he said, “When we’re done with all this Firefly business, we’ll find another guitar. I’ll teach you.” 

Ellie’s eyes lit up. “Really?” 

“You know how to play guitar?” you asked, genuinely surprised. Joel shrugged, the smallest hint of a smile on his face. “Keep surprising me, Miller,” you muttered under your breath.

Joel looked over at Ellie, then gave her a small nudge and nodded towards you. “What’d you get her?” 

Though you only hesitated and misstepped for a single second, Joel caught it. Your smile dropped. The breath in your lungs froze somewhere in your chest. You looked at Ellie, and for a moment, she looked like she might answer honestly. But you shook your head – just barely.

“Nothing important,” you said quietly, clearing your throat. “Now, are we planning on making it to Casper today or you two need another break?” 

Ellie groaned. Joel muttered something about his back. But they followed you, and you kept your face forward so they couldn’t see the sudden tightness behind your eyes. 

Casper wasn’t what you expected. It was one of the bigger towns you’d come across since Kansas City, for one. A once-bustling downtown now laid half-ruined, skeletal buildings casting long shadows across the abandoned streets. But the bones of the city were still there – road signs, cracked pavement, a few intact storefronts. It felt like stumbling into a shell of a world that had only just slipped away.

The three of you scavenged in mostly silence. Joel found clean clothes for all three of you, Ellie found canned peaches and made a war cry over it like she’d just slain an enemy, and by sheer luck, you had miraculously found a motel where the hot water was still running.

The sign was barely legible, half-hanging from its frame, but the doors to the rooms were unlocked.

“This is amazing!” Ellie yelled from the bathroom, voice echoing over the sound of the shower. “I’m never leaving!” 

“Leave some hot water for the rest of us!” you begged, sitting on the bed and peeling off your jacket.

Joel came to sit beside you, legs stretched out, head tipped back against the wall. For a moment, the only sound was the running water and the occasional creak of the old buildings settling all around you. 

You turned to look at him, watching the lines on his face. 

“You seriously haven’t celebrated Christmas in twenty years?” 

“Haven’t celebrated my birthday, either,” he admitted, glancing down at his wrist for a millisecond. 

“Do you miss it? Normal life?” 

He took a moment to answer. “Yeah. Sometimes.” 

You nodded. “Me too.” A quiet blanketed over the two of you for a moment, and it ate at you until you were saying, “Look, back on the road earlier… when you asked Ellie what she got me for Christmas – ”

Joel was already shaking his head, staring at you with those big, warm, understanding brown eyes of his. “You don’t have to explain.” 

He was giving you space, in that quiet, steady way of his. And as much as you appreciated it, you found yourself wanting to share, for the first time since it happened.

You exhaled slowly, reaching into your shirt to pull a necklace out. 

“This is what she got me,” you said after a beat, clutching at the pendant hanging. “It’s nothing fancy. Just a gold chain that probably cost her way too many ration cards, sold by someone at one of those market stalls…” 

Joel’s gaze flickered to your chest, and you slowly uncurled your fingers, letting the little star pendant show. 

“I never take it off,” you added, softer still. A faint smile tugged at your lips, but it faded just as quick. “She was so proud to give it to me. Said Nate helped her pick it out.”  

Joel shifted slightly. Oh.

“And his Christmas present to Ellie was to teach her how to play that guitar,” you revealed, and suddenly all the pieces fell into place for Joel. Why both you and Ellie acted put-off by the topic. 

You gulped, before finishing, in a whisper, “He, uh – he didn’t get a chance to… And, when we were talking about it – it just hit me all at once. The necklace, the guitar, the fact that he should been here… teaching her. I didn’t want to say it out loud, I guess. Didn’t want to make it real.”

Joel exhaled quietly, deep frown matching yours. “I get it.” 

“I’m… I’m glad for the pain, in a way, you know? It’s a reminder. I think I’m just scared of when it won’t hurt anymore.” 

Joel just nodded slowly, like he understood that, too. He didn’t answer right away, letting what you said sink in. Then, he held his wrist out to show you his broken watch.

“Sarah got me this,” he revealed. “It broke on Outbreak Day. But I never took it off. Never tried to fix it, either.” 

Your eyes were glued to the broken watch, throat thick. 

“I don’t think it’s about forgettin’,” he continued. “It’s about carryin’. What we carry – who we carry – and who we let go… It’s okay if you’re not ready to let go. I’m not, either.” 

You swallowed hard, nodding and brushing away your tears before they had a chance to fall. “What if I want to carry him with me forever?” you asked quietly.

His hand came to rest reassuringly on your shoulder. Steady. Grounding.

“That’s okay, too.” 

50 miles outside of Jackson, Wyoming - 3 months after the events of Kansas City

It was almost Christmas.

The snow outside blanketed the woods in a thick silence, flakes drifting lazily from the gray sky as you watched from the window of a small hunting cabin you’d stumbled upon two days ago. 

There was a stillness here, a kind of peace you hadn’t really felt since Kansas City. Maybe it was because you were getting close to Jackson. Less than a hundred miles away now. Your adventure would be over in a few days and whatever was in Jackson would be awaiting your group.

The fire crackled softly behind you, warming the cabin’s single room. Pine-scented air drifted through the poorly-sealed window panes, mixing with the sharp bite of winter. You pulled your coat tighter, getting comfortable.

Behind you, Ellie snored in her own sleeping bag, the corner of her mouth slack and blissfully drooling. Joel laid beside you in your shared sleeping bag, already awake but clearly pretending not to be. His eyes flickered open the second you sat up.

“Sleeping in, old man?” you asked, voice heavy with sleep but light with affection.

He cracked one eye open. “Didn’t realize sunrise was considered sleeping in.”

You smirked and turned around, nuzzlign deep into the crook of his neck as you mumbled, “It’s your turn to make coffee.”

Joel grumbled something about “It’s somehow my turn every damn day,” but he sat up anyway, slowly stretching with a groan before getting up to prepare the brew with the last of the grounds Ellie had scavenged in the last town.

You turned in the sleeping bag to watch him, head still resting on your pillow. The snow outside reflected a cool light across his face, outlining the soft gray in his beard and the soft cut of his jaw. 

You’d gotten used to watching him like this. It was easier now – no longer full of longing or guilt, but something quieter. Steadier.

He glanced back. “You’re starin’ again.”

“How many times do I have to tell you I’m admiring? There’s a difference,” you shot back.

His lips tugged at the corner, and a smile ghosted over his face. “Liar.”

He came back over, squatting to hand you a tin mug with practiced ease. You took it, fingers brushing his.

Ellie stirred then, grunting, “It’s like seven in the morning. Are you really going to torment me with the flirting this early?” 

You grinned, and Joel was quick to point out, “S’one-sided.” 

You snorted at that, and Ellie rolled her eyes, not believing him either. She tugged her sleeping back over her head.

You took a sip of the coffee, wincing slightly at the bitterness. You really would never get over the taste. Still, it kept you awake, so you couldn’t have asked for much more.

After a quiet breakfast and a short trek to check the perimeter, Joel returned to the cabin, fiddling with something behind his back. When he caught your eye, he paused awkwardly, clearly caught in the act.

Your brow quirked. “What’re you hiding, Miller?”

He grumbled, “Ain’t hiding anything. Sit down.”

You did as asked, and Joel stood in front of you, reaching into his jacket pocket. He held something in his hands, face unreadable.

“I know it’s not exactly Christmas yet,” he muttered. “But… I got you somethin’.”

He pulled his hand out, revealing his palm. Inside, a small bundle, wrapped in what looked like torn flannel and tied with a shoelace. Carefully, you unfolded the cloth and gasped.

It was a small fox, carefully carved out of wood.

“Foxes remind me of you – clever, quick-witted, protective. Playful.”

Your eyes softened as you carefully picked the tiny fox up, observing it. You’d seen Joel carving little things for a while – while you were meant to be asleep or on watch. He’d been practicing on scrape, but this is the first one that felt good enough to give.

“It looked like you, too, ’cept the ears were smaller.” 

You rolled your eyes, smile widening as you brought the fox, wrapped in your hands, to your heart, cherishing it. You looked back up at him, eyes wide and full. “Joel.” 

He shrugged, like it was nothing, but there was a flicker of nerves beneath his calm. “Y’like it?” 

You blinked against the sudden sting in your eyes. “I can’t believe you made this… for me.”

“Who else would it be for?” 

Your chest ached. Not in the way it used to––with grief and regret––but with something blooming. Something real. 

You clutched the fox in your hand and rose to your feet, wrapping your arms around Joel and pressing your forehead against his shoulder. His hand came up to your back without hesitation.

Behind you, Ellie groaned dramatically from her sleeping bag. “You guys are the worst.”

Joel snorted. “Can’t be worse than you, waking up this late.”

“Can’t wait till we get to Jackson and I can bunk with literally anyone else,” she grumbled, though a smile found itself on her face.

You matched it, grinning into Joel’s chest, feeling the way his laugh rumbled beneath your cheek. 

Tightening your hold on the fox, you came to the realization that whatever lay in Jackson––whatever about it that had your stomach grumbling––you’d survive, as a family.

.

.

.

taglist: @orcasoul @lizlil @littleshadow17 @joeldjarin @mrsyixingunicorn10 @luvwanda @escaping-reality8 @hoddystark @mmkkzz @victoriaholland @xodilfluvr @ilovetoomanymen @21tao @mystickittytaco @keileighr @buckyandlokirunmylife @deesparticus

[supernotnatural2005]

Clowning Around

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Summary: You’ve got a crush on Dean, your best friend’s brother. The catch, he's only in town for a few more days. However, all it takes is a haunted house, a punch to the face and a surprising confession to know where you stand.

Word Count: 1.7k

Warnings/tags: Fluff! Eventual pairing. I love everyone involved. Mentions of unintentional assault.

AN: Okay, so I hadn't expected to get something out so quickly, but I guess I was just inspired and this is what came of this wonderful mood board and challenge from @chevroletdean ❤️ I've never written from a mood board inspo before, so I hope I did okay? 😅 I also took a bit of inspo from New Girl S2 Ep6. (gif not mine)

Congrats on 500 friend 🎉

Masterlist

The evening air was crisp, swirling with the scent of kettle corn, hot cider, and woodsmoke from the fire pits set up around the Stanford fall carnival. You stood just outside the haunted house, the multicoloured lights of the fairgrounds casting a warm glow on your torn and bloodied zombie costume.

Fog machines hissed faintly behind you, and a dark sinister voice echoed from the entrance speakers, adding atmosphere for the next wave of thrill-seekers waiting to be terrified.

You should’ve been hyped. Halloween was your absolute favourite time of year. Spooky costumes, haunted houses, candy, cozy sweaters—this was your season. You’d even signed up to volunteer as an extra for the haunted house this year, practically bouncing when Jess suggested it. But tonight, the buzz just wasn’t there.

Because Dean hadn’t shown.

A week and a half ago, Sam had introduced you to his older brother at your local bar just off campus. You’d heard stories about Dean Winchester—grease monkey, classic rock enthusiast, had practically raised Sam after their parents had passed. You expected to like him on principle alone. You just hadn’t expected how much.

And man, you were crushing hard.

You’d hit it off immediately—easy banter, shared love for horror movies and greasy diner food, the way he actually listened when you talked about your thesis like it was interesting and not soul-draining. And his eyes—God, those green eyes—had this way of locking onto yours like he saw you. Really saw you. 

He’d been in town for two weeks, crashing with Sam and Jess, and since you’d been the honorary third wheel long before Dean arrived, it was only natural that the four of you had spent a lot of time together. 

However, nothing had happened. Nothing beyond harmless flirting or the occasional teasing glance. Sure, there were moments—his thigh brushing yours when he sat too close, fingers grazing as you passed each other a drink or walked side-by-side—but it never led anywhere. 

Dean was leaving in a few days anyway, heading back to Kansas, back to a life you weren’t part of. Maybe that was why he’d kept his distance. Or maybe it was your own insecurities whispering that he just didn’t see you that way.

Jess swore up and down that he was into you.

“He asked me if you were seeing anyone. Twice,” she’d said just this morning, practically bouncing on her toes as she dabbed fake blood onto your cheek. Jess had clocked the chemistry from the start, maybe even before you had.

A part of you couldn’t shake the feeling that this had been her plan all along. That she’d hoped something like this would spark before Dean even got to campus.

Sam, of course, seemed blissfully unaware—just happy to have his brother around again—but even you had started to get suspicious of the hushed whispers between him and Jess whenever you and Dean were in the same room.

Still, despite yourself, you’d smiled—nervous, giddy, full of hope.

Tonight was your chance to find out for sure. You’d invited him to the carnival, hoping he’d show up. Maybe even join the haunted house with you. Your plan was to finally bite the bullet and just ask him out. Long-distance? You could try it. 

There was just something about Dean that made you want to throw caution to the wind—to be bold, reckless, brave. He was different. Special.

And maybe it was crazy to think that way from only knowing someone for such a short period of time, but there was something electric about Dean—like he was carved out of your daydreams and dropped straight into your life.

But then Jess and Sam arrived without him. She had tried to keep the disappointment out of her voice when she said he had to drive out of town for something work-related.

You’d played it cool. Nodded. Smiled. Shoved the disappointment down into the pit of your stomach as you took your place in the haunted house, ready to scare the ever-loving hell out of strangers.

But, your heart wasn’t in it. You did your job—jumped out of coffins, hissed from behind tombstones, chased a couple of high schoolers with a plastic axe—but your enthusiasm had taken a hit.

And then, just as you were leaning against a gravestone prop, waiting for the next group, you heard a noise behind you.

“BOO!”

A clown—huge mask, frizzy hair, red nose, and all—lunged out of the shadows right into your face.

You yelped and reacted on instinct.

CRACK.

Your fist collided with the clown’s face with a satisfying thud, and he stumbled back with a sharp groan.

“Shit—”

You blinked, adrenaline still buzzing in your veins, as the stranger pulled the mask away from their face.

“Dean?!”

Dean stood there, eyes wide, one hand clutched over his nose, which was rapidly turning red and beginning to swell.

“Oh my God!” You rushed forward. “I am so, so sorry—oh God.” You cupped his face in your hands without thinking, scanning his features with guilt.

He winced, but his grin was lopsided and teasing. “That was one hell of a right hook.”

You groaned and grabbed his arm, tugging him toward the carnival grounds, guiding him to a picnic bench beneath some newly lit orange lanterns. People milled around you, kids in costumes darting between booths and couples sharing funnel cake, but your world had narrowed to the man nursing his nose beside you.

“Sit. Don’t move. I’ll be right back.”

You returned minutes later with a paper towel-turned-cloth from a nearby food stall and a small paper cup filled with ice. Dean took them both with a grateful grunt as you sat beside him.

“You really clocked me,” he said with a chuckle, pressing the ice to his face. “I’m gonna feel that tomorrow.”

“I feel it now,” you muttered, horrified. “I thought you weren’t coming.”

“That was kind of the point,” he said with a sheepish smile. “Wanted to surprise you.”

Jess and Sam passed by just then, and Sam burst out laughing the moment he saw Dean’s face.

“Oh this is everything?” Sam wheezed. The kid was turning purple almost as he clutched his stomach, and Jess was no better as she giggled beside him. 

“Yeah, hold this jokester.” Dean threw his mask at Sam who caught it on reflex and then recoiled instantly, dropping it to the ground when he saw what it was. 

The two of you burst out laughing, Sam’s bitch-face in full bloom. His phobia of clowns clearly not lost on the pair of you. 

“Jerk.”

“Bitch.” The brothers exchange before Jess looped her arm through Sam’s, tugging him back towards the line of stalls.

“Come, we’ll leave the zombie to nurse her victim, maybe even sample his flesh.” Jess shot you a sly wink despite your pointed look, before they wandered off, leaving the two of you alone once again.

Dean leaned back, ice still to his face, but he offered you a crooked smile. “So… Hi.”

You couldn’t help but huff a laugh and cover your face with your hands. “I can’t believe I punched you in the face.” You groaned.

He laughed, nudging you with his shoulder. “Yeah, but come on, at least it was memorable.” You laughed softly, and he smiled at the sound.

The moment stretched out, neither awkward or uncomfortable. The fading sun had cast the sky in a hue of deep oranges and purples and you found yourself admiring it before Dean spoke up again.

“I quit my job.”

You blinked. “Wait. What?”

He nodded, a wry smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Told my boss to shove it. I’m done busting my ass for sixty hours a week just to get talked down to by a guy who thinks a compliment might kill him.” He huffed humourlessly and shook his head.

“I mean, I've been dreaming about opening my own garage for years—figured it was about time I stopped dreaming and actually did something about it. So… why the hell not, right?”

Your eyes softened. He’d told you about this dream one night while the two lightweights had passed out on the couch, leaving you and Dean to keep the party going, which essentially consisted of eating your weight in multipacks of halloween candy and watching b-movie horror films. 

You remembered the way his eyes lit up as he talked about it. Of wanting to be his own boss, about the freedom, about building something for himself. You’d been more than encouraging, having to refrain yourself from sounding like every positive, uplifting bumper sticker ever.

“But it’s more than just the job,” he went on, voice quieter now. “Kansas hasn’t felt like home in a long time.”

Your heart twisted at that. You already knew from Sam about their parents—how much they'd lost, how empty that place must feel without them. A ghost town full of memories.

Without thinking, you reached for his hand, lacing your fingers through his and giving it a soft squeeze. He looked at you then—really looked. And for a moment, everything around you seemed to slow, like the world had paused to catch its breath.

“Now I’ve quit. There’s nothing keeping me there. But…” He trailed off, tongue darting out to wet his lips as his gaze flickered between your eyes. “There’s a lot pulling me here.”

Your heart skipped, like it had hit a bump in the road. Hope bloomed fast and fierce in your chest.

“I found a shop,” he said, voice a little quieter now. “Small place, not far from here. Needs some work, but it’s got good bones. I’m thinking of buying it.”

You stared at him, mouth parting. “You want to move here?”

“Yeah,” he said, almost shy. “And I was kinda hoping that… if I’m gonna be sticking around, that maybe I could take you out sometime? If you’d be interested?”

He barely got the words out before you leaned in and kissed him.

It was fast, impulsive. One full of pent-up nerves and relief, but when he let out a soft grunt and you jerked away.

“Oh crap—sorry!”

Dean winced, but the crooked smile spreading across his face was pure mischief. “No, no—it’s good. Totally worth it.”

You snorted, but your laugh dissolved as he hooked a finger into the neckline of your torn costume and tugged you gently toward him. This kiss was much slower—sweeter. His lips brushed over yours with such softness it made your breath catch, his hand warm against your cheek.

You melted into him, smiling against his mouth as the carnival lights flickered behind your closed eyes like the very fireworks exploding in your stomach.

Halloween had always been your favourite holiday, but now you have one more reason why.

AN: I hope you all liked this one, it was a lot of fun to write 💗, feedback is always welcomed 😘

If you would like to be tagged in my future works please respond to this >form< so I can add you to the character's you'd like 😊

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@tbgfvfdcb @crooked-haven @chevroletdean @paganvamp @stoneyggirl2

@deans-baby-momma @spnaquakindgdom @ladykitana90 @lyarr24 , @impala67rollingthroughtown

@jackles010378 @riteofpassage77 @spnaquakindgdom @shadysoulangel @my-stories-vault

@piptoost @star-yawnznn @deansimpalababy @megara0224 @hobby27

@idontwannabehere78 @maddie0101 @kr804573 @shadysoulangel @mrs-nesmith

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@rach5ive @ladysparkles78 @globetrotter28 @amberlthomas @illicithallways

[misshugs]

The elevator game || Colby Brock x Reader

[req by anon] You knew you were sensitive to the other side, but you didn't expect a silly little game from the internet to give you this much of an impact.

warnings: cursing, paranormal activity, reader getting (slightly) attacked by ghosts, sensitive/medium!reader, degrading, angst? still not sure what the meaning of it is tbh

a/n: this is my first request ever, i hope i didn't let you down dear anon. Concept based on this video

word count: 2.5k (not proofread)

[u n e d i t e d]

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"What's up guys, it's Sam and Colby!" Colby screamed towards the camera, as always.

"Today we are here at the Driskill Hotel, also known as the most haunted hotel here in Texas." Sam continues.

"We're here to figure out why this place is so haunted and what message the ghosts here wanna tell the people. And for this video guys, we have a very special someone!" Colby says, moving to the side so that you're visible to the camera.

Waving at it and smiling, you were greeted by Colby's hands wrapped around your shoulders. "Thank you, thank you. Hello, dear people. It is I." They laugh.

"How are you feeling about this? Are you excited?" Sam asks, putting the camera on the both of you.

"I am! The place is HUGE and honestly, just looks so good!"

"Right?? When we got in it was just like a burst of shock at how gorgeous this place is." Sam said and Colby nodded.

"If it weren't haunted I'd probably come here more often, but I can already feel all of these... energies walking around, I wouldn't last too long."

"Oh, right. For anybody that doesn't know, Y/n is actually a bit of medium?" Colby asks while looking at you, making you nod. "Yeah, so she's sensitive to like the energy of shadow figures and things like that, so maybe we'll get to experience something interesting tonight!"

"I'd say hopefully not but that wouldn't make it fun I guess." You laugh and so do they while you explain it is a pain in the ass to feel those things constantly. "It is almost as if you're constantly paranoid about someone looking at you, y'know what I mean?"

"Oh yeah, for sure." Colby noded.

"Yeah so that, but those stares are more physical than anything, there are times where I can feel people walking behind me and when I look back, there's no one."

"I can just imagine how creepy that must feel." Sam said and you chuckled.

"Oh yeah. You have no idea." You smiled.

"Well then, shall we begin the investigation?" Colby asked you, smiling. You quickly smiled back.

"Of course." You kissed him softly before Sam could even turn off the camera.

"Oh, gross man. I'll have to edit that out." He said jokingly and you laughed, rolling your eyes.

"But seriously though, let's keep it moving." You said and they agreed.

Walking around, there were a few pieces of lore they had to explain to you beforehand. About the one and only Driskill who created the hotel, about the little girl that broke her neck, so on and so forth.

There were times when you had this eerie feeling of constantly being followed, so you kept your arms interlocked with Colby's.

"You're doing okay so far?" He asked, cautiously caressing your hand. You nodded.

"Yeah, just feel like we're being followed." You replied, looking back where there was no one there.

"Really??" Sam asked, looking back as well but seeing nothing. "Do you think we caught a ghost's interest?"

"I mean, probably. There is a difference in between someone that's coming just for the hotel part and us, that are investigating and directly needing their intervention. We're making them curious."

"Well, for whatever spirit that might be following us, you're welcome to answer our questions later on tonight." Colby said loud enough for anything around to listen to it.

Honestly, even those small gestures made you so madly in love with him. The way he touches you softly just for you to make sure you're not alone and he's here for you is such a warming feeling.

Wilst looking around the current room, Colby walked up to a random closed door and tried to walk through.

"She said no closed doors!" Sam exclaimed, probably talking about the tour guide's rules of the place.

"Unless it's... unlocked." Colby responded, making Sam roll his eyes.

"Oop, it's Jim Hogg's room." You said, looking up.

"Who's that?" Sam asked.

"I dunno, it says its name on the top." You point up and they just laughed at the comment. I mean, what were they expecting? You had no idea about whatever story roams around these halls asides from the two main ones they've explained.

"Also I don't think you should be trying even more, like if it's hard to go in it's probably because you're not supposed to."

"We have a bad reputation of breaking into places." Sam admitted and you smiled.

"Yeah, I know. I remember that." You chuckle and hold Colby's hand to pull away from the door.

As they kept on chatting and making interesting comments here and there, you found the elevator and pointed it out. "Oh, is this the one?" Colby asked Sam and he just gave him a stare.

"This is the one what?" You ask and they look at eachother.

Sam sighed. "We were going to keep it until the time came, but we may have a little challenge for tonight that has to do with the elevator."

"Ooooh sounds fun. I wanna do it." You smile.

"You sure?? You have to be by yourself." Colby asked, worried but amused.

"Do you think I can't do this, Mr. Brock? That's offensive." You spat, crossing your hands around your chest.

"No! I meant-" He tried to explain, but you quickly interrupted.

"Cancelled, I tell you. Cancelled!" You look away with your eyes closed, trying not to laugh at the stupid situation unfolding.

"Great." You heard him sigh in defeat as Sam started laughing at the both of you. Looking back with a smile on your face, you hugged him.

"Alright, let's get going already." You giggled, gaining a kiss on the top of your head from your boyfriend.

Walking inside the elevator, it almost felt as if it quickly went down in an unnatural way.

"Did you guys feel like... the elevator dropping three inches?"

"Yeah, kinda of." Sam said.

"Three inches is a lot." Colby replied.

"Three inches is huge." Sam continued.

"I can vouch." You said.

"Mass..." Colby began talking but couldn't hold in the laugh after you said that.

Going back to the main lobby, you all reached out to a girl that was apparently the tourguide. She quickly explained the story of the place, how it ended up being the renouned hotel it came to be.

When she explained that the smell of cigar was one of the main ways Driskill manifested, your eyes went wide. "You're kidding."

"No, did you smell it before?" She asked.

"I did! But it was like, close to the entrance so I thought that maybe someone was smoking. I did find it rare because it was just a glimpse of it for like a solid second and then gone." You explained, making the girl smile.

"Well, that was him."

"No way." Colby said, smiling at you.

"Yup." She nodded, continuing to explain as you all started walking back to the elevator. Going inside, the door closed only to be opened again. "Oh?"

"Did we just pressed five and went to one? It's haunted!" Sam exclaimed.

"That was weird." Colby said, looking at the door.

"It was, that was so weird." The guide said, trying to close the door once again, only for it to open again.

"Does it do that often?" You asked and she shook her head.

"No! It doesn't." She walked back out and talked to someone from out side. "Are you fucking with us?"

"That's so strange- oh, I hit it." You whispered. The guide came back in.

"But you see it, right? I'm pressing five and it like start to go up but then it stops." The door closes once again, only for them to open.

"Oh my god." Sam said, whispering.

"And we're doing a challenge here?" You asked confused, making them laugh.

"Not here exactly." Colby smiled.

"Lemme- I'll go out." You said, walking out of the elevator, watching as the doors began to close, only for them to open once again. "Oh no, that's- that's a malfunction alright."

"And you said it, these malfuction all the time." Colby said to the guide as they walked out of the elevator.

When Sam did it by himself, it started working all over again.

"What the fuck??" Colby yelled.

"Are we like fat? Is it fat shaming us?" You whined, making everyone laugh.

And so, even though your night barely started, you were already having some activity to say the least.

And it kept being that way all night. Constant responses from spirits, intelligent ones at that. The little girl, the woman from the vortex room... all the way down to the challenge you've been anticipating the whole night round.

The elevator challenge.

"I think it might be just me but every single time we pass through this side of the hotel I feel like actually throwing up."

"Wait, really?" Colby asked, worried.

"Like an eerie feeling more than anything, almost like I'm kinda feeling a bit dizzy whenever we pass through here."

"Are you sure you want to do this? You can still back out, or I could go in with you." Colby tried to make you change your mind, but you were settled in it.

"No, I have to do it alone. What if it doesn't work because we're together? You're not gonna let me do this right?"

"I do! I'm just worried." Colby admitted, making you smile.

"You cutie. I love you so much." You said, smiling at him and cupping his face before giving him a quick peck on the lips.

"Y'all are gonna make me puke, another part I'm gonna have to cut out." Sam joked, making you giggle.

"Alright, alright. So, how does this work?" You ask, hugging yourself as you wait for instructions.

It was a simple game. Supposedly, you had to hit the buttons of the elevator in a specific order. In the last one, you had to invite in a lady. If the ritual worked, you were supposed to start going up into another world. If it didn't, well, nothing happened and it failed.

"So... I'm about to get isekai'd? We're going to an anime, brothers." You laughed at your own joke while they handed you your camera.

"I send you the order, just in case." Sam continued, and you nodded.

"Thank you, 'cause I already forgot." You turned on your phone as well as the camera and walked in.

"Any last words?" Colby asked cheekishly, making you smile.

"See you in the other side." You answered, before the door closed. You sighed, putting the camera up to your face. "Alright, so... I'm supposed to hit this one first." Switching the camera back to the buttons, you hit the number four.

It began moving. "Oh, good. It would've been a mess if it already fucked up. Alright..." You sighed. "I didn't told them this, but I do find the thought of getting stuck in an elevator horrifying. I just agreed because maybe it might help me out, but it doesn't work the fact that I can feel so many spirits around this area specifically every time we walk past it." You explain before getting on the next floor, touching the next button.

Back down on the lobby, Sam and Colby were talking.

"I didn't want her to do it, honestly. I was gonna do it myself." Sam said.

"Right? She's our guest too, what if something happens to her? That would be the death of me."

"Don't jinx it, brother. She'll be alright."

Boy they were wrong.

Halfway through, your vision started to get blurry, your legs were shaky and you couldn't brush off the feeling of pressure on your chest. It was starting to make you nervous, even more so the fact you were alone.

You started thinking to yourself. What if something really did happen? What if you summon something your body couldn't handle? What if it really did send you to another world?

It happened so quickly, that you have already reached the last floor before you knew it. Gulping down your dry throat, you began to speak. "Alright, if there's something... out... oh fuck." Your vision got blurry and you could feel an inmense ammout of power flushing through the elevator doors even before it opened up.

You couldn't hold it together, it was too much for you to handle as you were suspecting before. Although you tried to stay up, your legs couldn't hold your weight up anymore and you passed out, falling down to the floor, hitting your head strongly onto the hard floor of the elevator.

Luckily, the ritual didn't work. It began going down and the guys, mainly Colby, were anxiously waiting for the doors to open. When they did, their faces fell.

Colby screamed out your name, quickly rushing in and holding your head. "Love?? Sweetheart, what happened? Wake up, please. Oh God." He began shaking, carrying you outside of the elevator so that it was slightly more comfortable.

"What happened? Oh my fucking God." Sam whispered, grabbing your camera from the elevator's floor and walking out.

"She's not responding, Sam." Colby nervously said, making sure you were at least still alive.

You were.

"Should I call an ambulance or something?" Sam asked. "Oh, no. I have the keys with me."

"Let's take her to the hospital, quickly." He lifted you up from the floor and hurriedly got out of the building and to the hospital.

You were alright, luckily. It seemes you have just fainted, but you falling down to the floor and hitting your head so hard made it a bit more complicated than what it had to be.

Colby felt bad, horrible even to think that this could've happened to you.

He should've been more careful, he should've known you were too sensitive to all of these energies so that you would go alone and out to make something so nerve racking. He should've been more insisting, rather than going with the flow merely because of a video.

He let his love have that type of experience because of a mere video.

It devastared him. Made him feel absolutely awful about it. While waiting for you to wake up, he kept on downgrading himself thinking about how he's the worst possible boyfriend.

It all stops when you finally wake up. Looking around the white room, confused.

"What happened?"

"It looks like you fainted... I'm so sorry for letting you do that all by yourself, I should've stopped you, I should've at least gone with you, I'm so sorry that you had to go through that because-"

"Love. Love!" You held his cheeks softly, making him quietly stop ranting, you smiled. "You know I wanted to do it, I was the stupid one for forgetting that big energy rafts can affect me a lot, I'm so sorry baby." You kissed his nose, reassuring him everything was alright.

And honestly, he needed to hear it. From you, specifically. Sam was trying to make him calm down but it didn't really work. It had to be you, your voice, your smile.

The one thing that made him whole all over again.

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I MAY HAVE DONE TOO MUCH FILLER FOR NO GODDAMN REASON- also hoping that dear anon liked it-

thank you for reading, loves~! likes, comments and reblogs are appreciated <3

~nikkõ