#little seasoned bread babies | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

luveline · 28 days

Note

kbd steve and r dealing with two of the girls holding a grudge/fighting and helping them make up 🥹🥹🥹

kbd —mom!reader and dad!steve attempt to get their girls to forgive each other

“I thought they’d just forget,” you whisper.

Steve looks over your shoulder, hand on your waist, the smell of hot butter bubbling on the stove like an itch in his nose. “Right? Like, they’d sleep and forget. Especially ‘cos they like sharing the bed.”

Avery and Beth sit as far away from one another as is humanly possible. Beth sits with Dove toward the head of the table, frowning as her little sister climbs onto her legs and tries to comb her hair, while Avery sits by the open kitchen door. She’s pretending to poke at the snail that lives under the stoop, but she’s really on the edge of tears.

They’re fighting because Avery took one of Beth’s fruit slices yesterday at lunch (warm pastries that all the kids can’t get enough of). When Steve asked her about it, she lied and said Beth actually ate one of her fruit slices, and Beth had been so betrayed she actually got mad. Beth never gets mad.

Avery couldn’t take the guilt, confessing in tears the night before that she’d lied, and so you and Avery knocked Beth’s door together to apologise. Only Beth didn’t forgive her.

It’s weird to see them not getting along. Avery and Beth are so sweet to each other usually. It’s odd that they aren’t sharing their breakfast, that they aren’t trying to feed the baby her mushy eggs. You and Steve are used to a more lovey-dovey feeling in the mornings.

You dip down to sit with Avery when she does eventually start crying. “What’s the matter?” you whisper.

Steve knows you’ve got the reins on that one, taking a seat by the other disgruntled party.

“Is she crying?” Beth asks him softly.

“Yeah, baby.”

“‘Cos of me?”

“It’s not like that.” He pulls Dove off of Beth’s lap before the toddler can trample her. Dove frowns at him but decides to allow it, resting in a lump against his chest. He pats her back. “She feels bad that she upset you, and she lied, and she wishes you were feeling better.”

It must be strange to be young and be terrified that nobody will believe you, even over something as small as a fruit slice. Steve can’t imagine what he’d feel like now having to justify things to his parents. Or maybe it was that Avery’s never done something like that, at least not that Beth could remember.

“She lied,” Beth stresses.

“I know. But she did say sorry, honey, and she promised you two of her fruit slices today to make up for it. Maybe we can be friends again?” Steve says.

If Beth wants to be mad a little while longer, that’s okay, but from the looks of her where she’s looking back and forth between Steve and the open kitchen door, she’s ready to forgive, or make her sister feel better at the very least.

“It’s nice to forgive someone,” Steve says. “It’s kind. Avery didn’t wanna get in trouble, but she got you in trouble instead, so it’s cool if you’re still grumpy.”

“I’m not grumpy.”

Steve gives her an encouraging smile. “I know. It’s up to you, baby. Between you and me though, I think Avery’s super duper sorry.”

In your lap, Avery sniffles. Dove climbs down off of Steve as Beth slips from her chair, then looks back for Steve. “Will you tell her I’m not mad?” Beth asks him.

He wriggles his fingers. She takes his hand.

It’s an unusually cold morning for the season, Steve can see your arms have wrinkled with goosebumps where they’re wrapped tight behind Avery’s back. You’d already given her a scolding for lying last night, and you and Steve are one and done with parenting; you don’t comfort her reluctantly, you just comfort. “It’s okay,” you say under your bread, swaying her from one side to the other.

“Hey,” Steve says, crouching down to catch your attention.

“Hello.” You see Beth, and you smile with relief. “Hi.”

“Beth has something she wants me to tell you, Ave,” he says, nudging her arm gently with his knuckles to catch her attention. She peers up tearily from your arm. “She said she’s not mad anymore, okay? She wants to be friends again.”

Avery looks at Beth cautiously. “Really?” she asks. It’s hard not to hear how hopeful she sounds. Steve feels extremely sympathetic, and he can’t help thinking she’s cute. She’s such a sweetheart, just like Beth, and Dove, and baby Wren he’s sure will end up the same. Like you. He can’t count how many times you and him have argued over the years, but every time it ends with you being more sorry than you need to be, and usually some of Steve’s guilty tears.

“Yes,” Beth says, “so please don’t cry anymore.”

Avery pouts. “You wanna give your sister a hug?” you prompt.

Avery jumps up and throws herself at Bethie, almost knocking her younger sister down. Steve puts his hand behind them to stop a calamity. “I’m sorry, Bethie,” Avery squeaks, her voice high with upset and scratchy as she squeezes Beth tightly.

“It’s okay! I’m not mad!”

“I know!” Avery sniffles. “I’m still sorry. I told dad you ate my slice but you didn’t, I’m sorry.”

“She’s forgiven you, baby,” you say, patting Avery’s shoulder. “It’s all water under the bridge. Yeah?”

Beth holds Avery by the arm as they pull away. “Yeah. Water un’ the bridge.”

“Thank you,” Avery says. “I don’t like when you’re mad.”

You and Steve make similar expressions of love and empathy over their small heads.

385 notes · View notes

httpsserene · 5 months

Note

Heyy, i was wondering if you could do an Toto wolff x reader. I was thinking kitchen sex?? Like Toto getting turned on because he found out that reader was trying to make him his beloved pumpernickel bread for breakfast. I’ve been seeing tiktoks of Toto and his love for pumpernickel bread, and was just wondering if you could write abt it, though it’s TOTALLY ok if you don’t. Sorry if this was a little messy, this is my first time rqsting something. ♥️

𝐭𝐨𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐲 𝐰/𝐭. 𝐰𝐨𝐥𝐟𝐟

📖𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆: you make toto his favorite bread. he’s going to thank you for this surprise properly. 📖𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴: 18+ only. explicit. implied age gap. kitchen sex. rambling about bread. unprotected sex. vaginal sex. morning sex. reader and toto are married. beta-read. 📖𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁: 2.2k words 📖𝗽𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴: toto wolff x fem!black!reader 📖𝗴𝗲𝗻𝗿𝗲: oneshot. 📖𝘀𝗼𝘂𝗻𝗱𝘁𝗿𝗮𝗰𝗸: can't take my eyes off of you (i love you baby) • lauryn hill

𝗽𝗿𝗲𝗳𝗮𝗰𝗲: can you tell i did way to much research on the types of pumpernickel bread? no, well, i don’t care 🙂 i WAS NOT familiar with toto wolff and pumpernickel bread so a quick youtube search opened my eyes to it and uh what can i say, this was born. ALSO: i feel like i’ve self-diagnosed myself; i am ashamed to admit that my kink might be somebody making me their wife…because why can’t i go one fic without making the reader be referenced to as a wife (m sorry i crave love). i honestly feel like it could be better, but y’know i hope i did your request justice (sorry it took me so long, ktober beat my ass). anon! i hope you see this, and i hope all the toto wolff lovers enjoy !!!

the yellow dish gloves on your hands protect your brown skin from most of the heat of the scalding tap water. the sound of your hums airily reverberate within the high ceilings of your open-plan kitchen as you clean the expensive dishes you’ve dirtied. you’ve taken off your wedding ring and placed it on top of your phone in the middle of the island to avoid any possibility of it falling down the drain or getting damaged.

you woke up a little after dawn, quickly shutting off your alarm to avoid waking up your husband; it’s the off season for him, you won’t wake him up at insane hours when he’s not needed to work. sneaking out of bed was a battle of its own—there were several close calls as you struggled to slip out of the tight hold of the austrian man. it took seven minutes for you to escape his warm embrace, but you made it through by thinking of the surprise you were going to cook up for Toto—or bake up for him. it’s no secret to anybody that the mercedes team principal loves pumpernickel bread, and that he’s very particular about how he likes it. of course, there’s no way you would be able to make the traditional german pumpernickel bread before he woke up—it takes fourteen hours to cook and it needs to rest for an entire day to allow it to form properly into its crunchy, cookie-like consistency. so, you decided to make the simplified recipe that only takes roughly an hour and a half to bake and prepare, while the original takes its time cooking. your husband will have to be happy with the more loaf-like treat until his preferred bread is ready. you’ve never been more thankful to have two ovens.

everything went well. both breads are prepped and baking away at their respective temperatures, and you’re carefully attempting to clean up the mess you’ve made in the process. you may not have been quiet enough based on the footsteps you hear heading your way. Toto pauses in the doorway and you smile, not needing to turn around to see the baffled expression on his face. you turn the faucet off and grab the cloth resting on the oven handle to dry your hands, “good morning, bär. slept well?” you teased gently with a small smile in Toto’s direction. you take an appraising glance of his form; he’s only wearing this pair of pajama pants covered in the mercedes logo (George gifted him those when the team did secret santa last year; Toto said he’d never wear them), leaving his toned torso exposed for your viewing pleasure, sleep lines from his pillow are still faint along his left cheek, and his hair is ruffled like he’s been running his hands through it. your husband nods half-heartedly, and blinks in confusion as he takes in the sight of you in the kitchen.

you're wearing one of his white button-up shirts—half of the buttons are fastened, the sleeves are rolled up and cuffed right above your elbow. you aren’t wearing a bra based on the way he can see how your nipples are pebbled through the shirt, and he assumes you’re only wearing underwear based on your bare legs. your feet are warmed by a pair of black, fuzzy house slippers, the bottom of the shirt rests along the middle of your thighs, and the collar is shifted to the side exposing your collarbone. your hair is free, allowed to rest however it wants to on this winter morning. he starts, making to finally enter the space of the kitchen and give you a proper morning greeting, but notices a smudge of flour along your jawline. and then he sees the baking utensils gathered in the sink, and a rich aroma starts to permeate the air. it smells slightly like coffee and slightly like dark chocolate—it’s sweet. then, it dawned on Toto, you’re baking pumpernickel bread. for him. his heart flutters; you usually sleep as late into the morning as possible, but today, you woke up at an insane hour just to make him his favorite bread from scratch. you’ve always teased him for how difficult he acts about his breakfast treat yet you sacrificed hours of sleep to please him. Toto’s mushy mindset is broken, as you cock your head at him, wondering why he hasn’t responded to you, and the collar of his your shirt shifts and falls to expose the top of your chest. mmm, yes, he should thank you properly.

you don’t even have time to register toto crossing the space between you, before your lips are interlocked in a passionate kiss. a shocked squeal is muffled against toto’s lips, as his large hands hold your waist steady, and your own hand flies up to hold his head. your other hand rises to tap at his chest frantically, as you begin to run out of air, and toto pulls away with an amused chuckle. dazedly, your hand on his chest pulls back to touch your lips, like you needed further verification that he just kissed you.

Toto smirks, “good morning, schatz.”

you nod unsteadily, “yes—g-good morning.”

your husband laughs louder at your stutter, and tugs you into his chest for a proper hug, rubbing at the nape of your neck with a heavy hand. the two of you stand tangled in the middle of the kitchen, uncaring of how many seconds fly by, and your eyes flutter shut at the relaxing motion of Toto’s massaging hands.

“i’m going to fuck you on the island, now, “ Toto informs you kindly.

you startle, pulling your head back to stare up at him with wide eyes. his gaze is serious, and you can’t help how your cheeks warm under his attention.

“well…” you murmur, “i’m not going to say no.”

from there, it’s all a rushed haze. you go from having two feet firmly planted on the tiled floor to being lifted and placed on the marble island as toto speeds through unbuttoning your collared shirt. you try to shrug it off, but Toto halts your motions firmly telling you to leave it on. you hum absently and pull him into a kiss. Toto moans into your mouth, and the sound has your hips bucking forwarding to grind against the bulge in his pants. his hands reaches for your left hip and assists you in grinding against him, and a sigh of pleasure parts your lips. the austrian eagerly slips his tongue into your mouth, and he tastes a bit of sugar from whatever you snacked on while making his bread. oddly, that causes more of his blood to rush south and he breaks the kiss to lean back and tug your panties off.

you simultaneously pull his pajama pants down, and squirm happily at the fact that he slept without boxers. Toto gently guides you to lie back on the countertop, and coos softly when you shiver from the cold surface; he’ll warm you up soon. he pulls your panties off from where they were dangling around your right ankle and drops them to the floor, kicking them to the side along with his pants. tugging you forward, your ass rests on the edge of the counter and he leans down to press kisses on your throat.

moaning highly, you crane your neck to expose its full length to his mercy. your right hand tangles in his hair to guide him exactly where you want, your left hand holds at his shoulder for support, with your nails digging into the meat of his muscles. Toto pauses, and pulls back to grab your left hand. a broken whine falls from your lips, and you buck your hips upward searching for friction, the slide of his cock along your folds feels delicious. his knees buckle at the sensation, and he forces your hips back down with his free hand, as he pulls your left hand in front of him to look at it.

“where’s your ring, liebling?” Toto asks, warm eyes focused on your bare ring finger. you laugh disbelievingly, amused and surprised at the fact that he managed to feel the absence of your wedding ring, and pull your hand out of his grasp smoothly. you reach behind you and pluck your ring from its spot on top of your phone, and slide it back on your finger. brandishing your ringed-hand in his eyeline, you impatiently try and buck your hips upward to no avail, his one-handed hold on you is unbreakable.

“okay! fuck me—now, please,” you demand desperately.

Toto hushes you, and holds your left hand steady. he stares into your eyes as he presses a kiss on the wedding ring he bestowed you with. your cheeks burn hot, and you roll your eyes as if your heart didn’t liquify at the show of devotion. your husband guides himself to your entrance, and pushes in carefully—thankful he fucked you open last night. you whimper softly, tender and sore, but you nod frantically to encourage Toto to push further in. he groans throatily as he bottoms out, throwing his head back in pleasure, and your moan harmonizes at the feeling of fullness. the stretch burns slightly, but you’re more focused on achieving an orgasm than the space he caves out in your walls.

you squeeze your knees around his waist, and grind up on him to encourage him to move. Toto grabs your left leg, bringing it to rest over his shoulder, while your right leg remains resting on his waist, both fuzzy slippers falling from your feet at the movement. it has him sliding slightly deeper inside you, and a spark of pleasure races up your spine. Toto begins to thrust, setting a quick pace from the get go. he fucked you open eight hours ago and the tightness of your cunt has him considering that he didn’t fuck you well enough. the bruises in the shape of his hands on your hips suggest differently. it’s ridiculous, how lost the two you get in each other’s bodies. your moans are punched out of you with every thrust, his cock dragging against your most pleasurable spot every time he sinks in you. Toto should be embarrassed at how quickly this is ending, but your sounds are too erotic for there to be any other outcome.

he lays his hand on your navel, gently adding pressure over where he’s reaching inside of you, while his thumb circles rapidly over your clit. your back arches sharply as you screech from the unexpected flare of pleasure, raking your nails down his back in thin red lines as you cum at the added stimulation. it’s a multitude of sensations and emotions that had you hurtling over the edge quicker than you thought possible, and Toto has no choice but to follow you into the abyss, unable to hold back his orgasm at the unbearably hot and wet grasp of your cunt. your husband rocks into you through the afterglow, pausing only when you start to whimper in too much, and not feeling good. staring up at toto with a blissed-out smile and half-lidded eyes, you sigh sweetly as he slips out and leans down to kiss you again. the press of his lips is syrupy sweet and you find yourself getting lost under the feeling of him pouring his love and devotion into you—even though you don’t need the reminder—and the timer you’ve set on your phone blares jarringly causing you and toto to jump apart, startled.

“what the fuck,” Toto deadpans as you scramble around to turn off the alarm.

you sigh in relief once the aggravating sound is silenced, and nudge at Toto’s hip with your foot, “well—don’t just stand there! get the bread out before it burns!”

the austrian huffs exaggeratedly, like it’s such a chore, and pulls on the oven mitts to take out the pumpernickel bread adaptation after you direct him to the proper oven, not wanting him to disturb the traditional bread baking. the sight of the known headphone-smashing, hothead mercedes team principal completely naked spare for a pair of oven mitts is amusing, enough that you can’t quiet your snort, uncaring of how Toto glares at you. he places the baking tin on the cooling rack you set to the side, and hums happily at the aroma—even though it’s a far cry from the usual bread he prefers. like the oaf he is, Toto reaches to pull a piece of the fresh pumpernickel to eat, but with lightning quick speed you reach over and slap his hand away before he defiles the bread.

“aht aht! what do you think you're doing? it needs at least forty-five minutes to cool before you can take a slice,” you scold the grown man.

Toto pouts (astounding, honestly), and then he brightens considerably, a sleazy smirk spreading across his lips, “ah? we have time for a second round then, maybe three…” you laugh hysterically, ignoring the way your stomach flips pleasingly at the suggestion, and slide off the counter, buttoning up your collared shirt, and you bend down to pick up the discarded pieces of clothing lying on the floor, “there’s no way you manage to get hard twice in forty-five minutes, old man–” Toto balks at your words–he’s really not old, or at least not that old, “–however, it’s enough time to finish washing the dishes you distracted me from doing.”

taglist: @saintslewi@cherry2stems@lorarri@inloveallthetime@mindless-rock@biancathecool@barnestatic @my-ylenia @katekipshidze @darleneslane @lovingaphroditesworld @smoothopz

919 notes · View notes

irisintheafterglow · 6 months

Note

(⁠◍⁠•⁠ᴗ⁠•⁠◍⁠)🌷✨🩷🍪 Greetings Author-nim

Can I please request (⁠^⁠_⁠^⁠メ⁠)

(OPLA Zoro x You) Where Reader is an Assassin or Ninja and is a Pirate hunter, When Zoro used to be one too, they would always compete who gets the target first. Sometimes Zoro wins, sometimes reader.

So, imagine Reader's reaction when they saw Zoro with the crew.

And also, Luffy, somehow by some miracle with his own style of talk-no-jutsu managed to convince reader to join them(⁠≧⁠▽⁠≦⁠)

(⁠ ⁠˘⁠ ⁠³⁠˘⁠)⁠♥. Hope u have a great day and it's okay if u don't want to do this. I'll understand.

baby, let the games begin

wc: 2k (surprise, shawty)

cw/tags: gn!reader, swearing, canon-typical violence, mentions of drinking and alcohol, pining pining pining pining PINING

note: hi love, thank you so much for your request!! i hope you like this because i certainly love writing for this stupid himbo man

likes, reblogs, and replies are always appreciated <3

Honor be damned, you really wanted to kill him.

“Dirty play, demon,” you huff irritatedly, scowling at the asshole who skewered your target before you could. In a single clean slash, the head is relieved of its body and unceremoniously kicked into a bag. “We both know that one was mine.”

“Better luck next time.” Asshole. Stupid, selfish, infuriatingly attractive asshole. A million different ways you could end his life flashed through your mind and, with his back turned to you, became more of a possibility the longer you sat in your disappointment. The dock creaks beneath his receding footsteps and you spit a curse under your breath. The head now bouncing around in the pirate hunter’s hand would have had you living comfortably for months, not to mention buying some shelter for the stray dogs wandering your home island. Monsoon season was coming and you didn’t have nearly enough space to keep all of them dry. Finding food that wasn’t old bread and horse balls was hard in itself and shelter was just another task added to the to-do list. “You’re not gonna try and take it from me?”

“Why would I? You killed him; you get the bounty,” you reply scornfully, praying that whoever came up with the idea of hunter’s honor is torn to shreds by an octopus. “Guess it is your turn,” you concede reluctantly and take note of the blood dripping from the dirty fabric sack as he reapproaches. You’d have to clean your shoes when you were done. “I did take that guy from you in Flamingo Village, last week.”

“The one with the big, ugly hat,” he confirms and you don’t budge when he stands right in front of you. He had pretty eyes, you’d give him that. Too bad you wanted to slam your fist into his nose. “I was mad about that one.”

“Well, you got this one. Aren’t you gonna cash ‘em in?”

“I will. I’m just curious,” he says and his expression is unreadable. It bordered on amusement and suspicion with a little bit of awe. “You could have killed me a million times since I killed the target.” Already thought that, buddy. “Why didn’t you?”

“Like I said, hunter’s honor–”

“No,” he shakes his head decidedly and you narrow your eyes. “You’ve been following this guy for four days, watching other hunters fail to bring him in. My question is, why do you need this bounty so badly, and why aren’t you willing to kill me over it?”

“Technically, that’s two questions,” you deadpan and your heart does an unwanted little stutter when he scoffs, the tiniest smile pulling at his mouth. “If you really wanna know why I need it, it’s ‘cause I need to take care of some friends back home.” It wasn’t a complete lie, but you also didn’t need the most feared hunter in the seas knowing that you needed the money to buy squeaky toys and dog beds.

“Those friends aren’t worth killing for?”

“It’s sounding like you want me to kill you,” you fire back incredulously. “Do I need to worry about you, Zoro?”

“Look, all I’m saying is, all other hunters would be leaping at my throat as soon as I take their kill. I just don’t understand why you won’t, especially if it’s worth four days of stalking.”

“Maybe I like playing this little game,” you admit. It’s no secret to you that your job becomes incredibly boring at times. All the other hunters you come across take their jobs too seriously and believe that they’re purging the seas of evil. You, however, knew that the real evil was pacing around ivory towers and putting up the wanted posters. When you first met Zoro, it seemed like he didn’t take his job seriously at all. He killed like it was breathing and remained unamused at the melodramatic theatrics of flashier hunters. You ran into each other often because, besides being the only ones who survive their hunts, you were the top-earning hunters of your generation and ended up following the same pace every time. “I take a bounty; you take a bounty. I try to beat the pirate hunter at his own game; he throws a fit when I’m faster than him.”

“But, today I was faster than you,” he corrects and you stick your tongue out at him in defiance. “Who’s throwing a fit now?”

“Get out of my sight, demon,” you frown but you can’t hold it for long. It becomes a tired, melancholy smile and you start to make your way back to the town to book passage home. “Hope you enjoy all that Berry.”

“Let me buy you a drink with it before you go,” he calls after you and you freeze where you stand. “Consolation for kicking your ass this time around.” You shoot him a scathing look over your shoulder and take the bait.

“I did all the dirty work for you, asshole, so it better be three drinks at the least.” He chuckles softly under his breath and you roll your eyes, letting him catch up to you before heading to the nearest bar together. “I hate you so much.”

“No, you don’t.”

As time passed and you ran into him more during your hunts, that hatred turned into something different, an annoying feeling of excitement every time you heard a sword unsheathed or spotted someone with green hair. You found yourself checking your watch when you were ahead of him, counting down the hours until he caught up. You knew the sound of his footsteps and the rhythm of his breathing and memorized how the sun hit his eyes down to the iris. Sometimes, you’d work with him directly and split the bounty evenly once it was completed. During conversations to kill time, though he never admitted it, he liked being around you as often as he was. Eventually, you told him about your furry friends back on the island and started marking the places you’d been with a hasty drawing of a dog. It became part of your routine and the time that it took for him to catch up to you decreased exponentially as a result. You’re easier to follow, is what he said. On a particular mission where you were unusually behind, you were delighted to find his gross attempt at mimicking the mark scratched into the wooden bar counter.

You lose touch with him after a year or so of working together and you don’t expect it to hurt as much as it did. Word floated around that he was captured by Marines and posted up in Shells Town, but the same mouths reported that he escaped with pirates the following day. None of it sounded like him and it reminded you that you really didn’t know him at all. Still, you marked that silly dog into every barstool and backdoor you came across as you fell back into the same boring routines.

Taking a rest day at a floating restaurant called Baratie, you think you’ve found the perfect spot to scratch into the counter when you realize that someone has already done it for you. It was horrendous and nearly incomprehensible, but you choke back a sob when you run your thumb over the mangled wood. There was only one person who could have drawn the little dog so badly.

And it’s like your body senses him before your mind does.

In an instant, you’re hyper fixated on the familiar rhythm of his boots and the soft noise as his swords clank together with every step. There are four others with him, but you know his approach like the back of your hand. A boy in a straw hat whom you recognize from wanted posters rushes the bar, loudly requesting a glass of milk for himself and the finest rum for his swordsman companion. When he slides into the seat next to you, you can barely look at him, rendered defenseless from the conflict of emotions stirring in your mind. Thousands of questions were screaming to be answered but you couldn’t even open your mouth. The alcohol in your half-finished glass is all you can see.

“You found me,” he murmurs, flagging down the bartender and asking for a bottle of whatever you’re drinking.

“I wasn’t looking for you,” you reply just as quietly, watching his hand carefully replenish your glass before filling his own and downing it in a few swallows. You stop him from pouring another with a light hand on his shoulder and he wordlessly sets down the bottle, making you smile softly. “You still drink too much.”

“I don’t have you to slow me down,” he replies without hesitation, glancing at your fingertip as it traces the mark he made on the wood. “I’ve been putting those everywhere since I joined up with Luffy. Figured we’d run into each other at some point.”

“Luffy,” you echo. “That’s your pirate captain?” The irony of your situation escapes neither of you. If you were smart, you’d have every single one of them dead and bouncing around a burlap sack, just like the pirate all those years ago. But, just the same as the first time, you were stopped by a profound desire to be closer to Zoro.

“He’s not like other pirates. Not like the ones you and I know.”

“I’ll let the Marines know next time I bring in a head, then,” you laugh humorlessly, feeling the rum burn down your throat when you take another sip. You feel his eyes watching you carefully but you don’t look back at him. “I’m sure they’ll be thrilled to hear that.”

“They don’t have to hear anything,” he says in a low tone, one that sends goosebumps up your spine and has your heart beating a little faster. “They don’t have to hear anything from you ever again.”

“You’re not saying…”

“That's exactly what I’m saying.”

“You want me to just switch sides like it’s nothing?”

“This job has been nothing to you from the beginning, nothing but a way to feed strays that, thanks to you, have loving homes,” he reminds you and you exhale deeply. He was right, but part of you wanted vengeance for all the times you secretly wished he was still with you. “So, come with me.”

“Zoro, I–”

“You know, I’ve missed you so much I can’t sleep,” he shakes his head and sighs in defeat. “Every time we dock at a new city, I’m hoping you’re on a hunt because, as much as I care for them, they’ll never know me the way you do.” He looks back at his crew with something like sad fondness in his eyes. They wouldn’t ever know him the way you did, as a bounty hunter with no real place to call home and no real people to call friends. “It gets lonely when you’re not forced to be alone anymore.”

“And it’s lonely when you are forced to,” you add. “It’s lonely either way–”

“But I’d rather be that way with you,” he concludes. “It’s not bad when I’m with you.” You pause, collecting your thoughts and calculating how much money you’d have if you suddenly abandoned your current line of work. It was risky, sure, but something about risking it on Zoro made it feel a little less dangerous. “Your silence tells me I convinced you.”

“I’m not the one you need to convince; it’s your captain you should be talking to.”

“Trust me, he’s the least of our problems.” As if to drive home his point, a choir of cheers rises up from behind you as a loud belch sounds through the harbor.

“‘Our’ as in the crew, or ‘our’ as in you and I?”

“It’s always been you and I, hasn’t it?”

“It always will be,” you promise, letting your head fall onto his shoulder. He’s warm and safe and everything you were needing. “But, I need to teach you how to draw a better dog.” He hums in agreement, downing another glass contentedly.

“Yeah, you need to teach me how to draw a better dog.”

if you enjoy my writing and would like to support me, you can buy me a coffee on my ko-fi! you can also check out my full masterlist here :)

#zoro x you #zoro x reader #zoro x y/n #roronoa zoro x you #roronoa zoro x reader #roronoa zoro x y/n #opla x you #opla x reader #opla x y/n #one piece x you #one piece x reader #one piece x y/n #ask iris!

613 notes · View notes

thethirdromana · 1 year

Text

Mem., get recipe for Mina: a food guide to Dracula Daily

Inspired by There and Snack Again (in which you eat along with the LOTR movies), this is your guide to eating and drinking along with Dracula Daily.

All under a cut because there's no way I can do this without extensive spoilers. I strongly recommend not reading this unless you already know what happens in Dracula. Also only if you're comfortable reading about alcoholic drinks - there's a lot of booze in this novel.

Let's eat!

2 May We start with the famous paprika hendl. Google "chicken paprikash" and choose whichever recipe most strikes your fancy.

3 May For breakfast, choose from mamaliga (cornmeal porridge, similar to grits), "impletata" (vânătă umplută - stuffed aubergine) or anything with more paprika in it.

4 May For dinner, Jonathan has robber steak: "bits of bacon, onion, and beef, seasoned with red pepper, and strung on sticks and roasted over the fire".

5 May Slivovitz, if you'd like it (Jonathan declines). Then, for dinner, Dracula serves up roast chicken, with some cheese, a salad and a glass or two of Tokaji wine.

6 May "A cold breakfast" for Jonathan. In Romania a cold breakfast might include boiled eggs, telemea (sheep's cheese), franzela (bread) with assorted spreads, sliced cucumber and tomatoes, and sunculita taraneasca (sliced smoked pork). Jonathan also has "an excellent supper", but doesn't tell us what that includes.

16 May Would it be too bleak if I suggested eating a symbolic Jelly Baby?

26 May A glass of wine as Quincey and Jack congratulate Arthur and drown their sorrows.

18 June There's a kind of Scottish fruit slice called "flies' graveyard". That might make a suitable snack given Renfield's meal today.

24 June I guess a gingerbread woman, for the wolves? IDK, it turns out doing this for a horror novel is a bit grim.

8 July Thankfully the internet has hundreds of ideas for spider-themed cakes so you can eat along with Renfield.

18 July The voyage of the Demeter begins! Celebrate by eating like a sailor: have some salt pork, or make ship's biscuit.

20 July Renfield has just eaten several sparrows. Provide redress by feeding birds near you, bird flu guidance permitting.

24 July Imitate the "feet-folk" from York and Leeds by drinking some tea or eating some cured herring.

10 August Lucy and Mina enjoy a "severe tea". There are lots of severe teas in Victorian literature, but few writers actually describe what's in it - e.g. the Churchman's shilling magazine, 1868, has a story with a severe tea "which implies coffee, tea, and muffins, with substantials". What are substantials? I have no idea, but that's what you should eat today.

11 August Dracula has a little nibble on Lucy. I don't suggest doing this for every vampire bite in the novel, but given this one is particularly significant, how about marking the occasion with some black pudding?

30 August No food details for a while, but in this entry, Lucy notes that she "has an appetite like a cormorant" and "Arthur says I am getting fat". Celebrate with some cake.

3 September Van Helsing has been! And surely he wouldn't have come all the way from the Netherlands empty-handed? Acknowledge his visit with some gouda or a stroopwafel.

4 September Eat some sugar, which Renfield has requested for his flies.

7 September To stay in line with what the characters actually eat and drink, have a glass of port (though ideally not if you've just given blood). But for the real spirit of the day, consider a corn-on-the-cob.

9 September Free space! Jack has "an excellent meal" but doesn't say what it is. Dig into your favourite dinner.

10 September A sip of brandy, with which Van Helsing wets Lucy's lips.

11 September The garlic flowers arrive. There's lots that you can make with wild garlic - personally, I like it in risotto.

17 September A boxful of garlic flowers arrive for Lucy every day. Time to make chicken with 40 cloves of garlic. Other options for today include more black pudding (in honour of Renfield lapping up Jack's blood) or sherry.

18 September The Zookeeper enjoys a teacake, and so shall we.

20 September No food, but the labourers have "a stiff glass of grog". This is rum diluted with water, but you could also add lemon or lime juice, sugar, and/or cinnamon.

25 September Nibble another Jelly Baby for the Bloofer Lady.

29 September A lot happens in this entry, but there's not a lot of food. There are thirsty labourers, however. Maybe have a beer?

30 September Mina makes everyone a pot of tea. Also, we don't know what they have for dinner, but they eat it at 7pm, if you'd like to time your evening meal accordingly.

1 October More tea! Since this is being gulped down by a working man, make it builder's style - strong, sweet, lots of milk.

2 October Jonathan visits the Aërated Bread Company. He only has a cup of tea, but you could have whatever you like best from their menu:

(source)

3 October Dracula forces Mina to drink his blood like "a child forcing a kitten's nose into a saucer of milk". You could either have some more black pudding, or drink a glass of milk in solidarity with Mina.

15 October The Crew of Light aren't focusing much on meals any more, but they have travelled on the Orient Express. Here's the 1887 dining car menu.

(source - I can't vouch for the accuracy of a random person on Twitter but it looks plausible)

29 October No one is thinking of food in this bit of the novel (though Mina makes yet more tea), but as they're heading to Romania, have some sarmale. These stuffed cabbage rolls are the Romanian national dish.

31 October Mina and Van Helsing have "a huge basket of provisions". Have a picnic in their honour, if it's warm enough where you are.

1 November Mina and Van Helsing have "hot soup" into which the local cooks have put an extra amount of garlic. Consider having a truly extra amount of garlic with this 44-garlic-clove soup.

7 November The Crew of Light return to Transylvania. No details of food, but in honour of their journey, I would suggest a final round of chicken paprikash, to bring us back to where it all began.

#dracula daily #dracula spoilers #long post #incredibly long post #let me know if i've missed any notable meals and i'll add them in #posted a day or two before the start of dracula daily so anyone wanting to eat along has time to get their shopping in

1K notes · View notes

all-purpose-dish-soap · 1 month

Note

How about reader, who is a seasoned gamer, invites Gaz to play something like Valorant or Fortnite etc. She says "dw it took me a while to get good too" but he picks it up stupid quick. He spends the rest of the time enjoying winding her up more than the actual game.

absolutely absolutely. gaz can and should get away with everything.

1,833 words / lucky number 13

...

"Gaz... you know most people play video games to escape their responsibilities."

"So you've told me." Gaz's voice crackles over your headset.

You're staring at your screen, watching as he confirms his character selection in the game's lobby. "You're absolutely sure you want to play tank?" you ask him.

He locks in his character, and it appears in the pregame lobby: a bald-headed, square-jawed guy with a muscular build and heavy armor.

"Positive. You're playing healer, aren't you?"

"Yeah."

"Then I'm playing tank. Pocket me."

"You've never even played this game. We'll both get obliterated."

"Come on. How hard can it be? Shoot, use ability, reset. I take the damage; you heal me; I dish it back out; we win; you thank me for carrying you as always. It's just like our usual game."

"Repeat that last one. I think your mic cut out on account of the bullshit."

"You don't think I can keep the heat off you?"

"I don't need you to keep the heat off me. I just want you to have fun and not die in the first five seconds of the round," you tell him. He did buy this game specifically to play it with you. After a totally reasonable amount of prodding on your part. It's been your go-to for weeks.

"Then pocket me and I won't die. I'm not having fun if I'm not in the thick of it. You know me."

"Fine. For one game."

"Bet," Gaz says, sounding smug about it. "I'm not gonna disappoint."

During that first game, he's getting his bearings. But he takes to it rather intuitively, especially with your help over voice chat. His tactical skills are whip-sharp as always. As you pocket him, you focus your character's abilities on keeping Gaz alive. But you switch to upping his damage output when you realize he's holding down a choke point by himself, taking on enemies and laying out a field of fire for your team. It's impressive, considering this is his first time playing the game.

When an enemy sneaks up on you, his pocket healer, he disposes of them with slightly more prejudice.

"You're pretty good at this," you tell him, scanning the results screen. "I mean, maybe mid-tier if you were on your own."

"Mid-tier?" he says, a little affronted. "It's called being adaptable. Not that you'd know. Hundreds of hours in this game and you're mid-tier support at best."

You cross your arms, leaning back in your computer chair. "Because I don't play support. You know what? I'm switching to DPS. See what you carry without me patching your ass up every ten seconds."

Back in the lobby, you select your main. Gaz eyes the character with a bit of respect. "A rogue, huh? You must think you're pretty good. Gonna need a lot more healing."

"Only if I get hit."

"I could sponge that damage right up for you. Keep you nice and safe."

You scoff. "Won't need it."

"Let's see."

In the next round, you weave in and out of combat, gleefully dodging attacks and landing devastating blows before you disappear. Your bread and butter. Meanwhile, Gaz does--at worst--an admirable job tanking. Still, when you look back and see enemies surrounding him, it's clear he could use an assist.

You double back and flank two of the enemies on him, picking them both off one by one. But before you can gloat, his voice in your headset interrupts you.

"Good kills, baby."

That's not the reaction you wanted. It immediately ticks you off. "I know."

He chuckles and takes down another enemy. He's tunneling in on the fight now that you've got him back on his feet, but clearly he still has time to talk to you. "Can't take a compliment."

The face that he's purposely pushing your buttons just irritates you more.

The next few games, he makes himself indispensable as a tank. It should be a good thing, but he keeps getting in your way specifically. You'd swear it's on purpose. He tanks hits for you and then acts like you'd lose the game without him. His cockiness is insufferable. Worse--you can't ignore how deftly he's scaling the difficulty curve here. He's holding the attention of the enemy players, keeping them away from you while you deal the damage. And you'd never admit it, but the way he's holding aggro is saving your ass.

You shouldn't need him to do that, though. You tell yourself the only reason you're not playing better is because he's forcing you to maneuver around him.

Then he offs the enemy rogue right as you're finishing her off. You swear into the mic. "Gaz, come on! You stole my kill."

"I'm giving my little rogue the help she needs. Besides, you know it's not about getting the most kills. It's about the team's collective score," he teases, and you have to remind yourself it's just a game.

It's like he can tell exactly what to do to piss you off in record time after that. Bossing you around, telling you to take this point or make that kill. He even pipes up once to remind you it'd be a good time to use your ult. You open your mouth to tell him it's not ready yet, but to your chagrin, you glance down and realize it is. Somehow he's keeping track? Unreal.

You're a little impressed about that one, but you'd never tell him. In your defense, he's distracting you with all this banter and teasing. He's making it hard to focus.

"No backseat gaming," you tell him.

"Wouldn't have to backseat game if you played better."

"I would be playing better if you weren't crowding me!" You sigh out your nose. "You're only doing this to get a rise out of me. Micromanaging me. I swear you get off on it."

"You're giving me too many opportunities to obsess over you." He sounds smirky.

The way he says it makes something in your lower stomach flip. You lose focus for half a second--long enough for the enemy rogue to slip past Gaz and smack you.

Gaz slams into her with his shield to stun her, then spins around and uses his special to deal more damage. That last hit downs her. You don't even have a chance to react.

His voice in your headset is smug still. "Like I said."

"Fine. Thanks."

"You can thank me by not dying again."

After the game, you sit back in your chair, arms crossed. "You sure talk a lot of shit."

"Am I?" You hear him grinning. "I hoped you'd give me a little more attitude than that."

"Oh, I know. You're not subtle."

"Neither are you. You get riled up so easy."

"You want me to fight you? Because it sounds like you'd rather me just roll over and bite the damn curb."

"No, you want that. You're a masochist."

"Thank you."

"It isn't a compliment."

"I know. Keep bullying me," you snark into your mic.

It's hard to resist teasing you when you say stuff like that. "Okay," he says, his tone turning playful. He leans back, crosses his legs, and situates himself in his chair. The game's results screen idles on his monitor, forgotten. "You've gotta stop making it so easy for me, though."

"I get that a lot."

"I'm sure you do, sweetheart."

"Ooh, are we doing condescension now?"

"I've been condescending to you since minute one. I can turn it up if it's not obvious enough."

"Keep going and I'll get off."

"Off voice chat, you mean?"

You smirk. "No."

He smiles, rolling his shoulders back. "I can absolutely be more condescending to you if that's what your incompetent little heart desires."

You laugh. "You were just waiting to bring that one out, weren't you?"

"I've got several of them tucked away just in case you got mouthy, But let's be honest--you're always mouthy."

"You're one to talk. You talked hella trash that last match."

"Only because I had to pull your ass out of the line of fire all the time. If you were better, I wouldn't have to. You're giving me ammunition, here."

"I just think it's telling that you play tank."

"Are you saying I'm compensating for something?"

"You said it. Not me."

He rolls his eyes, smirking. "You want to talk about projecting? You're the masochist, and you play a rogue? The one class known for being fragile? You're putting a target on your own back. What does that say about you?"

"Better than a tank main," you quip.

"I'm taking all the hits so you can DPS your way to getting play of the game. Makes me sound proper generous."

You examine your nails. "Makes you sound like a control freak."

"Why don't you look me in the eye and say that? Turn on your cam."

Your grin widens. "Gaz, please. If I turned my webcam on every time some guy online asked me to, I'd never have time to play."

He leans forward, lowering his voice. "Who says I'm kidding? Come on, baby. Give me eye contact. Look me in the eye and tell me I'm a control freak."

"Nope." You know he hates that you're not budging.

"Why? Aren't you decent?"

"More like I have Cheeto dust all over my hands."

"Doubt that."

"It's true."

"Come on. Prove it."

"See? Control freak."

"Fine, I'm a control freak--withyou. But you like it, don't you?"

"Oh, I love when you order me around. I love knowing exactly what you want me to do so I can avoid doing it forever."

He sits back in his chair and stares through his screen. It's not like he's never seen your face before. You've posted a selfie or two in shared chats. But he's never seen you cozied up in your pajamas. Or in a cute little robe. Or maybe a big t-shirt, the soft kind. Like he wears.

Yeah, he's realizing he's down bad. Worse than he thought.

"You wanna make the next round more interesting, then?" he asks.

You arch a brow, propping your sock-covered feet up on your desk. "Like how?"

"You lose, you turn on your camera, obviously."

You snicker. "I don't know what you think I get up to on a Friday night, but you're gonna be sorely disappointed." You pop another Cheeto in your mouth, knowing he'll hear it crunch.

Gaz laces his fingers behind his head. "I've already curbed my expectations. Bet you're sitting around in sweats and a hoodie with some anime character on it." Not that the thought of that isn't appealing. He suspects you don't let many people see you that way.

"You're... uh..." You look down at what you're wearing. "Not far off, actually."

"I know, baby. I've seen your Discord handle."

"So what if I win?"

"Then I won't tell anyone how hard you got stomped these last few rounds. And trust me, I'd be telling everyone. It's embarrassing how much of a load you were. Don't take that the wrong way, though--by all means, just sit there looking cute while I carry this next game."

"Oh, you're on."

Gaz grins, leaning forward. "Yeah, we'll see how cocky you are when I put you back in your place."

You pull your chair back up to your desk, hands poised over your mouse and keyboard. "Promises, promises."

Gaz readies up, too. "Don't worry, baby. I'll keep my word. But once I humble you, you're gonna regret ever doubting me."

...

more Gaz / masterlist tag

161 notes · View notes

zepskies · 3 months

Text

Love, By Any Other Name

Pairing: Castiel x F. Reader

Summary: You want him. Castiel can’t help but crave you. Dean sees both of you and wishes you’d stop being idiots.

AN: This is my first ever commission! Written for @girlsforpjm, who requested "mutual pining" with Castiel. Here you go, lovely! I sincerely hope you enjoy it. 💜

**Also, this is set during season 12.

Song Inspo: “Wicked Game” by Chris Isaak

Word Count: 4,500

Tags/Warnings: Mutual pining, angst, blood and injury, (contains events from 12.12), fluff, some spice, implied smut.

“Achooo!!”

Sam grimaces while he watches you wipe your nose against your bare wrist. You shake your head and frown at the dusty tomes piled high beside you. You and Sam have been organizing the library for two hours now.

“That’s it, I can’t do this anymore,” you lament. “I need a break. My sinuses need a break.”

Sam’s lips twitch at a smile. “It’s okay. I got the rest of these.”

You aim a lazy salute at your friend and continue to sniffle as you leave the library. You circle this labyrinth of a bunker for a while, but you can’t seem to find the trench coat-wearing angel that’s supposed to live here too.

You end up in the garage, where Dean is tuning up his Baby. His shirt sleeves are rolled up to the elbows, and he’s got a grease stain across his cheek.

“Hey, you seen Cas?” you ask.

Dean barely perks up from under Baby’s hood to answer you. “He went out this morning. Haven’t seen him since.”

You pout at that, leaning against the side of the car near where Dean is tinkering.

“Is it too much to ask for him to leave a note or something?” you mutter.

Dean finally glances over at you. His lips edge at a smirk.

“What, miss your little boyfriend?” he teases.

The insinuation manages to take you by surprise. Your face starts to warm in embarrassment, but you cover it with a scoff.

“You should know. He was your boyfriend first,” you volley back. Dean’s expression flattens in annoyance.

“Don’t you have anything better to do right now?” he snarks.

“Nope,” you reply, popping the “P.” But you have mercy on him.

Instead of pestering him further, you just tip over the screwdriver he had balanced on the car’s frame. He makes a sound of protest as it falls somewhere between the gears inside his precious car.

He barks your name, and his angry voice echoes on the walls to magnify his frustration, but you’re already hastening back into the hall and down to the kitchen, trying to stifle your laughter.

You’ve slipped into the kitchen to escape. Yet that’s where you find the bunker’s resident angel, washing his hands of what looks like breadcrumbs in the sink.

“Hey,” you greet him jovially. He treats you with a small smile. “Where were you?”

“Oh, nowhere really. Just stepped out for a bit,” he replies. You get the sense that he’s hiding something. You smile and step closer to him, leaning a hand on the counter.

“Oh, yeah? Where?” you ask. Your eyes gleam with amusement. “Another ‘mission on high?’”

He sends you a droll look. “No.”

You tug on his sleeve. “Come on. Tell me.”

He smiles in return, and he gives you his own version of teasing.

“Childishness doesn’t become you,” he says.

“I’m just curious. You’ve been gone all day,” you reply, tilting your head. Your stare is unyielding, and familiar; Cas knows how stubborn you can be when you want something—especially information. Sometimes he finds it annoying, but in moments like these, it’s tempered by your playful, endearing smile.

“I was on a walk,” he finally admits.

You raise your brows. “A walk? Cas, it’s winter. Like 20 degrees outside.”

“I enjoy nature,” he shrugs. “The cold doesn’t bother me much anyway.”

…Well, he is an angel. You suppose it makes sense that he doesn’t feel the frigid weather like a human would. Your brow quirks with another curious thought.

“So you were washing your hands because…?” you ask.

Castiel’s face becomes a little more bashful. “I was feeding the birds some bread.”

At that, your smile grows. Here he is: Castiel, warrior angel of the Lord, Feeder of Pigeons.

“Well, if you ever want a walking companion, I’d be happy to join you,” you offer.

Castiel gives you a certain look, like he doesn’t quite believe you.

Your lips purse. “What?”

He sinks his hands into his pockets as he leans his slightly hunched form back on his heels.

“Nothing,” he claims. “It’s only, I seem to remember you forcing Dean to kill a spider in your room. You claimed, and I quote, bastard things that crawl don’t belong indoors.”

You cross your arms and stare back at him narrowly, even though you try to stifle a smile.

“What’s your point? Everyone’s afraid of spiders,” you reason.

He raises a brow. “You also claim to have a vendetta against birds.”

“Pigeons, Castiel. They’re rats with wings.” Even Dean would agree with you on that one.

Castiel gives you a dubious look, however.

“Forgive me if I’m skeptical of your supposed love of nature,” he says drolly.

You want to argue more, but Sam enters the room with Dean on his heels. Both men seem to sense they’ve interrupted something. You clear your throat and turn to them.

“What’s up?” you ask, more nonchalant than you feel whenever you’re near the angel beside you. Castiel glances at you, before he too silently addresses Sam and Dean.

“Uh, we’ve caught a case,” Sam says. “It’s not far. Three dead, all with their hearts, and most of their internal organs ripped out.”

“Ech,” you reply with a grimace. “Sounds kind of like a ghoul. Maybe a werewolf on steroids?”

“Well, they were fresh kills, and it’s a full moon. So more than likely we’re looking at werewolves,” he replies.

You smile thinly. “Great.”

You hate werewolves.

Correction: you really hate werewolves.

The thought hits you yet again as you lay on the floor of a dusty old hunting cabin.

The irony.

Dean hefts you in his arms, after slicing his silver blade through the heart of the yellow-eyed bastard that tore you open with his claws.

“It’s bad, isn’t it?” you ask, hating how your voice trembles. Dean doesn’t answer you at first. He holds his hand to the oozing gash in your side.

“Nah, you’ll be okay. Just hang in there,” he says. Blood quickly covers his palm. He curses inside his mind.

“Cas!” he calls out roughly.

The angel had been fighting in the other the room with Sam, but after he burns out the eyes of the last werewolf and its body falls to the ground, he hears the undercurrent of alarm in Dean’s shouting. With Sam on his heels, he returns to the living room to find you and Dean.

Castiel’s steps halt in the doorway when he sees you. His face slackens for a moment, but then he hardens. He moves forward swiftly.

“Move,” he says to Dean in order to come to your side. Dean’s eyes widen, but he does as he’s told after laying you down to the floor.

Castiel stares down at your face, offering you comfort with his eyes. You stare up at him in pain, but also with hope, and trust. You’re able to curl your fingers around the edge of his trench coat.

Then he presses his hand to your cheek. He closes his eyes in concentration while he heals you.

Though he expels more power than he should to heal you completely. He knows it when his body sways a little after he’s done. Dean grabs his shoulder to keep him steady.

“You good?” Dean asks.

Castiel nods; he’s more focused on the way you’re catching your breath. You marvel at how your wounds, your pain, and even your blood is gone—completely washed away. He helps you sit up with an arm wrapping around your shoulders. Then he gathers you tight against him, so he can help you stand as well. He wavers again on his feet, just a little, but you’re too perceptive not to catch it. You realize he did too much to save you.

You still chide at him with a frown. “You didn’t have to use up so much of your energy.”

Castiel shakes his head. “Think nothing of it.”

Those are useless words, but you don’t bother arguing with him anymore. You just sigh and hold onto his strong arms while regaining your balance. You know for a fact that you’re blushing when you glance up at him.

Biting your lip, you soon turn away to grab the knife you’d dropped in the fight.

Without you or Cas noticing, Sam and Dean share a knowing glance. It’s subtle, in the way the brothers have perfected. Dean barely curbs a smile as he leads the way back to the car.

You settle next to Cas in the backseat and try not to glance at him too often. You don’t know that he’s trying not to do the same to you.

Dean glances back at you two in the rearview mirror. He shakes his head.

Idiots.

Mary Winchester has been a welcome return to the family…when she’s here. Ever since Amara brought her back, she’s been distant with her sons. You don’t understand it all that well, but it’s not your place to say anything, you don’t think.

You do think Mary is a badass hunter. You just don’t know her that well.

About a week after the werewolf hunt, Mary drops in with Wally, a fellow hunter in need of assistance with a demon problem. You, Sam, Dean, and Castiel are all game. While you haven’t had to deal with demons too much in the past, you know that they’re…something of a specialty for the Winchesters.

But of course, it quickly goes to shit.

The demon lives alone, in some shack by a river where he likes to fish. The group of you wait until he’s stepped out of the house before you go inside and case the place, looking for a good spot to spray a Devil’s Trap or two and try to trap him.

When the demon returns, he’s far stronger than any of you anticipated. The Devil’s Trap breaks with little effort (the demon’s just laughing). Then he flashes yellow eyes. You and Castiel share a look of widening shock. Mary takes a preemptive step back.

And when the kitchen door is about to close on the three of you, the angel pushes you into the next room before you can turn and fight. Sam helps you back onto your feet, though you stare at the door in horror. He and Dean try to break the door down, but it’s no use. It’s supernaturally sealed.

You felt useless standing there. You wrack your brain for a solution, and you glance out one of the windows. Maybe there’s another way into the kitchen!

“Guys! What if we go around?” you suggest.

With that idea taking root in each of you, Sam and Dean follow you outside. Before you guys can even make it around the house, Wally flags you down.

“We’ve got incoming!” he says. And you realize what he means. A group of black-eyed demons are bounding toward the house.

Aw, shit. You’re grateful to have Sam and Dean beside you, because the demons nearly overtake all of you. You manage to hold your own, along with the brothers. Wally isn’t so fortunate. His body hits the floor after his own blade sinks into his chest.

A pit begins to form in your stomach as you scramble toward the Impala. The plan is to catch up with Mary; thanks to Cas, she’d been able to flee the demon strong enough to snap a Devil’s Trap like a cheap trick. But she’d then taken Cas with her to safety.

Now, Dean drives the Impala down the road at breakneck speed.

“Are you okay?” Sam asks his mother through the phone. The car is silent enough for you to hear Mary’s reply.

“…No.”

When you step into the barn, the first thing you have to focus on is Cas covered in his own blood. He’s been stabbed by one of the demon’s strange and powerful weapons, and he lies on an old, dingy couch. You hurry to Cas’s side and take in, your face filled with horror, though you try and fail to mask it.

You reach out a hand, but you hesitate to touch him. Suffering is written across his face. He tries to stifle sounds of pain out of habit.

Tears are fresh in your eyes as you look down at him in dismay. You chance laying a hand on his shoulder.

“Can you heal yourself?” you ask.

“No,” he answers eventually. “I think the demon’s spear was poisoned. I think I’m…”

No, your lower lip trembles as you shake your head.

“No,” you repeat aloud. “You just need time.”

You turn to Dean, who’s approached from behind you. But you quickly turn back to Cas, as if you’ll miss out on precious few moments. Castiel’s furrowed gaze tells you he’d rather not have you see him like this, but you don’t care. There’s no way you’re leaving his side.

The weapon that was able to do this to him was the Lance of Michael, you all discover, when Crowley suddenly appears. He also informs you all that this is no ordinary demon. It’s Ramiel, Prince of Hell. You don’t give a shit about the specifics of how Crowley is wrapped up in this.

All you care about is if there’s a cure to Cas’s wounds. Crowley’s only words of wisdom are to leave the angel behind and run as fast as you can.

He disappears before you can spit at him.

“Cas, how bad is it?” Dean asks, after the King of Hell predictably makes a run for it.

Castiel opened up his shirt collar to reveal a spiderweb of black crackling across his clammy skin, slowly breaking down his vessel.

“Crowley’s right. You should go.”

Your hand tightens on his shoulder. “Cas—”

“No, listen to me,” he says, staring into your eyes. He continues with difficulty. “Look…thank you. Thank you. Knowing you all, it’s been the best part of my life. The things we’ve shared together, they have changed me… You’re my family, and I love you.”

His gaze had fallen on you, making your breath hitch. But his dark blue eyes travel to Sam and Dean next, and even Mary.

“I love all of you.” The angel is the closest to tears and heartbreak that you’ve ever seen him. He struggles to hold himself together, in more ways than one. “Just, please, please don’t make my last moments be spent watching you die. Just run, and save yourselves, and I will hold Ramiel off as long as I can.”

You’re shaking your head before he even finishes the sentence. Tears pour down your cheeks in silent streams, but you still hold him down when he tries to force his body to sit up. He doesn’t have the strength to resist you encouraging him to lie back down.

Dean voices what you’re all thinking.

No. None of you would cut and run and leave him to die, no matter what Cas says.

“Like you said, we’re family. And we don’t leave family behind.”

Ramiel comes for all of you, specifically for his stolen weapon. Killing the rest of you would just be an added bonus.

But while the four of you manage to pin down the demon with holy fire and a good fight, it’s Sam who manages to stab the Prince of Hell with Michael’s Lance, killing him in flash of brilliant light and rendering his body to ash.

Of course, that’s when Crowley arrives once again, late holding his proverbial Starbucks. In this case, what would’ve been a mocha frappe is actually the Lance—and Crowley breaks it in half. It somehow reverses the curse of the blade, and therefore frees Castiel.

He’s able to heal himself back to a full recovery.

But also, rather predictably, Crowley disappears again before you all can recover yourselves.

Sam and Dean help the angel back onto his feet. His clothes are still covered in blood, but his skin is clear and no longer clammy, his eyes no longer bloodshot. He’s shocked to still be alive, and you can barely contain yourself. Tears stream down your face as you surprise him with a hug.

Cas releases an oof, his body wavering just slightly before he plants his feet and wraps his arms around you. His hold tightens around your smaller frame, and he chances resting his chin on the top of your head.

“So…you’re good?” Mary asks incredulously.

Castiel raises his gaze to answer her. “I guess I am.”

You’re quiet for the rest of the drive home. Mary had taken her own car for the hunt, so it leaves you once again in the backseat with Castiel.

He finds your silence perturbing, though he doesn’t have the courage to ask you what’s wrong. Despite his full recovery, you still seem upset somehow.

Part of him wants to reach out to you…but he stops himself. He also reminds himself not to stare at you. Instead, he turns his head back out the window. You felt his gaze on your profile, but you resolve to keep yours stubbornly out of your own window.

The only one who notices the exchange, yet again through the rearview mirror, is Dean. His lips firm into a thoughtful frown.

Home, sweet home, you think wryly when you enter the bunker.

You give into the urge to beeline straight for your room without even turning your head.

Sam and Mary follow suit, which leaves Castiel hesitating in the hall. Dean takes pity on him and claps his shoulder.

“You okay, man?” he asks. Cas is staring after you like a man who’s lost his way.

“She’s…upset,” he replies, both confused and bothered by that fact.

Dean’s lips twitch humorlessly. “Yeah, well, you almost died.”

“Yes,” Cas gives a wry nod. “But she seems upset at me.”

Dean has to smile for real. It’s plain as day what’s on his friend’s mind, and why. Just like it’s obvious as hell (at least to him) why you’re probably “upset.” As always, Dean takes up the role of wingman.

“Why don’t you just go talk to her then?” he suggests.

Castiel hesitates. He’s not sure if he’d be intruding on you. The emotions of human women are foreign to him. They always have been, even when he was human, not so long ago. But he trusts Dean’s advice on these things.

So, he eventually nods. He means to follow you, but Dean stops him for a moment with a hand on his shoulder.

“Maybe after you, uh, wash your clothes. Take a shower. Maybe shave a little,” he says, brushing his fingers over his own chin. “But uh, keep a little scruff. Some chicks dig that.”

“Shave my facial hair, but…keep my facial hair?” Cas tries to clarify.

Dean blinks at his friend. Christ.

“Okay, look, just clean yourself up,” he says. “You’ll be fine.”

With one last clap on the back, Dean disappears down the hall to his room. It leaves Castiel feeling somewhat unbalanced, but he treks the other way.

Normally he would restore his clothes with his powers, but he’d used up his reserves just to heal himself. There was a time when his connection to heaven was enough to do more than heal his own injuries. Now, however, both he and heaven itself are in a lesser state.

Shaking his head, he goes down to the laundry room. He still remembers how to wash his own clothing.

He unintentionally finds you there in the laundry room. You’ve peeled away your jacket that had been stained with his blood, and you’re tossing it into the machine. It leaves you in a thin shirt and jeans.

Castiel finds himself admiring your form; the familiar curve of your face, the shade of your hair, the outline of your bra through your shirt (which he tries not to notice), and the other curves that he has to often felt guilty for tracing with his eyes…and imagining with his hands.

You look up when he enters the room.

He knocks himself out of his thoughts and freezes, a bit uncertain.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to disturb you,” he offers.

You just shake your head. “It’s okay.”

Your eyes roam over him then, from head to toe. It makes his face feel a bit warm.

“You want me to throw that coat in with mine?” you ask, pointing over to him. Cas examines his bloody trench coat.

“I’m not sure there’s any saving it, but we can try,” he says. He peels off the coat and allows you to throw it into the watching machine along with your bloody clothing.

“Your shirt’s white, so you should wash that separately,” you advise.

“I know,” he says, with a faint smile. “I, uh, I remember.”

You begin to regain some of your normal self, glancing at him with more warmth in your eyes.

“Do you ever miss being human?” you ask. Cas draws closer to you. He rests a hand near yours, where you lean on the dryer.

“There were some enjoyable aspects. Food, in particular,” he admits. “Now if I try to take a bite of a sandwich, it’s just…molecules, really.”

You wince in sympathy. “God, I don’t know how I could go through life without being able to enjoy another Snickers bar.”

He nods in agreement. He remembers chocolate well.

“But it wasn’t just the taste. It was the feeling of satiety. Sometimes, being uncomfortably full was quite satisfying,” he says. That makes you smile.

But it soon drops when you take in the disgusting state of his shirt. Unbidden, it reminds you of every horrific thing that happened tonight. You really can’t bear it.

“Okay, give me that,” you gesture at the shirt.

You start to unbutton it before he’s really ready for you, but he tries to get over his embarrassment by removing his tie. Meanwhile, you undo the buttons of his shirt while trying not to think too hard about what you’re really doing as you start to see flashes of his skin, from chest to sternum.

He takes a peek at your face.

“Are you angry?” he asks.

Your brows are furrowed, but this time more in confusion when you look up at him.

“No. Why?”

Cas’s brows furrow. “It feels like you’re angry…at me.”

The hasty motions of your hands calm at that. You consider him with a frown. Maybe you are a little upset at him. It’s not really fair, you know, but it’s how you feel. You blow out a sigh.

“I just… After everything we’ve been through, everything you’ve done for us, how could you think for one second that we would leave you there alone? Alone to die?” you ask. It renders Castiel a bit stunned into silence.

Your grip tightens on the now open edges of his shirt.

“Look, that situation was bad enough. But if you ever try to push me away like that again…”

You’re unable to finish that thought. You become waylaid by your own tears as emotion clogs your throat and threatens to choke you.

Castiel raises a hand to touch your face, tentatively at first, then more comforting. He brushes his thumb across your cheek, catching the tears there.

“I wasn’t trying to push you away,” he confesses. “I was trying to save you…because I couldn’t bear the thought of losing you, even as I lay dying.”

You hold onto his hand. Biting your lower lip, you find enough courage to meet his eyes. They’ve lowered to your lips, you realize, though maybe Cas doesn’t. He seems a bit surprised when you lean up towards him.

You go more slowly. Your hand falls on his warm chest. For God’s sake, do something, you tell yourself.

You don’t know if he can pick up on your thoughts as well with your bodies touching this close, but he seems to have an internal battle of his own. You each make a decision at the same time.

It has you leaning up the rest of the way, and Castiel bending down to meet your kiss.

He gathers you closer; one hand finds its way into your tangled hair, while the other grasps your hip and brings you flush against him. Your hands move up his chest and wind around his neck. He holds you tightly against him as his lips claim yours, over and over with increasing urgency.

He turns you in his arms and hefts you up onto the dryer machine. There he gets even more leverage to kiss you the way he has secretly imagined, to touch you the way he’s too often craved, with his hands warming up and down your thighs.

You utter a moan of longing as you hold his face. You like the scrape of his stubble against your palms. You can almost imagine that delightful tingling against otherplaces down your body. Places you’d like him to explore when you have more privacy…

Or maybe here is privacy enough.

You alternatively tangle and tug your fingers through his hair. And it’s his turn to moan when you take his lower lip between your teeth, scraping just hard enough to be both painful and delightful.

He squeezes your thighs in retaliation. It prompts you to wrap your legs around his waist, bringing him even closer. Your dirty boots cross behind his back.

But soon, his touch gentles, more tender than demanding as he slows the kiss. His lips veer from yours and burn a path across your jawline, down the smooth column of your neck.

It allows you to catch your breath, but the feeling of his gentle lips and rough cheek just turns you on even more. You card your fingers through his hair and close your eyes.

“Cas,” you breathe in content.

He hesitates, with his lips on your neck. “Yes?”

You blink for a moment, but then you have to giggle. You twine your arms around his neck and hold him close.

“Nothing,” you reply. Your smile says it all though. Cas sees it when he pulls away a bit, turning his gaze back to you. He caresses your cheek with the back of his hand.

“I didn’t think feelings such as this…desires like this, would affect me after I became an angel again.”

Your smile brightens, even as you blush. “Does that make me special?”

“Yes,” he replies, with a soft smile. “But for many more, and far better reasons than that.”

Your eyes begin to sting with unshed tears. You bite the edge of your lower lip, but Cas’s thumb swiping across encourages you to release it.

“When you said that you loved me,” you say, a little shakily, “did you just mean…in the family sense?”

Castiel meets your eyes, and there he finds his courage.

“Yes,” he says. “And no.”

With another one of those smiles he’s come to love, you bring him back in for a kiss. All too soon, it becomes hungrier, rougher, born of passion and secret desires finally spilling free.

“Wait,” you pant against his lips, taking his hands in yours. “Come with me.”

Anywhere, his heart says.

But after you jump down from the dryer, you tug him by the hand out of the laundry room. After a quick scan of the hallway, you give him a playful little smile and lead him down to your room.

Castiel can’t help but smile in return. He follows your lead in more ways than one when the door to your bedroom shuts behind you both.

You help him shrug off his tattered shirt, and he helps you out of yours next, followed swiftly by the belt buckle on his slacks.

In that moment, and many moments after, you’re grateful for door locks. You just hope the Winchesters aren’t dumb enough to interrupt what you have planned next for your angel…

Because it might just take all night.

AN: I haven't written for Castiel in a long time, but I had fun with this. 🥰 I hope you all enjoy it! Let me know what you think. 😘

Castiel Masterlist

Supernatural Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Castiel Tag List:

@kazsrm67 @letheatheodore @agothwithheavysetmakeup @jacklesbrainworms @foxyjwls007 @wincastifer @ades106 @iamsapphine @simpforbuckyb @roseblue373 @brianochka @branj19 @hazel-eye-coffee-shop-girl-blog @globetrotter28

@charmed-asylum @waywardxwords @deanwinchestersgirl87 @this-is-me19 @rachiem4-blog @sweettimelady @leigh70 @clinicallydepresso @xiphoidbones @skoveu @nyotamalfoy @kmc1989 @emily-winchester @pap3rtigers @kaleldobrev

@sanscas @nic-kolas @hobby27 @pizzagirlxnsfwx @malindacath @brujaporfavor @torchbearerkyle @rominaszh @sleepyqueerenergy @melancholictearz @harleycao @tabsluvsu @jad3djay @iwishiwas-sleeping @angelbabyyy99 @jackles010378 @idiotdyslexic @chriszgirl92

#love by any other name #castiel #castiel x reader #castiel x you #castiel x female reader #sam winchester #dean winchester #mutual pining #angst #spn #supernatural #comission #reader request #zepskies writes

344 notes · View notes

moodywyrm · 10 months

Note

HI I'M NEW IDK HOW TO USE THIS BUT I HAVE SUM TO SAY ABOUT ABBY-

imagine she asks you for a massage after gym and you're all excited n stuff and u sit on her ass bcs she's laying on her stomach while u take care of her back and massage it gently and she can feel the heat from u like as u sit and djejskdjd😩

we're modifying this a little bit because I have farmer! abby on the brain. so instead of the gym, she asks you for a massage after a long day on the farm. just some notes: reader is described as wearing lipstick, owning self care items like body oil, has a vanity, and referred to with traditionally fem words like wife, girl, etc. but, genitalia for the reader is not mentioned. more farm abby for my wife @pinknightsinmymind

Planting seasons starts soon, which means Abby has been plowing the field all day and she's fucking exhausted. Every inch of her body is sore, and she's all but soaked through her wife pleaser, her flannel long forgotten on the porch railing. She's bone tired and, to make things worse, she hasn't seen you in two whole hours.

You've been inside making dinner, cooking up her favorite stew so she had a nice hot meal ready once she was done plowing. It's incredibly sweet, really, and she couldn't ask for a better wife, but she feels like she's gonna wither away if she doesn't see you right now.

By the time she slumps up the farmhouse steps, snatching her dirty flannel and swinging it over her shoulder, she doesn't know how she's still standing. Her thighs are quaking from exhaustion, just barely carrying her through door and into the kitchen. But then she sees you, her lovely wife, finishing up dinner and looking as gorgeous as ever, and it's like the weight of the day is erased, lifted from her shoulders.

You spin around to look at her, having heard her slumping through the house in her big ol' work boots. The grin on your face makes her heart flutter, your lipstick perfect as always and your arms held out for a hug. You're absolutely gorgeous, as beautiful as the day she met you, and Abby's just so glad to be back with you.

"Heya there, darlin'," She drawls as she slumps over to you, melting into your outstretched arms.

You wrap her up in a hug, not caring about how sweaty she is, just wanting, needing, to hold your girl. "Mmm, hi baby, ya done with the field?"

"Mhm, finally done plowing. Gonna do one last check tomorrow and then get to planting, hopefully," She mumbles into your hair, feeling your hands trailing up and down her back. It's good, but not enough. She groans, melting into you and pressing a kiss to your cheek, huffing out a sigh.

"Everything alright there, big girl?"

"Mmm, my back's sore 'n your hands feel real good."

"Aww, maybe, after dinner and after you shower, I could give you a massage? How's that sound?"

Abby hums, squeezing you and kissing your forehead before pulling back and pressing a chaste kiss to your lips. "Sounds incredible, sugar. What did I do to deserve you?"

"You're Abby Anderson, 's more than enough baby," Your voice is soft, whispered against her lips like a prayer. When you pull away, you giggle at the remnants of lipstick on her lips. With a swipe of your thumb, you wipe it away, giggling at her pout. "Now go sit down, I'll bring you a bowl."

Abby giggles, trailing towards the kitchen table and sitting down, smoothing her hands down her thighs as she sits. She eases into her usual manspread, rough denim pulled taut over her thighs. Your eyes catch on them when you walk over with two bowls of stew, a loaf of freshly baked bread tucked under one arm.

“Mm, thank you darlin’, this looks delicious,” Abby hums, watching as you sit down. She gently takes the bread knife from the center of the table, slicing off some of the loaf and handing it to you before cutting her own piece.

When she leans forward to eat, elbows on the table in a complete lack of dining etiquette (though neither of y’all ever really cared for it), she groans. The tightness in her back is striking with a vengeance, egged on by the promise of relief at the hands of her wife.

"Oh honey," You murmur, frowning at her.

"Mm, 's okay. Just a lil tight," Abby says, giving you a tight smile. She gets through the rest of her meal with minimal movement, having to sit up straight like her dad always said she should. By the time y'all are done, she's dying to get into the shower and wash off all the grime that had settled on her skin.

While she's off showering, you set your plan into motion. Y'all have a habit of leaving out pajamas for each other, whenever you can. Since you're gonna give Abby a massage when she's out, you should pick pajamas that give you easy access, right?

So you leave a pair of soft grey boy shorts on the bathroom counter, and nothing else. All in the name of having full access to her back, of course.

Then you run to grab one of your body oils from your vanity, a rosemary one that would smell delicious with her body wash. You set it out on the bedside table, alongside some water and a hair clip for Abby. And, for good measure, you reapply your lipstick.

You can hear Abby step out of the shower, can hear her scoff and giggle when she sees the 'pajamas' you laid out for her. When she steps out of the bathroom, hair damp and just barely covering her nipples, soft cotton stretched over her ass and hips, she looks delicious.

"Now what's this about? Thought you were offering to give me a massage outta the goodness of your heart, turns out you just wanted me naked, huh?" She chides, walking over to your position on the bed, kneeling and looking all pretty for her.

When she leans into to kiss you, you press one hand to the center of her chest and keep her at bay. "I am gonna give you a massage, now lay down on your tummy, big girl."

"Yes ma'am."

You let her get situated, laying face down on the bed with her arms folded up under her head. You watch the way her back shifts, muscles rippling as she gets comfortable. She's beautiful, a goddess, and you want to spend the rest of your life worshipping her.

Once she's settled in, you straddle the backs of her thighs, eliciting a nervous giggle from her.

"Whatcha doing there, honey?"

She sounds so giddy, you almost feel bad that you're not gonna give her anything right now. "Settle down big girl, just trying to get access to your back."

You swear you can almost hear her pout when she says, "Okay :(."

She hands you the body oil from the bedside table, settling back into position as you uncap the bottle and pour a small amount into your hand. Rubbing it between your palms to warm it up, you then place your hands on Abby's back and start spreading it over her muscles.

You can feel how tense she is, noting which spots are gonna need the most work as you coat her sore muscles in a thin sheen of oil. Everything is so warm and hazy, since you'd turned off the main lights and left only a few dim lamps and some candles on while Abby was showering.

Abby, for her part, is already in heaven. She's always had a thing about feeling your body weight on her, as in she fucking loves it, so the feeling of you sitting on her thighs is already making her head all fuzzy. To add to it, your hands, soft from gentle work – courtesy of Abby, who never lets you do the rough work on the farm that has calloused her own hands – feel so fucking good on her back. Your touch always melts her into a puddle, but when it's combined with the slick slide of oil and a gentle massaging at her sore back? God, she's melting faster than an icecream in the summer sun.

With every pass of your hands over her sore back, she's whimpering and sighing, and you can feel the heat in your lower belly growing warmer and warmer. It wasn't your intention to get this aroused, but when Abby looks so sweet, so submissive, under your touch, how could you not?

You refocus your attentions, working the knots out of her upper and middle back with a firm press of your hands. The groans she lets out every time you hit a tough spot make you shaky, sounding far too close to the noises she makes when you're pressed up against her. It makes you nervous, giddy with excitement at just how much you want her, how much you want to please her. You're so distracted by the thought and image of her, needy under your touch, you barely notice when she starts talking.

"Mmm, that's good baby, I think you got it all," She murmurs, sounding utterly boneless. She's limp under your touch, the drowsiness creeping in.

"I'm not done yet baby, you're also tense," You mumble, slowly dragging your hands down her back, thumbs massaging at her back dimples, "down here."

Abby lets out a soft, "Oh", before whimpering at the feel of you in massaging her hips. Even if she usually doms, the feel of your thumbs in that very specific spot conjures up images of her on her hands and knees, staring at herself in the mirror while you bounce her back onto your cock, the slick noises of her cunt making her flush bright red. It makes her press her face into the mattress, blush creeping higher and higher as your hands slide lower and lower, until your finger tips are trailing at the waist band of her undies.

"Can I take these off?" You ask, leaning down to press a soft kiss between her shoulder blades.

"Mhm, please," Abby begs, her voice sweet and whiny, face still shoved into the mattress. It makes you giggle, even as you hook your fingers into her panties and pull them down, unfairly slow. You're drooling by the time her ass if exposed, but you almost moan when you see the string of slick and the wet patch left on her panties. You drag them all the way off, throwing them in the general direction of the bathroom.

Once they're gone, her gorgeous ass is completely exposed to you, but her pretty cunt is hidden, her thick thighs allowing you only a glimpse of her slick folds. Abby's breathing is heavy, and you can tell she's trying to stay composed even as you drip more oil onto your hands and rub them together.

Abby whimpers when you run your hands up her thighs, cupping under her ass and massaging the fat of it. You slide your thumbs up, spreading her ass apart and making her whine at the feeling of her pussy being spread open. You haven't even really touched her and she's leaking, for fuck sakes, her pussy made a slick lil noise when you spread it apart.

"Aw, baby, you're this needy already?" You chide, massaging her ass and watching her clench around nothing. A little dribble of slit leaks out of it, and you can't stop yourself from letting your thumb wipe it up, popping your thumb into your mouth and moaning at her taste.

"You've been, shit, you've been teasing me this whole time," She whines, wiggling her ass for you. You giggle, catching sight of the lipstick ring left around your thumb and feeling an idea grow in your head.

"Abby, get on all fours if you want me to fix that," You order, leaving one gentle swat on her ass before sliding off her legs, letting her scramble into position.

Everything about her makes your mouth water, from the slick sheen of oil and sweat on her body to the arch of her back, and the way she spreads her thighs just enough to give you a good look at her aching cunt.

"You're such a good girl, Abby, did so good," You murmur, getting behind her and rubbing at her ass, your tone soft and teasing as you slip into a more dominant role. She whines, wiggling even more as you lean forward, pressing a kiss to the swell of her ass.

When you pull back, you nearly moan, your idea having come true. Left on the plush fat of her right asscheek is a perfect lipstick mark, and the rest of her freckled ass and thighs are just begging for more marks. You giggle, pressing more kisses all over her ass and thighs.

Abby's confused, loving the attention but not knowing why you're just kissing her when her pussy is right there, needy for you. She nearly starts crying when you slide off the bed, grabbing something from the vanity and running back. The next time she feels you kiss her ass, it's a little wetter, stickier than before.

"What're you doing back there?" She asks, head a little fuzzy from your kisses.

"Mm, I could show you. Are you okay with me taking a picture of you?" You ask, pressing more kisses down her thighs, framing her pussy in pretty little kisses.

Abby swears she blacks out for a second, the sheer hotness of the question making her dizzy. "Yeah, yeah, of course, go ahead."

You hum, pleased with her answer and the desperation in her voice. Swiping your phone from the edge of the bed and opening up the camera, you point it at Abby. She looks gorgeous, completely needy and covered in lipstick kisses, slick dripping down her thighs and pretty hole aching for you. The hair around her pussy is slicked down, dark with wet, her bush wet and framing her clit. Her clit, large and swollen, is just peeking out of its hood, and she looks absolutely debauched. You take the picture and hand her your phone, waiting for her reaction.

Abby is staring in awe, not entirely convinced that's her. She looks so slutty, and it makes her hot all over. She lets out a little "oh lord" before handing you the phone.

"Mhm, that's all you pretty girl, you look absolutely gorgeous," You murmur, scratching your nails down the side of her thigh. She whines, arching her back even more as she shoves her face into the mattress.

"Uh huh, the prettiest, being so good for me," You whisper, bending down to press a trail of kisses all the way to her cunt. You lick a stripe from her clit to her hole, making Abby whine and scramble for purchase on the plush bedding.

You lap up the slick leaking out of her hole, spreading it over her clit before laving at it with the flat of your tongue.

"Fu-fuck sugar," Abby whines, bucking back into you. You grip at her thighs, trying to hold her in place as you dig in, pressing a kiss to her entrance before wiggling your tongue in. You fuck her with your tongue, listening to her whimpers before pulling back and spreading her pussy apart with your thumbs.

"Hmm, got the prettiest pussy ever," You tell her, watching her squirm under your attention. She tries to shift her thighs closer together, but stops at your disapproving hum.

With one hand, you trail two fingers down her cunt, pressing into her clit before dragging back up and teasing her hole. You want her to beg for it, and beg she does.

"Shit, baby, please, please fuck me," She cries, pressing back into you and trying to push your fingers in. You chuckle, loving how needy she is and not wanting to torture her too much.

"Hmm, good girl," You hum, as you press two fingers into her cunt. Abby moans into the mattress, loving the stretch. When you're in to the hilt, Abby clenches around your digits, a shiver running up her spine.

You lean down, angling your hand so you can both fuck her with you fingers and eat her out. You leave little licks at her clit, starting to fuck your fingers in and out of her, curling them just enough to try and press at her g-spot. When you get the right angle, pushing up against that gushy little spot, Abby wails, pressing back against you and clenching.

You hum against her clit, sucking on it lightly while pressing against her g-spot, feeling her leak around your fingers.

"G'so good baby, hmmm– fuck" She whines, her voice muffled into the comforter.

You can feel her thighs twitching, and decide she's getting too close too fast. Pulling off of her clit, you trail your tongue around her pussy, from the edge of her hole, where she's taking your fingers so well, to the spot right under her clit, teasing her with the almost-stimulation. You keep toying with her, avoiding her clit even as you finger her, driving her insane.

"C'mon baby, please, I wanna cum, please - fuck, 'wanna cum for you," She whines, kicking one leg and bucking back into you.

"Aww, my needy girl, you wanna cum?" You tease, leaning up to curve your body over hers and press a kiss behind her ear.

"Yes, yes please, ma'am, please, I need it," She cries, turning her head to look at you, making your heart skip a beat. Her cheeks are flushed, her eyes blown out and her lips plumped up from biting at them. She's beautiful, your angel and your love, and you feel the overwhelming. need to please her.

"You're so good for me Abby, 'll make you cum," You murmur, pressing a soft kiss to her lips before sliding back down. You take one glance at her ass and thighs, still covered in smeared lipstick marks. Pressing one more kiss to her ass, you dive back into her cunt, licking and kissing and sucking at her clit, making out with it as you fucking her even harder.

Abby whines, dropping her head onto the bed and arching her back even more, letting you play with her pussy. You can feel her getting closer, the excess slick, the tremble of her thighs, the clenching of her walls around your fingers. She's almost there, she just needs a little something. And god, you deliver.

You spit on her clit and suck on it, massaging her g-spot with no mercy as you stimulate her sensitive little nub, moaning against her when Abby wails, pussy convulsing around your fingers and her whole body shaking. She's a wreck, pushing back against you and babbling into the bed. Her clit throbs under your tongue, a twitchy mess.

You fuck her through it, feeling her drip around your fingers, leaving a ring of creamy cum for you to lick up. She squeals as you punch at her g-spot, extending her orgasm as she clenches around you, keeping your fingers inside her.

Slowly, you ease your fingers to a stop and pull out, pressing a kiss to her clit before pulling away. Abby lets her breathing even out, feeling as you rubbing her hips, waiting to see what she needs. Abby lets out a blissed out sigh and sits up on her legs, reaching back for you to wrap your arms around her.

You do, hugging her from behind and laying your head on her shoulder, pressing kisses to the muscle. "How're you feeling baby?"

"Hmm, perfect," She hums, tilting her head to kiss your temple, "You're so good to me."

"You're so good to me, Abigail, I love taking care of you," You mumble, meeting her in a soft kiss. It's so gentle, and you can feel her trying to push every ounce of love into this kiss. It's heart achingly sweet, like every moment you have with her.

"Mm, gonna let me take care of you now?" She asks, catching you of guard as she turns around and eases you back onto the bed. "Because I think you're also feeling a lil tense. Strip and hand me the oil."

ahhhhhhhhhhHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

#anon #abby anderson #abby anderson x reader #abby anderson smut #abby anderson x reader smut

506 notes · View notes

rookthorne · 10 months

Text

⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ 𝐏𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭

The return of your best friend was something that made your heart flutter and beat to the rhythm of his words, but there he was, framed before you like the mountain peaks of your small town, and he had a secret — a secret that would change everything.

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 ☘︎ Lumberjack!Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕 ☘︎ 3.3k

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 ☘︎ Light angst, copious amounts of fluff (literally and figuratively) ჻჻჻ TROPES: Idiots to lovers, best friends to lovers

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒂𝒖𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒓 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆 ☘︎ You all know me by now, so this shouldn't be a surprise.

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒎 ☘︎ Tidal Wave (Acoustic) by Old Sea Brigade

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒏𝒕 ☘︎ @buckybarnesevents Into an Alternate June-iverse 𝗖𝟭 — Lumberjack AU — Masterlist

𝐒𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐝𝐲 𝐑𝐨𝐨𝐭𝐬, 𝐒𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐬 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

The air was crisp with freshly fallen snow, and the mountain peaks in the backdrop of your small town were dusted with a coat of white – a picturesque view for the drive to work, with the heaters of your truck on full blast, of course.

Music played quietly over the speakers as you hummed along, content and happy for the opportunistic day. Business had been booming. Your shop had turned into quite the hive of activity in the past few weeks from the season change – spring was on the way, and with it, came endless possibilities.

It also meant that James would be setting out to start work for the busiest period of the year, given the blistering winter that had hammered your small town left the woods treacherous and dangerous, even for a man of his skill and wit.

A lumberjack’s work was never easy.

Your shop – a perfect mix of a bakery, cafe, and bookstore – came into view as you turned the corner, the snow tires of your old truck crunching over the road. The sun was only just peeking over the horizon so the warm tones of the wood frames of the outside looked bleak. “Need to get some hardy vines…” you mumbled, pulling into your parking space.

“Morning, babe,” a voice called. You looked up from your keys to find Wanda – the town’s florist, and your best friend.

“Hey, you,” you returned, smiling happily. The click of the door lock sounded and you looked down to check it. “I can’t wait for this chill to be gone. How’re you?”

Wanda chuckled. “Same old, same old.”

There was a sly smirk on her lips when you glanced up again, and you narrowed your eyes. “What are you planning? I know that look.”

“Bucky is coming into town today, or so, the rumours say…”

“Oh my god,” you grumbled. “Not again. Yes, I know. And I am looking forward to seeing him.”

“Maybe you could–?”

You sighed heavily, knowing all too well what she was implying – having fallen head over heels for the mountain of a brooding bear that was your best friend. “No, Wands. I don’t want to lose what I have all because I can’t get my head outta the clouds, you know that. Besides, I am also looking forward to seeing my babies, Koda and Sarge.”

Wanda hummed happily. “I do miss those balls of fluff. You make sure you give them kisses from me, alright?”

“Oh, I will. Have a good day, babe.” You waved goodbye as Wanda turned to walk down the street to her shop.

The lights flicked on and your little slice of heaven came to life. Warm lights blazed over the earthy tones of browns and greens spread over the interior – golden spines of books shone, and the reflection of light on the glass display made you feel at home. Even though it had only been a few hours since you were last in your shop, coming back to it was like a tight, comforting hug.

“Let’s get this day started, huh?” You said happily, taking off your coat and switching on the heater, all the while walking towards the counter.

An hour later, the shop was filled with the smell of freshly baking bread, and the sweet smell of breakfast pastries. Coffee was brewing and the morning rush had just started – and your first customer? Steve, Bucky’s best friend.

“Hey, love,” Steve greeted, his hair packed under a dark blue beanie while his broad chest was covered in red plaid. His smile was contagious and unusually bright, and you couldn’t help but beam back at the bearded lumberjack. “How’ve you been? Keepin’ warm?”

“Stevie,” you breathed, rounding the corner of the counter to pull him into a tight embrace. “I have been great, keeping busy.” Pulling back, you moved back behind the counter and began the process of making his usual order. “How about you? How is Cap?”

“Causin’ trouble as always,” Steve said fondly, shaking his head. “The ball of fluff is in my truck, waitin’ ever impatiently for his puppacino.”

“Wait.” You paused in making Steve’s order to stare at him incredulously. “You brought my boy all the way here, and yet, you’re making him wait in the car.” The look on Steve’s face bled sheepishness, a sharp contrast to his goofy nature, but you didn’t let up. “Steven Grant–you get out that door and you bring that good boy into my shop.”

If Steve had a tail, it would have been pulled between his legs as he slunk out the door to his truck. Not even a moment later, the barking of an over-excited Cap could be heard over Steve’s yell of, “Easy, boy! Down!”

The door of your shop swung open, and a giant ball of fur bounded your way, tongue lolling, and black and white coat moving with his powerful muscles. “Cap!” you yelled, falling to your knees to greet the Malamute. “Hey, boy! Oh my gosh, look atchu!”

“It’s like you didn’t see him the other damn day,” Steve said, a ghost of a laugh in his words. “Drama queens, the pair a’you.”

“Don’t you dare insult my boy, Rogers,” you huffed, squishing Cap’s cheeks. The Malamute only opened his mouth in what could be perceived as one big smile. “He is precious, and for that, he is getting an extra treat.”

After sending Steve and Cap on their way, the morning rush began in earnest as the sun rose in the sky – casting yellow rays through the big windows that lined the front of your shop. People flocked to and fro on the sidewalk outside, stopping in for a steaming hot beverage or a sweet treat, and you felt at ease, falling into routine like a well oiled machine.

It was only when it hit nine o’clock did the hustle and bustle pass, and you worked at a more sedate pace. The display case of baked treats was considerably much emptier than when you opened for the day, and you grabbed two trays full of cookies to restock for the imminent lunch rush, when the bell sounded at the door.

You smiled and turned to greet the customer, only to freeze; the air in your lungs evaporating into nothing at the sight silhouetted by the sun.

“James,” you rushed, eyes wide, and smile even wider. “Oh, it’s so good to see you!”

The mountain that was your best friend stood in the doorway, a small smile on his full lips as he looked at you with such softness it turned your legs to jelly. His big boots were covered by black jeans that hugged his thighs, a dark blue and black plaid jacket stretched over his wide shoulders, and his long hair fell down in a swoop under his upturned collar.

Bucky opened his arms wide. “Hey, darlin’,” he said, tone gravelly and eyes bright. “Need my Clover to come an’ gimme a hug.”

The trays lay abandoned on the display, and you ran to Bucky, giggling all the way and colliding with his chest. “Oof!” He grunted, wrapping his arms around your shoulders and lower back. “Fuck, it’s good to see you, sweetheart. How have you been, huh?”

“Good, good! It’s been so lonely without you here!” you gushed, pulling back to look at him. He had a dark shadow of a beard on his jaw, and his smile framed his handsome face perfectly. “How was the scouting? How are you?”

Bucky gave you one last squeeze and threw an arm over your shoulder, walking you to a couch in the reading nook in the back corner. “It was boring, as usual–should be ready to start this logging season. And I’m good, Sarge and Koda missed you, too. Almost as much as I did.”

“Oh, my babies,” you cooed, wrapping your arms around his middle so you could squeeze him tightly. “Alright, sit down and I’ll knock somethin’ together for you.”

“You betcha,” Bucky said. The couch creaked under him and he groaned loudly. “Fuck, this couch is my favourite fuckin’ thing–”

“I thought I was,” you interrupted, pouting at him. Bucky laughed.

The hiss of the coffee machine filled the comfortable silence, when you realised something. “Wait, where are my babies, James?” Bucky froze on the couch, and eyed you apprehensively – the action made you put your hands on your hips and stare at him pointedly. “Where are my babies?” you asked again.

“I left them in the truck because I needed a damn minute of silence, and Iwantedyoutomyselfforaminute…” The last part was a rushed mumble, and you blinked.

“Wait, what?”

“Nothin’,” Bucky hastily said, and he stood from the couch. Another loud groan left his lips as he stretched – if you stared while his eyes were closed, that was your business. “I’ll go get ‘em.”

“Good, you do that, mister,” you huffed. “Coming in here without my babies. No wonder why you and Stevie are best friends.”

The comment made a loud howl of laughter to leave Bucky as he opened the door, and walked out. You shook your head fondly and made a round of two puppuccinos – extra large.

“Sarge, heel. Good boy–no, Koda, baby, ah, fuck it,” Bucky rambled from just outside the shop, and you watched through the window as two giant balls of fur ran around his legs, bounding and yipping for all their worth. “Yes, you’re seein’ her! Calm down, easy.”

You laughed and strode around the corner to take a seat on the couch that Bucky had occupied just moments before – the two dogs that would burst through that door any second would have no qualms on bowling you over if you knelt on the wooden floor.

“Alright, goddamn it, guys,” Bucky groaned, fending off paws and wet noses. “I open this door, and you two better be on your best behaviour.” Two loud barks answered his words, and the door flew open with a clatter of the bell.

The same two balls of fur and fluff barrelled into the (thankfully, empty) shop, looking around for their friend, until they spotted you at last. “My babies!”

You were lost in a flurry of black, white, and brown fur. “Oh my gosh, yesyesyes,” you gasped, shaking your head side to side to abate the worst of the incessant licks to your face. “Hi babies! Oh, lookatchu!”

A quiet chuckle sounded from above you, and you opened your eyes to find Bucky looming over you, phone in hand. “Are you recording my death–my death by fur and fluffiness?”

“Yep,” Bucky replied, grinning. “Gotta give somethin’ to everyone to remember you by.”

You rolled your eyes and attempted to sit up, though it was impossible with Koda laying over you, and Sarge hogging your legs. “Barnes, help me.”

“Nope.” He smirked, plopping down on the couch, right next to your head. “You can stay there for a lil’ while longer, darlin’.”

“You are the worst,” you groaned. “These babies are heavy. Fine. I will be crushed and it’ll be your fault.”

Bucky only shrugged and slid down the couch cushions, then he gently moved your head so you could rest it on his thigh. “Thank you,” you hummed, and Bucky smiled, his hand resting on your shoulder.

Silence fell between you two – the comfortable kind that was shared so often when you both were just content to be in one another’s presence.

“I’ve fuckin’ missed you, Clover,” Bucky mumbled, and his hand moved to cup your jaw, his thumb brushing your cheek gently, lovingly. The rough skin of his hand was warm and it made something clunk in your mind – you could only hope it wouldn’t show on your face. “So damn much. I hate goin’ scoutin’–rather be home, here.”

You looked up at Bucky from your vantage point – his upside down face and thoughtful gaze, a small frown on his lips.

“I know, I know, Jamie. I know,” you whispered soothingly back, running one hand through Koda’s black fur, and moving the other one to rest over Bucky’s. “But you’re here now, you know I will always wait for you–you’re my best friend.”

The small frown turned into a fond smile. “Luckiest fella, I am. Havin’ a sweetheart like you to call his–”

Your heart seized. The words, while you knew they didn’t mean what you hoped for, still hit like a punch to the guts, and it was an effort to keep your face blank and void of the realisation. You wanted Bucky, and for much more than just a best friend.

“–Girl, huh? Why don’t we get an early lunch, darlin’?”

“I own the best cafe, James.”

Bucky laughed at your comment and shook his head. “I didn’t say we couldn’t have lunch here, you dork. Why don’t you make it to go, and we take my truck out to the clearin’?”

“Okay,” you agreed. “Let’s go.”

Half an hour later, you brought a basket to the counter and pointed to it. “Lunch, and you get to carry it because it is heavy.”

“You just want an excuse to see me be a man, sweetheart,” Bucky teased, and you narrowed your eyes.

“Shut up, you idiot. Now, c’mon,” you urged, “I gotta be back for the actual lunch rush.”

Bucky saluted and took the aforementioned basket, only for his eyes to widen. “The hell you pack in this? Bricks?”

“I packed for Koda and Sarge,” you said simply, shrugging one shoulder. The two dogs ran to the door after Bucky, and you followed, your heart in your throat.

The drive to the clearing was pleasant, if only chilly – but it gave you the excuse to steal one of Bucky’s good jackets from the back seat. He only rolled his eyes and pulled into a parking spot. “Sure, you can use one,” he said, “Don’t want my darlin’ gettin’ cold now, do I?”

“No,” you replied smugly. “Thank you.”

Bucky snorted and opened the door, sliding out. “Koda, Sarge, c’mon.” The two dogs jumped from the car and bounded into the trees, kicking grass and snow up in their wake.

Something felt off, however – a sense of impending something was hanging tantalisingly over your head. Something was going to happen, and you had no idea what it could have been. You swallowed thickly, and opened your door to exit the warm cabin of Bucky’s truck. “It’s not that bad out here, thank god,” you commented.

It was the truth. The sun had warmed the chill in the air to be bearable, and while the snow hadn’t fully melted just yet, it was stunningly pretty to see the light bounce off crisp white mounds – that both Koda and Sarge barrelled through, their coats becoming covered in the soft snow.

“Sure is pretty,” Bucky affirmed, smiling at you – and the feeling of apprehension doubled in intensity. “Let’s dig in, I’m starvin’.”

“One thing we can agree on,” you hummed, walking to a picnic table under a gazebo. “I packed extra because you are a garbage disposal.”

“Hey!” Bucky chided. “Ain’t my fault that I’m a growin’ man, alright?”

You raised a brow and stared at him, and then you broke into a fit of laughter as Bucky scowled. “You’re not wrong, Jamie–you look like a bear on steroids. Have you been weightlifting trees?”

It was Bucky’s turn to laugh. “Well, it’s my job, sweetheart, kinda have to lift them somehow.”

You shrugged. “I dunno, I would have thought you wrestled with a bear, considering you’re one of ‘em now.” The urge to repeat the joke you had made with him became overwhelming. “You could say… you’re a Bucky Bear.”

“Ha ha,” Bucky deadpanned, reaching for the basket. “Real funny, Clover–real funny.”

The meal passed in spurs of conversation – you caught Bucky up on the gossip of the town and what Wanda had been up to, and then Bucky caught you up on Steve and Sam’s ventures on site, or how they wouldn’t stop teasing him about a situation that he refused to divulge.

“So,” you began, watching Bucky’s flickering gaze, and how his hands wouldn’t stop fidgeting. “What did Stevie and Sam tease you for?” Taking a bite of your lunch, you chewed slowly, growing increasingly intrigued by Bucky’s show of nerves.

“Y’know, normal shit,” Bucky said evasively, “they were bein’ assholes, like usual.”

Deciding to poke the bear, you probed further. “Doesn’t sound like it’s nothing, Jamie. Do I gotta tell them boys off?”

“No,” Bucky rushed, flushing slightly. “No, I got it.”

“Uh-huh,” you drawled, narrowing your eyes. Bucky was fidgeting something fierce, his usual aloof and charming aura had vanished – replaced with something akin to what he was like as a nervous teenager. “Jamie… are you alright?”

Bucky looked up, his eyes meeting yours, and he swallowed. “Clover, if you had-” His brows furrowed, like he was considering, or regretting, his words. “If you had the chance to tell the one–the one, would you do it? Tell them, or- Or ask them out?”

“Oh,” you said immediately. The question made the air in your lungs leave in a sweep – it was happening, Bucky had found someone. “Um, I-I,” you faltered, and you cleared your throat while placing your lunch down on the paper wrapping. “I, uh- Yeah. Yeah I would. Why?”

Something flashed across Bucky’s eyes and your stomach twisted. It was almost too much to bear.

“Well,” Bucky said slowly, his hand twitching on the table, like he wanted to move it but couldn’t. “Clover, darlin’–uh, would you-”

Two loud barks cut him off and Koda, followed by Sarge, ran up to Bucky and pawed at his thighs. “Really? Now?” Bucky grit out. He fished through the basket and split a large dog biscuit. “Now go on, get.”

“You were saying?” you chuckled, watching the dogs run off with their trophy.

Bucky flushed a deeper pink, and he tucked a piece of hair behind his ear. His hand that had twitched just before reached across the table, open. Automatically, you took it, knowing he must need the comfort – hell, you needed it yourself, your heart was hammering so hard it felt like a rib was breaking. Whatever he was going to say was obviously hard, but you would take it and help him, he was your best friend.

“Would you wanna be- God fuckin’ damn, why is this so hard,” he cursed, frowning.

“Take your time, Bucky, baby, you’re okay,” you soothed, rubbing your thumb over his scarred knuckles. “I’m here, and I don’t mind waiting. You say it when you’re ready.”

You couldn’t help but feel your heart fracture – surely he would only be acting this way if-

“Would you wanna be my Clover? My girl?”

What?

“Wait- What? Did you- Did you just–?” you floundered. Shock cascaded through every fibre of your being, and you watched as Bucky stared at you, almost imploringly. “Hang on, hang on.”

“Okay,” Bucky whispered, his hand squeezing yours once.

You took a singular second to think about what he had just asked. After all this time, after all that pining, the teasing from Sam and Steve must have been about you. It must have been about how- But that meant Bucky was serious. And… “Oh my god. Yes,” you blurted, staring into his eyes. “Yes–fuck, Jamie, I have–”

“I knew.”

“What?” you squeaked, terrified you had been far too obvious.

“I knew that I, uh- Liked you, sweetheart,” he admitted, smiling sheepishly. “I just… didn’t know how to approach it ‘till the assholes cornered me on site, demanding to know why the fuck I looked like a loon–smiling at nothing, when I was remembering you.”

A heavy breath left your lips, trembling only slightly. “So that’s why Stevie came into my shop this morning, smiling so big! After all this time,” you wondered out loud. “Just- Wow. Wow.”

“Well, now,” he began, chuckling quietly when his much larger hand engulfed yours. “Now I have my own lil’ four leaf clover.”

⠈⠂⠄ 𝐢𝐧𝐛𝐨𝐱 | 𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲 | 𝐚𝐨𝟑 ⠄⠂⠁

⠈⠂⠄ 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 ⠄⠂⠁

#bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x f!reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x female reader #bucky x f!reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes oneshot #bucky barnes imagine #alternate juneiverse 2023 #rookthorne's works #POH

489 notes · View notes

bumblebeesfromvenus · 5 months

Text

Wrapped 🎁

Jason Todd x reader

A/N: another one for Jason!! I love writing for him. I definitely need to do it more. This is the second fic for my Christmas event Fi's Christmas Market ☃️ ! I hope you enjoy some Holly Jason fluff!

~Fi 🐝

Warnings: tooth rotting fluff, overall very sweet and domestic! Jason being excited to make fun of Bruce, FLUFF.

Wordcount: 3.3k

Thank you to @certifiedredhoodlover for helping me pick out the presents for Tim and Damian <3

Please don't copy my work! I put a lot of effort and heart into the things I write.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・✫

"G'morning, Baby," you stirred slightly when his sweet voice softly called out to you. You were firmly in his grasp, your oven of a boyfriend keeping you nice and toasty.

His hands gently stroked along your back while you nuzzled closer to his chest. He was trying to wake you, but his soft touches, cozy heat and comforting voice really weren't helping his efforts.

"Ya need to wake up, sweetheart." The sleep heavy in his voice. His heartbeat was steady, lulling you back to sleep. "Don't wan' to.." you mumbled, scooching impossibly closer.

Jason chuckled softly, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. "It's snowing." He whispered, you could hear the smug smile that was probably plastered on his face.

He knew exactly what he was doing when he said those words. He knew how to push your buttons. Your eyes shot open and and clumsily scrambled to sit up.

"What, What, really?" You slurred, rubbing at your eyes. He motioned to the window with his head and his heart melted when your eyes lit up as soon as you spotted the little flakes elegantly cascading from the sky. With a gasp and a sparkle about you, you were on your feet in a second, rushing to the window.

"It is snowing!" You beamed, before turning to him. "We wanted to go holiday shopping today, it's perfect! Come on!" You pulled him out of bed, or at least you tried, and he begrudgingly left his warm sanctuary, whining about the cold. But if he was honest with himself, he'd go out in his pajamas if it made you happy.

Jason dragged his sleepdrunk body to the kitchen for some well needed coffee. You were whirling around the apartment, getting ready and finishing off the shopping list. He finished his coffee and yawned while stretching. You stood in front of him with a shocked expression on your face.

"What are doing? Why are you not ready yet?" The disbelief in your voice made Jason's brows furrow. "Babe, we got up 10 minutes ago. You haven't even had breakfast. We've got the whole day, calm down, okay?" He placed his hands on your cheeks and kissed your nose, which made your face scrunch up in the cutest way possible. Your narrowed your eyes at him and walked to the fridge without breaking eye contact.

"You have 30 minutes, Mister." He shook his head at you when you stuffed a piece of toast in your mouth and washed it down with Jason's coffee. "Wha- Hey, that was my coffee!" He exclaimed, taking the mug away from you.

"30 minutes!" Your voice came out muffled, courtesy of the piece of bread, as you made your way to the living room to wait for him on the couch.

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.

You were scrolling on your phone, looking for some of the gifts you knew you wouldn't be able to get in store. He came into the livingroom, grabbing his keys and phone.

"Alright, you got your list?" Jason clapped his hands together, resulting in you looking up at him. You let out a gasp of awe when you saw him. You'd bought him a red beanie for the cold seasons but he never wore it, until today that is. He always refused, reasoning he didn't get cold and he'd look ridiculous. It was quite the opposite.

"You're wearing it! Oh my god, you look so cute!" You beamed, practically jumping from your seat on the couch, grabbing his face and peppering kisses over his cheeks.

"You look adorable, I could literally eat you!" You laughed between kisses, his face squished in your glove clad hands. "Babe, it's just a hat." He stated, albeit a little muffled as your hands were still firmly planted on his cheeks.

"I know, but it looks so good on you! Your white streak is peaking out, and it makes you look like a candy cane!" You squealed. No matter how hard you'd tried, you couldn't keep in your excitement. His brows furrowed at your statement as he grumbled quietly, but you could feel his face heating up even underneath your gloves.

"'M not a candy cane..." he mumbled, lightly offended. Well, actually, very offended. A pout settled on his lips.

"You are, but you're my candy cane, and only mine." You whispered with a sweet grin on your face, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips before elegantly twirling out of his embrace to check your bag one last time. Jason smirked, crossing his arms in front of his chest as he leaned against the counter.

"If me wearing a hat gets you like that, I wonder what else I could wear..." he pondered, stroking his chin. "I guess you'll have to find out." You said with a cheeky smile.

"Are you ready? Let's go," you held out your hand to him, and he took it in his in the blink of an eye.

Jason loved holding your hand. It was his favorite thing to do, no matter where you were or what you were doing, his hands would be touching yours in some kind of way. He would play with your fingers when watching TV or reading. It was mostly subconscious, but it was a cute habit.

"Are you sure we can't take the car? It's freezing outside!" He reasoned, keeping you in your place when you wanted to step out the door. "But it's snowing! And you're basically a walking furnace, you'll be fine!"

"If I get a cold, you're taking care of me." He grumbled before letting himself be dragged out the door by you.

Jason truly was a man of mystery to you. He wouldn't give a shit when he'd be shot and bleeding out, but god forbid he got a cold. He acted like the world was ending or he was dying. You did enjoy doting on him and taking care of all his needs but his very dramatic 'This is it. This is my end!' talks made you roll your eyes.

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.

You walked through the nicely decorated streets, the snowflakes falling from the sky and covering Gotham as well as yourselves in a powdery blanket. Glancing over to your boyfriend, you couldn't help but giggle. His cheeks and nose were red from the cold, matching his beanie. He had his shoulders pulled up a little, trying to cover some of his face with his scarf.

Your hands were still intertwined and shoved into his jacket pocket. He wiggled his mouth free from his cozy scarf.

"What's on your list, sweetheart?" He asked, his warm breath turning into a small cloud in the chilly air.

★

You were sitting at your kitchen table, the blank piece of paper that should've been a list by now starring you mockingly in the face. You sighed, resting your chin in your hands. "I don't know what to get them, Babe."

Jason was cuddled up on the couch, book, and tea in hand. "Doesn't really matter that much." He muttered, all of his attention on the book as his eyes were glued to the pages. "Yes, it does!" You argued,"It's Christmas. What are you getting them?" He took a sip of his tea, still captured by his book. "My presence at the dinner table, and if they're lucky, a hug."

You rolled your eyes. "You're not helping." You grumbled, your head falling forward onto the table. You'd been at this stupid list for weeks, but you couldn't come up with a single idea what to get them. Especially his younger brothers, Tim and Damian. You'd barely seen them, so picking a present that was useful and enjoyable for them was proving to be a real struggle.

"It really doesn't matter that much, I mean it. You could get each of them a card that says 'I'm proud of you' and they'd cry. So, it's your pick, really." He shrugged, flipping to the next page. You sighed again, closing your eyes. At this rate, you'd maybe get them a present next Christmas.

"I want to get them something personal, Jay. Something that means something to them."

Jason looked at you this time, his gaze over the top of his reading glasses.

"My point still stands."

You groaned, sagging into your chair. "Why is your family so difficult?!" You complained, sitting back up properly as you started to scribble some things down on the paper.

"Trauma." His response was blunt, his eyes were back on the book, his mind in whatever fantasy world he was reading about.

"Right."

You watched him for a little while. Calm breaths, the occasional grin or raise of his brows. "What's so interesting in that book, huh? Barely looked at me when we were talking."

"Hm?," his head turned towards you, obviously not listening to you. "Oh, sorry, s'Mister Darcy." You made an approving noise. "Carry on." Who could resist Mister Darcy? Not even Red Hood could, it seemed.

★

"Well," you began, pulling out the little piece of paper from your bag,"for Dick, I want to go to the record store and see if I can find him something new, preferably vintage. Alfred desperately needs a new apron, and I saw one a couple of weeks ago that'd be perfect for him. Tim gets a coupon to get the Manor for himself for an entire day-" Jason's brows furrowed, and he interrupted you.

"How the hell are you gonna achieve that?"

"You do what I say, Alfred would gladly do me a favor, and I think Bruce is secretly a little scared of me and I will use that to my advantage. And Damian.. I haven't thought that one out yet. I'll bribe him somehow. I think he likes me more than he let's on." You laughed.

He looked quite impressed before a smile settled on his lips. "You're a brilliant woman, do you know that?" He pressed a kiss to your temple, smiling against your skin.

"Thanks, Baby. You tell me everyday." You giggled, looking up at him. It surprised you haven't run into anything or anyone yet, your eyes were on Jason like he was the only one in the world. And he was, at least for you.

"I do? Well, I'll keep doing it." The smile he gave you was so soft, something only you got to see. "Damian gets a Katana with a burgundy handle. We have to pick it up from the jeweler, I had them engrave Titus on the blade." You continued, folding over the top of the list, which peaked Jason's interest.

"Why'd you do that?"

"Why did I do what?"

"That sneaky fold over." He pointed to the list.

"Oh, well, that's your present. Don't want you seeing what it is yet," you grinned, making him pout.

He let out a small huff, eyeing the piece of paper in your hands before trying to snatch it away from you. You quickly pulled it out of his reach and stuffed it back into your bag.

"Hands off!" He grumbled quietly under his breath but quickly let it go when you reached your first stop.

You looked through the dozens and dozens of boxes filled with record vinyls, trying to find the perfect one for Dick. The poor lighting and overcrowded aisle didn't help your cause. You did have to give credit to the interior design, it looked like it came straight from the 70s. You were basically digging for gold at this point, and gold did you find.

You'd picked out an original 'A Night at the Opera' vinyl by Queen, and you'd also found 'Crises' by Mike Oldfield and you decided to get both, hoping Dick would like them. Jason assured you that he would as his older brother adored you. He'd said you were a fresh breeze to the family, and he already loved you just for making his little brother happy.

He was the first to really trust and hang out with you, easing your nerves about fitting into the family. You could already see Dick and yourself jamming out to the tunes together.

The next stop was Home Depot. You'd gone there for a new whisk and a set of kitchen towels and had spotted the perfect gift for the resident Butler of Wayne Manor. It was a little cheesy, you had to admit, but you had a feeling Alfred would really enjoy this gift.

"They have to be here somewhere, I know they are.." you mumbled, searching around in the kitchen section. "Aha! There they are." You pulled Jason with you towards the back, and he had to be careful to not knock over any of the ceramic decor pieces.

"Jeez, why are these aisles so small.." he tried to make himself as small as possible, not only that but he had to keep the shopping back from the record store in mind as well. He couldn't really complain about that though, as he insisted on carrying it for you.

You held up the navy apron to show him the embroidery on the front. It said 'King of the Kitchen' and it had a little crown on top of it as well. "He's gonna take that to his grave." Jason grinned, before breaking into a laugh at the apron. "It's perfect, isn't it? I immediately thought of him when I saw it." You joined your lover, laughing in the back of the kitchen section, earning a stern look from a bypassing lady.

You stood in line at the register in the craftstore after having picked out some nice paper, sparkly pens, some stencil cutters, and a little bit of glitter for Tim's present.

"Don't know if Tim is fan of glitter." Jason said, looking into your little shopping basket. "Well, I am, so he's gonna have to deal with it." You huffed, moving further in line. He put his hands up defensively, as much as he could at least, since he was carrying the bags, and moved with you.

"What about B?" He questioned.

"I'm making him a card. It's gonna be an 'I'm proud of you' card." You sighed, not feeling to great about your choice of present for Bruce. Jason's eyes widened.

"Wait, really?"

"Yeah. I mean, what the fuck do you get a billionaire? Especially someone like Bruce. I just took your advice." You joked, bumping him with your elbow.

"I'm so gonna film that."

"Jason-"

"Nope, you can't stop me. Consider it a present from myself to myself."

You shook your head at him and sighed, but he definitely caught the smile that you were trying to hide. It would definitely be a memorable Christmas.

The last stop, thankfully, was the jeweler. Jason had been ready to go home 3 hours ago. The amount of people, crowded stores, and the bright lights were starting to overstimulate him.

"Hi, I'm here to pick up the Katana I had engraved." You smiled kindly at the woman behind the desk.

"Ah yes, and the neckl-" she began but you quickly cut her off with a finger to your lips and a motion to Jason with your head. He wasn't supposed to know wou were picking up his present too. The woman smiled knowingly and went into the back to get your orders.

You tapped your fingers against the counter as you were waiting. You glanced over to Jason, who was grinning like an Idiot. He knew that whatever it was that the woman was talking about was his present. You narrowed your eyes at him.

"You didn't see or hear anything, got it?" You said firmly, earning an even wider grin from Jason.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Good."

The woman came back with a small bag and the Katana in hand. "It didn't fit in a bag." She chuckled nervously.

"No worries." You replied kindly, taking it from her, same with the small shopping bag. You pulled back the Saya and looked approvingly over the engraving of Titus at the base of the sword.

"Wow, that's amazing." He marveled, looking over your shoulder.

"Damian is so gonna cry." He giggled mischievously.

"Christmas is gonna be great this year." He grinned, making you sigh. There was no talking him out of teasing both Bruce and Damian. You could've definitely tried harder if you didn't enjoy it at least a little bit.

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.

You were now back out in the cold, walking home after a successful shopping day. The small bag was securely in your hand, keeping it away from Jason. He couldn't stop eyeing it, though. Desperately wanting to know what was inside. You were just as excited to show him as he was to see, it was challenge trying to keep it a secret from him.

It was a gold chain with a pendant. The pendant almost looked like a coin, on one side your names were engraved with a little heart and the words 'forever and always'. On the other was a red Aster flower. You didn't just pick any flower, it had a meaning. It meant undying devotion. You wanted Jason to have the reassurance of your love and loyalty with him whenever he wore it, which you hoped would be everyday.

It was even more special since only the two of you would know what it meant. The language of flowers was something you were both interested in, having read books about it together. You had used it a few times when visiting the Manor, loving the confused looks of everyone, except Alfred who was quite the flower enthusiast himself.

Jason was talking to you about a couple of new books he wanted to get, which you'd obviously already stored in the back of your closet, waiting to be wrapped, when a little cart selling hot chocolate caught your eye.

"Can we get some hot chocolate, please?" You asked excitedly, already dragging him in the carts direction. "Baby, I'm tired, can we just make some at home?" You could tell he was exhausted, social interactions weren't easy for him, for either of you really. But the intoxicating smell of rich chocolate and whipped cream had taken over your senses, clouding your brain.

"Pleaseeee? It'll be quick, I promise! We'll cuddle for the rest of the evening, okay?" You pleaded, making your best doe eyes at him. He sighed and tried looking away from you as not to fall for your sweet look. He could never deny you anything. It might not be the healthiest of habits, but god, did he love spoiling you.

"Fine. But," he held up his finger,"only if I get head scratches as well."

"Deal!" You agreed quickly, pulling him to stand in line. It was going to be such a nice evening. Jason couldn't wait to be all cuddled up with you, your fingers gently running through his hair. He was going to heaven. You were his heaven.

Here you were, happily sipping on your hot beverage as Jason looked at you adoringly. "Thanks for the hot cocoa, Jay." You smiled, blowing on it to not burn your mouth.

"Of course, Princess. Here, let me get that for you." Your brows furrowed in confusion at his statement. He swiped his thumb over your lip, getting the bit of whipped cream off. His tongue went to his thumb and licked the cream off, and he hummed.

"Delicious." He smirked, making you grin. "If you wanted a taste, you could've asked." You smiled, pulling him down into a kiss by his scarf. He melted against your lips, making sure to mind your drink when he wrapped his arms around you.

The streets were lit up festively, the snowing was still falling gently, and you were here with your hot chocolate in hand and your lips on his. He was really glad he decided to stop for the hot cocoa. As if he had the strength to ever deny you anything.

He was under your spell and would do anything you'd asked of him. He was infatuated with you. He loved you. More than he could ever tell or show you.

Just like the presents under the tree, you've got him wrapped.

#bumblebeesfromvenus #jason todd x you #jason todd fluff #jason todd x reader #jason todd #red hood x reader #red hood x you #red hood #FI'S CHRISTMAS MARKET ☆

385 notes · View notes