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popponn · 4 months

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xavier rarely wakes up before you. most of the time, you will find his eyes still closed with his arms clinging to you or around you one way or another. but, on the days when his blue eyes are the ones that greet you first thing in the morning, you will be greeted with a soft whispered ‘good morning’ spoken in his morning voice. these kinds of mornings will start slowly with a shared smile and quiet conversation about mundane, small things. it could be the cat he saw yesterday or that particularly funny part from his dream. then, it will end with his nose brushing against yours gently. sometimes it will lead to a kiss, sometimes he will simply stay there with your forehead against each other’s. sometimes, it will lead to long hours of cuddling and going back to sleep. it is after all that, he will finally start his day along with yours. though, of course, as an end note, even if he doesn’t wake up first, please do always let him begin his days with you. he will still be drowsy—like always—but in a very embarrassingly obvious manner that his expression can’t hide, he will be happy.

zayne seems to develop a habit of taking care of your clothing at some point. it is subtle enough, but it is undeniably there. he often crouches down to tie your shoes for you—without you asking, despite your protests. if you say he doesn’t have to, he will simply say that it is more effective or faster that way, or that he simply doesn’t see a reason not to. if you feel bad, you could return him by doing a favor anyway, he reasons. afterward, it will continue into him adjusting the scarf around your neck, tidying a crease on your collar, or zipping up your jacket right before the two of you go out. he too doesn’t shy from putting your lipstick or lip balm on for you. at some point, during a break day, you might find him sitting on the sofa, reading and watching tutorials about skincare or makeup. if you approach him, expect him to ask you to watch it along with him, though in through mister doctor fashion it might lead to journal and research about cosmetics that he will read to you.

rafayel loves your attention. and it shows—in a very annoying way that unfortunately has found its way to be adorable to your heart. he unabashedly wears a smug smile and keeps on mentioning how you couldn’t stay away from him whenever he spoons you. if you are the one spooning him, turns out he is not above acting like a spoiled brat who demands affection until he is sated. in a way, it is similar to having a puppy that is a fish and a lover at the same time. but beyond all his louder actions, there will always be a part of him that is softer in the way of a cozy rain and a warm blanket. it’s the part of him who will always listen to whatever you say and the part of him that will, will always have you as his ‘happy ending’ no matter what. the part of him that shows itself in the form of a smile full of yearning even when he cups your face with both of his hands. he has his secrets and his affection for you is not one of them. yet, despite everything, it still feels like he couldn’t quite manage to get all of it out for you. so, at least, when it is time for him to give you a glimpse into how much he holds you dear, do give him your undivided attention.

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hishoukoku · 5 months

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I am always so unfathomably overwhelmed by the look in Hua Cheng's eyes when he gazes at Xie Lian; always full of love, worship, affection and adoration.

The look only given to the one who saved his life,

the one who shielded him from pain,

the one who healed his wounds and protected him,

the one who believed in him when everyone resented him,

the one he died for and always would,

but also the one who became his entire meaning in life and for whom he continues to live, forever!

#it's 3am #and I have thoughts #I was writing a fic #but this felt more appropriate to post because this gaze is worth ten thousand words #also #he is SO BREATHTAKINGLY BEAUTIFUL #and I needed a reason to look at him repeatedly (over and over and over again)#to make this post.for science #hualian #hua cheng #xie lian #花怜 #花城 #谢怜 #天官赐福 #tgcf #heaven official's blessing

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raaorqtpbpdy · 1 month

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Hey I’m rewatching Warehouse 13 and it’s actually good??? I originally watched it when I was like 12, so I figured it would be one of those things where upon rewatching it I would realize it sucked but still get nostalgia from it, but that is not the case.

Sure the effects are lowkey shitty because it was 2009, but the writing?? Especially for the female characters?? They all have depth, internal conflict, unique character traits, individual strengths and weaknesses, it’s amazing!

I also love the world building. Half of it is based in real history and half of it is fully made up but all of it is fun and engaging and I enjoy it immensely.

#warehouse 13 #Watching this show and looking at how so many writers write female characters currently #makes the flat demeaning “feminist” “strong female characters” even more pathetic than I thought #like I just needed a palate cleanser or something to realize how bad it’s gotten yikes #there’s a reason this show has more f/f ship fics than any other category by like a thousand fics #even though the gender ratio of characters is fairly even #and it’s because they treat their female characters with respect and dignity #also myca/helena are amazing together but that’s neither here nor there

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skyloftian-nutcase · 5 days

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Ok Wild Angsters, you wanted a continuation, so here you go :)

Four already knew what he would be walking into. His phone had been blowing up for hours. He’d come in to work early. Whether he was assigned to take care of Wild or not was another matter - Vaati loved to try and take all the admissions, convinced he was the best nurse on the unit. If Four could just keep Vaati out of Wild’s room, he’d consider it a success.

When the charge nurse told him he would be admitting the trauma alert, he knew who he was getting.

Pre-admission jitters always made Four anxious, but this was an entirely other level of fear. He almost wanted to request a different assignment, but it was too late now. What if he couldn’t take caer of him because he was his friend? What if that impair his decision making? What if he just wasn’t skilled enough to handle it? He knew Ezlo wouldn’t give him an assignment he couldn’t handle, wouldn’t be there to support him, but still…

Four went over the supplies in his room once more. Safety checks were fine—they had suction, they had a bag valve mask, the code card was nearby—and he had all the supplies he needed. It was just a waiting game.

Four paced the unit at least three times before he looked at the OR status board again. Wild was still in surgery. He poked in his chart, glancing at injuries, looking at vital signs and anesthesia notes. The last update he saw was that Wild had gotten another unit of blood. Estimated blood loss so far was around 2200mL.

2200mL. That… wasn’t too terrible, Four supposed. He’d… seen worse.

Please don’t get worse.

Four knew for certain that Wild had been mass transfused in the ED. Warriors, his primary nurse when he was there, had told him as much. Between that and the multiple blood products he’d gotten in surgery, as well all the crystalloids he was likely getting as well…

Four took a breath. Then another. He grabbed his phone, texting Warriors. You doing ok?

Wars didn’t reply.

Four wasn’t entirely sure where everyone was at this point. Hyrule had stayed at the hospital, lingering in the emergency department and then the operating room waiting area, but Four hadn’t seen him since he’d clocked in. Warriors and Legend should be getting off shift now, but whether they were going to stay up was another matter. Time was obviously in the OR (Wild’s wreck had been around 10pm, he’d arrived in the ED around 10:45, and he’d been stabilized for surgery and gone to the OR by around midnight - it was 7am now… he wasn’t sure how long this was going to take, but it couldn’t be much longer). Malon should be getting on shift now as well - she had come in last night when everything had gone down, alongside Twilight. Wind had been cautiously left out of the loop until Wild had gone to surgery, simply because nobody had really had much information at the time, so no one wanted to worry the kid until they could figure things out. Everyone had their hands full as it was. But by now, Four knew Wind was either in the OR waiting room, harassing every respiratory therapist he knew, or in the hospital library pacing anxiously. As for Sky, the last Four heard he was bouncing between different people, checking in on everyone.

He clicked through more anesthesia notes, looked at flow sheets for blood products. There wasn’t much to go on, as charting was sparse. What Four did know was that Wild had been obtunded, got mass transfused, had gotten a chest tube, had been intubated, blood was evident in his abdomen, and he had an open femur fracture. He’s been taken to Time’s OR for a ex-lap. Head CT had shown a bleed, and they were monitoring it. That was all the information Legend had told the group when he’d had a moment to spare.

Four’s vocera activated, telling him he had a call from the charge nurse. When he answered, he was told Malon had called and said they’d be finishing up in about thirty minutes and were likely to come up open.

Why was he coming up with his abdomen open? When had they gone from exploratory laparotomy to a full on open abdomen?

Ten minutes later, Malon called back to give report. When Four answered, the first thing he asked was, “How’s he doing? Is he okay? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Malon said, even though she sounded exhausted. “And he’s… hanging in there. I’ve seen worse, I’ll say that. I’ll give you the full rundown, okay?”

Four listened as Malon gave report, feeling his heart settled into his stomach, which was tying itself in knots. Multiple spots of bleeding, possible compartment syndrome in his abdomen, a likely kidney injury due to compression from the bleeding on some major vessels, a small hematoma in his brain… they’d had to call neurosurgery to do an emergency craniotomy out of overt concern of swelling, given that Wild had apparently had previous head trauma, based on what they saw in the OR.

Open abdomen, craniotomy, ICP monitoring, bleeding, one chest tube… this was a disaster. Four swallowed as he wrote, feeling his hand shake a little as his heart raced. He was not qualified enough to be admitting this. He was not.

But the turnaround on his unit was pretty insane, and he was the most experienced nurse on the unit today. At least Ezlo was charge; he knew he’d be well supported.

This was a nightmare. But Four had dealt with nightmares, and he would deal with this. He wasn’t going to screw up taking care of any patient, but especially his friend.

Sighing, he hung up the phone after thanking Malon, pushing worries for her and Time aside, trying to focus on what he would need, who he should grab to help him, and how he should prep his room.

It was time to get to work.

When everyone arrived from the OR, Four made brief eye contact with Time. He couldn’t read much from the man, who was stone faced, aside from the exhaustion evident in the dark circles under his eyes. Four got to work quickly, assessing Wild from head to toe as he looked to see what IV medications he was on. A coworker wrote the note while Ezlo helped detangle his lines (the OR always brought up a mess, after all). Time gave an overview of the surgery, and Four listened along as he checked pupils, as he zeroed the arterial line and the ICP monitor, as he listened to lung and heart sounds, as he checked the chest tube and stripped it with his fingers to ensure patency, as he checked peripheral pulses, as he looked at the abdominal dressing to get a baseline in case there was swelling from bleeding later. One of the techs connected the chest tube to wall suction, and Four looked over his drips. Only having levophed at 2 wasn’t terrible, and he was getting a unit of red blood cells, which was in a transfusion set that was y’d to some lactated ringers fluid. He was on propofol for sedation. Another nurse grabbed a blood gas from his arterial line and sent off labs. His foley he had was temp sensing, and Four quickly ascertained that Wild was cold, so he set up the blanket warmer and covered his friend up.

His friend. His friend.

Four shook his head. He had to focus.

As Time left the room, he put a hand on Four’s shoulder, making him freeze. The surgeon didn’t speak, just locking eyes with him. Four wasn’t entirely sure if it was for his own benefit or not. But he had no more time to let his emotions make any decisions for him. He nodded to the doctor, who nodded in return, and then the two went their separate ways.

This was going to be a long day.

#Apologies if this sounds too similar to Level One because I haven’t read that fic in over a year and never finished it #So I don’t remember what happened to Wild in it aside from he was also in an MVC and was in rough shape LOL #Writing #lu in healthcare #lu wild #lu four #lu time #lu malon #dang how long is this storyline gonna be lol #I get too caught up in the medical side of it HA #He’ll be fiiiiine #I got all excited talking about admission from the OR stuff lol #It’s so chaotic y’all #There are like eight thousand people in the room and the lines are a hot mess and I HATE when teh lines are a hot mess #But this was also weird because I admit heart patients… and Wild—being a trauma patient—has… so few drips?? Compared to heart patients???#Like… trauma patients aren’t usually on pressors because what they need is blood #Whereas cardiac surgery patients might need blood… or they’re just vasoplegic… or their heart sucks…#Lots of different options lol #Anyway I’m rambling in the tags whoops #Skye time travels through the queue

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idyllcy · 7 months

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illicit affairs

word count: 2,018

warnings: nsfw, smut, messy sex, mild dubcon. switch!YeXuan

summary: I mean, it's not like he's doing anything wrong if you're the one doing the work, right? Well, even then. You started it.

"I told you, I can't—" Cael leans back as you straddle him, blinking at him owlishly.

"Then don't." You hum, loosening his robe. "Just sit still."

He reaches to pull you off of him, and you tilt your head.

"W-where is this coming from?" He whimpers as you press your hand to his abdomen, sliding down. "Y-you weren't this upfront before."

You lean in instead, lips brushing his ear as he shifts uncomfortably, chuckling breathily. "Yeah?"

He cranes his neck as your lips brush his ears, and the blush on his skin is brutally unforgiving as you giggle. You shift your hips over his crotch as his breath hitches, watching as his breath catches in his throat and he holds back a groan. You do it again, and this time, he manages to hiss out a weak "stop."

"But you were really eager when you were jerking off to me the other day." You mumble, pressing your lips to his, forcing your tongue into his mouth as you lick the roof of his mouth with a satisfied hum. He whimpers as your chest presses to his, and his fingers cling onto the sofa fabric underneath him to try to get him to stop touching you like his mind wants him to.

You pull away from him, strand of saliva connecting your lips to his.

"S-still." He manages, head spinning from your lips as he watches the strand break. God, he wants more. "It's wrong."

"It's not wrong if you aren't doing anything." You hum, pulling your shirt over your head. "You don't know what this feeling is, right? It's a shame you all don't emphasize on this feeling. Besides, with how many worlds I've been in, this should be far from wrong now."

You pull his robe off of him as you roll your hips again, and he moans this time.

"Aww." You coo, pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek. "Just sit still and look pretty, alright?"

You spit on your hand as you pump him, blinking at him through your lashes as you stare at him, collecting his precum on your thumb as you slide it up and down, drinking in the way his breath hitches and he whimpers, biting down on his lip to try and stop the sound from coming out. You ignore him as you keep going, forcing your chest to his as he tries to look anywhere but your cleavage, and you click your tongue in disdain.

"Cael, baby." You feign pity. "Do you feel bad for staring when I'm the one inviting you to?"

He turns impossibly more red, and you laugh, pressing a kiss to his jaw as his fingers clench uncomfortably.

"We really shouldn't—"

"It's fine." You hum, speeding up with your hand, lips curled into a cheeky smile. "Come on. You can cum. You know you want to."

Cael's hips stutter as he spills into your hand, eyes widening as he moans lewdly— and you kiss him, drinking up his voice as he pulses in your hand, skin flushed pink and body tense.

You let go once he finishes, licking the fluid from your hand, making a show of it as you stick your tongue out, and you watch as Cael's eyes focus in on your fingers, and you watch as he swallows— his adam's apple bobbing as he does, and you moan at the taste. God.

You stare down at Cael's dick, eyes lighting up as you find that he's still hard.

"Oh? I thought you said you shouldn't do this?"

"I-I really." He gasps as you slide down to put him in your mouth, giving him a lick from the base to the tip. "sh-shouldn't"

His voice cuts off as you take him all the way, lips wrapped around his cock as his tip nudges the back of your throat, and your throat tightens around him as he throws his head back, hair messy underneath him as his mouth hangs open.

"A-ah." His eyes waver as your lashes flutter, and he moves his hand to grab the cushion instead of the seat, whimpering. "I-it's so."

You moan around his cock, feeling him swell in your mouth as your nails dig into his thigh, tears forming in the corner of your eyes as you try and breathe through your nose. Cael pants as you move slowly, caught off guard when he cums almost immediately down your throat, apologizing as you force yourself to keep him there, the salt from his cum hitting the back of your throat. You swallow, him still in your mouth, and you pull off of him, saliva connected to his cock, opening your mouth to show him that you swallowed everything.

He tries looking away.

"Nuh-uh, Cael. Come on, baby." You force him to look at you as he swallows, skin feverish as you press your lams to his waist, holding him down. He could easily overpower you if he wanted to— yet he doesn't. He doesn't know what force keeps him in place, but it makes him dizzy and weird. He didn't know he was capable of feeling such intense emotion for someone. He wanted to deny that he liked you this much for such a long time, and he swore he wouldn't touch you, yet here he is— his cum in your mouth, your bare skin pressed to his as you kick out of your skirt and panties, and Cael has the urge to throw his decorum out and just fuck you how he's always imagined having you since you're already like this, but god he really shouldn't.

"Cael," You press your cunt to his cock, sliding up and down but not putting it in, and Cael feels his self-restraint slipping. "I know you want to. I started it, so it's fine, right? Come on, you know you want to. Come on, don't you want to see me dripping with your cum? Aren't you tired of seeing me end up with tho—"

The last of Cael's self-control snaps as he flips you over, him over you as you grin at him, shaking your hips to show him how wet you are. He sighs, pulling the hair tie from your wrist to his, pushing his hair back to tie it after pulls you in by the hips and using your slick to lube himself, brows furrowed as your eyes sharpen in excitement, whining for him to put it in already.

"You wanted this, didn't you?" He pants, pressing a thumb to your clit as he slides a finger in, curling it inside you as you gasp excitedly. "You wanted to see me snap and give it to you? After so long?"

You nod your head feverishly as he slides a second finger in with ease, curling them against your sweet spot, making you see stars. You drip around him messily— pussy relishing the touch of something. You tighten around him as he slides in further, adding a third finger as you gasp at the stretch, moaning deliciously as he starts moving the fingers, and you whimper sweetly as you feel your orgasm approaching, babbling about how you were cumming, and Cael hums, watching as you squirt all over him, his fingers fucking you through your orgasm as you cry about how you were starting to get sensitive.

He pulls out a little later, staring at the way his wrist got drenched, and he sticks the fingers into his mouth, pulling you closer by the hips, lining himself up with you.

"You sure?" He whispers.

"Just put it in already!" you wail.

He listens, sliding into you all the way, and your lips part as he stretches you, and your head buzzes dizzily as you finally get what you want. You look up to see him staring at you, and you look down at the bulge in your pelvis; Cael presses on it as your breath hitches, and his eyes glimmer mischievously as he presses again, causing you to jolt.

"Cael." You whimper. "Please start moving."

"Patience, sweetheart." He hums, pulling your hips up as he reaches for a pillow to put under your waist, supporting your back as he finally grabs you by the hips and fucks you.

He drags you slowly on his cock at first, watching you as your expression changes as he moves you, taking note of where you catch yourself before you can whimper and where your lips part just a little more than before.

Then, when he gets it, he moves quicker, watching as you throw your head back and moan wantonly, tears in the corner of your eyes as he moves a hand to thumb at your clit, making your head spin deliriously as he picks up the pace, practically ramming into you as you babble about how good it feels, eyes wide as your nails dig into his forearm, holding on for support as you feel an orgasm approaching, gushing around Cael as he fucks you through it, only slowing down slightly before quickening again when your orgasm finishes, and you cry about how you were still sensitive, but it falls on deaf ears, the male chasing his own high after giving you yours.

The hand of his moves from your clit to your chest, pinching your nipple and rolling the bud between his fingers, staining it with your juices as you whimper, and he leans in to kiss you as you squirm beneath him, his hand still on your waist, holding you in place as you let his tongue explode your mouth, a mess of saliva around the two of you’s mouths as you whimper, feeling another orgasm snaking down your spine and around his cock as the hand on your tit moves down to thumb at your clit again, just enough stimulus to send you over the edge with a moan swallowed by Cael.

You clench around his cock as you feel him swell inside of you, and your walls flutter when you cum again, tears sliding down the corner of your eyes as you try to sit up to stop him, but he holds you down with his body. You fall back into the sofa as you feel him pulse inside of you, fingers threading through his hair to pull on it as he speeds up. Wrapping your legs around his back as to trap him, he spills into your pussy with a lewd groan as you moan from being pumped full. His hold on you weakens as your lips meet his again, lashes fluttering as you feel his thumb circle your clit lazily as he kisses you.

"Mmm..." You moan, arching your back as pulls you up, hands on his chest as he holds your waist. He leans back for air and slips out of you as he reaches to the coffee table to grab a tissue to wipe you down. "You're so hot..." You mumble.

He pries your legs open as you use your fingers to spread your pussy, showing him as his cum trickles out— pearly white sliding down your cunt to land on the couch in a puddle, and Cael feels the blood rush to his head again, making him feel dizzy as he wipes you, hand holding your wrists in place as he cleans you.

"One more." You mumble. "Please?"

"No." He mumbles. "You've had your fill."

"You won't even need to do anything." You bat your lashes at him innocently, pretty pout on your lips. "I'll ride you."

"No." He rejects you, letting go of your wrists as he reaches for another tissue, and you pounce, pushing him back onto the sofa as you hold him down by the hips.

"Your dick says otherwise." You lick your lips, positioning above him and bottoming him out in you almost instantly, a sinful sigh slipping past your lips as he fills you again. He slides in easily with a squelch, and you smile at him. "Please?"

He looks to the side, skin flushed again, and he agrees with a whimper.

He could never say no to you anyway.

#*stares into the void* good morning new hyperfixation (Tim screams in the background) good morning long-haired men #dropping a fic after not posting a fic in almost 2 weeks is craaazy sorry guys I just wanted to fuck him #☾.nsfw #yexuan x reader #cael x reader #lovebrush chronicles x reader #cael smut #lovebrush chronicles smut #yexuan smut #*thousand yard stare* I need to fuck that man silly. he needs to fuck me stupid. smash #☾.fics

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skyphloxx · 13 days

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ok so um. here is a scenario ive had in the drafts for literally over a month and forgot to post. maybe with a second part idk?

i've been thinking way too damn much about clegan and johns dog coded ass and his feelings around body markings. like, hickeys and bites and bruises etc. bear with me this post got really long lmfao.

fuckin. ok. so in a scenario where john and gale are fucking on the side pretty early on after their arrival at thorpe abbots.

everyone knows bucky is a slut, right? bucky can show up with hickeys and bites and red marks and nobody will question it. he might get jeers or crooked grins, they’ll laugh and say he must’ve slept with every girl on base and half the women in london by now, but it’s expected.

buck, though? everyone knows buck’s got a girl. and maybe he wouldn’t be the first guy to say as much and then fold after months of being away from home. but everybody who knows him knows that buck cleven isn’t like that. and anyway, it would be a little odd considering how consistently he turns down any woman who makes a pass.

you see where i'm going here right.

gale can bite the fuck out of john and leave him with bruises purpling from his neck all the way down to his thighs. when they’re alone together it’s the only time he gets to loosen that iron grip he has on himself, be anything less than carefully composed and controlled. outside gale is the fearless leader, who will sometimes joke and rib but has no vices, no faults. with john he is a hungry, wanting thing, all hands and mouth and teeth.

bucky loves it at first. being desired so much kinda drives him wild, knowing that gale wants him so bad, that there’s so much heat simmering under that cool surface. but there’s also something about the act of leaving marks on him that feels like gale’s staking a claim. that bucky allowing himself to be bitten is showing allegiance, or acquiescence, or maybe ownership. something of gale is left there, written across his skin, even if nobody else knows it. the marks say that gale can do what he wants with john’s body, that john is his. he’s painted his name across john’s neck and chest.

bucky doesn’t object to this feeling. like, at all. on its own, that part is amazing. the problem is he can’t do it back to gale. buck is so paranoid about being found out, and the communal living of the barracks adds extra complications. and john understands his fears, of course he does, he knows damn well what happens to men who get a blue discharge, and he’ll respect anything that’ll help buck feel safer about what they’ve been doing. he’s pretty sure he’d do anything to keep buck coming back, he needs him that badly.

he fucking hates that he has to be so careful. he wants nothing more than to give it right back to buck, to bite the same kind of lurid purple bruises across his skin. he thinks all too often of how buck would react, his shiver at the scrape of john's teeth on sensitive skin and the low breathy noises he'd make. hates that he can't have that. but mostly he hates how he can't stake any claim over gale he way he feels that gale has over him. if buck can do what he wants with john's body, if his bites mean that john is his, then the inverse must also be true: bucky can't do the same, and gale is not his. he has no claim to stake.

which makes sense, really. as far as claims go, someone's already beat him to gale. that's the whole reason the no-markings rule was established.*

it ends up serving as a little reminder to bucky: that the arrangement he and gale have worked out to keep each other sane during all this? it's temporary. when the war ends buck will be going back to build a home and share a bed with someone, and that someone won't be john. he can't forget that however much gale seems to want him in the moment, he's committed elsewhere. john is a way for him to distract himself from everything else going on around them. he thinks sometimes gale does it as much to distract john as himself. taking pity on him or something. he knows buck still loves marge more than anything. he uses her letters like a lifeline, sniffs her perfume off the paper like it might send him back to her if he works hard enough at it.

someone with a better sense of self-preservation than bucky might try to break it off, disengage, try to soften the blow when it inevitably comes, but.

the marks also remind him that he is gale's. has been. is. will be. for as long as gale will have him. bucky needs him in a way that he doesn't bother to deny to himself anymore. his chest feels heavy with it when they’re together. he knows they're on borrowed time, but that just means john's going to borrow as much of it as he can. avoiding leaving bruises or not using his teeth is nothing, really, he would do so much less (or so much more) if gale asked him, any number of humiliating, desperate things to keep gale wanting to touch him, fuck him. it's fucking pathetic, how much he needs that. john's own stupid hurt feelings are nothing, compared to how much he'd endure for it.

so of course he never brings this whole dilemma up to buck as something that bothers him. he would not dare risk throwing a wrench in their arrangement, which is perfectly functional as it is. they've made it this far via mostly unspoken agreements, mutual willingness to not talk about it more than they need to. john will not even entertain the possibility of breaking that or scaring gale off or somehow ruining what they have. he is already so well versed at suffering in silence, and really this trade off isn't bad. he used to fucking dream of this, the taste of gale's mouth or the feel of their skin pressed together. he can stand being reminded it's temporary. he can stand knowing he's pathetic.

(bucky is a lying liar to himself. he is full of resentment and frustration. he will pretend he's not full of resentment about this for as long as it's physically possible to. gale knows something is up with him but won't say anything too specific about it for the same reason john won't - they don't talk about it if they can avoid it. that's the whole point of unspoken agreements.)

*bucky has not considered that gale would be similarly paranoid even if he was not openly in a relationship and loyal to it (loyal in heavy air quotes lmfao) if not even worse, just because gale cleven is a high-strung freak underneath all the calm collected shit.

#gale has a series of fucked up feelings just as bad as johns about this #but that will have to be its own post because holy shit this is a thousand words long #johns unreliable narrator ass is so funny he rly describes gale being insane with want over him and then is like.#yeah no im pretty sure i need him way more than he needs me and after the war hes going to forget i ever existed #anyway i have a vague idea of how this might conclude if people are interested idk i might end up turning it into a fic lol #john egan #bucky egan #john bucky egan #clegan #buck x bucky #mota #masters of the air #gale cleven #buck cleven #gale buck cleven #sky.txt #sky.wrt

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carnivalcarriondiscarded · 5 months

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strangling my past self How Did You Write Reasonably Sized Fics So Easily

#IVE FORGOTTEN HOW TO NOT GET CARRIED AWAY HELP #sitting here with scenes that should NOT BE 5 THOUSAND FUCKING WORDS LONG HELLOOOOOOOOO #my brain: You Have To Show Every Single Thing. Every Convo. Every Action. They Have To Know #NO! THEY DONT! ITS CLUTTERED AND BORING AND AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA #see this is what happens when you don't write seriously for FUCKIGN MONTHS-#its fine we're fine im Calm #trying to edit my own stuff is like wrangling some Wild Beast with my bare hands #she has horns! i am bleeding from Several large punctures! i will not let go!#absolutely unprompted #past me: bangin out 2k-5k fics that include multiple scenes and conversations each of perfect length #me now: and so this simple 'good morning' exchange will take ten pages-#WAILING WAILING #but god damn i need to create Something i have to i have to #i feel like im losing my mind....#I WANT TO BE POSTING FIC AGAIN CMON CMON

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crowthis · 16 days

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FIC REC FIC REC FIC REC

Close and Yet Closer by anonymous (?!!!)

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I’ll be in town for a while around the end of June. We should catch up.

Bucky

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John drives out to Wyoming, repairs a shed, and ruins Gale’s life.

#clegan #mota #masters of the air #i need everybody to drop what they're doing and read this NOW #i need to see a thousand comments on this by tomorrow #this is IT #fic

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indigoraysoflight · 9 months

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tempted to ask for one of the dirty prompts but to spite myself, how about 23?

CARYL pls

Hey there nonny, here you go <3

23. vintage

It was the cabin all over again.

Carol felt the tension between them wrap around her spine like a taut string as they walked inside the dilapidated building to camp out for the night. It was the first time they were alone. Really alone. Without people muttering around them in French with questioning glances, and suspicious prying eyes following their every move. Daryl hadn't left her side since they reunited a few days ago – he simply clasped her hand and led her inside without a word to his French companions.

They'd held each other so desperately when she found him - his face was pressed into the crook of her neck, his fingers dug deep welts in her jacket, and his arms clutched her so close that she felt his heaving breaths right down to the tips of her toes.

His warmth lingered on her perpetually as she kept finding ridiculous excuses to touch him. She felt ashamed of her weakness, but losing him for all this time had made her fear worse. So her arms lingered on his sides when he checked her after a fight; she leaned into him as they walked, brushed against his fingers when she handed him his crossbow, or traced his face every time she checked his head wound and watched him stare at her lips longingly.

Even though everything ached at that look.

Her tears blurred her vision when his eyes roamed her face every spare moment they had together. He'd hesitate for a long moment before brushing them with his thumbs, and pressing his forehead to hers until it was time to keep moving again.

But the deep yearning for each other's warmth had evaporated into thin air the moment they were on this path by themselves. Reality kicked in as days passed, and she saw how different he looked here, how at ease he was with the terrain and the people.

It reminded her of the days after the cabin when she didn't know exactly where she fit into his life. As the distance between them grew, and his hesitance to approach her got stronger – an unexpected spark of sadness followed her.

They found a large, empty room in the building for the night. The floors were crusted marble, an old charred fireplace against a wall with a stack of wood that looked untouched for years, and a rusty bronze chandelier covered in cobwebs smashed in the corner. The walls were all crooked chunks of brick and plaster cracked away with time. Two long windows on either side of the fireplace filtered the dying light in the room.

She turned her back to him and removed her gun, coat, and jacket. There was a rustle of fabric behind her as he did the same. She unrolled their bedrolls and sat with her back against the wall as he knelt down and lit a fire. He reached into his pocket to draw a box of matches when a tiny brown wooden box fell out, rolled across the floor, and clattered against her right foot.

Carol lifted it to find a crude etching of a flower on top of it, she turned it in her hand as he stoked the flames. He chewed his lip and looked at the box, then back up at her. His hair was soft gold in the firelight with threads of silver peeking through it.

"What's this?" The box rattled as she turned it upside down.

"Open it." He sat with his back against the wall, a few feet away from her.

The box unscrewed, and sitting inside was a tarnished silver Jasper ring. It looked about a hundred years old, with soft ochre and black spots forming around the knots on the sides, the crevices, and the rim of the dotted silver bubbles around the textured green Jasper stone in the middle.

"A ring?" Carol furrowed her brow.

"It's a Jasper ring." Daryl's voice was soft, taking her back to another time when he'd used it to tell her a story. "Heard a long time ago that Jasper helps give you the courage to face hardships and strengthens bonds between loved ones that are gone."

She traced the knots on either side of the ring. "Celtic knots," Daryl moved closer and tentatively touched one. "That there is a love knot, a sign of love shared between two people."

Their eyes locked for one searing moment, his eyes lingering on her lips, tears glistening on his lashes. His lips were chapped and dry, he swiped them with his tongue before looking down at his hands. Carol turned back to the ring.

The Jasper stone was a gradient of streaked green and bright points of soft yellow patterns, like a constellation etched in stone. Its shine had dulled over the years, it looked like it had weathered quite a few storms. She could feel Daryl's eyes on her as she twirled the ring.

"It's beautiful."

"Yeah."

She turned and saw him gazing at her softly.

"Found it in this antique shop I was camping in one night when I was alone in the early days." He leaned his head back on the wall. "Reminded me of that ring you used to wear back at the Commonwealth – the one you lost after the battle."

"Is that why you kept this ring?" Carol hated how small her voice sounded.

He nodded, "It gave me hope."

She searched his eyes quietly even though she knew he was telling the truth.

"Dunno why but I thought for as long as I held on to it, you wouldn't forget me. Let me go." Daryl's eyes were pleading. "So when I saw you again, I could give it to you."

"I'm never going to forget you, Daryl."

His exhale trembled out of him, and his eyes glistened.

Carol wiped her tears and looked down at the ring. "Why didn't you give it to me?" The words cracked around the edges.

"Didn't think you'd want it anymore."

She looked back at him. His fringe covered his face and his fingers twitched in his lap. Carol held the ring out, Daryl accepted it quietly. She locked eyes with him and held out her hand. His eyes widened briefly, and shone in the moonlight as he searched her face. She smiled at him softly, and he placed the ring on her finger.

Leaning her head on his shoulder, she swayed her hand to catch the moonlight on the yellow specks of the Jasper stone. She turned to look at his watery blue eyes to find him staring at her longingly.

"What do you think?"

Daryl's lips quirked up, "It suits ya," he said without looking away from her.

Carol's smile wilted into the raw longing she'd felt when she thought she would never find him again. She caressed his jaw and she let herself see him – all of him beneath the thin veneer he'd donned to survive in this strange land.

Her resolve cracked and tears spilled anew when Daryl made a tiny whimpering sound in the back of his throat and pressed his forehead against hers. He turned his face into her palm and pressed his lips to it, then pulled her closer so she could rest her head on his chest. A few moments later, his breathing turned into soft snores, and the raw longing she felt escaped through her lips before she could stop it.

"Should've gone to New Mexico..."

The silence that followed made the fire crackle louder. The Jasper stone glinted in its light. Carol fisted her fingers in his shirt, nuzzling into his chest and letting her tears soak into his skin as he slept.

"It's still out there." Daryl's chest rumbled beneath her ear. She looked up.

"Yeah?" Carol's voice trembled.

"Yeah." Daryl's voice was firm.

His thumb grazed her cheek and caught her tears, his hand wrapped over the ring and held onto her hers tightly.

He kissed the crown of her head, and she nuzzled back into his chest and pressed a kiss to his skin. His arms engulfed her until she was surrounded by him. Daryl. His breath tangling in her hair, his heart thrumming in her ear, his skin grazing her lips, his warmth lulling her to sleep, and his ring wrapped around her heart.

Hope was not lost.

#I hope this is enough proof that sometimes you don't need a kiss or an ILY to convey how much two people love each other #especially not when you have two actors with a chemistry that burns brighter than a thousand suns #and the lack of a kiss is not the reason why some carylers felt robbed at the end #caryl fanfic #caryl short fic #caryl fanfiction #caryl prompt fill #my fics #carol x daryl #daryl x carol #caryl #anon ask #writing prompts #darylneedscarol #caryl: my short fics and one shots

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goofyjelly · 7 months

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so youre tellin me that the internet goes wild for actor men ALL THE TIME, but when I go on wattpad I can't find ONE Ethan Peck fanfiction-

#OH SO NOW *IM* THE WEIRD ONE #NO I'M NOT TALKING ABOUT SPOCK OKAY-#take ONE LOOK at ANY INTERVIEW with Ethan Peck and try and tell me that we shouldnt be OBSESSED #THERE ARE NO EDITS #OH BUT JOSH HUTCHERSON GETS SEVEN THOUSAND EDITS AND FANFICS-#i *need* help #clearly 😭💀#in my defense..#yea i got nothing 💀#i was watching the clips of the Lower Decks SNW crossover (obsessing over mariner and boilmer #the comedy duo)#and then suddenly im watching interviews w ethan peck-#ITS A SLIPPERY SLOPE MY FRIENDS THIS COULD HAPPEN TO YOU #I DONT EVEN WATCH STRANGE NEW WORLDS-#LIKE THIS ISNT EVEN A SPOCK THING ANYMORE IM JUST *ILL*#i NEED SLEEP #omfg #ethan peck #someone better make edits and fics #i would but ive got STUFF on my plate okay #gotta clear my schedule and cancel EVERYTHING to give Ethan Peck the justice he DESERVES #goofy jelly thoughts

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firstelevens · 2 months

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from the prompt list: 21 and Sam/Bucky ✨

21. you come and pick me up, no headlights

For a second, when Sam wakes up, he can’t remember where he is. He’s the kind of disoriented that only comes from sleeping deeply and for way longer than you’re supposed to, a little over-warm under the covers and still fuzzy on the details of the room around him.

It comes to him in pieces: the bed is perfectly firm and the sheets are comfortable the way hotel bedcovers never are. The room is cool and dark, and the pillow beside his carries the familiar scent of too-fancy haircare products. Sam presses his face into it for a moment, not quite ready to be awake but not tired enough to go back to sleep.

He’s back in Delacroix, he realizes belatedly. He’s back in his own house, in his own bed, after a mission that felt like it had gone on forever and didn’t feel finished even after he’d signed the last piece of paperwork. Being home is always a relief, but never more so than when a mission reminds him of all the things that he still can’t do, even as Captain America.

Memories of last night slowly filter in the more he wakes up: flying in on the quinjet with aching shoulders and a worrying tightness in his knee, and dreading the hour long drive to a house that would be empty, thanks to Thunderbolts business taking Bucky from Louisiana before Sam had left for his own mission.

When they’d touched down, Sam had barely managed to avoid stumbling off the jet, shield and wingpack in one hand and duffel in the other. As he picked out the shape of his truck in the distance, he spared a second to be grateful for Carlos, who’d offered to drop it off earlier so Sam wouldn’t have to wait on a ride after he landed.

He’d almost made it to the driver’s side door before getting the shock of his life, nearly dropping his bags as the supposedly-empty truck started up with a growl. Sam had been tired enough to think of that one Stephen King book and wonder if this wasn’t revenge for the new cars he had test driven last week, but the headlights weren’t on, and he seemed to remember something about those being kind of important for an evil car.

It was in the middle of that slightly delirious train of thought that the door had opened to reveal Bucky, who was out of the cab and already loading Sam’s bags into the bed of the truck before Sam had fully processed what was happening. He’d gone without protest when Bucky had chivvied him into the passenger seat, fully intent on asking when Bucky had gotten home and instead immediately knocking out once the engine started up.

Sam can’t quite remember getting home or making it into bed—there was a bath in there, maybe, and a cup of tea when he’d refused food—but he knows enough to be sure that he’d fallen asleep with Bucky’s arms around him, his face tucked against Sam’s shoulder blade.

The other side of the bed is cold now, but Sam can hear Bucky making a ruckus down in the kitchen, utensils clinking as he talks animatedly to…someone. If they’re answering him, Sam can’t make out the voice. It’s a phone call, probably.

He drags himself out of bed, rolling his shoulders as he stands and noting with surprise that yesterday’s aches haven’t lingered as much as he expected them to. He puts a little pressure on his knee just to test it, braced for the twinges of pain that he’d felt for the entire quinjet ride, but at worst, it’s just a little stiff, and even that dissipates with some stretching.

Absently, Sam rubs at the spot on his lower back that always hurts after a long day with the wings on and finds that that feels better, too. He’s confused until he spots the little jar of muscle salve that Bucky always grabs when they’re in Wakanda, some kind of superpowered Tiger Balm that he usually rations between visits in case his shoulder flares up. Sam makes a note to tell Shuri that they’re running low so that Bucky doesn’t have to go without.

He just needs coffee, he decides, and starts making his way to the kitchen to find some. When Sam gets to the landing, he stops for a second. He just means to listen to the sounds of home for a second: birds chirping outside and Alpine playing with whatever her latest bell-and-sparkly-tinsel toy is and Bucky clattering around the kitchen, fussing with the newest recipe that he’s been taught by the circle of parish grandmas, all of whom are technically younger than him. (Sam would be hard pressed to admit it, but watching Bucky and Miss Irene and Miss Letty commiserate over how terrible powdered eggs were back in the forties ranks among the top ten cutest things he’s ever seen.)

It’s Bucky’s voice that stops Sam in his tracks, carrying out of the kitchen and up the stairs. Over the years, Sam has heard the Brooklyn accent peek through from time to time, rearing its head when Bucky’s tired or he’s spent a couple days around someone who hits their vowels the same way. In all that time, he can’t think of a moment when he’s heard it this thick, sweet and almost crooning.

He’s so distracted by the accent that Sam doesn’t even think about who Bucky might be addressing, transfixed by how much younger he sounds, how much lighter his words are.

“Did you do that all by yourself?” he’s asking. “You’re so smart, bubs. I didn’t realize we had a prodigy on our hands.”

Sam frowns, trying to figure out who Bucky could possibly be talking to. The most obvious choice would be Alpine, except she’s curled up in the sun at the foot of the stairs, and while both Sam and Bucky tend to baby her, he’s not sure either of them would shower her with praise for doing the exact thing that she spends roughly fifty percent of her time doing.

(Okay, maybe they both would do that, but Alpine is out here with Sam and not in the kitchen with Bucky, so this can’t be about her.)

As if in direct answer to Sam’s unspoken question, a baby’s laugh sounds from the kitchen, giggles rising in pitch until Bucky is shushing them, and now Sam is only more confused.

Where on earth did Bucky get a baby? Does it have to do with the Thunderbolts? Is that why he came home earlier than expected from his mission? That makes sense, honestly. Sam’s met Val; if there were a choice between leaving a baby with her or a literal tiger, he might seriously consider the tiger.

“Take it easy, huh?” Bucky says, as the baby coos at him. “We can’t have you tiring yourself out, can we? How’re you gonna charm everyone at the park today if you’re napping?”

There’s a pause for the babble that the baby offers in response, and Bucky hums thoughtfully at the end of it.

“That’s a good point; you probably could charm them all even if you were sleeping,” he says. “Like I told your Ma, you’re too cute for your own good. You gotta learn to use that power responsibly.”

The baby babbles again, punctuated by another shriek of laughter. Sam stops spinning out baby acquisition scenarios to appreciate how adorable it is that Bucky is talking to this literal infant like they’re having a full blown conversation.

“Come on, kiddo,” says Bucky. “I thought we had a deal. You don’t wake up Sam while he sleeps off this mission and I play peekaboo with you until my arms fall asleep.”

“Bah!” is the baby’s emphatic response, and Sam’s not sure what that’s supposed to mean, but Bucky is.

“Oh, yes we did. We shook on it.”

A gurgle, and then another laugh.

Bucky lets out a dramatic sigh. “Okay, fine, I shook on it and you just tried to eat my left hand. Still. That’s a gentleman’s agreement.”

Sam muffles a laugh behind his hand, and the sound is apparently enough to disrupt Alpine’s time in the sun. She casts an imperious look back at him before curling up in her spot again, having sufficiently expressed her distaste. Sam wonders if her mood has anything to do with the fact that Bucky’s attention has been claimed by a different adorable someone, and confirms his theory by sitting down on the stairs and waiting her out as he listens to the conversation in the kitchen.

The step squeaks under him, but he’s pretty sure he gets some cover from the baby yelling, “Buh!” and clapping excitedly.

Alpine startles at the noise and gives Sam a look like, Are you seeing this right now? He shrugs at her in a way that he hopes is commiserating, and she responds with a flat stare that she unquestionably picked up from Bucky.

From the kitchen, Sam hears Bucky say, warm and encouraging, “Yeah, that is a bird. You want to go look at the birdfeeder?”

The baby makes another noise that must be a yes. Alpine, now probably offended by the baby and the talk of birds, has begun a stately prowl up the stairs. Sam avoids looking at her as she makes her way up, but immediately offers chin scratches when she settles in his lap.

There’s a running commentary on the birds at the feeder now, finally giving Bucky a use for all the bird facts he picked up while helping Cass with that project on local ecosystems last month.

“That’s a goldfinch,” he’s explaining, and the baby lets out a soft ooh at whatever the bird is doing. “Uh-huh, he’s real pretty, right?”

Alpine curls up more comfortably in Sam’s lap, and he rests his head against the railing and lets Bucky’s voice wash over him, comforting the way it always is, even when they’re arguing over something stupid.

“You see that one over there on the railing? All showy with the blue and white? That’s a blue jay. Sam likes those, but there’s this red finch that’s his favorite.” He pauses for what Sam assumes is more baby babble. “You, too, huh? Yeah, I guess they’re nice. Not my favorite, though.”

The baby must make an inquisitive noise, because then Bucky’s humming thoughtfully.

“I’m trusting you not to tell anyone, okay? This is top secret stuff.” The baby gurgles and that seems like reassurance enough, because Bucky goes on to say, “All these years and my favorite bird is still Sam.”

Sam snorts and shakes his head. At some point, that joke is going to get old, he’s sure, but as far as Bucky’s concerned, it hasn’t happened yet.

“I know, I know,” Bucky’s saying. “But the first time I saw him fly, he literally knocked me off my feet. That sort of thing tends to leave an impression.”

More cooing from the baby.

“Yeah, okay, so I’m a little biased,” says Bucky, and punctuates it by blowing a raspberry that sends delighted giggles carrying through the house. “But you’ve never seen him fly. He’s nice to look at all the time, but when he’s up in the air? It’s like he was born to be up there. There’s nothing better.”

It’s quiet for a moment, Sam’s heart too full to even think of a quippy response.

“He really is beautiful,” Bucky says, completely sincere, and the part of Sam that hasn’t completely turned to mush feels a little bit guilty for eavesdropping on Bucky like this. The feeling immediately dissipates when Bucky adds, a little bit louder, “It almost makes up for how bad he is at sneaking around his own house.”

Sam looks down at Alpine. “This is your fault,” he tells her as she looks up at him. “I was just trying to figure out if your dad had stolen a baby. I would’ve been like a ghost if I hadn’t sat down to pet you.”

There’s a snort from Bucky, who appears in the doorway to the kitchen with a curly-haired baby on his hip. “Keep telling yourself that, sweetheart.”

“I will,” says Sam. In his lap, Alpine perks up as soon as she hears Bucky’s voice, then rears back at the sight of the baby. They watch her hop off of Sam and flounce her way into the family room, probably in search of Fig. “So are you gonna explain where this baby came from or…?”

“I’m not sure I have time for an entire birds and the bees talk right now,” Bucky says, blinking at Sam as innocently as possible. “I’d offer to give you the highlights but I think Jordan’s a little young to hear all that.”

“You’re not as funny as you think you are,” says Sam, as he takes the last couple of steps moves towards the kitchen. He smiles at the baby, holding a finger out for him to grip. “Hi, Jordan. You have fun birdwatching with Bucky?”

Jordan looks at Sam, wide-eyed at the sound of his own name, and grabs onto Sam’s hand before turning to Bucky with a beatific if gummy smile.

“Did you say hi to Sam?” Bucky asks, tickling Jordan’s stomach and making him giggle. “Did you tell him you like blue jays, too?”

There’s something about the way that Bucky moves with a baby in his arms, swaying and bouncing just the right amount, alert but not tense. He’s confident anytime they’re out in the field, and time in Delacroix has helped him shake off the shyness and hesitation that colored his earliest visits here, but there’s an element of this that goes beyond that. It seems instinctive, somehow.

Sam has the mildly embarrassing thought that he could watch it for a while and not get bored, and decides not to test how obvious this inclination is by coming up with a distraction. “I’m starving,” he says. “Have you eaten yet?”

Bucky shakes his head. “Got a little distracted when Miss Letty showed up with this one,” he says. “And he keeps touching my left hand, so I didn’t want the metal heating up near the stove.”

“If I make breakfast, you think you and your co-pilot over there can handle putting on some coffee for us? Is there a stroller or something that we can put him in?”

“Don’t worry about it,” says Bucky, waving a dismissive hand. “I’ve had plenty of practice.”

“Juggling a kid and making breakfast?” asks Sam, as he pulls eggs and milk out of the fridge. “Who are you, June Cleaver?”

“You know I don’t know who that is.”

Sam just shrugs, letting Bucky have the out if he wants it, and gets a mixing bowl from the cabinet so he can start making pancake batter. After a few moments of working in relative silence—Jordan is still as chatty as ever, and Bucky keeps up his end of the conversation—the coffee maker starts burbling, and Sam feels Bucky come up to stand beside him, his chin resting on Sam’s shoulder as he peers into the mixing bowl.

It’s like waiting Alpine out on the stairs earlier. Sam keeps working, measuring out his flour and whisking in baking powder and salt. Bucky nudges the carton of eggs over before Sam has to reach for them, and he just hums in acknowledgment when Sam thanks him.

“Evie went through a phase,” is what he finally says, when the batter is nearly done. “Right after Rose was born, when she wasn’t the baby of the family anymore. Any time she saw Ma holding the new baby, she’d want to be held, too. I got real good at juggling a two year old in one arm and whatever I needed to get done in the other. Then Ma went back to work, and I would sit up with Rosie when her colic got bad, walk her around the apartment until she calmed down enough to sleep.”

Sam can picture it perfectly: teenaged Bucky, still growing into the dashing good looks that were memorialized in all the textbooks, but with the same sense of duty that would keep him at Steve’s side years later, soothing tears and finishing fights in the same afternoon. There are so many skills that Bucky carries that Sam has watched him struggle with, not knowing whether HYDRA put them there or why he might have needed them. He can’t help but feel relieved that Bucky also gets to keep this, too, this muscle memory that belongs wholly to the person he was before tragedy could touch him.

It’s rare for Bucky to talk about his childhood at all, between the gaps in his memory and the grief over what he’s lost. As a rule, Sam tries not to make a big deal out of it when it happens, so in spite of how full his heart feels, he just leans into Bucky’s warmth, pressing a kiss to his cheek before he can pull away.

“Sounds like they were lucky to have you,” Sam murmurs.

“Yeah, maybe,” says Bucky, sniffing a little. “I guess so.”

“They were,” says Sam, more firmly this time. “Trust me. I know the feeling.”

He has the sense that Bucky’s about to argue, but then Jordan cuts him off with another well-timed, “Bah!”

“See?” Sam says, pointing at Jordan. “You have to listen to us. You’re outnumbered.”

Bucky lets out a gusty sigh, looking down at Jordan, who just coos at him. “I can’t believe you’d betray me like this.”

“He saw a better deal and he took it,” says Sam. “Sorry, baby.”

“Fine,” grouses Bucky. “I’m conceding, but I’m gonna be persnickety about it.”

“You can be as persnickety as you want, as long as you know I’m right,” says Sam, carrying the bowl of batter to the stove.

“In that case, if I tell you that you’re right again, will you add those pralines we bought to the pancakes?”

“I’m above flattery, Barnes,” he says, but now he’s thinking about brown sugar and pecan caramelizing against the pan and it sounds delicious. “But yeah, maybe.”

Bucky sets a coffee mug on the counter in front of him and steals a kiss. “Chocolate chips, too?”

“Don’t push it,” says Sam, but he’s already turning to grab the Toll House bag from the pantry, and he can’t even be that annoyed about it when Bucky crows about his victory.

It’s good to be home, he thinks, and throws a chocolate chip at Bucky’s head for good measure.

#sambucky #'hey zainab what happens in this fic?'#i honestly could not tell you it's three thousand words of pure vibes and ZERO plot #my brain just decided that I needed to complete it at once or I would cease to exist #taylor swift prompt fics #my fic #sesamestreep #zainab does ask meme things #is it good??? no way to know. is it done??? yes.#i should maybe put this on AO3 but the idea of having to format and tag right now is making me want to weep so.

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