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preciousbarnes · 11 months

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Here When I Wake

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count: 2.3k

Tags: Winter Soldier-ish!Bucky, Memory Loss, mentions of violence, comfort, fluff, Sam being a good friend

There’s a gentle breeze flowing into your small Brooklyn apartment from the open windows. The sun is setting in the west, illuminating the sky in shades of pinks and purples. The fading sunlight matches the dim vibe within the apartment, only illuminated by a couple lamps and some candles placed strategically on shelves, where Alpine couldn’t knock them down.

The light sound of an old jazz record from Bucky’s collection plays softly as you sway in the living room to the melodic tunes. It’s a peaceful evening; just you and Alpine together in the kitchen, as she always loved keeping you company when you were cooking.

You lose yourself in the repetition of cooking your favorite dish, before being interrupted by the sound of your cellphone ringing and vibrating on the kitchen counter. You pick up your phone and are surprised to see who is calling, Bucky’s partner, Sam.

“Sam?” You ask, confusion clear in your voice upon greeting him.

“Hey, listen, where are you?” Sam inquires urgently over the phone, out of breath and sounding uncharacteristically nervous.

“Um, home? In Buck and I’s apartment? Why?” You question, becoming more confused as you also feel concern creeping up on you. Why was Sam calling? He never called you.

“Something happened on the mission. Bucky experienced a head injury, and was triggered somehow. He’s not himself right now. We lost track of him outside of Manhattan. Stay where you are. I’m on my way to you now. We’re hoping maybe you can help us.” He explains quickly. You hear the sound of a car roaring to life before the line quickly drops off.

Your phone falls from you hand, hitting the floor. He wasn’t himself, which could only mean one thing. He wasn’t him. The winter soldier was back, and there’s no telling what he’s after, or what danger he’s getting himself into. You make quick work of finishing the dinner dish you had planned to share with Bucky, moving it to a storage container to save since having lost your appetite. There was no way you could eat right now when your stomach is a ball of nerves.

You’re washing up the dishes as a welcomed distraction when you suddenly get the feeling of eyes on you. It makes the hair on the back of your neck stand up, and your hands slightly tremble. Bucky always warned you about closing those damn windows that led to the fire escape.

You gently place the pan you were scrubbing back into the water, opting to grab the large kitchen knife out of the water before taking a deep breath and abruptly turning around.

You gasp, surprised at who is here. It’s Bucky, sitting in the shadows of your apartment, having blown out the candles and now his figure was barely lit by the one lamp on the stand next to your loveseat he was sat on. His eyes appraise you, glancing at the knife held tightly in your hand.

“You’re my mission” he says, his voice with a slight Russian accent you are not used to.

“Bucky? What’s going on?” You ask him, hesitantly after hearing him utter the word ‘mission’.

Bucky cocks his head to the side, his eyes taking in how you’ve relaxed since seeing him.

“Who is Bucky?” His voice huskily asks.

You swallow dryly, unsure of what to say or how to proceed. You set the knife back down into the dish water, grabbing a dish towel to dry your damp hands. His eyes never leave you, watching your every move. You don’t feel in danger of the man, knowing that if he wanted you dead in this state he could have killed you without you seeing it coming.

You turn back and slowly approach Bucky, before asking to sit next to him. He looks confused at your request.

“I’m an asset, why are you asking me?” He asks you, voice soft but showing his confusion.

“Here you always have choices. You can say no. Your comfort matters.” You explain to him, swallowing down emotions as you think of the times Bucky was tortured and treated horribly, given no choices or options.

He looks skeptical, but nods regardless, motioning for you to sit down with him. You sit down next to him gently, leaving a comfortable space between you both. As you take in his tense form, you notice blood on his dark pants, saturating one leg fully. You let out a gasp, reaching for him.

“What happened to your leg?” You ask quickly, moving to assess an injury before Bucky moves to the side out of your reach.

“Not my blood,” he explains, voice taking on a dark tone.

You look at his stony expression and dark eyes, nervous to ask but knowing you need to.

“Whose blood, then?” You ask softly, nerves tilting your voice.

“The targets. They were coming here for you. Had to stop them. They have been eliminated.” He explains, voice steely and darkened.

“You said I’m your mission. What do you mean?” You ask softly.

“Must protect you at all costs,” he explains, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“Why?” you probe, trying to understand.

“I don’t know. All I remember is fighting, getting a bad hit to the head, and then these men mentioned this address and your name. I knew I had to get here. I had to keep you safe.” Bucky tells you, openly.

You give Bucky a small smile, getting ready to thank him, before Bucky is jumping to his feet and grabbing your hands to pull you into a standing position. He begins to shove you down the hall quickly and into your shared bedroom.

“Huh? Bucky? What’s going on?” Questions fall from your lips as you don’t understand his sudden and urgent movements.

“Someone’s coming, you must hide,” he explains in a hushed voice, as he motions for you to get into your closet so he can shut you in to hide you.

You hear the front door open, and Sam’s voice echoing through the apartment, calling your name. Bucky grabs a knife from his holder and begins stalking his way towards his next target before you quickly grab his arm, trying to pull him back.

“Sam, it’s okay!” You call out, earning a betrayed look from bucky.

“Bucky, Sam is a good guy. On your side. He’s not a threat. He’s a friendly,” you explain softly, hoping he will trust you.

“Sometimes bad people appear good, маленький кролик” he tells you, unsure of Sam and still trying to gently push you back into the closet.

You reach out and grab Bucky’s hand, and reach up with your other hand to gently rest your hand on his jaw. He’s clearly taken by surprise, his eyes wide as they look to your face and then down to the hand gently holding his metal one. It confuses him. No one has ever in his memory regarded him with such softness, and had never volunteered to touch the weapon that is his metal arm.

“I would never lie to you, I promise Sam means no harm. I trust him with my life, and I trust him with yours almost every month when you guys are out on missions together,” your voice is gentle and honest as you hope Bucky will listen and trust you.

As he continues to look at you with an unreadable expression, the door to the bedroom slowly opens, revealing a surprised looking Sam.

Sam slowly steps into the room, holding his hands up to show Bucky he isn’t armed. Bucky quickly turns from you, hiding you effectively behind his back and broad shoulders, shielding you from any potential danger his mind thinks Sam may pose.

“Hey, man. What’s going on?” Sam asks, voice low but calm despite his worried expression as his eyes flicker to yours peeking around Bucky’s expansive frame.

“You were fighting by my side,” Bucky recalls out loud.

“Yes, yes I was. We’re on the same team.” Sam explains, lowering his outstretched hands to rest at his side.

“I’m missing time. I know I am. There are pictures here. Me and her, but I don’t remember. I knew I needed to keep her safe, but I don’t know why. Is it an order?” Bucky asks, sounding confused as his hand not holding the knife reaches up to rub his forehead.

“Is your head hurting?” You softly ask him, reaching up to rub his shoulder gently. Bucky welcomes the touch, surprising himself. He nods in answer to your question, despite himself.

“No, man. You don’t take orders anymore, you make them. We aren’t with hydra. We got you away. You were pardoned for the crimes those people forced you to commit. You help people now. You keep people safe..” Sam explains to Bucky.

“Okay, if all that’s true, it still doesn’t explain her?” Bucky says, moving away from his position of shielding you, instead turning so the three of you can look to each other.

“We’re together, Buck. We have been for a couple years now. We live here in this apartment, together, freely. You’re safe here. You’re safe with us. You’re safe with me,” you tell him, eyes wide as you look to him, longing to pull him into your arms and take away his confusion.

“Why am I missing time? All I remember is hydra. Working for them. The machines they used on me. I don’t remember any of this that you tell me. I remember my head hurting, and fighting next to you, and then knowing I had to get here and protect her.” Bucky questions, eyebrows furrowed and body still tense.

“This has happened in the past before, before you met her. We thought it was a one time thing. We’re now guessing if you take a hit to the head just right, right spot and right force, and this happens. It’ll work itself out after a good nights sleep while you heal. We already have some great scientists who want to help you working on a way to prevent this from happening again, so you don’t keep going through this,” Sam says to you both.

Bucky takes in what Sam said, nodding to himself and looking to you.

“Okay. I don’t know why, but I trust you both. I just need to sleep this off basically?” Bucky questions.

You and Sam both nod.

“Yeah, man. Just sleep it off. I’m going to stay here on the couch in the living room, just in case you need something.” Sam states, looking to you for your approval. You nod your head, reaching to your bed to grab an extra pillow and a blanket for him. Handing these to him, Sam nods in thanks and excuses himself to the living room.

“Well, let’s get you cleaned up” you find yourself saying. Moving to the closet and grabbing out Bucky’s most comfy pair of sweats and a soft t-shirt for him. You grab him a pair of boxers from the dresser quickly and turn back to lead him to the bathroom connected to your bedroom. He silently follows you. During this interaction you notice how purposefully loud in movement Bucky must normally be around you, as the dissociated soldier with you moves with a natural silence to a point it’s almost eerie. But, you think to yourself, that is a necessary part of the job he was tasked with for decades.

You wait in the bedroom after showing Bucky the bathroom and where the towels were. You find yourself lost in thought, once again hating what Bucky has gone through, and how a hit to the head sent him right back, at least partly. Bucky here wasn’t fully the winter soldier, but he wasn’t your Bucky either. Instead he was an odd mixture of the two.

After some minute pass, the bathroom door opens to reveal Bucky, looking cozy as ever in the large sweatpants and stretched out t-shirt you had given him. Even in such basic clothing, he still takes your breath away.

“Where do I sleep?” His husky voice softly questions.

“Here in the bed, I’ll sleep in the guest room sweetheart,” the endearment slips past your lips before you can stop it, making you look away and feel blood rising to your neck and cheeks in embarrassment.

“Please, don’t be embarrassed, маленький кролик. It’s nice, someone being kind to me. And you can sleep, with me, if you’d like. I understand that’s what we normally do, I don’t want you uncomfortable,” Bucky says, voice soft and beginning to become sleepy.

“Okay, if you’re sure that’s alright?” You ask, as you take off your oversized sweater to just leave yourself in your sleep shorts and one of Bucky’s baggy t-shirts.

“It’s fine doll,” a soft smile takes over his features as he walks closer to the bed.

You flip the covers over, climbing in and patting the empty side next to you, motioning for him to join you.

He walks over and sits on the bed next to you, pulling the covers over you both as you reach over and turn the bedside lamp off, leaving you both to get settled in the darkness. A few moments pass in silence as you both get comfortable under the covers

“Can I ask something?” He asks.

“Yeah, Buck?” You ask, turning to him. His features are lit by the moonlight pouring in through the windows.

“Will you be here? When I wake up? Normally when I go to sleep, I lose everything,” he asks you, your heart breaking at the uncertainty on his face.

You reach over and gently stroke his jaw, moving closer to rest your head on his shoulder.

“Of course. I’ll always be here, Buck.” You convey to him with absolute certainty in your voice, calming his fears.

As you find yourself drifting off to sleep, you feel a soft kiss pressed to your forehead.

“Thank you, маленький кролик”

Translations: маленький кролик - little bunny

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fic #bucky x you #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky x female reader #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky fic #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes fluff #fanfiction #the falcon and the winter soldier fanfiction #marvel fanfiction #winter soldier fanfiction #the winter solider x reader #the winter soldier #the winter soldier x you

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simmervlogs · 25 days

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Hello Simmers, open the doors to a Brownstone home for your sims in San Myshuno.

The ultimate Brooklyn brownstone dream comes to life in this gut-renovated two townhomes nestled on one of the prettiest tree-lined streets in the heart of San Myshuno. With a stunning owner's triplex and separate outdoor-level apartment, Greenwich Avenue townhomes represents an incredible opportunity as a primary residence, or a live-and-rent investment property.

The parlor floor is a grand entrance living room, and kitchen with original restored banisters and a gas fireplace complete with oak chevron flooring. The kitchen boasts an eat-in island, Calcutta Ultra Gold quartz countertop, and Bertazonni appliance package. Through the entrance, the outdoor patio and pool await you with the waterfront views.

The second floor includes a spacious dinning and bar which opens to the second level balcony with a outdoor kitchen for living space. Just down the hallway awaits an office bathed in natural sunlight, offering a bright and inviting workspace.

Upstairs in the owner's triplex is a king-size primary bedroom with an luxurious bathroom that features a deep soaking tub and walk-in showers. This level also includes a separate space for the wardrobes and extra space for storage.

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Laundry Day required for Washing machine, dryers and hampers to function.

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Note: Some of the cc could not be shared- please download below separately

Kichen 2.0 by House of Harlix

INSTRUCTIONS

Please directly move all the files in CC zip folder to your Mods folder.

Please move Tray files (Tray files folder) to your Tray folder (enable bb.moveobjects on).

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Note- I have placed this down in San Myshuno 30X30

Thank you once again to all CC creators!

DOWNLOAD (Patreon)

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moonknightly · 2 years

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so scarlet, it was

marc spector x reader, mentions of steven grant x reader and jake lockley x reader

word count: 2.8k

warnings: smut smut smut, p in v sex, dirty talk, light choking, light degradation, light exhibitionism.

You’ll be the first to admit it — Christmas Eve in New York really does hold a special kind of magic. It’s cliche, it’s something that the protagonist in every Hallmark Christmas movie to ever exist has to say at least once but it’s true. The city in December makes you feel like a kid again in the middle of bustling concrete and 9 to 5 routines.

The frigid air, the twinkling lights hanging from every building and the festive decorations lining the sidewalk in front of your favorite shops and cafes. The music, the smell of fresh baked cookies or cinnamon rolls or hot cocoa at midnight because you have to have something sweet before bed.

The snow. It’s Christmas Eve and it’s snowing and you’re standing in your kitchen with your warmest slippers and your boyfriend’s hoodie covering your body and it’s perfect. You’ve just pulled your cookies out of the oven and didn’t even flinch when you burned your tongue on a melted chocolate chip. The radio is turned down low but you can still clearly hear your favorite Christmas songs move through the speakers. Your apartment is warm, the pot you’d used to make a homemade soup still soaking in the sink. You can hear Marc moving behind you, the sound of glass clinking but you don’t turn to see what he’s up to — you can tell he’s grabbed a couple of wine glasses and you make a bet with yourself on which red he’s going to choose.

And your guess is right. Marc picks a sweet red wine that he can only find in the midwest. It reminds him of Chicago, of his childhood but it doesn't bring the same wave of nausea as slamming doors and leather belts.

He’d stolen a bottle from his parents the day he turned 18. His plan had been to drink it by himself whenever he found a cheap motel room or an overpass for the night but he’d never popped the screw top. He’d held onto it for years, moved it from storage unit to storage unit until he found himself living in a fifth floor walk up in Brooklyn and met a girl and finally had a reason to drink it. You never lived with him in that apartment, but you were always over, always waking up in his bed or on his floor and he bites back a smile because the only reason you were on the floor in the first place was because of this stupid wine.

Now, you share an apartment on the Upper East Side and you’re still the only person he’ll drink it with. And for some reason, each time he shares a bottle with you, it makes him hate Chicago a little bit less.

You take the wine when he offers it to you, clinking your glass with his in a silent toast, neither of you noticing the small drop that slips out of his glass and lands on your hoodie, neither of you caring when it stains the material a deep burgundy that you won’t even attempt to get out once you finally wash the damn thing.

Marc watches you over the rim of his glass as he takes a sip, devastatingly beautiful brown eyes locked on yours. They’re sparkling in the low kitchen light, the home you had made for yourselves fading out until the only thing that remains is him him him. The smell of your cleaning supplies is replaced with his aftershave and you can’t hear the music anymore when you focus on the sound of his breathing and somehow, the scene is even more perfect than before.

He smiles a little bit and his eyes crinkle in the corners. You just watch him as you lower your glass, watch as he tilts his head towards the window in your kitchen and his smile slowly turns into a devious smirk.

“Get some real shoes on.”

He doesn’t need to ask twice. You rush to the entryway and trade your slippers for your socks and boots, and you steal a pair of Steven’s sweatpants off the dryer. You don’t worry about a heavy jacket or gloves or a scarf, but you do grab a hat to keep your ears warm. The blanket that Marc grabs will suffice in making sure you don’t freeze, and while you don’t appreciate his body heat on a warm summer night you’re more than grateful for it as you step out onto the chilly fire escape.

You set your wine and cookies down while Marc clears away some snow and puts the first blanket down, the material waterproof and thick so you won’t get wet. He gets himself situated first, then motions for you to sit between his legs with your back pressed to his chest. He takes the other blanket and wraps it securely around your bodies, trapping the warmth in underneath.

“You know this might work better if we were naked,” he teases, the smirk evident in his tone as you reach behind you to lightly smack his cheek. He only laughs. “What!? I’m serious. It’s like, a scientific fact or some shit that sharing body heat is more effective when you don’t have clothes on.”

“I’m sure our neighbors would love getting to watch me strip on our fire escape.”

“Exactly,” Mark deadpans, his lips tickling the back of your ear, causing blood to rush to your cheeks, the sensation more of a burn than just a generic heat. “Who wouldn’t enjoy that?”

You roll your eyes and ignore him, and he chuckles even though he can’t see your face — he just knows you well enough to know you’re probably feigning exasperation or annoyance. And even though he doesn’t encourage it any further, he still pushes your, his hoodie up your stomach a few inches so he can rest his palm against your skin. It feels nice, warm and safe and familiar and your lips twitch into a small smile again.

The silence is comfortable, it always is. You can sit with Marc or Steven or even Jake for hours and never say a word and it never gets weird, never gets old. Your boys are your home and you live for moments like this where you’re able to just exist alongside one of them. These quiet moments make the chaos worth it, though you’d always find them worth it regardless.

You eat your cookies and sip on your wine together as you watch the snow turn your surroundings white. You think about how you’ll wake up in the morning to pancakes and cocoa and soft kisses, and how no matter who is fronting they’ll most definitely coax you back into bed for a few hours before you finally get up and sit around your Christmas tree. You’ll open presents together for the third year in a row, growing more and more comfortable with the way the boys spoil you on Christmas with each passing year.

You think about how you’ve created your own little family for yourself, and how you can’t wait for the next Christmas, and for the one after that, and for the first one you’ll celebrate where you share Marc’s last name.

You’re so lost in your own little daydream, it takes you a moment to realize that Marc’s fingers are trailing further and further down your stomach, hovering right over the waistband of Steven’s sweats. His touch burns, it always does in such an inviting way and it makes you squirm and shiver against his body. His warm breath is still tickling your skin.

Marc continues to stay quiet as he pushes his hand into your panties, his movements almost rushed, like he’ll implode if he doesn’t touch you immediately. He lowers his head, allows himself to bury his face into your neck so he can kiss and lick and bite at your skin while his fingers trace light circles against your clit.

You don’t make a sound, you don’t even moan. You don’t make a show of it or cry out for more. You just relax against his chest and let him work your body as he pleases. You let him do exactly what he wants how he wants.

You turn your head just enough to press your nose into his hair and inhale softly, his smell intoxicating and enticing and oh so Marc. It only adds to the pleasure rolling through your veins because it’s just so entirely him, your man.

“That feel good?” he purrs, keeping his pace the same, the pressure behind his touch the same.

You nod breathlessly and finally let a moan slip past your lips. Marc purrs again and you can feel his cock growing beneath his sweats when he rolls his hips once, twice. He’s growing needier and needier but he still doesn’t switch up the way he’s working your body, still doesn’t do anything to give himself any sort of stimulation.

You’re the one to pull away from his pleasure and turn in his lap, the first one to break and need more more more.

Marc’s hands move with you until they settle on your ass, holding you up, holding you to him. He lets his own moan slip into your mouth as his lips find yours and he immediately feels intoxicated, drunk off your kiss — another cliche but another one that proves to be true time and time again. He always feels this way when he’s kissing you.

His lips trail from yours down your jaw and to your neck. He bites gently, letting his tongue soothe your hot skin before he pulls your hoodie to the side and bites harder, a red mark that will surely bruise against your collarbone.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers against you after he pulls away, one of his hands moving to brush your hair out of your face, cup your cheek, thumb brushing along your skin.

“Says you,” you mumble, leaning into his touch, craving more. “With those stupid brown eyes.”

Marc snorts. He rolls his eyes and kisses you again before you can say anything else. He kisses you and kisses you and kisses you and you let your hands wander down between your bodies, down until you can easily palm his cock beneath his sweats. He moans again, and he has to break the kiss so he can try to catch his breath but pulling enough air into his lungs proves harder than it might seem. He’s so overwhelmed already and you haven’t even touched him, not really. Not skin on skin.

“I thought you didn’t want to give the neighbors a show,” he grunts, eyes fluttering shut when you slip your hand into his boxers and wrap your fingers around his length.

You start off slow. You want to drag it out, want to make him desperate to be inside of you and it doesn’t take long, it’s not hard at all. He’s always desperate for you, always eager to have you any way that you’ll let him.

“Don’t drop the blanket,” you hum simply, shrugging your shoulders.

You keep stroking him, keep watching him, keep waiting to hear him beg but he’s holding his composure. He wants you to be the one to break first again.

And you do. Somehow you always do.

You pull his dick out of his sweats and push down your own, letting them tangle in the blanket — you’d worry about how you were going to get them back on later.

“Put me in baby,” Marc mumbles, voice almost lazy, eyes only half-slits as he watches your face.

He’s already so far gone as he focuses on the way your jaw drops when you take the first inch, and how your eyes slowly close then squeeze tightly shut when you take the second and third. Your nails dig into his shoulders when you take the fourth and fifth, and your grip only tightens as you take the rest of him until you’re fully seated on his cock. The wind is knocked out of him when you don’t give yourself or him a chance to adjust.

You roll your hips a few times before raising them, hovering over him for a second or two before you slip back down onto his length, over and over again. You throw your head back and moan once you find a rhythm that works for you both, not having to try very hard to do so because you’ve been with Marc so many times, you know his body and what he likes almost as much as you know yourself.

“Look at you,” Marc hums, a moan catching in his throat to accompany yours. “Fucking this cock like a trained fucking whore, huh? Like you were fucking made to stretch yourself out on it, to just fucking take it.”

His words only encourage you, only make you work harder so you might hear more. You’ll take his words, his moans and groans, anything. You just need more.

“Keep going.”

“Yeah?” He slides his hands up and down your sides, wishing he could watch your tits bounce in his face but he doesn’t have the patience to try and work your hoodie off under the blanket. “You like how it feels inside of you, don’t you? So thick and hard, yeah baby? And you do that to me. You fucking get me like this, so fucking wrecked for you.”

Marc isn’t even one hundred percent sure of what he’s saying anymore. He’s just going on and on, spewing filth left and right but if you didn’t know any better you would say he rehearsed it. It was just too fucking good.

“Fuck I can’t wait to keep you in bed tomorrow.” He reaches up, lets his hand close around your neck, his eyes locked on your face even when your own are still screwed shut. “And you’ll let me, won’t you? That’s all I want for Christmas, yeah. Fuck I want to keep you in bed and fuck you into the mattress until you can’t remember your name. I want to throw you over the edge of the mattress and shove my cock everywhere you’ll let me.”

The images that start floating through your head make your pussy clench — you on your back with Marc’s cock down your throat, you with your ass up in the air while he works your tight little hole enough to take him. You want him in your mouth, your ass, your pussy, everywhere. Gods, he’s unreal.

“Yeah, you like that baby?” he chuckles, the sound dissolving into a moan when you clench around him again. His hands fly back to your hips and he grips them tightly between his fingers. You’re fucking yourself harder, faster, chasing your own high while trying to push him into his. Again, like everything between the two of you, it’s not hard.

Marc keeps mumbling absolute filth to you but soon enough you can’t understand a word he’s saying — it’s so jumbled, so broken apart with moans and whimpers and it’s all you need to fall over the edge. You cum hard, squeezing Marc’s cock tightly, and his orgasm is enough to keep you floating when you feel him spill himself inside of you, hear him moan your name over and over again like a sacred prayer.

Coming down is the hard part. Marc doesn’t want to let you. Even when his dick is so fucking sensitive that feeling you squirm on top of him fucking hurts, he doesn’t want to let you. He’s thrusting up into your cunt, rubbing your clit, keeping you suspended in midair until it really is too much and he has to stop, face twisted in pain that is so worth it.

“There we fucking go,” he coos while he watches you float back to earth. He holds you tightly, lets you collapse against his chest and once again, he pulls the blanket tight to keep the cold air out. “That’s it baby, there we go.”

You hardly hear him. The drumming in your ears is so loud. You think maybe you black out because next thing you know you’re back inside, laying on the couch in front of the Christmas tree you and Steven decorated before Thanksgiving was even over, wrapped in Marc’s arms with a second glass of wine in your hand.

The maroon liquid sloshes in your glass as you sip on it and allow the alcohol to warm your cheeks, that holiday magic still so papabile and you silently ask yourself if it’s just the “Christmas in New York” air or if it’s coming from the man you love.

#marc spector #marc spector x reader #steven grant #steven grant x reader #jake lockley #jake lockley x reader #moon knight

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gayforrosadiaz · 1 year

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Long Day (Rosa Diaz)

Summary: After a long day, both you and Rosa come home to relax and unwind.

Rosa Diaz x Fem!Peralta!Reader

Warnings: None, just a very little makeout scene.

----

"When do you clock out?" Asked Rosa, walking over to your desk. You were working on the case file of a drug bust, and couldn't wait to go home. It had been a really long day, to be honest.

"Right after I submit this case file to Holt," you replied, leaning back against your chair and heaving a deep sigh. "It's just not getting over."

"Power through, babe," she said, giving your shoulder a gentle squeeze. "You've got this."

"When do you clock out, hm? I better not hear I'll be eating dinner alone tonight," you chuckled, looking up at her.

"I'm almost done," replied Rosa with a small, soft laugh. "Mine's a B&E, so it'll be easier with the file."

"God, there is so much crime in Brooklyn," you scoffed, hunching back over your computer. "When it comes to paperwork, I regret becoming a detective."

"If it makes you feel any better, we can order pizza from your favourite place after work," replied the woman.

You laughed and nodded, "You got me there, Diaz. Go on and finish your work, I'll wait outside when I'm done before you."

"Is that a challenge?" Asked Rosa, standing in front of you with her arms crossed and an eyebrow raised.

You shrugged, "Maybe."

"Oh, it is on, Peralta," she gasped in mock-offence and walked back to her desk.

Sure enough, Rosa finished before you and was waiting outside, leaning on her motorcycle. You shouldered your bag securely and sat on the bike, rolling your eyes at her victorious smirk.

"Not. A. Word," you said in her ear as she climbed on. You wrapped your arms around her waist, leaning your chin on her shoulder. "And if you drive like a crazy woman I will shoot you in the face. No hesitation. I have the jurisdiction and a gun."

"Oh, I'm terrified," she said monotonously, but you noted her small smile in the rearview mirror.

"You should be," you replied, tightening your hold when she revved the motorcycle and shot off towards your house.

You both reached in a matter of five minutes, and your legs still felt wobbly as you reached the apartment elevator.

"Rosa Diaz..." you panted, holding on to the railing for dear life. "I am going to shoot you in the face, I swear to god."

"Come on, I was going slow!" She laughed, nudging your shoulder with hers as you pressed the floor you stayed on.

"In my book, 35 miles an hour is far from slow," you grumbled.

Rosa pressed a soft kiss to your head and said, "Sorry about that, babe. I'll go slower next time."

"God, my brother would give up his internal organs to see this interaction," you laughed, walking out of the elevator as the doors dinged and opened. You unlocked the door of your small apartment and let her in, following as you hung up your coat and put your bag in the storage closet. Unlike your pack rat brother, you did enjoy a certain amount of neatness in your home, however small it was.

"Your brother's a dumbass," said Rosa, following your actions.

You groaned and planted yourself on the couch, scrolling through the phone for your favourite pizza place to order.

Rosa sat next to you, placing her arm across the backrest of the couch, which invited you to lay your head in her lap and order the food while she watched something on T.V.

"Today was a long-ass day," you admitted, ordering your usual pepperoni, and a simple margherita for Rosa. "I cannot believe a drug bust for like, three teenagers with some weed was so much goddamn work."

"I hate kids," said your girlfriend, moving her arm from the backrest onto your stomach. "They're miserable little things."

"Teens are worse," you scoffed. "The dude who looked like a scrawnier version of Harry Potter had the audacity to call me fugly. Like, hello, your face looks like you painted the skin on, what the hell?"

Rosa snorted, "God, what an ass."

"Exactly. I have no problem with babies," you replied. "But only if they belong to someone else. I just want to cuddle the thing. Do not make me clean up its shit and all that." You placed your phone away and looked up at her, scowling.

"Damn, ease up on the frown," your girlfriend said, her eyes going wide as she looked down.

"Give me attention, please." You pleaded, sitting up and lying down with your head against the headrest. "I am absolutely touch-starved."

"It is impossible to make that statement sound not-dirty," chuckled Rosa, switching off the T.V. and looking at you.

You rolled your eyes, "Take it however the hell you want, but I am touch-starved because you refuse to makeout with me at work."

"Have you forgotten that when Jake and Amy made out at work they literally killed a man?" Your girlfriend replied, looking at you.

"That's because he had a weak heart," you scoffed. "If Holt caught us, I think he'd just apologise and walk off."

The woman laughed softly, making you smile and, shockingly, blush a little. She slowly moved forward so that her hands were on either side of your body, and her face was inches from yours.

"Fine then," she whispered, smirking. "We can makeout at work, but only because you're fucking good at it."

You blushed and chuckled, "Yes, I win again. Rosa Diaz can never say no to me."

She shrugged and still stayed above you, making eye contact to fluster you more.

"Fuck off, just kiss me," you scoffed, catching her by the shirt and pressing a kiss to her lips. She immediately lay atop you, humming pleasurably as you deepened the kiss. Truth be told, at times, she didn't even know who was in control.

Your hands slowly cupped her face, and your thumbs gently stroked her cheek as the pair of you exchanged deep, but gentle kisses. Her lips were soft on yours, and you were most definitely addicted to the feeling of them.

She pulled away and smiled, before resting her head on your chest, her hands wrapping around your waist. You laughed, kissing her head and playing with her hair, saying, "You know we have to take a shower and change out of our work clothes, right?"

"Obviously," said Rosa. "Way to ruin the moment, jackass."

"I am insulted that you called me a jackass," you gasped, but still continued cuddling her. "Meanie."

"Oh yeah, I'm the meanie," she replied, looking at you. "Says the one who straight-up destroyed my moment of affection."

"Yeah, yeah," you rolled your eyes playfully. "Whatever. You love me."

She nodded, "Mhm, yes I do," with a small smile, she leaned up and pressed a gentle kiss to your lips.

"If anyone from work saw us now..." you mumbled as she continued pressing small kisses to your lips and slowly going down to your neck.

"I would definitely shoot them in the face," she replied. "No regrets."

"The way there was absolutely zero hesitation with that answer," you chortled, earning an explosive laugh from her.

You both began to laugh hysterically, almost falling off the couch in the process.

The doorbell rang, and you had to pause laughing, gently pushing her off you, groaning, "Jesus woman, you are heavy-"

"This is all muscle, Peralta," she scoffed, sitting up on the couch, propping her legs up on the coffee table.

In minutes, you had paid the delivery man, and placed the two pizzas on the small round table you had in the corner of the living room.

"Order up," you sighed, sitting on a chair and devouring the first slice of your pizza. "You coming to eat, baby?" You looked at her.

With a groan, Rosa stood up off the couch, walking to the table lazily and sitting in front of you. "Why do you always insist on sitting at the table to eat?"

"Because I want zero crumbs on my couch. That cost me like, five months of my salary," you replied, gently kicking her under the table. "I am not going to be my brother."

"You spent five months worth of salary on the couch?" Gasped your girlfriend, moving on to her next pizza slice.

You chuckled and nodded, and both of you finished the pizzas in silence.

You quickly showered, and sat on your bed to read while Rosa finished up her bath as well.

You waited for what felt like hours before she came out of the bathroom in nothing but a sports bra and shorts. Your jaw dropped as you looked at her toned abs and strong arms, earning a chuckle from her, "It's rude to stare, Peralta."

"Shut up you absolute goddess," you gasped, sliding out of bed as she looked through your closet for something to pull on. You wrapped your arms around her from behind and pressed kisses to her bare shoulder, feeling her relax under your touch.

"Okay you perv, let me pull on a shirt," she laughed, pulling on one of your AC/DC oversized shirts.

"Noooo, where did they gooooo..." you wailed, letting go of her. "Bring them bac. Bring back those abs-"

"You are such a perv," she scoffed, laying in bed with you. You lay down as well, letting her wrap an arm around you from behind and press a kiss to the back of your neck.

"I'm not a perv, you're a perv," you countered lamely.

"Shut up, dumbass," she replied, but you could hear the smile on her face. "I love you."

"I love me too," you chuckled. Rosa gently hit your arm, making you laugh, "OW, okay, okay, I love you too!"

"That's how I know you're a Peralta," she scoffed playfully. "Goodnight, Y/n."

"'Night, Rosa," you smiled, closing your eyes and slowly falling asleep, happier than ever.

Long days were so worth it.

#rosa diaz #jake peralta #amy santiago #gina linetti #terry jeffords #captain holt #charles boyle #hitchcock #scully #brooklyn 99 #female reader #bisexual #lesbian #rosa diaz x fem!reader

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richardreha · 1 month

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Moving Soon? Here’s How to Find the Moving Companies in New York in 2024 - Today, we’ll explore general tips for moving to New York, discuss whether hiring movers is worth it in the city, offer insights on when and how to hire them, and highlight some of the moving companies in New York in 2024

#moving and storage nyc #packers and movers nyc #moving company nyc #local moving company nyc #moving and storage brooklyn #new york moving and storage #professional movers nyc #same day movers brooklyn

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moversnotshakersusa · 3 months

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Movers Not Shakers can ease the burdens of your Manhattan move by handling the heavy lifting, packing securely with high-quality materials, and keeping the process organized for a smoother transition to your new home.

#manhattan moving services #benefits of using movers in manhattan #moving company nyc #moving and storage brooklyn #new york moving and storage #same day movers brooklyn #local moving company nyc

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samikshularee · 3 months

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My Life Altering Move to Manhattan - Embracing the concrete jungle, here's all you need to know about my life-altering move to Manhattan and the Empire State of Heart.

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jasperdavid · 6 months

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Restaurant Equipment Moving in NYC: Seamless Relocation Solutions - Moving your restaurant is no small feat, and when it comes to restaurant equipment, you need a team that can handle the job with precision. In the bustling metropolis of New York City, the need for seamless restaurant equipment moving services is a common occurrence.

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christinesficrecs · 1 year

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Hey I was wondering what is your favorite trope for sterek fics and can you any recommend fics with that trope

Magic!stiles is everything. ❤️ Here are some of my favorites.

Beltane by DevilDoll | 8.2K | Explicit

"Watching Stiles heal someone has always been a little uncomfortable for Derek, like he's seeing something intimate and private that shouldn't have an audience. That's nothing compared to how it feels." This is an AU in which Stiles has magical healing powers.

Better Fortunes by SmallBirds | 39.6K

When a group of sinister men attempt to kidnap Stiles Stilinski from the Brooklyn apartment he shares with his stepsister, Lydia, Stiles is forced to activate a spell that translocates him to where he'll be safest. Derek Hale isn't sure what to do about the soaking wet young man he finds wandering down a Beacon County roadside during the middle of a thunderstorm, but he feels compelled to help him. There's something about Stiles that Derek finds fascinating, and before long the two become embroiled in each other's lives. Despite the threat to his life and the sudden upheaval of everything he's ever known, Stiles is having a hard time feeling too upset about that.

A Letter From Mom by StilesIsMySpiritAnimal 32.9K | Explicit

After waking up at the age of 11 without any memories of his past Stiles spends eight years with his father in the tiny town of Shelter Cove, California. After his father's death he receives a notice from a storage facility in some town called Beacon Hills. Stiles is confused and thinks the manager made a mistake until he finds a letter that should have been for his 18th birthday that his dad never gave him. It's from his mother, who he has no memory of. Weirdly enough, her letter mentions Beacon Hills and some woman named Talia, who he's supposed to trust. Confused and angry at his father, Stiles sets out for Beacon Hills anxious and determined to find out what his dad had been hiding from him all these years.

The Walls Are Breathing In by secondstar | 41.8K | Explicit

Nothing could go wrong. It was just supposed to be a safe trip to the Nemeton. But this is Beacon Hills and things are rarely that simple. Welcome to the life of Stiles Stilinski.

Or, that time that Stiles accidentally became a sorcerer against his will.

Safe Place to Land by Green | 19.2K

The Hales have been tracking a group of hunters who've targeted small packs with the help of a magic user. When they finally attack the hunter compound, they aren't expecting to find Stiles, a Spark who's practically a slave, and his young werewolf son. Derek isn't expecting the Spark to be his mate, either.

Where The Inevitable Isn't by Survivah | 41.2K | Mature

Stiles has a magical thingamajig that's supposed to get him out of danger. Trouble is, it took him really, really far out of danger. Like, to the point where he isn't in the same universe anymore.

Red Witch by rootbeer | 34.2K

The red hair of a banshee. The red eyes of an alpha. The red hoodie of a mage. The red of fire burning.

Derek Hale has been a prisoner to the hunters since they burned his family alive. But now someone has come to save him: skinny, defenseless Stiles--147 lbs of skin and fragile bones. Turns out, sarcasm isn't his only weapon.

Soulseeker by alisvolatpropiis | 9.7K | Explicit

Sighing, Stiles reaches for Derek’s big hands, cradled in his broad lap, his skin lighting up even more at Derek's touch. He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes, preparing himself to look for Derek’s soulmate. Whoever you are, he thinks, you better be worth him.

The Adventures of Ranger Rookie and Deputy Dork by shipNslash | 12.3K

When the Sheriff tells Stiles that he's getting a partner, he's not exactly thrilled. How is he supposed to keep his magic a secret with some rookie stuck in his cruiser all day?

When Derek's mother decides to move the pack back to Beacon Hills, he looks forward to joining the local police force. Less so to hiding his werewolf-iness from some poor, unsuspecting partner.

Derek is assigned to be Stiles' new partner at the Sheriff's Department. One is a mage and the other is a werewolf. Neither knows what the other can do. What could possibly go wrong?

Stand Fast in Your Enchantments by DevilDoll, Rahciach | 76.9K | Explicit

"Stiles knew damn well what a pissed-off wolf sounded like, and every hair on the back of his neck was telling him that somewhere in this room was a very pissed-off werewolf."

An AU in which Derek is feral, Stiles is magical, and they eat a lot of fast food.

You Only Live Once...or Twice by WonderWolf | 32.9K | Explicit

“Anything,” Derek’s eyes are determined, boring into Stiles’.

Stiles huffs a laugh, “Careful there, big guy. Don’t want to be promising anything to every necromancer you meet. Some might ask for your soul or someth—”

“I’ll give you my soul to bring her back,” Derek says, his voice steady and strong with resolve, “if that’s what you want.”

Stiles’ mouth gapes open for a moment before his brain kicks into gear and he stutters out, “N-no, I don’t ask for that. I only ask for money.”

There's Monsters at Home by calrissian18 | 83.6K | Explicit

“How did you get past the wards?” Derek had put them up, with Peter’s grudging assistance, after the Alpha pack had made themselves at home a few times too many.

The guy pulled a face. “You mean the wards a five-year-old girl with the mental ability of a goldfish could deconstruct?” He blinked wide eyes at Derek. “Gee, I don’t know. It’s bound to go down as one of life’s great mysteries.”

Derek despised him.

They’re all together ooky, the Hale family… (Snap, Snap) by DropsOfAddiction | 12.4K | Explicit

Derek realises that he’s probably squashing Stiles a little bit, right at the same moment that Stiles apparently realises that he’s still holding onto Derek’s face.

They both definitely acknowledge Derek’s nakedness at the same exact time, judging by the alarmed look on Stiles’ face.

“So, you have no clothes on,” Stiles removes his hands and holds them above his head in surrender, cheeks a muddy red.

“In my defence, I was covered in fur less than two minutes ago,” Derek rolls his eyes and he pushes himself up and off him, hands covering his junk for Stiles’ sake.

“You’re still kind of furry now…” Stiles sits up, blinking rapidly, clearly just as weirded out as Derek. “Oh my god, pretend I didn’t say that. I’m not looking or anything.”

Derek smirks, because that… that was a lie and he cocks an eyebrow at him.

And We'll Be Complicated by ingberry | 18.5K | Explicit

Stiles already had his hands full with the case he was working on for the enigmatic Mrs. B. He really didn't need this too, but there was no changing the fact that he no longer remembered Derek Hale or anything connected to him. And no one could figure out why.

Someone Else's Dream by theroguesgambit | 36.6K

Post-3B. Derek has gone missing, and Stiles' dreams might be the only way to save him.

#asks #sterek fics #ficrecs #tvd1992 #magic!stiles #bamf!stiles #mage!stiles #spark!stiles #witch!stiles

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make-me-imagine · 1 year

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Christmas Proposal

12 Days Of Christmas: Day 9

Plot: While preparing the house for a festive dinner, Steve decides to give you a Christmas present early.

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Gn!Reader

A/N: I know that most of the characters in this are portrayed as Jewish, or of Jewish heritage in the comics and stuff. But I don't think that means they would turn down a Christmas dinner if invited lol. Sooo, yeah.

Words: ~1.2k

Steve watched you with a fond smile as you bustled around the house, preparing for the evening dinner. You wanted to get as much done as you could before you had to cook.

You and Steve had invited Bucky, Sam, Wanda and Vision over for Pre-Christmas dinner. Which meant the house needed to be cozy, and perfect.

"Oh!" You started as you were halfway though the room, turning around you ran back the way you came.

Steve chuckled and shook his head. When he heard you coming back, he moved to stop you, gently placing his hands on your shoulders.

"Y/n, breath."

You let out a small huff of air but smiled "I'm almost done."

"You said that two hours ago. It will be perfect. You know them, they're just gonna be grateful that you invited them over at all."

"I know I know." You said with a sigh "I just want them to feel at home."

"They always do when they're here, you're already good at that."

You smiled as you stepped forward, leaning into Steve's chest. He smiled as he gently pulled you into a hug, wrapping his arms around you and pressing a kiss to your forehead.

"You know what will make you feel better?"

"What?" You mumbled into his chest.

He started to gently sway you back and forth as he spoke "Some hot chocolate, and an early present."

You pulled your head away from his chest and looked up at him with piqued interest "An early present?"

He smiled and nodded "There may be one in particular I have in mind that I want you to have now."

"Can I give you one too?"

He shrugged his head a bit "Well, if you insist."

Your smile grew as you pulled away from him and began running into another part of the house. "I'll get the cocoa!" You called back.

He smiled to himself as he took a deep breath. Going to the closet, he dug into his jacket pocket and pulled out the previously hidden box wrapped in brown paper and tied with twine. He wondered if the size would give away what was inside.

He had bought the ring weeks before, but wanted to wait until Christmas. Since the others would be here soon, he thought now would be a great time. Plus, he was tired of waiting.

And the way he watched you try so hard to make the house comfortable for the others, putting your love and care into every thought made his heart swell with adoration and love.

Now was the perfect time.

As the two of you finally sat down together, hot cocoa on the table, White Christmas playing on the television, you smiled at him as you held one of his presents in your hand.

"You first!" You said with a smile as you handed it to him. He sighed a breath of relief, wanting to give you yours last.

As he unwrapped his present, a feeling of nostalgia and surprise wash over him as he looked down at an old framed piece of art.

It was a now vintage piece of art, that used to hang in his mothers favorite restaurant. It was often hung at the very table they sat at when he was a child.

"Wh-how?" He stuttered out as he looked up at you.

You had a nervous smile on your face. "I was looking into art about old Brooklyn, since you mentioned how much you missed it. And this auction came up about pieces from the restaurant you had told me about. It closed down about twenty years ago, but the whole place was packed up and put into storage, and the stuff was only recently sold off."

"So it's actually from the restuarant?"

"The very same." You nodded.

He gently ran his hand over it as he smiled, looking up he met your eyes and grinned. Leaning forward, he hooked his finger under your chin and kissed you.

"Thank you Y/n, you have no idea how much this means to me."

You smiled "You're welcome Steve. I'm glad you like it."

"Buck will get a kick out of it too. My mom took us there together a few times"

You smiled brightly as he stared down at it with a happy smile. Relief washed over you as you were glad to give him something from the past he had lost.

After a few moments he set it down on the table. "Well, this just makes me want to give you my present even more."

You smiled as he adjusted his seat, moving closer to you and taking your hand in his.

"I've been holding onto this for weeks, excited and nervous to give it to you."

You suddenly felt a spike of nerves in your stomach as you saw his demeanor change. Was it a gift he was afraid you would hate? Or was it something else much more important.

You watched as Steve reached behind him before pulling out a small box wrapped in paper and twine. Your heart seemed to stop beating for a moment as your breath caught in your throat.

Remaining calm, you told yourself not to react until you were sure. It could be something else. Gently taking it, you untied the twine and tore the paper off, revealing a black box within.

"I know I tell you all the time how much I love you. But I still feel as though I can never say it or show it enough to truly prove it. I truly don't know who I would be if I had not met you. You brought something to my life that gave it more meaning than I have ever had."

You could feel your heartbeat in you throat as you opened the box, revealing a perfect ring inside. Tears slowly started to well in your eyes, as Steve brought his hand to your face, and gently stroked your cheek.

"I thought I lost so much, but you proved to me how much more I could have. I adore you, and I feel so grateful that I get to wake up to you every day. And I hope to continue to do so for the rest of my life. I love you Y/n, and I want you to marry more than you could imagine."

You smiled as a tear ran down our cheek, you shook your head "I can imagine, I can."

He smiled at you as he leaned closer and spoke softly "Will you marry me?"

You nodded fervently as you brought your hands to his face "Yes, of course I will."

You kissed him, as the two of you grinned, unable to hold back your emotions.

Pulling away, Steve took the ring out and slid it onto your finger. It fit perfectly, of course.

You studied it for a moment before you looked back up at him, and threw your arms around his neck. He let out a soft laugh as he held you close to him.

"I love you Steve." You said into his neck.

"I love you too, Y/n." He replied before squeezing you tighter "Merry Christmas."

xx End xx

General Taglist: @criminaly-supernatural, @imaginesfire, @onuen, @witchygagirl, @alexxavicry

Marvel/Steve Taglist: @aquariuslavenderhoney, @trashywritestrash, @groovy-lady, @marvelouslyme96, @supersourlemon13, @mochamoff, @simsiddy, @gay-and-ready-to-cry, @flourishandblotts-inc, @spuffyfan394, @agent-catfish-kenobi, @locke-writes, @cs-please, @soultrysworld, @a-lumos-in-the-nox, @creativitybeware, @that-marvel-simp, @gatefleet, @dominos-palast, @maellem, @readingwithatorch, @multifandomfix

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