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yoisami · 11 months

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˚₊‧୨୧ LOVE YOU ENDLESSLY

[૮₍ ˃ࡇ˂ ₎ა]: this was supposed to be a fic about nagi growing to appreciate his cute lover each day, but lol idk where i went with this.

tags. nagi x gn!reader, 2016 wc, fluff w a hint of angst if u look through a microscope, potential grammatical errors, not rly proofread, idk what i wrote but enjoy ig

the duvet cover crumpled as nagi woke from his deep slumber. opening one eye, he winced at the singular ray of sunshine that invited itself into the room through the briefly shut curtains. sighing, his hand reached for the warmth of his beloved, and a soft "oh" left his lips when he realises that you've already started your day. he sat up, running a hand through his hair as he caught sight of you entering the bedroom with a toothbrush hanging from your mouth. you rummaged through the drawer looking for something, and nagi called your name.

you turned to look at him, eyebrows raised that indicated you were waiting for him to ask you something.

nagi realised that it has always been like this. nagi, who did not understand much about the functioning of romantic relationships, and you, who guided him through it with slow progression while waiting for him at each step. it wasn't even nagi who had initiated the relationship. it was you, who adored him like the stars does to its moon. four years ago, it was you who mustered up all your courage and impatience and confessed to him with shyness and hesitance in your eyes. nagi remembers it well - the way you smiled at him as you revealed to him that everything he did swayed your heart; the way that the cold weather kissed your face that made the tip of your nose red; the way you waited for him to give you an answer. and nagi remembers the way that your eyes lightly sparkled when you heard him admit that your romantic feelings were reciprocated. he remembers it all.

your brave confession led to further development between you and nagi's relationship. nagi was horrible at interacting with people other than reo, and he wasn't too great when it came to you too. most of your conversations were only able to survive because you'd ask him something new when his responses became terse. nagi appreciated that you were patient with him and his lack of experience with intimate relationships like this. four years later, you were still waiting for him each time with an affectionate smile on your pretty lips.

nagi shook his head as he mumbled "nevermind", knowing that your response would be incoherent anyway because you were brushing your teeth. you turned away as you continued digging through the drawer that contained your clothes.

"what are you looking for?" he asked. a quiet yawn escapes his lips as he stood up, tilting his head. you pointed at the loose shirt you were wearing - there was a toothpaste stain.

"uh, you want a shirt?" you nodded as you stepped aside to let nagi make an attempt of finding you a shirt. it took him a while before he pulled out a white tank top, handing it to you as you delivered him a thankful look with the shine in your eyes. amused, nagi nodded before he watched you rush to the bathroom, shutting the door as you rinsed your mouth and changed into the new top.

nagi grabbed his phone before he ambled to the bathroom, knocking on the door three quick times. you replied in a sing-song voice, "wait!"

after quickly opening the door to let your boyfriend in, you returned to the sink as you turned on the tap, letting the water run down the porcelain. nagi watched you as you washed your face, helping you reach for your face towel. and nagi watched you pat your face dry, wearing a subtly smile on his lips as he leaned closer to your figure, pressing a kiss on your head.

"h-hey! go brush your teeth, sei," you laughed, batting him away as you began your skincare. nagi hummed as he grabbed the toothpaste from the shelf, squeezing some of it on his toothbrush as he mindlessly brushed his teeth, watching you apply a toner and serum on your face.

the first time he'd ever seen you bare faced was when your school went on a school trip to kyoto for a total of five days. you've been to kyoto before - the aesthetic of red leaves fallen on the ground along with the towering valley of bamboo was a sight you enjoyed sharing with your school friends, and for the first time, with nagi.

after rounds of hushed teasing between you and your friends, you met up with nagi in the afternoon as the two of you mindlessly wandered around the streets of kyoto hand in hand, basking in the gentle sunshine. and nagi remembered the picture you sent to him of yourself sitting with your roommates after bedtime was announced. his eyes widened at the sight of your face that was usually wore various makeup products that supposedly, "made you prettier". after seeing that picture, nagi heavily disagreed, and sent you a short but sweet message that said, "you're so pretty with or without makeup :)"

your heart swooned at the message.

"you're so pretty, [y/n]," nagi mumbled incoherently as he brushed his teeth, snaking an arm around your waist. you grinned at him as a response, pinching his cheek lightly.

"thank you sei. i could say the same to you."

from stealing multiple glances at you in history class to giving you godiva chocolates on white day, nagi was now able to comfortably stare at you with pride in his heart that he rightfully belonged to you.

you returned all your serums into its original position on the shelves, yawning to send away the remaining sleepiness. turning to look at nagi, you wrapped your arms around his waist once he finished brushing his teeth. he leans into your touch, sighing as he rests his head on your shoulder. you softly giggled at his content hums, indicating that he was comfortable right now.

"don't move... it's comfy," he whispers. you patted his back, sighing when he presses a kiss on your neck.

"not everyone has a rest day today, sei. i have to go to school," you told him as he groaned, opposing the idea of you leaving him at home. the ambience of the house was pleasantly familiar, but it's never the same without you around. you were his home.

"can't you just call in sick today?" he asked, still holding onto you firmly. "just today."

you shook your head as you pulled away from his warm embrace. "nope. i need to work hard so i can succeed in my future career just like you, mr. prodigy."

nagi looked at you with fondness in his eyes as he tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear. you have always been a determined individual who was driven by your passion and desire, and you have pushed nagi to do the same whenever he seemed to feel like giving up. not just in soccer, but in many little things. it was an ugly charm of nagi's that he was ruthlessly lazy, unbothered and unmotivated. it required a lot of desire for nagi to remain focused on a particular task, and it required nagi even more patience and resilience when it came to tasks like cooking. you would often nudge him to bake cookies with you, only for him to start mixing the ingredients before he says he's "not bothered anymore" and that he found it "boring".

"sei, you can't just give up now! look at the progress we've made - we just need to scoop them into balls and it goes into the oven!" you sighed, slightly annoyed at how little your boyfriend's attention span was. you dropped the spatula on the table and turned to face the striker who was taller than 6 feet with an unimpressed expression.

nagi pouted at the frown that you had on your face. "but i'm getting tired."

impulsively, you slapped his arm as he feigned hurt. "no you're not. you did nothing today but play video games. let's finish it together, sei. you said you wanted to eat these too."

"baby, i don't wanna eat them anymore."

"yes you do. i know you like these. every time i make them you basically eat the whole batch. you just don't eat them because you're too lazy to make them yourself. come on - think of being able to eat the cookies as a reward for your hard work!" you continued to encourage him, and finally he gave into your short motivational speech. once the cookies were baked and cooled on the counter, nagi takes two in his hands, munching onto them ungracefully with a small smile.

nagi was grateful for you - you, who never gave up and therefore, encouraged him to not give up too... even if you got pissed at him at times.

"i'm gonna prepare breakfast. come to the kitchen once you're done getting ready, okay?" you say before you leave the bathroom a small kiss on his cheek. nagi hums at you as he finished washing his face, patting it dry with a towel before leaving the bathroom to find you in the kitchen, heating up a pot of miso soup and last night's leftovers. nagi seats himself on the chairs lined up against the kitchen island, watching you prepare breakfast in fast motions. you served up two bowls of white rice that was freshly cooked, and settled two plates of chicken that was from the yesterday's dinner.

"honey, can you grab the chopsticks?" nagi nodded at your request as he walked over to your side of the kitchen, taking two pairs of chopsticks from the drawer. you thanked him as you moved to the kitchen island, serving up small dishes of pickled radish. once you were finished serving up breakfast, you sat beside nagi, and you both said your appreciations before beginning the first meal of your day.

nagi could tell that the weather was becoming warmer because you were not wearing a jacket. he's become a little more perceptive since dating you, and had your little tendencies jotted down on his mental notepad. he knew you were prone to feeling cold, hence you wore a jacket or something similar each morning. but now that you weren't, nagi figured that summer was inching closer.

he stared at the meal, noticing the little sesame seeds sprinkled on the chicken. he then took a bite of the chicken, nodding his head. it tasted as good as yesterday, when it was freshly cooked. the taste of your cooking was delectable, and it became a standard that other restaurants had to meet. if it didn't taste as good as your cooking, he would sigh before continuing to eat it mindlessly, belittling the skills of the poor chefs.

nagi wonders if he's become too dependent on you. you do a lot of things for him - cooking him meals, washing his laundry, patting him gently to sleep - he wonders if all these things will ever become bothersome to you, like how everything else is a hassle to him. will you grow tired of him eventually? will loving him become a chore one day?

your phone vibrated on the table as you placed your chopsticks down. after checking the notifications, you swiped up before typing something on your mobile. nagi tilted his head at you as you gave him a smile.

"my friends texted to get dinner together tonight, that's all," you said, returning your attention to your screen.

"you gonna get dinner with them?"

"nah," you replied, turning your gaze to nagi. your hand reaches for his hair, and you fix it by tucking it behind his ear. "i want to have dinner with you. i'm gonna be out for most of today, so we should go to a restaurant. how do you feel about okonomiyaki?"

there's a smile ghosting on nagi's lips. he leans into your touch, reaching for your hand as he takes your hand, kissing the back of it softly.

maybe it wasn't a chore for you to love him.

"sounds good. thanks for staying with me, baby."

nagi takes in the beauty of your smile as you laughed. "you're welcome, my love."

#blue lock #bllk #blue lock nagi #bllk nagi #nagi seishiro #nagi imagines #seishiro nagi #nagi x reader #nagi seishiro x reader #nagi x you #nagi seishiro x you #blue lock fluff #blue lock fanfiction #i apologise for this mid work 😭#૮(ˊ ᵔ ˋ)ა — ୨୧ by saki

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marleysfinest · 3 months

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toji x fem reader. its just smut do not perceive my horniness

cw explicit language, groping, spanking, choking (light), pet names, fingering, prone bone, squirting, insults if you squint. not rly proofread!!

w/c 2.1k (this ran away with me lmaaooooo)

divider @/saradika

by the time you fall through the door, you're ready to call it quits. it's been a horrible day - back-to-back meetings that could easily have been emails, a rap across the knuckles from your boss for something that wasn't technically even your fault, and moron after moron on the subway ride home. there's nothing else in your sights now other than the bottle of wine in your bag, your couch, the worst reality television known to mankind, and ordering takeout. an evening alone is exactly what you need.

you kick off your shoes and dump your bag in the hallway before tucking your jacket away in the cupboard, leaving the day at the door and walking into your kitchen with a mind and body free (ish) of stress. you grab a glass from the cupboard and waste no time in pouring a large glass of pinot noir, taking it carefully to your bedroom to change into comfier clothing. you throw your work clothes in the hamper and opt for your fluffiest dressing gown in lieu of sweats, already feeling lighter as you pad through the hall towards the living room. the couch is so inviting, so soft and marshmallow-y that when you sink into it, it feels as if you're on a cloud for a moment. why do I bother leaving? you think to yourself, taking a moment to bask in the silence. a silence which is very quickly pierced by the ping of your phone which buzzes in your bag. your shoulders drop - do you ignore it? what if it's something important? with a groan and creeping sense of disappointment, you pull yourself to your feet and head for the hall, and fish your phone from your bag. the screen lights up as you see the message pop up -

you roll your eyes and lock your phone, throwing it back into your bag. bastard. as you do your best to hide the smile battling its way across your face, you unlock the door and gently swing it open to see him, leaning against the frame as if it's his God-given right to be here.

"well?" he asks with a wry smile, "is there?"

the evening melts into a night of eating way too much chinese takeout (although, you'd had it bought for you, which was more than you were expecting this evening) and subjecting toji to the worst that television had to offer. nursing full stomachs and dwindling glasses of wine, you sit with your legs draped across his lap, his free hand resting gently atop your knee.

"how can you watch this?" he asks, his voice laced with genuine pain. you can't help but laugh.

"hey, after days like this I just need to switch my brain off. there's no point in turning on a fuckin' netflix murder special when I can't pay attention to what's going on."

toji huffs a laugh and shakes his head. you know that he disapproves, and against your better wishes, it bothers you.

"feel free to change the channel if you're so bothered by it!" you argue. his head lolls to the side to look at you with a slight scowl, an expression that you try to match, although you know it never works on him.

"nah," he says dismissively, "at least this keeps you docile."

you squint resentfully.

"docile? the fuck's that supposed to mean?"

"you know what it means," he replies calmly, rolling his head back to return his focus to the tv, "you're a clever girl."

in a bid to prove him wrong you attempt to withdraw your legs from his lap, but he snakes his arm around them, holding you firmly in place. it's a grip that you can't escape on the best of days, let alone when you're a few glasses of wine deep and full to the brim of chinese food. rather than make a bid for actual freedom, you settle for hopefully annoying him enough for him to grant your release. you wiggle and fidget beneath him - being careful not to kick his glass of wine - until you become impossible to ignore. with a quiet groan, toji sets down his glass and pushes your legs off him suddenly, and for a split second you wonder if you've genuinely upset him. his expression is hard to read, and when he stands and switches the tv off there's a creeping worry that you've gone too far, until he turns his attention to you. he leans down, planting his palms on either side of your head against the soft sofa cushions, and brings his face close to yours.

"I am going to bed," he says, his voice low and quiet, "feel free to join me when you feel like you want to behave."

you suppress a scoff - "this is my house" - and watch him head toward your bedroom with intrigue. you weren't feeling up for one of his usual sessions, which tended to creep into the early hours and demand a lot from you both physically, and it didn't seem as if he was, either. although, toji wasn't the kind of guy to invite himself over purely for company's sake. you enjoyed being with each other, but unless there was a concrete excuse or you flat out refused, there wasn't much that would stop him climbing on top of you when you both rolled into bed to sate himself. You sigh quietly and disregard the mouthful of wine left in your glass, and peel yourself from the sofa to follow him.

by the time you reach your bedroom, toji is already well wrapped up in your duvet and absent-mindedly scrolling on his phone, which he puts on the nightstand when you appear in the doorway.

"good choice," he praises, turning to face your side of the bed, assuming the position of the big spoon immediately. your eyes narrow as you flick off the lights, and shrug off your dressing gown to hang on the back of the door.

"oh, come on!" toji whines, much to your pleasure. you had deliberately plunged the room into darkness first, meaning that he didn't get to lay eyes on you -all of you - before climbing into bed. you skip across the room with a giggle and climb into bed, and immediately feel one arm wrap around your waist and pull you close, and the other tucks comfortably beneath you so that you're cocooned by him. with his chest against your back and his knees tucked behind yours, you're reminded just how big he is... before long, he's nuzzling the crook of your neck and squeezing you even tighter.

"you don't have to be such a bitch about it," he mumbles, suddenly nibbling at your skin, "I have an imagination, y'know..."

"that so?" you ask, trying to ignore the way the light pinches at your neck are making you tingle and shiver.

"mm-hmm," toji replies, his warm breath bathing your neck, "I can imagine a lot of things..."

you feel his hand move from your stomach where he'd been pinning you against him, up to your chest, pushing your resting arm out of the way as he did it. his hand battled his way beneath your elbow to take your breast in his hand and firmly squeeze and massage it, gently tugging at your nipple as perked at his touch.

"I can imagine my face pressed against these beautiful tits, or I can imagine them in my mouth..." he whispers into your ear causing you to shudder, the softness of his voice and delicate warmth of his breath deliberately contrasting with the rougher motions of his hands. you just start to lean into his touch when he slips his hands away, drawing them back across your stomach until they rest on the crest of your hip for a moment before sliding down to the meat of your ass. he grabs a firm handful that makes you wince.

"I can imagine this ass bouncing up and down," he purrs, massaging and gently spanking you beneath the sheets. you try to remain still, to maintain an air of being unbothered, but it's getting increasingly difficult. especially when you know exactly where he's going next.

"I can imagine..."

he suddenly swipes his fingers across your cunt - which had been slowly getting wetter ever since you climbed into bed and felt him pressed against you - and sharply sucked in the air through your teeth.

"oh..." his voice takes on a deeper tone, rumbling through you gently, "looks like I don't have to imagine..."

he spends the next few minutes dragging his fingers back and forth agonizingly slowly, massaging circles and patterns against your swollen heat and coating his fingers in your juices. your breath grows heavier and heavier as he stirs you up, and you find yourself instinctively pushing back against him, quietly asking for more. his free arm that had been resting on your pillow shifts suddenly as he repositions himself, propping himself up on his elbow while gently taking your chin in his hand. he tilts your head back so that his eyes meet yours, and in the dim light of the bedroom you see the shadow of a sleepy grin on his face.

"look at you," he mutters, his hand sliding from your chin to your neck, grasping it gently but firmly to keep you in place, "you talk a big game until you get here. keep your eyes on me."

you do as you're told, and toji rewards you by slipping two thick fingers inside you. your mouth falls open as you let out a whimper, and you simultaneously feel him twitch against your ass. your back is arched as he starts to fuck you with his fingers, and before long you can hear how wet he's made you, his fingers slipping in and out with wet strokes. toji takes the sight of you in completely; your big, wet eyes gazing up at him, your mouth fixed in a pleasured "O", your tits bouncing with every thrust of his fingers. the blood swelling in his cock is becoming almost painful, and he's starting to make a mess of his own. he loves seeing the effect he has on you almost as much as he loves feeling it. almost.

the temptation is too much, then, as toji suddenly retracts his fingers from your sopping cunt. you gasp at the abruptness but don't have long to adjust before he's discarded the sheets completely and is rolling you on to your front before mounting you. despite being positively drenched from his fingers, you still gasp at the way his cock stretches you. he balances himself by planting his hands on your ass, weighing you down with an iron grip, and slowly begins to thrust. a guttural groan escapes his throat as he fills you up, and it takes everything he has not to cum there and then.

"you gonna let me fuck you without misbehaving?" he asks, already panting. you nod feverishly, worked up and desperate to feel him fill you up.

"good."

the green light is all he needs to begin picking up the pace, and you can already feel the bruises on your ass forming under the firmness of his grip. to your surprise, he lowers himself down so that his chest returns to your back, rendering you helpless against him as he thrusts. his fingers find yours, and he pins your hands against the pillow on either side of your head as he moves, languidly but expertly fucking you in the most delicious, lazy way.

"gonna make a mess for me?" he asks, his ragged breath returning to your ear, "c'mon, don't hold back on me now, baby."

the way you can tell that he's trying to mask his own desperation only fuels your own release, as it wasn't often that he revealed this side to him. you sometimes instinctively hold yourself back for reasons you're not sure of, but on this occasion you know he wants your everything. he needs your everything. he nuzzles himself into your neck once more and begins kissing, biting, sucking, occasionally quietly moaning right into your ear, knowing how much you love it when he's the vocal one. you become overwhelmed by it all: the sharpness of his teeth on your neck, the heat of his breath on your cheek, the hardness of his cock...

you hit your release and let yourself make the mess he asked for, feeling your juices squirt over the both of you. it's too much for toji to handle, as he cums almost immediately afterwards, being unusually vocal as he pumps you full. he collapses in a sweaty heap on top of you as you both come down from your highs, and plants a kiss on your cheek.

"you deserved more than that," he concedes, panting heavily, "but I was feeling lazy."

#toji fushiguro #toji fushiguro x reader #toji fushiguro smut #jjk #jjk smut #toji x reader

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spiderlandry · 11 months

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Yes, Chef — ethan landry

Description: The most loving thing one could do is cook for someone else. Ethan finds out it’s your love language.

Pairing: Ethan Landry x GN!Reader

Warnings: implication that reader is shorter than ethan, no ghostface, amber was reader’s ex but it’s only a small mention, lmk if there’s any warnings i should add !! there may be some errors since i only edited this once

Word Count: 3k

Author’s note: i wrote with a poc reader in mind, and much of reader’s experience with cooking is based off my own

Chad is starting to get worried. Exams are in a month, and even though everyone he knows is working hard to prepare, it’s like Ethan is studying as if exams are next week. Chad thinks he can even hear his roommate talking in his sleep sometimes.

He wakes up to Ethan being up at the crack of dawn, a large cup of coffee in hand and deeper bags under his eyes than yesterday.

So, yeah, it’s concerning.

He already tried to coax him into taking more care of himself, but Ethan waves it off. He’s tried other things: getting Sam to scold him, try to get him to go out and party so he’ll get tired, having Quinn threaten him.

If nothing happens, he may resort to putting sleeping pills in Ethan’s coffee.

However, there is one more thing.

You.

Ever since Ethan was introduced to the rest of his friends which included you, he’d been paying more attention to his appearance and how he’s perceived. At first Chad thought he might’ve had a crush on Tara, but Ethan slipped up one time when he not very casually asked if you were going to a group hangout, a few weeks ago.

Chad can use that knowledge to his advantage, he realizes.

Knowing you since freshman year of high-school, you’re a naturally caring person, though can be quiet or a little closed off especially since the Woodsboro murders in which you discovered that your ex-girlfriend was one of the killers.

Your gentle nature, along with his crush, can surely save Ethan from burning himself out so much that he’ll show up to finals only a skeleton, right? Hopefully.

Chad prays he’s right as he sends you a text, Friday evening.

Chad

Hey, can I ask a favor

depends

Might be a little weird but u know how ethan has been studying rly hard?

yeah u said u were worried. is he ok?

Yeah he’s fine mostly. Im just worried so Im asking if you can

Ask him to hang out or something

? why

not that i would mind but why

Youre the one he would say yes to I already tried other stuff to get him to relax but man looks like hes about to pass out

Idk I have a feeling its more than about school but its not my place and I think he would open up to u

You know he has a crush on u right

i dont believe u but ill do it

Bro dont even act like u dont like him too

shut up

You roll your eyes at your phone, already coming up with a plan for a way to get Ethan to chill out. That’s when you think of it.

Ethan allows himself to sleep in during the weekends. But when he wakes up at 11 AM to a text from you that was sent at six, he immediately regrets it.

He opens his phone to read it.

hey i have this new recipe i wanna try but i need a second opinion

wanna come over after work? i get off at 5

He rubs his eyes, making sure he’s reading it right. You? Inviting him? To come over to your place alone?

He’s not proud of the way he gapes at the message for a long moment before he can answer, responding with a ‘sure!’ despite the word not conveying his excitement mixed with the worry at the pit of his stomach. Why are you inviting him alone? He can’t let himself think that it’s anything other than friendliness, right? But you only invited him, so it must mean something.

He rushes to his closet to pick out his outfit, already forgetting about the unfinished page of notes on his desk.

Ethan has known you for a good few months, since the beginning of the school year. But at this point, he’s memorized your smile and your voice, becoming less subtle as time goes on. He pays attention to every single thing you’ve said about yourself, including but not limited to how you almost went to culinary school. He remembers how you once baked a cake for Tara’s birthday, not only the batter from scratch but also the buttercream frosting. He smiles at the memory of you showing the group how to make pasta one night.

To say he’s excited is an understatement.

He doesn’t even bother getting his coffee this time so his breath doesn’t smell like it.

Chad notices that Ethan’s usual cup is still in the cupboard, mentally patting himself on the back for getting the idea to reach out to you.

It’s not long until it’s almost five, and Ethan is walking the few blocks over to your apartment, enjoying the wind. He knows not to show up empty handed, so he stops at a bodega to buy your favourite chips.

You‘d gotten home a little early due to your workplace not being too busy, thankfully. You start prep, laying out the ingredients. The knock from your door reaches your ears a few minutes later, and knowing it’s Ethan you open the door.

You’re greeted with a bag of chips to your face, taking it and seeing Ethan have a slight upturn at the corner of his lips. You mirror his expression, albeit with a wider smile (you can’t help it), letting him into your apartment. He sits down at the breakfast bar facing into the kitchen, while you stand on the other side facing him.

This isn’t the first time he’s been here, but it is the first time he’s here alone. With you. He tried to get rid of the images in his head of him being over at your place every day because you want him to be there. He can’t think like that, not now when you’re beaming up at him while you showcase the ingredients on the kitchen counter, your sentences going into one ear and out the other.

“…Ethan?” Your brows are furrowed, not knowing if he’s paying attention. You quickly catch that he’s not—he has to think for a moment about what to say.

“Uhm—“ he clears his throat. “Sorry, I wasn’t listening. What?” He mentally cringes at himself. He’s sure you’d think he’s not interested and oh god, what if you think he doesn’t want to be there?

You laugh lightly. “I said do you like steak? I mean, I probably should’ve asked, but—“ You’re glad he stops your ramble before it goes any further.

“I like it, don’t—don’t worry.”

“Okay, good. Because this would’ve been awkward.”

Ethan is determined not to let any weird silences happen, so he continues despite not knowing what to say. His curiosity gets the best of him. “Not that I don’t want to, but why did you invite me here? I mean…just me.”

You try to brush it off, coming up with an excuse. “I invited Tara, but she couldn’t make it.” You turn back to the ingredients to get started.

He’s glad you’re not facing him to see his shoulders practically deflate finding out that he’s not the first choice. He’s not sure why he got his hopes up so much.

Before he can say anything else, you interrupt his train of thought. “Wanna help?”

He stands up quickly, eager. “What do you need?”

Truthfully, you’d made this dish a thousand times before that you could do it in your sleep. You’re not about to try anything new when your main objective is to take Ethan’s mind off things.

“How are you with knives?” You ask, taking out a chef’s knife from the knife holder. His eyes widen, begrudgingly taking the object from your hand.

“This is gonna sound—nevermind,” He shakes his head.

“Tell me.”

“I’ve never had to…cook before.”

“Oh,” you sigh. “That’s fine. Do you not want the knife?”

“I do! I just—how do I use it?”

You smile, an image he wishes was burned into his mind. You slide the cutting board toward you, putting a handful of asparagus in the middle.

Ethan can’t help but stare at your hand at the way you delicately go through the motions of cutting, slowly to make sure he sees it. You show him how to trim the asparagus, and you give him back the knife to try.

A spark tingles throughout his hand when you put yours on it to guide him.

“Just trim all of these. Got it?”

He nods.

You prepare the steak on a separate cutting board alongside him.

“Can I ask why you’ve been studying so hard, E?”

The nickname isn’t lost on him, but he tries his best to ignore it before he accidentally cuts himself.

“Finals next month,” He says curtly.

“Is that the truth?”

“Does it matter?”

“It does to me. But I’m not trying to force you.”

He pauses. “Can we change the topic?”

You nod, “You pick. Turns out I’m terrible at conversation. Can you fill up a pot of water for the mini potatoes? And put some salt in it.”

“How long have you been cooking?” He puts the asparagus in the bowl they were previously in and doing as you say. With the way he gets the question out so fast, you’d think he’d been thinking about it.

“As a kid, I was around a lot of people who knew how to cook,” you begin while you prepare a pan on the stove, melting the butter. “I learned from them. International dishes, mainly. Lots of spices. But I moved to New York and started working in a kitchen when I was sixteen, so I learned about some European pastries and white people food.” You chuckle.

There’s something with the way you talk about food that makes his chest warm. It’s unfamiliar, but a welcome feeling nonetheless. It’s different from how you talk about other things—this one feels more intimate.

You continue. “I think you know, but I almost went to culinary school.”

He does know. He wonders why you didn’t go.

“I took cooking classes as an elective at my high-school. I was lucky they offered that. Senior year, I was a stage for some really pretentious restaurants—y’know, mainly as a server, but I got to know how the kitchen worked.”

He hasn’t even noticed that the butter is almost all melted on the pan and you’ve put some rosemary and thyme on it until you pause to turn to him.

You grab the cutting board with the steak on it, placing it next to the stove.

“They were the kinds of places that served small portions for high prices.” You stared at the stove, turning up the heat.

“Why didn’t you go to culinary school?” He timidly asks.

“The people,” You say it so quietly at first that he almost missed it. “I met people who made the kitchen pretty much unbearable. There was shouting…lots of it, actually. The crazy high standards. They didn’t shout at me, but seeing it from the sidelines was worse…somehow? I don’t know.”

He finds himself wanting to have a stern word with whoever made you feel that way about something you so clearly love.

He’s about to ask another question before you interrupt him.

You pick up the steak from the board, motioning for him to come closer. “Always lay away from you,” you say. “Otherwise you splash oil on yourself, ‘kay?”

He nods. He continues with his question. “Do you regret it?”

He doesn’t realize how heavy of a question it is until after he says it, and he’s going to retract his statement but you respond.

“No, actually, I don’t.”

There’s a sweetness in your voice that’s hard to catch, but for Ethan’s ears, it’s as if they’ve been attuned to your tone.

“If I went to culinary school, I would’ve started to hate it—“ You grab the tongs, using it to push the sides of the steak to the pan, “—That’s searing. You seal in the juices when the surface browns, see that?—“

When he nods, you proceed.

“I grew up believing that cooking was a way to care about people, you know? Like a love language. And If I made cooking my career, that’s not what it would be for me. Does that make sense?”

“Yeah, yeah. It does.”

Once all the sides are seared, you grab a spoon and you slightly tilt the pan, using the utensil to coat the steak in the melted butter. “That’s basting. So it doesn’t lose moisture. Every time you flip a steak, it loses moisture, so just do it once.”

He thinks he’s getting repetitive when he nods once more to show that he’s actually listening.

It’s not long until the steak is done, and he’s excited to get it on the plate but instead, you put it on a baking sheet and cover it in tin foil.

“You’re next.”

His head snaps up toward you, sputtering, “What?”

“Do you want to learn?”

“Yeah—“

“Then get to work.” You smirk, and he’d be lying if he said that didn’t awaken something in him. You point to the other steak in the packaging.

He tries to remember the steps you did, but you do have to remind him what to do occasionally.

You’re standing close to him, almost hovering, but he doesn’t mind one bit. In fact, he almost leans in instinctively when you bring your hand up to his face and pushes his curls out of his face.

“You’re doing good,” you whisper.

It takes everything inside him not to collapse right there. He’d give everything to feel your hand on his face again.

You’ve set two plates on the counter. The mini potatoes were boiled nicely, and you cut them swiftly in half (a feast for Ethan’s eyes). Ethan watches while you quietly as you carefully plate the food, and he can’t help but look around him. The used pan, the knives, cutting boards, you plating the food—there’s an element of domesticity.

It’s in the way you flash a smile directed at him and only him, in the comfort of your own home, after you’ve just cooked together. He imagines a future where it’s like this every night.

You open the fridge, grabbing out two sodas. As you turn around Ethan is surprisingly close to you.

Only a few inches away.

He slowly takes the cans from you, setting it on the space next to him. All as if he’s about to wake a sleeping dragon if he were to move too quickly.

“Why are you doing this?” He asks, almost in a pleading whisper. His eyes are boring into yours, and you can’t bring yourself to look away.

“I told you.” Your tone mirrors his. “Cooking is a way to take care of someone, and I care about you.”

He doesn’t know what possesses him to do the next thing.

He brings himself closer to you, not breaking the eye contact.

Suddenly, everything makes itself known. Your breathing, shallower than his, anticipating his next move. The way your clothes touch. The cold air coming from the fridge.

He brings his hand to touch your jaw, it’s a feather-like sensation as his digits make contact with your skin. “Is this okay?”

You gulp and nod, unable to find the words.

“Need to hear you say it.”

In the lowest whisper, “Yes.”

He lifts your chin, tilting his head.

It’s a tiny pause until you’re the one taking the leap, closing the small distance and slotting your lips against his.

Everything falls away, and nothing else matters. His lips are soft. You feel his large hands go to your neck and you wrap your arms around his torso, trying to get impossibly closer.

You’re the first to pull away and you grin when he chases your lips.

“Hi,” You beam. “W—what was that for?”

“You tell me,” he smiles.

You anticipate the night to end when you’re both finished the food and the drinks, and you’ve cleaned up the kitchen.

But neither of you want it to end.

You cross your arms, facing Ethan who’s reluctantly about to open the door.

“Wanna stay?”

He turns around, tilting his head like a cute puppy. “Thought you’d never ask.”

That’s how you found yourselves cuddling on the couch, a new show on your television.

“I have to tell you something,” you whisper, eyes still on the screen.

“Hm?”

“Chad told me to ask you to hang out.” You grimace. “And before you say anything, I didn’t invite you just because of him. I was worried about you too.” You look up at him, the proximity comfortable rather than awkward.

“I figured.”

“Really?”

His arm tightens around you. “When you asked me why I was studying so hard, I remembered Chad’s been trying to get me out of it. This was his last resort.”

You snort, “His last resort was putting sleeping pills in your coffee.”

“I’m…gonna have to talk to him about that.”

“Can I ask why you’re studying?”

“To distract myself.”

You almost sit up. “From what?”

“Not tonight.” He lays your head against him again, and your trust is in his hands. “Someday.”

And someday, he’ll tell the story about how the week before, he realized he loved you. It scared him so much that it kept him up for days, but the night you kissed would be the day his worries all went away.

#ethan landry x reader #ethan landry #ethan landry fluff #scream 6 x reader #scream x reader #scream #scream vi #scream 6

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marlenesluv · 8 months

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bro i gotta add to @twinkodium tags on my reply LOL

below cut is some…18+ for sure

tag:

my thoughts cuz yes:

oscar is fucking adorable. the way he would take you on the cutest and most thoughtful dates. like picnics in the spring, wanting to just be alone and away from the press and the world. he would probably buy you some sort of sweet gift too.

cuddles would be insane. i feel like he would definitely switch between big and little spoon. after he looses a race? little spoon. he wants to feel safe, and he does in your arms. your hands running through his hair as he takes deep breaths on your chest, maybe a few tears slip out, but you’re there to kiss them away :( but big spoon oscar? oh he loves being big spoon. the way he can wrap his big arms around you and your stomach, pulling you closer to him. maybe he even gets a hard on…maybe you grind your ass when you notice, earning a hiss from oscar as he slightly humps your ass🫠 (did i go too far…)

now…fucking up against a wall? i’m going feral. it wouldn’t even be a challenge. you get home late from dinner with the grid, and he’s sick of the guys flirting with you. besides the obvious hand on your thigh the light dinner, scooting closer to you every few minutes, and neck kisses for everyone to see, he thinks he could have done more. (omfg possessive oscar bye omg) so he brings you home, and immediately pushes you against your foyer wall, taking your heels and panties off, just to fuck you right there. because why would he go to your shared room? noo, he wants to fuck you where people hang their coats. maybe even the kitchen table after. where two weeks later, lando, carlos, charles, and max come over for dinner. and all he can think of is that you came on the place where one of his friends was sitting…ok i rly went too far now

riding his thighs?? oh dear lord yesss. like LOOK AT THIS MAN.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOohjh myyyy. his thighs are so muscular and inviting, i agree. they are beggingggg to me rode atp. he would definitely flex his thigh too just to fuck with you. and if you rode him? holyyyy shit.

he would love that. his head back, mouth open letting out little gasps and moans as his hair was being pulled on a bit by you. he would help you when you got tired too, hands on your hips to help guide when you get exhausted.

mhmm, his humor is unmatched. he’s genuinely so hilarious and idk why people aren’t realizing. he kinda gives kimi vibes in the way that he doesn’t gaf which is so funny and hot. mmm also, side note: oscar knows some japanese which is also vvv hot

its fine, i am also over the top and acting a bit unhinged, but i mean, it’s okay

#oscar piastri #oscar piastri smut #18+

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soulgazingwithbucky · 1 year

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protect, ch. 2 (Bucky Barnes x Reader)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

Summary: You've spent your life protecting your younger brother, until an invitation from Sam Wilson and Bucky Barnes turns everything on its head.

Warnings: mentions of parent death, reader feeling traumatized, some violence

Word count: 5.8k

A/N: wanted to share my inspo for this fic! i was inspired by mcu phase 4, and wondered what it would look like for bucky to pass the mantle. obviously this fic took a different turn and doesnt rly focus on that, but nonetheless wanted to share :) hope you enjoy. divider credits to @lesbiacebian!!

Masterlist: {one} | {two} | {three}

And so you find yourself grumpy and groggy in the passenger seat, scolding Tomas.

“The next time they want you to train at this hour, tell them to eat shit,” you groan, arms crossed over your chest.

Tomas glances at you. For a second, you look like a smaller version of Bucky, moping about a situation you put yourself in. He names his observation, and you slowly drop your arms and release your scowl.

Sam and Bucky have grown to be close confidants in the past few months, checking in on you nearly as much as they spend time with your brother. Sam’s counseling sessions are on your only day off; when he picks up Tomas for their appointments, Bucky stays behind, helping you with errands or otherwise keeping you company. He seems more than happy to accompany you on grocery trips, help you with minor projects around the apartment, or just enjoy a film with you. You didn’t realize that during these weekly visits, you unconsciously picked up on some of his mannerisms.

Tomas stops short of a chain link fence. He presses some buttons on his phone, triggering a mechanism that slides the gate open. You squint at the spacious area; it’s nearly bare, save for the low lights illuminating the tarmac and the tall, metal building that looms to your right. Tomas delicately presses the gas pedal, and the car lurches forward at an agonizing pace. When the car just barely passes the gate, Tomas shuts off the car and switches off the headlights. You stare at your brother, who looks solemnly ahead–he has never done anything carefully in his life.

In all honesty, you thought Tomas would be meeting a date. After all, he told you about a last-minute “mysterious training” that happened to be in the middle of the night? You weren’t stupid. Under normal circumstances, you would wave him off and tell him to bring back the car in tip top shape. But in case that it was some corrupt alien monster trying to lure him out, you insisted on accompanying him. You figured you would make sure he was safe before taking off. He fought against this, only fueling your theory that he was indeed rendezvousing with some pretty thing. You had let him think he won, until you threw yourself into the passenger seat right when he was about to leave.

Rookie mistake, thinking you would ever let him win an argument.

But now, with Tomas’s knuckles paling with his grip on the wheel, his gaze steely and his body trembling in expectation, you wonder what you’ve walked into. Tomas holds his breath and the car now falls into complete silence as you both watch a small aircraft exit the hangar. Two figures follow, towing what looks like weapons and manila folders.

“Tomas, what’s–”

“Stealth exercise. Bye, sis,” he says quickly. Before you know it, his speedy ass is out of the car, making his way over to Sam and Bucky.

And he expects you to believe that? You quickly leave your seat, following after Tomas.

“What is going on?” you hiss, much to Tomas’s horror. He turns around, silently waving you off with an aggressive gesture of his hand.

“Oh, I know you did not just–”

Obviously, at this point, you have earned the attention of the heroes, who have stopped at the top of the airplane stairs. Startled recognition paints Sam and Bucky’s faces, and the latter points an accusing finger in Tomas’s direction.

“You got some fuckin’ nerve, kid,” Bucky growls. The light from the hangar illuminates his burning stare and tense snarl.

“I thought we made it perfectly clear–,” Sam begins.

“I know, but I can help you guys. I’m ready,” Tomas insists as he attempts to close the distance between himself and the two men.

“Aht!” Sam says, holding his hand out to stop your brother from ascending any further.

“Ready for what?!” you say from the bottom step.

Over the comms system, their pilot confirms they are ready for takeoff.

“You need to leave, now,” Sam instructs gravely.

“Both of you,” Bucky emphasizes.

“Great, have a good night,” you say. You’re donning well-loved pajamas, and the thin fleece does nothing to protect you from the evening chill. You grab Tomas’s sleeve, turning around and tugging him along. He shakes you off, keeping his eyes locked on his mentors.

“No way,” he tells them. “I’m coming. You guys have been talking about this forever, and it’s about time I get some field experience–”

“That’s not for you to decide!” Bucky says, exasperation dripping in his voice.

“I concur,” you add. Bucky gestures towards you, as if to say, See?! Can you listen to your sister?!

Through their earpieces, their pilot asks them what the hold up is. As Dr. Banner remotely tracks their mark’s location, he urges, “It’s now or never, guys.”

Sam glances at the airplane, then at the both of you. He looks at the stairs you’re all standing on, knowing that the aircraft can’t take off unless the area is clear and, most importantly, he and Bucky are on this damn plane.

After a few years of working as partners, Bucky can practically read the man’s mind.

“Sam, no–”

“I know, I know.” Sam turns to both of you, anger painting his features. “Get in, now.”

Tomas tries to mask his smile, knowing full well he is in trouble with the three most important people in his life. But he got away with it, didn’t he? He pieced together that Sam and Bucky were leaving for an assignment from the hushed conversations between training sessions. When he saw a text on Bucky’s phone naming a crime organization that had Tomas on their short list, he had to find a way in. So he could tell those bastards thanks, but no fucking thanks before breaking all of their noses.

“Fix your face,” you tell him discontentedly.

“As soon as we land, our pilot’s taking you back,” Sam grunts. “We’ll find our own way back. Banner, did you copy that?”

“I’m already here! You might as well make use of me,” Tomas argues.

“For what?!” you say, still in the dark about all of this.

Bucky addresses you, though his darkened eyes are still fixed on your brother.

“Organization called The Snakeroot Clan,” he says. He tears his eyes away from Tomas to face you. “They’re based in Japan, but we got word that some of their members are here on business.”

“The goal was to apprehend Harry Kenkoy and Feruze. But now it’s to make sure you two get home safely,” Sam picks up.

Tomas exhales loudly, earning a glare from both you and Bucky.

“They are dangerous,” Bucky says through gritted teeth. He feels the frustration bubbling and he suddenly rises from his seat to the back of the cabin, facing away from everyone in an effort to calm down. How stupid could this kid be to put himself in danger? And to put his human sister in danger right alongside him?

“Crazy dangerous,” Sam confirms. “They’re not just criminals–some of them are also mystics. They’ll fuck you up, kid, in more ways than one.”

“And that’s exactly why you took me to Kamar-Taj,” is Tomas’s rebuttal.

“That is not why we took you to Kamar-Taj!” Bucky yells, slamming his fist along the adjacent wall. In a split second, he’s in front of Tomas, leaning over him. Your heart stutters, and you’re ready to pull the hero back, but Tomas doesn’t back down, leaning forward until their noses are practically touching.

“You’re on a suicide mission, kid; you made a stupid plan like it’s your duty to put yourself in the line of fire when there are other people perfectly capable of doing it without–”

“Can’t help it,” Tomas spits. “Growing up, I drooled over my fucking history books, learning all about a man that no one believed in with a dumb plan to help save the world.”

Bucky is stunned, and Tomas breaks their staredown, hard eyes absorbing the night clouds you’re flying through.

“I heard he had someone by his side who stuck by him and believed in him,” Tomas spits. “But sis, you were right. Never meet your heroes.”

Sam and Bucky glance at you before sharing a look. You can only open your mouth, only to shut it. It was what you had told him when Steve Rogers was invited to read a book based off of him at Tomas’s former elementary school. Tomas had begged you to pick him up early from school so you could try to get even a glimpse of his hero. You agreed, but by the time you arrived, he was long gone, whisked away by something more important.

Sam stops thumbing his shield, standing up to use the lavatory. He claps his hand on Tomas’s shoulder.

“If it helps any, he was a hardass on Steve, too,” Sam whispers with a small smile before disappearing into the bathroom.

“I heard that,” Bucky grumbles. “And that punk deserved it, too.”

While the plane roars around you, you and Tomas are having a silent exchange. He can see the anger, understanding, upset, confusion, and sympathy in your eyes.

I had to, sis, his eyes are telling you.

I know, is the message your expression is sending back. But you’re gonna wish the evil sorcerers got to you first when I’m through with you.

He smiles, shifting his gaze to the airplane window once again.

“Look, I’m sorry, kid,” Bucky speaks up from across the aisle.

Tomas huffs. “I tried to come without her. I knew you would react like this if she came.”

“What does that mean?” you say. Much to Bucky’s relief, Sam’s exit from the bathroom is perfectly timed.

“He can take us to the entrance, Sam,” Bucky decides. “And then he gets his ass back to the plane. Immediately.”

His partner cocks his head at the idea, but has no rebuttal. Through their earpieces, Dr. Banner announces that the pilot has started their descent.

While Sam is handing Tomas a gun, Bucky takes his earpiece and places it in your hand.

“‘Cause I know you’re gonna be freaking out in here,” he explains. You manage a smile.

“Tomas comes back in one piece, you hear me?”

He nods solemnly, knowing your humorous tone is only a mask.

“You all come back in one piece.”

“And you stay put,” he responds. You nod, placing the communication device in your ear. He places a reassuring hand on the side of your head, smiling when you unconsciously lean into his touch. This time, it’s Sam and Tomas’s turn to exchange a look.

“We gotta go, Bucky,” Sam says, before turning his attention to the young man beside him. He points at his chest, emphasizing, “Entrance and back.”

“Entrance and back,” Tomas repeats with a grin. He meets your concerned eyes with a nod before disappearing into the night with Sam and Bucky.

For the first few minutes, your legs feel like jelly. Your nerves glue you to your seat, and you can only manage to buckle and unbuckle your seatbelt numerous times. You stare out of the window, hoping to catch a glimpse of your brother or the heroes, but can only see darkness.

The next few minutes after that, you’re pacing the cabin’s length, suddenly restless. You wipe your clammy hands on your pants, looking around for something to make yourself useful. Sitting around doing nothing was never your thing; Bucky’s simple request to stay put in the cabin was not a simple request for you. You decide your goal is to find a weapon, in case a mystic or two find the plane and need their asses handed to them.

While you search the aircraft, you hear Sam’s voice over comms, informing Dr. Banner that they’re about to meet the target.

“You sure you don’t want to do this instead, Banner?” Bucky muses.

“Covert is in your wheelhouse, not the big guy’s,” Bruce responds. “Be careful.”

You give up trying to get into the weapons locker, and instead decide on the aircraft’s fire extinguisher as your weapon of choice. You nearly invite yourself into the cockpit to confer with the pilot in case you were attacked, but you decide that the best plan would be to leave them alone so they could do their job.

You sit back in your seat, gripping the extinguisher. The red metal chills your lap through the fabric of your pajama pants. You fight every urge to run out into the darkness, to follow after your brother, knowing your role tonight was to practice patience and trust.

After a few agonizing minutes of silence, you sigh in relief at your brother’s hushed voice through the communication device in your ear: “They’re in the building, heading back now.”

“Roger. Watch your six, kid,” Bruce responds.

“Name’s Tomas,” your brother responds, and you can practically hear the goofy grin spreading across his face.

You peer out of the window, waiting to see your brother’s lanky figure appear through the darkness. One minute turns to five, which turns to ten, and you feel your stomach tying itself in knots.

“Bruce, come in,” you speak up.

“Go for Bruce.”

The plane door swings open, and you jump, nearly knocking the extinguisher to the floor. You quickly get to your feet, extinguisher aimed, but quickly drop it to hug your brother.

“Oh my god,” you breathe, pulling back and smoothing his windswept hair.

He gives you a lopsided smile.

“They told me to update our pilot, let her know everything’s on track. Means we’ll be leaving at the expected time,” Tomas says. You nod, but pull him into your arms one last time before he disappears into the cockpit.

Bruce’s voice comes over the communications system, and you slap your forehead. You had completely forgotten that you reached out to him.

“Bruce, I’m so sorry, everything’s good–”

He cuts you off, his voice low with a slight tremble. “You need to leave.”

The urgency in his tone is everything you need to know. “Wait, let me get Tomas.”

“No, you need to leave.” He is speaking quickly. “Operations logistics, including communication with the pilot, is strictly done remotely. By the mission lead. Me. Agents on the ground are there to focus on their job.”

You freeze, right outside of the cockpit. “What are you saying, Bruce?”

“Sam and Bucky would never tell your brother–”

You hear a strangled scream on the other side that causes the hair on your arms to rise. But the scream cuts off, the unnatural silence sending another round of chills through your body. The door swings open, and you swear your brother’s eyes flash purple as he fixes his gaze on you.

“Sorry,” he chuckles. “I wanted to do that a lot more subtly.” He has a blade in his hand, and he’s wiping the crimson residue on the wrist of his jacket. He’s slowly moving towards you; with every step forward, you take one step back. Your eyes flash to the extinguisher on the ground, the door on your left, the bloody knife in Tomas’s hand.

“You…never had a knife.” Your hands are reaching around behind you, trying to keep your balance as you continue to create distance between yourself and your sibling.

Tomas looks at the knife, then at you. He taps his temple with the blade, as if to say silly me. The gesture leaves a ruby dot on the side of his head.

“Duh. Sorry,” he says. He sheaths the knife; in the same instant, he pulls out the gun from Sam, pointing it at your head. “Is this better?”

“RUN!” Bruce yells through your earpiece, and you push past your brother, reaching for the aircraft door. You make quick acquaintances with the floor when Tomas grips your ankle, twisting you and dragging you back towards him. Your vision becomes a jumble of white stars and ceiling panels. Still, your legs kick as hard as they can, trying to release you from your brother’s painful grip.

Tomas appears to be talking to himself as he pulls you to the back of the plane. “I like this body. Real strong, real fast.”

This man looks and sounds like your brother, but the glint in his eyes and the inflection in his tone tells you that, right now, this is not the person you’ve been raising the past few years.

“Tomas! TOMAS!” you scream, clawing at his hands, hoping to trigger your brother back to reality. Were it not for the adrenaline, you might feel the tears flowing down your cheeks, the rhythmic throbbing in your head, the pain in your ankle as the bones threatened to snap under the superhuman grip.

You try to pull your head away from the barrel of the gun, but you’re pinned–there’s nowhere for you to go. Tomas presses the barrel right between your eyebrows.

“They say we need you,” Tomas huffs. He grits his teeth before moving the gun away from you, as if it puts him in physical pain to not put a bullet in your head.

You hear the door swing open once again, followed by heavy footsteps. Tomas’s eyes follow the intrusion. You act quickly, reaching out until your fingers find the extinguisher. You swing as hard as you can, hearing the metallic clank as the object collides with your brother’s head. As he reels from the impact, you propel yourself backwards on your heels until you feel arms hooking underneath you and lifting you to your feet. Bucky spins you until you’re facing him, giving you a quick assessment before stepping in front of you.

Sam moves forward, launching his shield at Tomas. The younger man ducks behind a seat, and the weapon ricochets off of the back wall. Bucky captures the shield in his right hand and leaves Tomas no time to prepare as he throws it in his direction again.

“Snap out of it, kid!” he urges as Tomas dives out of the way. The shield returns to Bucky, and he moves as though he’s about to throw it again. Tomas readies himself, but doesn’t notice Sam sneaking to his side, his fist connecting with your brother’s jaw. Tomas crumples to the ground, and you instinctively move forward, stopped only by Bucky’s left arm across your decolletage.

Bucky lifts the shield and Sam raises his fists.

“Sis?” Tomas’s voice cracks as he calls for you. He lifts his head, and your stomach turns again.

“Tomas,” you gasp in recognition. There’s the familiarity in his eyes, the voice that you’ve known for the past nineteen years. You push past Bucky, going to comfort your bruised and fearful sibling.

Tomas sits himself up against the wall, groaning as he feels the injuries on his body. He winces and grasps his side. You check over him with worried eyes as Sam tells Bruce to call for backup. Bucky is unloading an extensive first aid kit next to you.

“Tell Doc Strange,” Tomas groans as Bucky flashes a light into his eyes, “I need a re-up on that protection spell.”

“Idiot,” you and Bucky tell him. Your eyes meet at the shared utterance, and for a moment, the world melts away in the ocean blue. You find your mouth turning upward in an amused smile, one you were sure you couldn’t manage just a moment ago.

“They know I’m still here, right?” Tomas asks Sam, who rolls his eyes and shrugs.

And so you watch Captain America settle down across from you, taking a grateful sip of the fresh coffee. Bucky had just left with Tomas a couple minutes prior, telling Sam that he would never be able to keep up at the track with a super soldier and an enhanced being. Sam had waved him off with a yeah, yeah, but you know their jests were a kind attempt to make you feel better about the true purpose of the day.

The days since your brother invited himself to the Avengers’ mission have been…rough, to say the least. After the adrenaline finished coursing through your bodies, you and Tomas were left with the brutal reality that he nearly murdered you.

On his way back to the plane, he was accosted by several members of the Snakeroot Clan. Just as Sam warned, they fucked his shit up. Bad. Bucky relayed the information from Dr. Strange: the spell was basic, but sufficient. A mystic was able to take over Tomas’s mind, but the enchantment was limited in proximity. The further Tomas traveled to return to the plane, the weaker it became; several knocks on the head were sufficient to loosen the spell’s grip on your brother.

All the while, Sam and Bucky found themselves ambushed. Comms were down within the facility’s walls, and they could only hear the occasional crackle of Bruce’s voice. Bucky had seen red, knowing that if they managed to trap him and Sam, you and Tomas were faring worse. The thought was nearly unbearable, and Bucky had most of the clan slumped to the ground before kicking the sealed door open. Sam had stared at his shield, wondering if his presence was even necessary, before following Bucky back to the plane.

You and Tomas were in limbo. He apologized profusely, and you forgave profusely. He was a jumble of I’m sorry, I should’ve paid more attention at Kamar-Taj, I never should’ve put us in that situation. You were the choked responses of it’s okay, I’m just glad you’re okay, let’s check on that knot on your head. You were afraid to be around each other, but also afraid to be without each other. You wanted to hug your brother, ruffle his hair, lovingly call him a piece of shit, but you couldn’t get the image of him almost killing you out of your head.

Bucky had disappeared for a couple days, too; his rage rendered him unable to remember anything between getting to the facility and bandaging Tomas up, and it terrified him.

“It’s normal,” Sam tells you. You shift uncomfortably in the dining seat. “I hope you know that.”

You’re not sure what’s normal about being afraid every time you open a door or turn a corner, terrified that your own brother is waiting, gun in hand.

Sam sees this, continuing in a tone that is the perfect mix of gentle and firm: “It’s not gonna go away by itself.”

Your jaw clenches.

“What do you do to take care of yourself?”

Take care of yourself? You don’t know, eat, sleep, maybe put on a TV show every once in a while? Though now that you think about it, you’ve been working through your lunch breaks, avoiding moments of rest that were just filled with terrifying flashbacks. And sleep wasn’t exactly sleep–more like tossing and turning until sleep happened to overtake you for a few minutes, then you would wake up and start the restless cycle all over again. Oh, and the TV show was mostly background noise while you researched mind control–

Sam calls out your name. You blink yourself back to reality, realizing you haven’t said a word since you’ve sat down at your kitchen table.

“When my dad wasn’t running the restaurant, he was in church.”

You look up at him, recalling stories about the Wilson family that Bucky learned on his visits to Delacroix. You see Bucky’s bright eyes and big smile as he told you about Cass and AJ, about Louisianian cuisine, about Sam and Sarah’s bickering.

“And my mom was there for every one of his sermons, in the third pew.” He looks down at his mug with a chuckle. “Never the first, because Titi Nisa had a hearing problem and Mrs. Roberts was too short to sit anywhere else.”

You smile, imagining a woman with Sam’s friendly grin helping other church-goers into the rows in front of her.

“And never in the second pew, no, that was for newcomers. Families that had just moved in, visitors from out of town…They deserved the second row, not the pastor’s wife.

“But when my dad was killed, she started sitting in the back row.

“And when my mom got shot, that’s when I started going.”

He lets out a mirthless huff, a sharp and emotionless exhale through his nose.

“I was so mad. My dad stood in front of the congregation every week, talking about seeing the good in people, about our duty to do things to make the world better. I mean, shit, I dunno, I wouldn’t know, I wasn’t there.

“But I hated myself. When I went to bed, I had dreams that they were still alive, that I was getting ready for church with them. I feel like I replayed every waking moment. What if I tackled the dude before he pulled the knife out on my dad? What if instead of going to that birthday party in the second grade, I stayed and hung out with my mom? And when I wasn’t torturing myself, I was putting on a tough face so Sarah would be able to look at her big brother and know that everything was okay.”

Your eyes prickled with tears and your nose stung, hearing an all-too-familiar story. You had seen Sam in many different lights at this point: the hero of great skill, the coach of short patience, the joker of quick retorts. Bucky filled in the gaps of your Sam Wilson knowledge bank, painting a picture of a magnificent uncle, a more-than-capable partner, a trusted and beloved friend. But never had you expected to see him in this light.

“I was in college,” you say, trying to keep your voice steady, “when Mom died. Um, heart attack. We had no way of knowing. I was at a lecture, Tomas was in class. I got in my car and I drove. I, um, drove for hours. My university was out-of-state.

“When I got there, um, she was–she was gone. Tomas got to say goodbye, but I didn’t. He told her we loved her. That we would be okay.”

You quickly wipe the tears before they trace down your cheek.

“Sam, I don’t feel okay.”

He nods. His eyebrows twitch as if they want to furrow in sympathy, but he stops himself.

“The one and only time I was on campus after that was to withdraw. I got a job at the restaurant around the corner, I picked up extra shifts, I started working at this store in the mall–to make sure we were okay–”

“Yeah,” Sam cuts in. He sees how your chest heaves, how your breathing is turning erratic. “Yeah, I know.

“So let me ask you this. If you close your eyes and picture yourself calm, and happy, what do you see?”

You take a deep breath, trying to clear your mind as your eyes close and Sam disappears behind a curtain of darkness. You reach into your memory, pulling out moments of joy.

“Um, watching Tomas win competitions. Watching our favorite shows, especially the ones we liked as kids–”

“I’m gonna stop you there,” Sam says, and your eyes open. “What about…something without Tomas?”

“Without?”

“Yeah. Um, listen, we know how you love him, but a lot of your life revolves around your brother. And that’s great, you know, but I think…sometimes, you’re as dependent on him as he is on you.”

Your first instinct is to immediately shoot down the notion. But you realize how quickly you want to deny the sentiment, and you wonder why that is. You press your lips together.

You close your eyes again.

“A couple months ago, I drew a bath, lit some candles, watched this cheesy movie. Um, I saw some friends from high school a year ago–we saw a comedy show, then grabbed dinner.”

You smile as your words summon the memories to your mind. But a different picture paints itself over the recollections. You’re sitting at the edge of the couch, looking over at your favorite part of the film, smiling proudly as Bucky laughs, right on cue. You’re shoving leftovers into your fridge as Bucky returns your dining table to its original spot, making easy work of the furniture pieces. You see his cropped dark hair, his soft blues, his bright smile.

Your eyes are wide when they open, and you pray Sam doesn’t notice as your face floods with heat. His face, even the subtle smile, betray nothing.

The oven clock informs you that your time with the captain is up.

“You’re good, Wilson,” you say. “You’re good.”

He gives a dismissive shrug as you both rise.

“That’s why they pay me the big bucks, right?”

“They pay you the big bucks?”

“Nah.”

You and Sam stop in front of the front door.

“Thanks, Sam,” you say earnestly. “You didn’t have to do all that, and–no, stop, you really didn’t. You were a counselor for war vets, for heroes. Not for people like me. You’re a good friend.”

“What makes you think you’re not a hero?” he says. “Your brother thinks the world of you, you know.”

You give him a lopsided smile.

“And that bionic staring machine looks up to you, too.

“Not me, though. I think you kinda suck.”

He shoves his shoulder into you jokingly as you laugh at the sharp turn of his words. You open the door, ready to quip about kicking him out. On the other side, your brother waits with his keys in hand, Bucky standing expectantly beside him.

“Mile time is down to two minutes and thirty-four seconds, sis,” Tomas announces with a grin, shooting you a thumbs up. You find yourself looking closely at his eyes, making sure there’s no hint of a purple hue.

“Got a great view of the back of my head the whole time,” Bucky adds.

Tomas deflates, crossing his arms over his chest. “Yeah, and your knees haven’t stopped cracking since,” he grumbles, earning a laugh from Sam.

At the training facility, the four of you look over Tomas’s lab tests.

“Everything looks good,” Bucky confirms, meeting your eyes and nodding.

“But it’s just as we suspected,” Sam said. “Your cells regenerate at regular levels, meaning you don’t heal like an enhanced. Can’t jump out of planes with no regard like this idiot here.”

Bucky is about to retort, before realizing Redwing’s footage somewhere in the ether. He settles for a displeased grunt.

“You’re up, Cap,” he tells his partner.

You and Bucky prop yourself up against the boxing ring’s ropes, getting a clear view of Sam and Tomas at the rock climbing wall. Sam is having him scale the wall incrementally, gauging at what height Tomas would need equipment for a safe landing. Bucky knows he wouldn’t be the most qualified for this session, because…

“I kinda just…throw myself at things,” he says, scratching his neck. “There’s really no better way to put it.”

You laugh with a shake of your head. “You’re a super soldier, not a boomerang, Barnes.”

He shrugs. “Don’t underestimate me.” He has his phone in his hand, flipping it around absentmindedly. You watch his nimble fingers for a few seconds.

“Hey,” you say, a lightbulb going off. “You should train me.”

He raises an eyebrow at you. “In what, exactly?”

You shrug, nervously wiggling your foot, feeling a phantom hand wrapping around your ankle. Despite the passage of time, your bruises remain, serving as a torturous reminder.

“Self-defense, I guess. Maybe some cool moves to impress the ladies, or whatever it is you do.”

He smiles, stepping backwards off of the ring’s ledge. It’s not a bad idea, and he wonders why he didn’t think to offer it first.

“So you’re saying I impress you,” is his takeaway. His eyes scan the pegboard in front of him, running his fingers over the selection of weapons. He selects two training knives before making his way back to the ring, swinging himself over the ropes.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, now, Barnes,” you tease as you take his hand. He helps you climb over the ropes, his hand finding the small of your back as you lower yourself into the ring.

Bucky takes you through some basic techniques. He shows you several grips, pairing them with the best flicks, slashes, and thrusts. You’re surprised at how much you have to focus on your footwork. Bucky moves your hips, even guides your knees and crouches down by your feet. When you yelp as his hand gently prods your ankle forward, Bucky reels.

“No, it’s not you,” you say, propping your right foot on your toes to alleviate the pain. “Just…still sore.”

While he’s still bent low to the ground, Bucky silently offers you his hand. Questioningly, you gingerly place your hand in his, and he guides you down beside him. One hand forms a loose circle right above your ankle, the other grips your shoe. He draws slow circles with your foot, earning a hiss from you.

“HYDRA sent me to the Philippines for a few months,” he tells you. “First, for an assassination, but I was ordered to stay. Train with one of their contacts, who was an expert in a local form of knife fighting. Some of the most impressive knife skills in the world. Breathe, doll, breathe.”

You force an exhale as Bucky rotates your foot in the other direction. “Knives are really more the…Soldier’s thing. I stopped using them a long time ago.”

“I had no idea,” you said. “Maybe we shouldn’t–”

“We definitely should. Use HYDRA’s training for something good, right? Someone good. That feel okay?”

“Yeah,” you breathe. “Thanks.” You look up at him, trying to relax the pained scrunch of your brows. He smiles, tells you anytime. With his eyes meeting yours, his skilled fingers coaxing the pain out of your body, you feel your heart nearly beating out of your chest. Bucky moves forward, reaching further up to press circles into your calf.

“You’re tense,” he comments, but you swear he’s speaking to your lips and not to you.

“Not for the reasons you think, Bucky,” you say, finding your own eyes tracing down his face. His oceanic eyes, the curve of his nose, the slight part of his lips…

Bucky’s hand moves further up, finding the top of your thigh. He’s closer than ever, his free hand finding yours, pulling the knife out of your grasp and guiding your fingers between his.

The gym lights flicker on and off, startling you. Bucky hangs his head for a brief second; when he peers upward, he smiles, pushing himself backwards.

“The facility will be closing in five minutes,” an announcement comes over the speaker system. “If you have any items in the lockers, please get them now.”

As Bucky is helping you up and out of the ring, Sam tells Tomas to gather his things. When the teen is out of earshot, he presses a name on his phone.

“Sarah? Hey, you’re gonna love this…”

Masterlist: {one} | {two} | {three}

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