#Not my best work but I needed to get this out into the world

[tojisteddy]

how would Simon react if you safeworded out?

would he be gruff but still sweet and soft and apologetic? would he fuss over you or play it cool while taking care of you? (“oh, lovey im so sorry…” or “its alright, thank you for telling me, i wont push you so far next time, kiddo…”)

why would blackcat!reader safeword out? stress? just not feeling it? maybe emotional?

I think there are two things in this world that Simon Riley is (and always will be) very serious about and that’s aftercare and your safety.

Like yeah he’s an asshole and gruff guy but when it comes to you, he really is a big softie at heart. So when he tells you off when you get back after not texting him back all night or gently making sure you walk on the inside of the street when your with him, it’s for good reason, he’s showing he cares. He loves you to pieces. Will do any and everything for you. So if he’s pushed too far, he makes mental note of it. And if he wants to push that far again, he’ll end up doing a check. Making sure you know your safeword, or right before he knows you’ll ‘give’ he’ll tap you out himself.

So when he hears you say the safeword, he doesn’t hesitate. He knows the first thing you need is comfort and reassurance. So he pulls out, and holds you in his big arms. Kisses you all over while you cry, getting you to calm down and listen to his words because he means them, truly.

“Simon was too mean, yeah? I Shouldn’t ‘ve pushed you like that, doll.”

“Dad’s sorry kitty, you were perfect, did everything I said so well. Always so good f’me.”

And if you refute his words, too in your own head, he’ll hold you just a little tighter. So you can hear his heartbeat, rocking you in his arms,

“You’ll never be the one at fault baby, ‘ts on me. My job to watch over you, right kiddo? Thanks for tellin me Princess, love you so much.”

Blackcat!reader would safeword out from stress or better yet, Simon just instinctively knows you’re off. Sad to say but I think blackcat!reader has been through a shit ton and can be pushed (and has found comfort in Simon pushing you to the limit). You’re the type to hold shit in like a tower until someone knocks it all over. let’s say a day where the cards just were not in your favor. It was terrible day at work and both of your dogs were acting up when you got home and you yelled at Simon, like really yelled at him (which is something neither of you do). Simon would be 10 spanks to thirty and either you grip at shirt and tell him you ‘give’ already sniffling or he notices you’re not crying. You’re just trembling, taking everything he’s giving you. And Simon will sit up you, ask you what’s wrong and then the dam in your eyes just breaks.

Choking on your own sobs,

“Pa I- I-“ boo-hoo, snot everywhere, clutching onto him, balling your eyes out till their puffy.

Simon doesn’t hesitate to pick you up, he lets out a soft sigh in his head because he hates to see you like this. And he hated that he always has to be the one to push you to cry (of all people). But he’s working on it, working on getting you to communicate and doing so makes him want to get better at communicating for himself too. He wants to be his best for you.

He coos, “Let’s give the princess a bath, hm kitten? Gonna get ya nice ‘nd clean ‘nd then get you in bed with that little Sanrio rabbit. Then we can talk tomorrow.”

You nod, taking a shaky breath followed by a hiccup. You manage to squeak out a ‘sorry’ halfway through the bath, and that’s when Simon gets playful, he boop your nose or tickles right under your chin making you squirm.

“What’s there to apologize for? Used your safeword like the big girl I know you are. Couldn’t be more proud ‘f you honey.”

He’ll nibble at your jaw and rest his head atop of yours while he rubs your back after getting you in bed.

“Just a bad day gorgeous, you’re not bad. Tomorrow’ll be better.”

a/n: I think crybaby, feenin & a little comfort are like prime examples too. Thank you so much for asking anon!!! I fuckin love with ppl ask questions!!

𝔱𝔞𝔤𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱<3: @bruisedfig @tessakate @sevikasblackgf @mocha-the-muse @nightfwn @mims900

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[romancherry]

the bratty chronicles #1: how my swollen ankle earned me a spanking

pairings ➝ joel miller x female!reader

summary ➝ joel punishes you because you went on patrol with a swollen ankle.

warnings ➝ explicit smut, unprotected vaginal sex, brat taming, edging, manhandling, spanking as a form of punishment, daddy kink, dominant & brat tamer!joel, submissive & brat!reader, begging, rough sex, squirt, creampie, aftercare, praise, a bit of degradation, pet names, dirty talk, explicit language and swearing, 18+, MINORS: DO NOT INTERACT.

word count ➝ 2.339

author's note ➝ hello everyone! i am doing everything but update caged in silk oops. i'm sorry but i'm in my bratty girl era and i really think joel is the best person to put someone in their place so i needed to get this out of my system and on your screens. if you enjoyed then PLEASE leave a comment or a reblog with your opinions!! they motivate me so much 🌸

do NOT repost, reupload, translate or plagiarize my work.

"where the hell you been?"

your boots had barely hit the floor with mud still caked up your calves from the patrol you weren't supposed to be on.

you open your mouth to give some smartass response, but joel's already crossing the room, arms crossed over his broad chest, jaw ticking with that kind of restrained fury that makes your stomach twist with guilt and excitement at the same time.

"i told you no. i told you your ankle ain't ready. and what do you do? sneak off like some reckless little brat, thinkin' you know better than me."

you scoff, trying to hold your ground. "i handled it just fine. you're overreacting."

joel steps closer, towering over you, heat radiating off him like a furnace. "that so? you limpin' says otherwise. you think fine means draggin' yourself back home after dark with a busted ankle and no radio?"

he grabs your chin, but not rough, just firm enough to make you look at him.

"you wanna act like a mouthy brat, fine. but brats get tamed, sweetheart. you wanna play that game with me, i promise you — i'll remind you exactly who you belong to and why you listen when i give you an order."

your breat catches. defiant fire still flickers in your eyes even as your body betrays you: tighs pressing together, mouth watering, pulse racing.

joel's mouth curves into a knowing, dark smirk.

"thought so."

he drags the chair from the table and sits, legs spread. the perfect picture of calm authority.

"come here."

you hesitate. just a flicker. but that's all he needs. his brow lifts.

"now."

you move forward. ankle aching. pride wounded deeper.

he hooks a finger into the waistband of your pants and tugs you over his knee like it's the most natural thing in the world.

like this is routine. like you've earned it.

except — it is routine and you do deserve it. you've been a brat your entire life. joel took you as you are and made it his problem and mission to deal with you. conquer you. cage you.

it never worked.

"you wanna disobey? wanna put yourself in danger like a damn fool? then you take your consequences like a big girl too."

your pants come down humiliatingly slow and cool air hits your skin. you squirm, but joel's gand presses firmly on your back.

"uh-uh. you don't move. you don't speak, unless i tell you to."

the first smack is sharp. nothing soft about it. not with the anger still simmering beneath his skin. each hit lands with purpose. doesn't matter when they start to sting, burn, make your eyes water. you're supposed to take them like a good girl.

"you think it's cute sneakin' off?" smack.

"you could've gotten killed," smack.

"you don't get to scare me like that, baby,"

smack. smack. smack.

an eternity and a couple more brutal hits later, your body has molded into a puddle and your fire dulled. your voice reduced to a soft, breathy mess of apology and guilt.

your thighs are trembling. he slides a hand between them, fingers finding you embarassingly slick.

"told you. brats get tamed."

then he drags you up and makes you straddle his lap, your sore ass pressing against his jeans while he kisses your neck soft and grounding. you don't miss the fact that he is rock hard in his pants. the thought makes you chuckle internally. what a perveted old man.

"you don't do that again," he murmurs, voice so rough against your ear it pulled you out of your naughty thoughts. "you listen to me next time. or else, i won't be this gentle."

he holds you against him, your body squirming in his lap. every breath is a struggle between wanting to truly melt into him and cry out or not give him a moment of peace and tease him until he fucks you so hard you won't sit for a week.

"shh," he murmurs, thumb brushing a tear from your cheek. "you're alright now. gotcha."

his fingers glide through the mess he's already made of your pussy.

"you feel that? how wet you are from gettin' put in your place?"

you whimper, hips rocking instinctively, chasing more.

he stills you with one arm around your waist.

"no," he presses a kiss just below your jaw, slow and maddening. "you wanna act like a grown woman out there, takin' stupid risks? then you're gonna learn what it means to ask for what you need."

his fingers move again — soft, deliberate strokes that stop just when they get too good.

you try everything to make him get the hint. you whimper, shudder, pant.

he shushes you gently.

"tell me, baby, what do you need?"

your voice is thin, wrecked.

"need you, joel... please..."

he groans softly, lips ghosting over your ear.

"yeah? you need me to make you cum? after all that trouble you caused?"

you nod fast, pressing your face into his neck.

but he doesn't give in. not yet. instead, he circles your clit with agonizing care. over and over, just enough pressure to drive you over the edge — then pulls back every time your thighs start to shake and your hole clenches around nothing, desperate for release.

"not yet," he whispers, watching you fall apart. "you don't cum until i say so. you don't take anything from me — you earn it."

you're crying into his shirt by the fourth time he drags you back from the brink.

whimpering, begging, trembling in his grip. like the fool he's made of you just to teach you a lesson. he knows it never gets him anywhere. you just go back to your usual behaviour, never really learning your lesson. so why bother? maybe he enjoys this too. you want warmth and he's here to put the fire down and instead hold you in his arms and give you his jacket.

he tilts your chin up so you're looking at him. his pupils dilate at how dazed, dizzy and desperate you look right now.

"you need me, baby? then prove it. hold on a little longer. take it for me."

your body's gone soft in his arms, with the occasional uncontrollable twitches and turns from the pain of the overstimulation. joel's working you like a goddamn instrument, bringing you up and dragging you back down.

"look at you," he breathes, voice rough with control. "all that attitude gone now, huh? just a needy little thing in my lap."

his fingers are soaked because of you. pressing but never enough, never where you really need him. every time you start to climb again, he pulls back.

you sob, burying your face in his throat, fingers clawing at his shirt.

"please, joel, daddy — p-please, i c-can't..."

he stills completely. one big hand slides into your hair, fisting it to tilt your face up.

he kisses you then. for the first time tonight. slow, possessive, overwhelming. and you melt into it, whimpering against his mouth, letting him take the control he needs and have dominion over you. make love to your mouth and have his sweet velvety tongue dance with your own one full of venom and not have them kill each other but rather live in harmony. build up the butterflies in your belly and the fog in your brain.

his fingers push inside your hole just enough to make your breath catch. you clench around him desperately, afraid to let go.

"you want more?" he asks, low and dangerous. "want me to fuck that brat right outta you?"

"yes!" you whisper enthusiastically, absolutely wrecked. "please, daddy, need you!"

he groans like it physically hurts him to wait any longer and in one swift motion he shifts you, drags his jeans down along with his boxers and lines himself up. slides in deep, slow, heavy. stretching you so good you gasp.

"theeere you go," he rasps, burying himself to the hilt. "that what you needed, baby? hm?"

you can't even speak. just nod and grip his shoulders, whole body shaking from long he's made you wait.

joel stills inside you, chest pressed to yours. "you come when i say. you come without permission? we start all over. understand?"

you nod again. eyes wide, every muscle taut with need.

"good," he growls. and then he starts to move. deep and fucking delicious, every thrust dragging another few desperate moans from your throat as he finally gives your poor pussy what she's been craving. your nails are digging into his shoulders like it's the only thing keeping you tethered to earth.

joel's voice is low and steady even as he drives you towards the edge again.

"that's it, sweetheart. you're takin' me so damn well. didn't think you had it in you to behave."

your body tenses again with that familiar heat flooding through you. you're so, so close.

his hand slips between your bodies, thumb finding your clit, rubbing soft circles. your hips buck on instinct and he catches your chin in the other hand, forcing your eyes to meet his.

"fuckin' look at me. wanna see your pretty face, babygirl."

"please, pleaaaase, joel, i—"

"i know. you've earned it, i know."

his pace picks up deeper and harder, fucking into you like a man with purpose, your pussy walls trying to milk him for all he's worth.

"cum for me, babygirl. let me feel it. let go."

your body breaks — hips jerking, legs trembling, eyes rolling into the back of your skull as you fall apart around him with a strangled cry. the orgasm crashes over you, so overwhelming your vision goes white as your pussy pulses frantically around his cock, clenching tight and soaking him so much your squirt reaches his belly.

joel groans, the sound torn from his chest. "that's it. that's my girl."

he doesn't stop. he fucks you through it to chase his own release now. his thrusts get sloppy, desperate, and then he buries himself deep into your cervix and spills inside you as he holds you so tight it borders on possessive.

for a long moment, there's only the sound of breath and heartbeat thundering in your ears. and the addicting feel of skin on skin contact as your flushed sweaty bodies lay on top of each other.

then joel pulls you close and kisses your forehead with one hand stroking your hair as your body still twitches with aftershocks.

"you're alright," he whispers. "i got you. you're safe now."

you nod against him, boneless and wrecked. held. owned.

your limbs are limp, muscles shaky and brain foggy in that sweet flowty haze he's so good at pulling you into. joel carries you like it's nothing with one arm under your thighs and the other cradling your back, his nose brushing your temple.

"you really wore yourself out, huh?" he murmurs, voice softer now. "stubborn thing."

he takes you to the bathroom and eases you down onto the closer toiled seat while he runs the water in the tub. you watch him move, still dizzy, barely holding yourself upright. he glances over and smiles.

"you stay with me, baby," he says, kneeling in front of you to tug your ruined clothes off the rest of the way. "you did good. took it real well. just gotta get you cleaned up."

once the tub is ready, he lifts you in. he sits on the edge, rolls up his sleeves and grabs a washcloth.

his hands are on you slow and careful. he doesn't speak for a while and just runs the cloth over your skin, treating you like the precious little spoiled princess you are. rinses away the sweat, slick and mess he made of you.

every now and then, his fingers linger. on your hips, thighs, breasts. not to start anything new, just... grouding you. really feeling you. keep you safe under his touch.

but when he takes your swollen ankle in his hand, the tenderness shifts.

"look at this," he mutters. not angry, just tired, worried and a bit dissapointed. "already swollen again. damn near black and blue."

you mumble a weak apology, but joel shushes you gently.

"nuh-uh. don't you do that. you scared me today, runnin' off like that. coulda twisted it worse, or gotten jumped out there, and no one woulda known where the hell you are."

he props your foot on a folded towel, eyes on your ankle as he presses around it with expert hands.

"you think i like punishin' you like that? think i wanna hurt you? i'd rather you just listen when i tell you somethin's not safe."

"i didn't mean to worry you..."

"i know you didn't," he sighs, pulling a small ice pack from the cabinet nearby. "but i need you to trust me i ain't bossin' you around just for the hell of it. i protect what's mine. and that means you, sweetheart."

those words land heavy in your chest and make your heart throb a little. what might've been a reckless decision made out of hopelessness for you really took a hard hit on him. made him worry real bad and actually try to teach you more than just a lesson and act on a punishment. he was trying to make you understand just how hard it would be for him if you'd gotten seriously hurt or even worse.

"thank you, joel," you say gratefully as you hold his hand a little tighter with a soft smile on your lips and a dangerous tear hanging on by your lower lashline threatening to fall out.

joel wraps the ice pack gently around your ankle and anchors it with a bandage. then he leans in and brushes damp hair from your forehead.

he smiles too. more of a contained smirk, but he can feel how grateful and serious you are. "you're welcome, sweetheart. you're gonna rest. stay off that foot. i'll carry you if i have to."

"you like carrying me anyway."

"damn right i do."

[yoiisa]

I just read your writing about the trio first year courting reader 😳 its so sweet its make my heart goes boom boom and smiling 🤭

The gender of reader is female and romantic for the boys

I want to request Headcanon/scenario separate for sakura, suo and kaji

about fem reader as their wife and how their married life goes, how many kids do they want, how they're when woke up in the morning and the first thing they see is fem reader's sleeping face, how clingy they're with fem reader, how they act when she is pregnant and craving something weird.

I need something sweet in my life 😭🙏

DOMESTIC FICS MY LOVE OML YESSSSSSSAHHHHH ٩(^ᗜ^ )و ´-

Tags: TW for mentions of complications during birth (suo), aside from that it's pretty fluffy, especially kaji's!!

➜ as we all know, sakura haruka has some serious issues with his family, so to get to the point where he has one with you takes some time for sure ➜ in my mind, he's around 28 when he finally gets married ➜ the reason it takes so long is that he sees marriage as largely a formality and not something necessary to your relationship. if he's dating you, he already trusts you like a wife even when you're just his girlfriend, so why would he need to put up with the extra headaches of getting married? ➜ once you guys finally tie the knot though, he understands why so many people take the next step. he takes pride in getting to be your husband, and he loves when you introduce him as such ➜ it takes another five years though for you guys to finally have kids. sakura is so worried about repeating the mistakes of his parents, and it takes some convincing from you that the two of you can work as parents ➜ you have two, both boys. sakura wants to make sure the two will always have someone to be with, that way they'll never be lonely like him

Sakura wakes to a start, a weight pressing down on his foot. He sits up in bed, his eyes taking a moment to adjust to the darkness of the room. He sees a tiny shadow clinging to his foot and crawling up his leg. "Naoki? Is that you?" he asks, his voice gruff with sleep. Naoki, his youngest son, peeks up at his dad, his wide eyes wet and fearful. Sakura's heart stops and he immediately moves to scoop the tiny boy in his arms. "What happened?" "Nightmare," Nao mumbles, rubbing his eyes. "Can I sleep . . . with you and mama?" Sakura sighs and nods. He tucks Naoki against his chest and lays back down. The young boy is sandwiched between Sakura and you, and falls asleep quickly to the warmth of his parents. Sakura soothes Naoki as best he can, patting his hair and occasionally giving the young boy kisses. He feels his eyes start to grow heavy, but just before he can fall asleep, he feels a hand shaking him awake from behind. He turns his head and rubs his eyes to see his older son, Haruo, staring at them. He has Sakura's eyes, the darker one looking pitch black in the night. "What?" Sakura asks. "I heard Nao getting up and followed him. I . . . I don't wanna be left out," Haruo looks off to the side and asks quietly, "can I sleep here too?" Sakura stares at his son for a moment, a horrible pang shooting in his chest. He quickly wraps his arms around his other son's shoulders and pulls Haruo closer to the bed. Haruo climbs up and lays next to his little brother, falling asleep just as fast. You wake up, surprised to find your kids in bed with you. However, when you look over at Sakura, you smile as you see how protectively his arm is wrapped around your sons.

➜ suo hayato proposes to you straight out of high school. you are both freshly eighteen years old and he just cannot wait a minute more to make you his ➜ in my mind, suo is a big family man, so the sooner he can make you part of his the better ➜ he makes sure you are the most cherished wife in the world. like genuinely everything you want he somehow makes happen, even if it can't be immediately ➜ for kids, he wants a big family. he initially asks for five, but you adamantly refuse and he narrows it down to three ➜ the first two end up being boys, and the third is a girl, and she's the apple of his eye. suo is a girl dad through and through, and makes sure that his sons grow up strong and gentle so that they can take care of their little sister and you ➜ he's a wonderful husband and an even better dad

"Again," Suo instructs. Asahi, the middle child, frowns and pouts. His clothes are all dirty from sparring in the grass with his older brother, Yuta. As time has passed, Asahi's movements have gotten sloppier and more predictable. Yuta is taking him down with more and more ease. Asahi is frustrated and Suo's calm demeanor isn't helping. "Enough," Asahi grumbles. "I'm tired." "You're the one who asked me to teach you how to fight like I do Yuta," Suo reminds him. "You can't give up after one lesson." Asahi grits his teeth and clenches his hands into a fist. "Asahi, come on," Yuta whines. "Don't be a baby!" "I'm not a baby!" Asahi shouts and lunges again, his fist going straight for Yuta's jaw. Suo's eyes widen, and he immediately steps in, catching Asahi's wrist and flipping the young boy so that he lands on his back. It's not enough to hurt the boy, but it stops him all the same. "Wha- Dad!" Asahi whines. "You're wrestling, not boxing," Suo says sternly. "Fight fair or don't fight at all." Asahi suddenly screams, tears beginning to well in his eyes. They burst out a moment later and Asahi hiccups as he furiously cries, "I would've won! Why'd you stop me, I would've finally won!" Yuta's eyes widen, and he moves to try and comfort his little brother, but Suo stops him. He kneels in front of Asahi and gathers the boy into his chest, cupping his hand behind his son's head. Asahi kicks and punches against Suo's body, but he takes the blows with ease. "Asahi, listen to me," Suo says. "Do you remember why you asked me to train you?" Asahi stops his fighting after a moment and sighs. "I . . . I wanted to fight to keep mama safe. To protect my new baby sister." "That's right," Suo says softly, stroking his son's hair. His mind flashes back to a couple weeks ago, when you were delivering Emi, how pale you became, how your hand went limp in his, how he cried for hours at your side and pleaded that whatever the doctors had done would be enough to save you. "It doesn't matter if you win or lose, Asahi," Suo explains. "As long as you can protect those you love. I'm not gonna be around forever, and I need to make sure you both can grow to be stronger than me, to protect your mom and Emi." Asahi nods against Suo's shirt and Suo sighs. "You can beat your brother, I know you can, but ask yourself this: even if you beat him up, did you really win?" When both Yuta and Asahi remain silent, Suo stands with his youngest son still tucked against him. "Let's go in for the day, hmm? I'll make you both mac n cheese to cheer you up." As the three boys walk back inside, Suo looks up and sees you, a soft smile on your face, watching your boys, with your daughter against your chest.

➜ from practically the moment the two of your start to date, kaji ren knows that you're the one ➜ he keeps a ring at the ready for when the moment feels right, but that moment doesn't come any time soon. the two of you are in your mid twenties by the time he finally proposes to you and the two of you get married ➜ your wedding is super lowkey, to the point where the only real indicator that it's a wedding is that you're wearing white and have a veil ➜ not much changes in terms of how he is as a lover after the two of you get married. he's still clingy and protective of you, but his protection takes on a new vibe ➜ he always takes the chance to refer to you as his wife ➜ for kids, you guys have them when you're twenty eight. you only end up having one kid, a boy who looks exactly like kaji ➜ honestly it's kinda annoying how much he looks like kaji, but he acts like you, so at least there's that

It's Sunday, and you and Kaji have elected to be lazy with your newborn son in bed for the foreseeable future. "He's so small," Kaji whispers as his son, Yukiya, wraps his tiny hand around Kaji's fingers. "Yeah, he didn't feel that small coming out of me, I'll tell you that much," you laugh softly. Kaji doesn't return your humor though. He stares at his son a little longer, marveling at his chubby cheeks and the shadows cast by his eyelashes. "I didn't know babies could have long eyelashes," he whispers. "Yeah, well they do. Especially boys, they always get the better deal," you sigh. "You have long eyelashes, didn't you realize?" "Do I?" "Yeah, I've always been jealous. Oh, Ren," he looks over at you and you beam, "he's going to be so pretty. He looks just like you." Kaji stares blankly at you, before turning beet red. He buries his face in the comforter and you laugh. The sound rouses your baby and his eyes flutter open, taking in the surroundings which are bathed in sunlight coming from the windows. For a moment, you and Kaji freeze in anticipation of Yukiya crying, but nothing comes. He just stares blankly, his eyes an exact copy of Kaji's. Your heart squeezes and you can't help but nuzzling into your baby's chubby cheeks. You squeal softly, "My baby boy . . . you're so cute!" Kaji huffs out a quiet laugh at your behavior and he pokes Yukiya's belly. Suddenly, Yukiya laughs. It's a tiny sound, but both of you freeze at it. His mouth is pulled up in a smile, his cheeks puffing up. His eyes twinkle and he wags his arms and legs aimlessly in the air as you and your husband stare down at your baby. "Oh my god, are you laughing?" you grin and gently tickle Yukiya's sides. "Are you laughing bubba? Was that a laugh?" You stop and your smile falls as you notice drops of water darkening the fabric of your son's onesie. You look over at Kaji, whose face is red and sports fat tears on his cheeks. "Ren?" you ask softly, touching his shoulder. "Are you-" "He has your smile," he gasps. His voice is light and breathy and makes your heart stop. He wipes his tears on his wrist, before looking up at you. "I love you. I love you both so much. I'll never . . . I won't let anything happen to either of you . . . I-" he can't manage anything else, his voice dying in his tears, but you know what he means. I won't ever let anything happen to that smile.

a/n: guys, is it obvious that I have baby fever or what?

[bucky-bucky-bucky-bucky]

Of All the Gin Joints in All the Towns in All the World, She Walks Into Mine | Bucky Barnes x Reader

Hey! It's been A WHILE. I have been VERY busy but I am back! May I offer you some fluff in this trying time? Also, can you clock the two Casablanca references in this one?

Word Count: 16.2k

Warnings: drinking, light violence, some blood, minor reader injury

Loud, raucous music- music you’d never choose to listen to- poured out onto the street. Men in stained t-shirts and ripped jeans stood outside, smoking cigarettes and nursing beers. A line of beat-up motorcycles stood at attention, fencing off the bar from the rest of the street. 

And you couldn’t believe you were willingly setting foot inside this place. 

A flickering neon sign reading LUCKY’S was displayed just above the door. And much like the bar itself, it had seen better days. This wasn’t your type of place, nor was it an establishment you’d ever consider making your regular haunt. 

But you were in desperate need of a drink, and every other bar you passed on your way home from work made you roll your eyes. They were all too snooty, too pretentious. They were the kind of places whose bartenders would shoot you a sideways glance if you ordered a domestic beer instead of one of their outlandish signature cocktails. And you’d had more than your fair share pointed glances for the day. 

The front door of this fine establishment, with its rowdy patrons and sticky floors, stood propped open with a cinderblock, welcoming you in. The stench of sweat and stale beer wafted toward you the moment you crossed the threshold. And at least three different guys wolf-whistled at you as you strode past them. But the promise of alcohol kept you from turning on your heel and running for the door.

Just as you were nearing the bar, a wall of muscle knocked you sideways. It wasn’t surprising that someone might bump into you in an unruly place like this- but what did surprise you was the way the perpetrator instantly and genuinely apologized. He caught you before you could hit the floor and righted your posture, making sure you were steady on your feet before he let go.

“Oh, shit. I’m sorry- I didn’t mean to run into you,” a deep, warm voice said. “That’s my bad. I wasn’t paying attention. Are you alright?” 

Something about that voice pulled your attention. There was a familiarity to it, a certain quality that you swore you’d heard before- but you couldn’t quite place it amongst the noise of the bar. 

You did your best to regain your balance and catch the strap of your bag as it slid off your shoulder. “Don’t worry about it, it’s-” And when you finally looked up, you realized why this stranger’s voice was so damn familiar. “Oh, hey, neighbor.” 

Bucky did a double take. He’d been so concerned about possibly injuring someone that he hadn’t even realized it was you. But he’d know your warm smile and the lilt of your voice anywhere. 

When he’d moved in next door to you, you’d been the first- and only- person in the building to welcome him. You brought a plate of cookies, introduced yourself, and gave him the rundown of everything he needed to know about the building. How to get the water to stay hot. How to steer clear of the landlord’s wrath. Which tenants to avoid like the plague.

He stood there, listening intently and making mental notes of your tips and tricks, though he didn’t remember much. He found you too enchanting to commit anything other than your name and face to memory. You were so sweet, so pleasant to be around. He couldn’t believe he’d made a friend on his first day in a new building. Though, he supposed ‘friend’ was too generous a word. You barely knew each other, and there was plenty in his history to scare off any mostly sane person. Still, he counted it as a win. 

The second time he saw you around the building, you addressed him by his proper title, Sergeant, and he knew the jig was up. He knew it would be the last time you ever spoke to him, and that you’d never knock on his door again. He thought you might even move units. But much to his surprise, you remained friendly and warm toward him. And though he didn’t know you well, he thought of you as a comfort. It was nice knowing that he had someone outside of his coworkers. Someone right next door.

He made small talk with you any chance he could and even assisted with your grocery bags on an occasion or two. There was something about you, some undeniable light that he couldn’t get enough of. And even though your run-ins were few and far between, he found himself entranced by you. After a few months, the word “friend’ felt fitting. He even heard you refer to him as such as you spoke on the phone with your mom. And he rode that high for weeks.

On rare nights when you picked up a late shift and worked until the wee hours of the morning, you’d sometimes find a trail of his blood leading from the elevator to his door. And without hesitation, you always offered to stitch him up. 

But it took him quite a long time to take you up on such a proposal, as he never wanted to take advantage of your kindness. And so, he opted to thank you for your generosity before gently rejecting your offer. He promised he could take care of things himself, and that he’d heal in no time- even without proper medical intervention. 

But after he tried and failed for almost two hours to stitch closed a deep gash on his back, he finally asked for your help. He knocked on your door with what little energy he had left and apologized profusely for bothering you so late on a Sunday night. But you shed your sleepy stupor and immediately welcomed him inside. 

Without so much as a complaint or a sigh, you took care of his wound. He was shocked by how quick, how painless, your stitches were. You cleaned and closed his bloody gash without hurting him; it was a novel experience.

When you finished the job, he thanked you endlessly every chance he could.

But that was the extent of your relationship. He always saw you as an unreachable, intangible star. Too bright. Too far away. Too high above him. He knew, without a doubt, that you were too good to be associated with him. Why would you, a doctor, want to hang out with someone like him? What could he ever offer you?

“Hey, neighbor,” he quipped back. He was so pleased to see you, so pleasantly surprised. “Funny running into you here, I-” 

And just like that, his thoughts came to a screeching halt. The pleasant part of the surprise melted away, revealing the truth of the situation. He eyed the grimy bar and its crowd of hardened regulars, and then snapped his gaze back to you. One of these things was not like the others, one of these things did not belong- and that one thing was you. 

“Wait- what are you doing here?”

“I was on my way home from work and needed a drink, so I decided to duck in here,” you said. “Is that not allowed?”

“No, it’s allowed, it’s just- you decided to duck in here? This is a pretty rough joint.” Once again, Bucky scanned the bar. He the clocked broken glass, the intimidating group of men arguing near the pool table; he swore there was dried blood on the floor. This was no place for you. “You should probably get a drink somewhere else. Don’t you think?”

You shrugged, “I mean, it’s close to our building. And after the day I had, I really don’t care about ambiance. I just want a beer.” 

Bucky let out a quiet laugh. You provided such stark contrast to the rest of the people crowding the bar. There you stood in your light blue scrubs, hair tied back neatly in braids, with your hospital badge still dangling from your shirt. This was not the venue for you, and Bucky wished you’d head somewhere safer. But selfishly, he was happy you ducked into Lucky’s. Happy to see you.

“I’m just saying, this isn’t really the kind of place where doctors hang out-”

“I’m not a doctor,” you extended your hospital ID in his direction and gave him a moment to examine it before your badge reel to snapped it back into place. “I’m a physician’s assistant.” 

He shot you an eye roll but couldn’t stop himself from cracking a smile. “Okay, okay- then this isn’t the type of place where PAs hang out. So, I think-”

You held up a hand, silencing him, “Barnes.”

He caught himself blushing. Was this your way of giving him a nickname? Were the two of you closer than he thought? His heart pounded with excitement, but sank when he remembered: Barnes was his name. This wasn’t some clever new term of endearment you’d cooked up. His smile fell a fraction of an inch.

“Is there alcohol here?” you asked.

He gave a fervent nod. 

“Then this is exactly the kind of place where PAs hang out- well, this PA at least,” you told him. “And if this place is so rough and dangerous,” you teased, “What are you doing here?”

Sure, he came home bloody and bruised more times than you could count. But he wasn’t threatening. He wasn’t aggressive. He was always so sweet, so gentle. He always fed the stray cat that hung around outside your building. And when he finally won her trust, it was all he talked about. 

And if you didn’t fit in among the riff raff populating this bar, then neither did he. 

Your words caught Bucky off guard. Was it really possible that you didn’t see him as a lowlife? That you didn’t think he was scary?  He firmly believed that he fit right in amongst the delinquents and outlaws crowding this bar- even if he didn’t want to.

But to you, he stuck out like a sore thumb.

A grimace pulled at Bucky’s features. Suddenly, he regretted having this chat with you. He cut his glance to the side and stuffed his hands into his pockets. “I um, I work here, actually…” He felt his face blaze red with embarrassment.  

He feared you might snicker a bit. Might cringe. Might even leave. But you didn’t; he knew you wouldn’t. You were too kind to ever treat him- or anyone- that way. You simply cocked your head to the side and delivered a quizzical look his way.

“Oh, I- my bad, I thought you were doing, like… superhero stuff,” you said.

Bucky gave a shake of his head, “I can’t- not yet, anyway. I have to wait for my, um-” The humiliation threatened to force his throat closed. He cleared it for a second or two before admitting his truth. “For my pardon to clear first.”

Bucky watched the gears turn inside your head. Your eyes narrowed; your brow furrowed. You opened your mouth and then snapped it shut, allowing yourself more time to think. But things simply didn’t add up. 

“So… you’re a bartender who comes home covered in blood and knife wounds every night? I know the tips are good, but they can’t be that good.”

“I’m not a bartender, I’m the, uh-” Bucky ran a hand through his hair, “I’m the bouncer- I’m one of the bouncers.”

He hated it. He hated being the muscle. Hated being the enforcer. Hated being the one management called when they wanted someone punished. This wasn’t at all what he imagined when he returned to the city, returned to himself. He’d hoped for a little peace as he rediscovered New York. Hoped that people would stop cowering in fear when he was around. But those hopes were dashed.

The small sum of money awarded to him as part of his POW benefits dwindled quickly, and he needed a source of income. The city had gotten expensive- very expensive- since he last lived there. He couldn’t believe the cost of groceries. Rent. And he couldn’t bum on Sam’s couch forever. So, he found the cheapest apartment he could and started looking for a job.

But most places had no interest in hiring the ex-Winter Solider; they ordered him out before he could even hand over his information. And even if those places were willing to take a chance on him, his resume wasn’t exactly up to date. His last job, prior to his time in the military, was in 1941. 

The only place that didn’t seem to care about his background was the shitty dive bar five blocks from your shared apartment building. It wasn’t ideal, but he knew that beggars don’t have the luxury of being choosers- and he was begging.

“Oh, okay, that makes more sense. I was-” You rolled your eyes, “Oh, I feel so stupid. I’ve been making comments about your hero work every time I patch you up! I just assumed that’s where you got all those gnarly wounds.” Your palm met your forehead, “Wow, I’m an idiot.”  

Bucky let out a soft laugh. “No, no, you’re definitely not an idiot. I just didn’t correct you, cause,” he shrugged. “It’s a little embarrassing. I know this isn’t as noble as ‘superhero stuff’,” he said, quoting you. “I mean, breaking up bar fights isn’t exactly the same as saving the world.”

You shrugged, “Says who? You’re saving people from making drunken asses of themselves, which is still pretty important.” You shot him a wink. 

A warm smile cracked through Bucky’s embarrassment. He wondered why everyone couldn’t be as accepting as you. Why people chose to be judgmental and unkind. Your openness filled him with hope. With warmth. 

He opened his mouth to speak but an interruption halted his words.

A tall, broad-shouldered man barked Bucky’s name from across the bar. He gestured toward two men near the back wall who’d just started brawling and ordered him to get back to work. He strung together a long line or expletives and unkind names and hurled them at Bucky. And though Bucky towered over you- and everyone else inside the bar- he seemed smaller as he took each verbal hit.

Contempt twisted your features into a look of disgust. People were always so rude to Bucky. So callous and cruel and hateful. You couldn’t stand it. He didn’t choose to do the things he did, he didn’t choose to work for Hydra. He was a victim. But the world chose to forget about that part of his story. They, instead, focused on his ruthless kills. News outlets and online creators always played up the cold, psycho-killer angle, knowing damn well that sympathy doesn’t sell.

“I’m sorry, I have to go take care of that,” Bucky gestured toward the two men engaging in fisticuffs. “I’d really like to keep talking with you, but I-”

He could’ve sworn he saw a hint of disappointment flicker across your face. 

“I get it. I don’t want you to get in trouble, Barnes,” you nudged his shoulder with yours, “go on, do what you gotta do. I’ll be at the bar.”

Bucky watched you disappear amongst the throngs of sweaty, boisterous bar patrons. He still couldn’t believe that you, of all people, dropped into a place like this. That you didn’t mind the noise or the violence or the stench. And he found it even harder to believe that you didn’t judge his situation. That you gave him so much grace. That you actually looked disappointed when he said he had to step away. 

When you finished your drink and set off for home, Bucky wanted to give you a proper goodbye. He wanted to walk you to the door- hell, he wanted to walk you to your apartment. But a large group of drunk guys had decided to get into a knockdown, drag out fistfight over a game of darts, and it was Bucky’s job to make sure they didn’t kill each other. Still, even as he was pulling the unruly men off each other, he watched you leave. 

He tracked your scrubs from the bar, across the room, and toward the door. And just as you were about to step out into the night, he could’ve sworn he caught you looking for him. He watched your eyes drift through the sea of people, inspecting each face in search of his. He felt his lips stretch into a smile, even as aggressive drunkards threw punches his way.

He called your name, his booming voice breaking through the music, the noise of the fight. Instantly, your eyes met his across the room. He gave you a warm, genuine smile, and waved like an excited child. You returned his enthusiastic wave and shot him a wink. And then you were gone. 

But to Bucky’s delight- and equal dismay- you returned the following night. And the night after that. And the night after that. You returned so many nights, in fact, that the bartenders learned your drink of choice. The regulars saved you a seat. And the barbacks greeted you like a friend. Strangely enough, you found yourself in a Cheers situation, where everyone knew your name. 

“You know, this is like your twenty-fifth time here, sweetheart,” Bucky joked one night. He leaned against the bar as you sipped on a beer, “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were stalking me.”

“Yeah? And what if I am? What are you gonna do about it, Barnes?” A loud laugh escaped your chest as Bucky snagged your drink and stole a sip. “And if you want to talk about stalking, you’re the one counting my every��visit to this godforsaken place.”

Bucky felt his cheeks flash red.

“So, who’s really stalking who here?” You won back your beer and awarded yourself a sip for besting him. “Is it such a bad thing that I like hanging out with you?”

He tripped over his words, “Well, that was- I wasn’t counting, exactly… twenty-five was a guess. Kind of an approximation. So-”

“Uh-huh,” you nudged him with your shoulder. “Sure.”

In all honesty, Bucky was counting. And twenty-five had been a lowball. He figured that if he threw out an inaccurate number, he’d seem less desperate. Less obsessed with you. He didn’t want you to know that he was tallying your every visit to Lucky’s. Didn’t want you to know that you’d made his night for thirty-six nights in a row. 

Little did he know, he’d made the past thirty-six nights some of the best you’d ever had.

There was just something about him. Something so magnetic. So charming. So captivating. Being around him helped quiet the noise inside your mind. Helped you feel more like yourself. 

For your entire life, you found yourself lost in the past and overwhelmed by the future. Bucky, however, was present. He only ever allowed himself to exist in the current moment. And when he looked at you, when he spoke to you, he kept you anchored to the here and now.

Even with all his baggage and trauma, he was still so sweet. How did he manage that? How did he find it in him to be so kind when he’d been treated so terribly? And how was he still so fun to be around? Still so hilarious? If you’d been in his shoes, your personality would’ve been stripped from you ages ago. You’d be a husk of yourself. Cold. Unfeeling. Isolated. 

Maybe, you reasoned, he’d been that way immediately following his escape. Maybe he had to find his way back to the compassionate, gentle person he once was. Of course, he’d worked hard to regain his mind and his personhood. But you knew, without a doubt, that the warm, caring version of him was always there. No matter what Hydra did to him, they could never remove such an intrinsic piece of his soul.

And god, he was cute. Sharp cheekbones matched his sharp, stubbled jaw. His smile illuminated the entire room. And never before had you seen eyes that blue. Every time he looked your way, your cheeks burned. He filled you with the kind of nervous, smitten energy that you thought only existed in high school crushes.

You found yourself wanting- needing- to be around him all the time. But that proved easier said than done, as your schedules didn’t exactly line up. In fact, they existed in direct opposition of one another; you worked days, Bucky worked nights. When you woke up for work each morning, he was just getting ready for bed. 

About twice a week, the two of you would have one of your run-ins. One of your fleeting moments together. And while those short-lived visits filled you with an overwhelming rush of joy, it wasn’t enough. You were always jonesing for another dose.  

But once you realized that Bucky was only a few blocks away, spending his evenings in the dive bar you always avoided, a solution presented itself to you. The few hours between the end of your shift and your bedtime provided you with the perfect opportunity to see him. And you took it. 

Even if he could only talk with you for a few minutes at a time, even if he could only hang out with you between fights- it was better than nothing. At the apartment, you’d only see him every few days if you were lucky, and your conversations were always cut short. He didn’t want to make you late for work, and you didn’t want to keep him from some well-deserved rest.

But at Lucky’s, your talks weren’t truncated or limited to a quick, thirty-second catch up session. No, Bucky could post up next to you and the two of you could share a real conversation. Of course, he had to do his rounds and keep an eye on the patrons. But over the course of the night, the two of you could chat to your hearts’ content. You’d talk and laugh and enjoy the other’s company. And of course, you’d engage in some shameless flirting. 

And he did the same.

A few months after you started frequenting his place of work, you bid him goodnight as you always did. He walked you to the door and asked you to text him when you got back to your apartment, and the two of you shared a hug that felt like home. 

Every time you left Lucky’s, you missed him. It was an instantaneous, full body feeling that hit you the moment you left Bucky behind. And though you knew you’d see him the following evening, it felt like too long a wait. Like he was too far away. In an ideal world, he’d return home, and his key would open your door. In an ideal world, his boots would live in your closet. And in an Ideal world, he’d crawl into your bed as the sun peaked out from behind the skyscrapers.

But you knew you had to be patient. That ideal world would come one day; you just had to wait. 

That night, you flopped down into your bed with the same disappointment you experienced every night. And as you drifted off to sleep, you wished to see Bucky as soon as you possibly could.

Around two-thirty in the morning, you got your wish. After waking from a strange dream, you realized just how parched you were. You padded into the kitchen and poured yourself a glass of water, greedily downing it in a few gulps. With your thirst quenched, you prepared to return to your bedroom. But a strange sound caught your attention.

It echoed from the hall, and sounded as though it might have come from right outside your front door. A second, almost identical sound piqued your interest; it sounded human, almost like a grunt, maybe. And then it hit you.

It wasn’t a grunt, but a groan. The groan of someone in pain. The same groan you’d heard time and time again. The groan that rumbled out of Bucky’s chest each time he came home hurt. 

As fast as you could, you unlocked your door and threw it open. And there you found Bucky. He stood frozen, his eyes wide with surprise. He hadn’t expected anyone- hadn’t expected you- to be up at this hour.

In his left hand, he held what could only be a dirty bar rag against a wound on his cheek. But the rag did little to stop the bleeding, as it was already soaked through- and probably had been for a while. Blood dripped down his chin and trailed down his neck. It stained his shirt, his shoes, the floor. The knuckles of his right hand were slick with blood, as well. They were swollen and angry, and you could practically feel the throbbing of his broken bones.  “Um, hey,” he couldn’t stop the smile that stretched across his face at the sight of you, but the movement of his facial muscles made him wince. “What are you doing up, sweetheart?”

“I was getting some water, and I heard- what the hell happened to you?” Concern pulled your brows together and made your voice thin. You hated seeing him covered in blood, hated when he was hurt. Regardless of the durability the serum granted him, knots still formed in your stomach every time he needed stitches.

“I’m alright, don’t worry about me,” he waved you off with his enflamed hand. “I’m just gonna go inside and sleep it off.”

While he loved spending time with you, and loved feeling your warm, capable hands work over his wounds, he couldn’t ask you for help. It was the middle of the night, for Christ’s sake. In only a few hours, you had to be up for work. And he wouldn’t dare keep you awake when you had a long day of saving lives ahead of you. No, he’d simply slip through his front door and take care of things himself, like he used to. It wasn’t ideal, but he’d survive.

His plan, however, was foiled in its earliest stages. 

The blood coating his right hand made his housekeys impossibly slippery, and his broken hand lacked the coordination necessary to keep hold of them. With a sharp, metallic sound, his bloody keys clattered to the floor. And before he could lean down to retrieve them, you’d already swept them into your grasp.

“Gotta be quicker than that, Barnes,” you shot him a wink and thrust the key into the lock, opening his door. “Come on, let’s get you fixed up.”

“That’s okay, I can handle it. You don’t have to-”

“Right,” you scoffed, “Cause I’m just gonna let you deal with this by yourself.” You gestured for him to head inside and rolled your eyes at his mere suggestion. “I swear, it’s like you don’t know me at all.”

He remained firmly planted in the hall and let out a soft laugh that made his cheek throb. “I just know you have work in the morning, so I-”

As gently as you could, you pressed a finger to his lips, silencing him. “Hush. Let me take care of you, okay? Go inside and have a seat on the couch, I’m gonna grab my kit.”

Bucky complied with a dopey smile plastered across his face. He wasn’t sure what had him so jovial- maybe it was the late-night visit from you, maybe it was the sight of you in your pajamas. But he knew deep down it was the concern in your voice; you actually cared about him. He didn’t relish in making you worry, but selfishly, he liked knowing he mattered to you.

If only he knew to what extent. 

The two of you sat on Bucky’s couch in his sparsely decorated apartment, and he allowed you a look at the wound on his face. It was deeper than you thought, slicing down into the meat of his cheek. Blood still oozed steadily from the wide-open gash, even after he’d held pressure to it for quite a while. 

Again, concern seeped into your voice. “Shit, it’s worse than I thought.” Of course, the serum would have this wound healed in the blink of an eye- and there’d be no scar to speak of. But he didn’t deserve to be treated this way. Didn’t deserve to be hurt again. 

After getting a good look at his wound, you dug through your kit and fished out the supplies necessary to stitch it shut. “How’d this happen?”

Bucky rolled his eyes. He was so fed up with this job, so over the drunken antics of the bar’s rowdy customers. “Well, there was a fight- shocking, I know,” he quipped. “And one of the guys pulled a knife. He slashed at me, and-”

“I wouldn’t call this a ‘slash’,” your words took on an incredulous tone, and you placed the first stitch. “It’s waytoo deep to be a ‘slash’.”

Bucky threw you a roll of his eyes, “Okay, fair enough. But it’s not that bad. And it’ll be gone before you know it.” A sudden wave of guilt crashed around him. This wasn’t right, it wasn’t fair. He leaned away ever so slightly, “I feel bad, you shouldn’t even be doing this. I’ll be fine- this is a huge waste of your time.” He sighed, “You should be sleeping, I-”

Once again, you shushed him. With expert hands, you finished his second stitch and moved onto his third. “This is not a waste of my time. Come on, you know I don’t mind patching you up.” A quiet laugh fell from your lips, “Any excuse to hang out with you, ya know?”

In that moment, something came over you. You weren’t sure what prompted you to do it; maybe it was the sight of Bucky covered in blood. Maybe it was the lack of sleep. Whatever it was, it made you press your lips to his temple, just above his wound. 

Warmth bloomed over Bucky’s skin, and suddenly, the gash in his cheek stopped throbbing. His knuckles stopped aching. And the world felt like a better, kinder place.

The rush of ecstasy that flooded your system halted all too soon, and regret followed close behind. The two of you didn’t touch each other that way. Hugs were the most intimate you’d ever been, and even something that innocent took time to achieve. Bucky wasn’t massively fond of physical touch, not yet anyway. Not after what he went through. 

Slowly but surely, he was getting more comfortable with it. And if you’d asked, he’d tell you he loved the sensation of your hands on his skin. But he’d never said it out loud. And there you were, possibly violating his boundaries.

With a shake of your head, you righted your mind and continued with the stitches.  “I’m sorry about that, I shouldn’t have-”

Bucky shot you a smile, “Don’t be. I liked it.” He gave a shrug, “You know, most doctors don’t do that kind of thing, but I think they should. It makes for really excellent bedside manner.”

A breathy laugh rattled inside your chest, and you gave Bucky a gentle shove, “Would you cut it out? Let me finish.” 

The two of you sat in a warm, comfortable silence as you closed the rest of Bucky’s wound. There was something so cozy about the situation, regardless of the excessive amount of blood. It felt like the entire world was asleep, or that it ceased to exist altogether. Like only you and Bucky remained. And if that had been the case, neither of you would have minded. 

With the stitches finished, you gently cleaned the blood from his face, his neck, his hands. You carefully inspected the wounds on his knuckles and appraised the fractures spiderwebbing through his bones.

“So, am I gonna make it?” Bucky asked. “Or am I done for?”

“Well, it was touch and go there for a while, Barnes. But I think you’ll survive.”

An overly dramatic sigh of relief left his chest, and he pantomimed wiping sweat from his brow. “Thank god I live next door to a doctor, you’re a real lifesaver, sweetheart.”

“I’m not a doctor,” you corrected, “I’m-”

Bucky chuckled and rolled his eyes. “Close enough! You’re basically a doctor.” He paused, eyeing you for a long moment, “You know, I’ve been wondering. What are you doing living in a place like this?”

You dragged your gaze away from his broken hand, “What do you mean?”

“Well, if you haven’t noticed, our building is kind of a shithole.” 

You laugh echoed through his empty apartment, “Oh, I’ve noticed.”

Every other wall seemed to have tiny cracks veining through the sheetrock. Stains signaling water damage littered the ceiling. And an army of vermin tucked themselves safely inside the walls. The entire building had a grimy quality to it, stemming from the landlord’s decades of neglect. It was the only place Bucky could afford on his less than generous pay, but it never made sense why you chose to call such a dumpster fire ‘home’.

“I’ve got a mountain of student loans to pay back- PA school isn’t cheap.” You shrugged, “So, until I pay off all that shit, I’ll be here. But I don’t really mind,” you told him, “I’ve got good neighbors.” 

The wink you shot him nearly made him melt.  As he willed himself to regain his composure, you cautiously dabbed a piece of gauze against a bloody spot on his knuckle. He braced for the wave of pain that was sure to rocket through his mangled hand, but no such sensation came. 

He couldn’t believe how gently you touched him; he didn’t know such a thing was possible. After the way he’d been treated all those years, he forgot that humans could treat each other with softness. With compassion. Never once did you hurt him. Never once did you make him flinch. He felt completely and totally comfortable in your hands, as though pain were no longer possible. It was a sense of safety he hadn’t experienced in a lifetime.

Neither of you remembered falling asleep. After you’d helped rid Bucky of all the gore, the two of you ended up chatting, as you always did. It was like a bonus round, like a perfect extra dose of your favorite person. And you weren’t going to let it slip through your fingers. But time, did indeed, slip past you rather easily; neither of you even noticed the minutes tick by. And eventually, you both ended up dozing off.

Around five in the morning, Bucky came to. He had no recollection of passing out on the couch and struggled to find his reasoning for doing so. He almost stood up and headed for his bedroom, but the sound of soft, steady breathing stopped him. Slowly, he turned to his left and found your head leaning against his metal shoulder. 

He couldn’t believe you’d chosen it as your pillow. That you weren’t afraid to rest your cheek against the thing he hated most. The thing that made most people shrink away. Upon hiring him, his boss at Lucky’s asked him to wear only short sleeves at work. That way, people could see his arm. He wanted the unruly patrons to be intimidated, frightened by Bucky’s unique prosthetic. And it only made him feel worse about himself.

Goosebumps traveled up his spine and over his scalp as he took a moment to drink it all in.  You really did trust him, didn’t you? A small smile spread across his face at the thought. 

But another thought cut his joy short- there was simply no way you could be comfortable sleeping with your face pressed against cold metal. 

He knew he had to do something. Had to fix the situation. He’d already kept you up far too late and taken advantage of your kindness once again. Making you more comfortable was the least he could do.

He took a moment to formulate a plan for mitigating the issue. All he had to do was gently lift your head from his shoulder and allow you to rest on the couch cushion instead. It was simple, easy; he could manage it no problem. If he could assassinate public figures without anyone realizing he was ever there, he could move your head without waking you.

But as he snaked his right hand between your face the vibranium, a pained sound escaped his lips. He didn’t mean for it to happen, but in his haste to make you more comfortable, he’d forgotten about his broken hand.

A gasp filled your lungs as you bolted upright, your heart hammering against your ribs. It took a moment for you to place the apartment in the dim, early morning light. To remember how you ended up there. But Bucky’s presence assuaged any anxiety.

“Hey, sorry,” he flashed you an awkward smile, “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

The events of the previous night came rushing back all at once: Bucky’s pained groans pulling you into the hall. His bloody face. His broken hand. The stitches. The time spent chatting about everything and nothing.

It wasn’t exactly how you imagined your first night together, but you couldn’t complain. 

“No, that’s okay. I’m-” you rubbed your eyes and let out a yawn, “I’m sorry I crashed on your couch.”

“Oh, please,” he rolled his eyes at you, “You can stay here whenever you want, you can move in for all I care.”

The two of you sat in a long, charged silence. 

He didn’t mean to seem so overly enthusiastic. So borderline desperate to have you around. But he couldn’t help it. He’d woken up next to you. He’d watched you sleep soundly against his shoulder. He was simply intoxicated by it all. Just knowing that it was possible to wake with you by his side each morning filled him with a blaze of hope.

But you didn’t find his enthusiasm off-putting or bizarre. If anything, it was a comfort. It felt good knowing that he wanted you in his space, that he enjoyed your company just as much as you enjoyed his. 

The voice in your head told you to curl up with your head on his chest. To kiss him. To take him by the hand and lead him to bed. The urge to make him yours vibrated inside your chest, nearly snapping your ribs. But you refused to set it free. Not yet, anyway. You wanted to take things slow, wanted to ensure that you wouldn’t scare him off. 

You did your best to formulate a witty, flirtatious response. But the sound of birds chirping outside the window derailed your thought process.

“Shit,” you searched for your phone but came up empty; it was still next door. “What time is it?”

Bucky freed his phone from his pocket, “Um, five-thirteen.”

A long, deep sigh left your chest, “I have to go- I’m gonna be late for work.” 

No part of you wanted to leave Bucky’s side. The medical professional in you wanted to stay and keep an eye on the wound that sliced through his cheek. But your romantic side, the side of you that counted down the hours until your next visit to Lucky’s, wanted simply to spend more time with him. To chat with him. To curl up next to him on the couch and spend the entire day watching movies.

“I don’t wanna ditch you,” you clarified, your hand resting on his forearm, “I just-”

“No, I get it. Go save lives,” he shot you a wink. “Here, let me,” he stood from the couch and offered you his hand, helping you stand.

You thanked him for the gentlemanly gesture and told him to take it easy as you set off for his front door- but stopped in your tracks when he began following you. 

“Oh, that’s okay, you don’t have to walk me out,” you gave him a quick, tight hug before gesturing toward the couch. “Go back to sleep.”

“I will, but I’m gonna walk you home first.”

A loud laugh exploded out of your chest, “You’ve gotta be kidding me- Barnes, I live next door.”

“And?” He stared at you with fabricated indignance. “Hey, something could happen to you in the three seconds it takes for you to get home. And I’m not standing for that, sweetheart.”

Feigned annoyance and a dramatic eye roll punctuated your, “You’re ridiculous.”

He nodded, “Yeah. I am. I never once claimed to be otherwise.” He shot you a smile and snaked an arm around your back, escorting you toward the door. “Now, come on. It’s a long walk back to your place and I don’t want you to be late.”

The two of you walked the three feet back to your door with Bucky’s hand resting gently against your spine. And though you really did love your job, you’d never wanted to quit more than you did in that moment. If quitting meant spending the rest of the day with him, you’d be more than happy to resign right then and there.

“Well, thanks for walking me home,” you said. “It was a pretty dangerous journey, I appreciate you coming with me.”

Bucky shrugged, “Well, I am a hero.” 

This time, it was him who left a kiss against your cheek. He dropped all of the sarcasm and jokes the two of you had been passing back and forth, and gave you only his most authentic, genuine affection. He wasn’t sure how long one should linger in that kind of situation. How long was too long for a kiss on the cheek between friends? But the way you leaned into his touch told him there was no limit. 

His stubble pricked at your skin as his lips pressed against your cheek. Your eyes fluttered shut. Your chest tightened. And a swarm of butterflies filled your stomach. If this was the effect he had on you with just a kiss to the cheek, you couldn’t imagine the way you’d feel once he finally kissed you properly. 

It was truly cruel that you’d actually be expected to go to work after this. How were you supposed to focus on paperwork and prescriptions when the man of your dreams kissed you like that? It was inevitable that you’d spend the rest of the day replaying this moment over and over and over; you’d essentially be a useless employee. 

“Have a good day,” he said as he finally pulled away. “Will I see you tonight?”

“I mean, duh,” you said, almost offended he’d even ask. “I’m a regular now. People will be disappointed if I don’t show.”

Bucky agreed. Of course, he knew you were kidding. But to him, you were the only good thing about Lucky’s. You were it’s only redeeming quality, it’s only bright spot. And at this point, you were the only thing keeping him from quitting. He hated working there. Hated being the appointed bruiser. But once you started frequenting the joint, his love for the job grew exponentially. If he had to work in a shithole, if he had to take constant verbal abuse from his boss, at least you were there to soften each blow. 

Eventually, you had to head inside and get dressed to avoid being unforgivably late. But the two of you only parted ways once Bucky promised you he’d to go back to sleep and get the rest he deserved. 

Only two nights later, Bucky strode up to the bar and perched on the stool next to yours.  

He gently nudged your shoulder with his. “Hi.”

“Hi,” a smile that you’d categorize as ‘borderline embarrassing’ instantly stretched across your face. “What are you doing?” 

This was out of the ordinary; all these nights you���d spent at Lucky’s, and Bucky had never actually sat down with you. He always posted up next to your stool, his back against the bar, scanning the sea of boisterous customers for signs of trouble. But tonight was different. And though you were thrilled to see him taking a load off, you knew it was a recipe for disaster. If his boss caught him, it would result in a deafening and vicious verbal lashing.

You swept your glance over the bar, keeping an eye out for the manager. “Aren’t you gonna get in trouble if-”

“Nope, I’m on my break.” Bucky waved to the bartender and motioned for a beer. “The other bouncer got here earlier than usual. So, you and I get an uninterrupted half hour to talk and drink and…” You could’ve sworn his gaze drifted toward your lips, “Whatever else.”

He clinked his beer against yours and frowned at your half-empty glass, “You need another?”

“No, I’m good. Since I’m here every night now, I can only do one,” you said. “Being hung over in health care is frowned upon.”

Bucky let out a laugh, “Aw, come on. I was gonna buy you a beer. Well, I hope you’ve been putting your drinks on my tab, at least.” 

A scoff pushed past your lips, “What? No. I’m not making you pay for my drinks.” 

He shot you an eye roll, “You’re not making me do anything, sweetheart. I want to. So, we need to mitigate this situation immediately.” He motioned for the bartender again, and you did your best to stop him, but he was far too strong.

 “I don’t come here for free drinks!” You delivered a light punch to his arm, “What do you think I am? A gold digger?”

Bucky’s laugh boomed through the bar. “Well, I would hope not! Cause if you are, you’re really bad at it. You chose the wrong guy, sweetheart- I don’t have any gold for you to dig.” He shot you a wink before turning again toward the bartender, “Hey, from now on, all of her drinks go on my tab- no matter what she says.”

He refused to listen to your argument and laughed as you crossed your arms over your chest. But after a moment of feigning annoyance, you endlessly thanked him for his generosity.

“It’s really nice of you,” you admitted. “I appreciate the gesture.”

“Hey, it’s the least I can do.” All at once, he dropped his goofy smile. Suddenly, his expression grew serious, his voice quieted. “You make my job bearable- enjoyable, even. I’ve been…” He let out a sigh, “I’ve been pretty miserable working in this place. But now that you’re a regular, I don’t hate coming here anymore.” 

His words set your face ablaze. And as you stared at him, you sensed something brewing beneath his surface. It seemed like he had more to say. Like he was testing the waters. 

And he did, indeed, want to tell you the truth. To admit just how special you were to him. How much he enjoyed your company. He found himself afloat in his feelings for you, drifting along without a care in the world. Maybe, he thought, this was the perfect time. Maybe this was the perfect place. The two of you didn’t meet at Lucky’s, but it was where your friendship blossomed. Where the two of you spent most of your time together. Where he fell hard- and fast- for you.

But he felt too exposed all of a sudden, like someone placed a magnifying glass right on top of him. He came screeching back to reality, back to his senses. He couldn’t tell you here. Sure, Lucky’s was significant to your relationship. But it was loud and dirty and packed to the gills with ruffians. He couldn’t trust this environment with something as delicate as his feelings for you.

He opted to tuck his confession safely away in a quiet corner of his mind. And once again, adopted his light-hearted tone.

“And hey, if a girl like you is gonna hang out in a place like this? All because of me?” he shrugged. “I can at least cover your drinks.”

“Yeah?” You laughed, “Well, I think it’s-”

A sudden outburst cut you off. 

“Hey!” A tall, burly man lumbered toward the bar. Toward Bucky. He was clearly intoxicated. Angry. He shot a sneer at the two of you as he approached. “HEY!”

Bucky rolled his eyes. Not at all surprised. He waved the man off, “Come on, man. I’m on my break-”

The man took a few unsteady steps closer and clapped a hand onto Bucky’s shoulder. “No! We gotta talk! Right fuckin’ now!”

Bucky shrugged the man’s hand from his body and gave him a sharp look, “Don’t touch me.”

“You got me arrested!” The man shouted, “You called the cops on me, they put me in jail!”

Bucky maintained his composure as he stood from his seat and faced the man. “I didn’t get you arrested,” he said, keeping his tone even. “My boss called the cops because you threatened multiple people- and sliced my face open- with a knife.”

He turned back to you and placed a gentle hand on your shoulder, “I think you should probably get out of here, sweetheart. Just in case.” Concern knit his brow together, “I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

It was sweet of him, it really was. And the way he worried about you filled you with an intoxicating warmth. All he wanted was to protect you, to keep you safe- it was enough to make you swoon. But you weren’t willing to give up your time with him.

“Oh, um… but I’d rather stick around. We’re only a few minutes into our ‘uninterrupted half hour.’” 

The disappointment in your voice nearly bore a hole through Bucky’s chest.  Even after all this time, he was still in awe of the fact that you actually wanted to spend time with him. He was so grateful. So indebted to the universe for bringing you into his life. He never considered himself a lucky guy, considering all of the decidedly unlucky things that happened to him. But ever since you two started spending time together, he found the name of the bar appropriate.

“I’m sure everything will be fine,” you said, hoping it would be enough to convince him. 

“I know,” Bucky sighed, “But I’d rather you be safe than sorry. So, if you could-” 

With Bucky’s attention on you and his back to the wily man, he was an easy target. 

Normally, Bucky was a fortress. An indestructible wall of muscle. No regular civilian could ever be a match for him. But he was so focused on you, so hellbent on convincing you to head home, that he let his guard down.

The man launched himself against Bucky’s body and sent him crashing forward. All of Bucky’s weight careened into you, knocking you from your barstool. His body landed square on top of you, and a sickening ‘crack’ resounded through the space as your head hit the floor. And Bucky could’ve sworn he heard something snap like a twig beneath his weight

The world around you went black.

Bucky instantly lifted himself off of you and tried to appraise your condition, but his assailant refused to relent. He made another grab for Bucky and tried to pull him from your side, still determined on getting his revenge. But Bucky wasn’t having it. 

He delivered a swift punch to the man’s jaw, sending him to the floor. With the threat neutralized, Bucky returned his attention to you. Onlookers had started gathering, growing ever closer to your unconscious body.

“Woah, woah, hey!” Bucky shouted at the crowd, “Back the fuck up!”

He brought his palm to your cheek and spoke softly to you, asking you to open your eyes. But you remained unresponsive. That’s when he noticed the blood. It poured from a wound on your skull and pooled around you like a macabre halo. 

His heart leapt into his throat as worst case scenarios piled up around him. He felt for a pulse and found your healthy heartbeat thrumming beneath his fingers. He observed the steady rise and fall of your chest. You were alive, you were okay. But he knew the fear clawing at his throat wouldn’t recede until you woke.

“Hey,” Bucky waved toward the bartender, “I need a towel- a clean towel.”

The bartender rolled his eyes and retreated into a backroom, emerging moments later with something that passed as clean by Lucky’s standards. He tossed it over the bar Bucky snatched it from the air with haste. As gently as he could, he snaked his hand beneath your head and pressed the towel to your bleeding scalp. Chills slithered up his arm as the sensation of your warm blood met his skin.

He wished you’d never stepped foot in this godforsaken place. He’d been thrilled that the two of you got to spend time together each night. And he loved seeing your warm smile through the crowd of miscreants. But this was no place for you. And as your blood pooled in the palm of his hand, he wished you would’ve stuck to trendy cocktail bars instead. 

“Hey, hey- I said back off,” Bucky barked at a man who crept a little too close to you.

Those were the first words you heard upon waking. Sure, they were aggressive and a bit jarring- but you didn’t care. Because it was his voice, Bucky’s voice that welcomed you back to the land of the living. The sound sent a rush of warmth over you, cloaking you in comfort like a blanket. 

“Barnes?”

Relief flooded Bucky’s system. “Hey, hi,” he let his free hand drift across your cheek, “How do you feel?”

“Like I…” A quiet moment passed as you took inventory of your condition. And while your mind was fuzzy from the impact, your medical background wouldn’t allow you to say something as pedestrian as ‘like shit.’

“Like I have a concussion, and-” With the slightest movement of your shoulder, you tested your hypothesis; the pain that radiated through you proved your theory right. “And a broken clavicle.”

Bucky grimaced, “Yeah, your head’s bleeding pretty good. You’ll probably need stitches- and before you suggest it, you can’t do them yourself.” 

Even as pain sliced through your skull and throbbed inside your chest, a smile stretched across your face. Bucky had that effect on you. “Boo,” you teased. “I can sew up the back of my own head, Barnes. Just give- give me a couple mirrors and I’m golden.”

“How about I pick you up instead?” Bucky suggested. “I think you’ll probably end up with hepatitis if you lay on that floor much longer.”

You wrinkled your nose in disgust; who knew what kind of microbes lived on the floor of Lucky’s?

“You don’t- you don’t have to. I can stand,” you assured him.

He eyed you with uncertainty. But you insisted. 

And so, he slipped his free hand into one of yours and gave you a nod, “We’ll go on your count. You tell me when you’re ready.”

Just thinking about moving filled you with dread. The pain in your head was sure to multiply upon sitting up, and you knew the agony from your broken collarbone would make you wish you were dead. But the longer you put it off, the worse the anticipation got. And so, you gave Bucky the subtlest nod you could manage and began the countdown. 

“Okay,” you sighed, “Three, two… one.”

With that, Bucky helped you sit upright. A loud, miserable groan rolled out of your chest; your fears about the pain were right.

But the severe instability of your environment took precedence. The walls of the bar wiggled and wobbled. The entire world seemed to fall into a strange, zig-zag pattern. And though you were sitting perfectly still, your entire body listed to one side. A black vignette bloomed on the edges of your vision, and you reached desperately for Bucky, hoping to steady yourself against his muscular frame.

“Hey, you’re okay. I’m right here. I got you.” He allowed your nails to dig into his flesh as you clung to him for dear life. And when the dark clouds parted, they revealed his beautiful, concerned smile.

“Okay?” he asked.

“Yeah.”

“Good.” He peeled his hand from the back of your head for just a moment, hoping that the bleeding had finally come to a stop. But the crimson river remained. He did his best to conceal the worry that fought to infiltrate his expression and flashed you a warm smile. 

“When you’re ready, I’ll help you stand, and we can get you to the ER.”

He pulled his gaze from you for only a moment, and only to ask a Lucky’s regular he didn’t detest to hail the two of you a cab. 

But in that short moment, he clocked the way your assailant still skulked through the bar. He’d regained his feet and set out on a warpath. He hounded anyone he came upon, shoving them and hurling expletives through the air. As long as Bucky could get you out of the bar without another run in with that man, everything would be okay. He made a mental note to keep an eye out for him before turning his focus back to you. 

“Alright, I’m- I guess now is as good a time as any,” you sighed.

Bucky threw you a smile, “Count it down, sweetheart.”

“Three, two.” You let out a huff, “One.”

As carefully as he could, Bucky helped you stand. He tucked you close to his side, making certain that you were steady on your feet. Even before the two of you became close friends, he felt an urge to protect you. It was a strong, all-encompassing need that only grew as he got to know you. And now that your blood stained the floor around him, that urge exploded into overdrive. He was certain he’d never be able to leave your side, that he’d have to spend the rest of his life keeping you safe. Not that he’d complain. 

“How you feeling?” He pulled a bar stool to your side, “You wanna sit for a second?”

“No, I’m-” You waited for the second round of black clouds to part. “I’m good.”

“Then let’s get you out of here.” With one hand still pressed to your skull and the other winding carefully around your front, he watched you like a hawk as you started your journey toward the door. 

But just as you made your first few steps, Bucky’s boss blocked your path.

“Barnes! Get him out of here!” He barked, pointing toward the man who’d attacked the two of you. He was pushing people down left and right and antagonizing the ones who fought back. The other bouncer was nowhere in sight, leaving this task up to Bucky. “Get rid of him!”

Bucky didn’t respond. He had a one-track mind that was solely comprised of getting you the help you needed. But his boss didn’t like that.

“Hey! You hear me?” He yelled, “Go get his ass!”

“My friend needs help,” Bucky said. “I’m taking her to the hospital.” 

He did his best to escort you past his boss, but the man wasn’t having it. He once again stepped directly into your path, “No, you’re gonna stay here and do your fucking job,” he spat. “You’re a bouncer- go bounce the guy.”

With one shove, Bucky sent his boss to the floor. He carefully guided you around the man’s body and led you through the crowd of onlookers, all without removing the towel from your bleeding wound. 

As the two of you neared the front door, a sense of relief flooded Bucky’s senses. The only thing that stood between his favorite person and the medical attention she needed was a quick cab ride. 

But his relief was short-lived. 

“You take one fucking step out that door,” Bucky’s boss called from his place on the floor, “And your ass is fired!”

But Bucky didn’t stop. He didn’t even slow down. He continued forward with you in his grasp, carefully watching your footing in case you became unsteady. He didn’t care about Lucky’s; he didn’t care about job security. He cared about you- and only you.

But his boss’s words hit you like a ton of bricks. And even through the fog of your concussion, you realized just how serious his ultimatum was. Without a word, you stopped in your tracks. Only six or so inches lay between you and the bar’s threshold, and you weren’t going to cross it with Bucky still in tow. 

“Hey, you doing alright?” Bucky’s arm tightened around your middle, “Feeling dizzy? Do you need to sit?” 

“No, I’m-” you turned toward him, as much as his grip would allow. “I’m not letting you leave with me.”

“What?”

“You heard what he said. If you take even one step outside, you’ll lose your job.” A sad smile flashed across your face, “And I’m not letting that happen.”

Bucky went through hell trying find a place that would actually employ him. He told you about all the harsh comments, all of the businesses that kicked him out without even giving him a chance. And it destroyed you. He was so kind, so warm, so good- he didn’t deserve to be treated that way. 

You didn’t want him going through that bullshit again. And you definitely didn’t want him going through it because of you.

“Sweetheart, who cares? I’ll get another job. I’ll be-” He did his best to escort you through the door, but you held firm. “It’s gonna be okay.”

“But you said this is the only place that would hire you,” a distinct twinge of despair filled your voice. “And I don’t want screw it up for you. I don’t want you to have to deal with all the-”

His lips found your cheek and lingered far longer than they had when he walked you home. It was an effective way of silencing you, possibly the most effective way you’d come across. 

“I don’t care about this job. I don’t care if I have to get another one,” his voice was low, his lips only millimeters from your skin. “I care about you. About getting you out of here safely.”

“But-”

He pulled away a few inches, locking eyes with you. “No buts. You’re my priority.”

Heat coursed through your veins and set your cheeks alight. His priority? You could get used to that. 

But you were still unsure. The city was expensive- wildly expensive- these days. It was hard enough for him to get the job at Lucky’s, and if he lost it, you feared he’d be destitute within a few days’ time. It’s not like he had mountains of savings to fall back on, or any remaining money from his POW benefits.

But the look he gave you told you everything you needed to know. He just wanted to take care of you. To get you out of the bar in one piece and allow a doctor to look at your wound. He’d choose you above all else, every single time. 

“Okay,” was all you could manage, his intense stare nearly hypnotizing you. 

And with that, the two of you stepped out into the night without giving Lucky’s a second look. 

The rest of the evening flew by in a painful, dizzying blur. The cab ride. Sitting in the waiting room at your hospital’s ER. Your coworkers chatting with you as they sewed your head wound shut and appraised your X-rays.

But Bucky was by your side the entire time. He did everything in his power to be there for you. To make you more comfortable. He held your hand through every stitch and made pleasant small talk with your work friends. And when an orderly came to collect you for your X-ray, Bucky even left another kiss against your cheek. 

You swore to yourself that one day soon, you’d ask him for the real thing.

The cab ride home seemed to last an eon. Horns blared. Drivers cursed at one another. The taxi stopped and started every few seconds, jerking you forward with each sudden acceleration. The sling around your neck did little to save your broken clavicle from throbbing, and pain rocketed through you with each lurch of the vehicle. With your equilibrium compromised by the concussion, you feared you’d fall out of your seat at any moment.

But Bucky wouldn’t allow it. He held you close, allowing you to melt into the safety of his body. He wasn’t sure how it happened, but before he knew it, your face rested in the crook of his neck. Goosebumps tingled up his chest, over his neck, and across his scalp as your breath drifted over his skin. 

He was certain that you’d only opted to rest your head on him because you were exhausted. But his optimistic side- the side of him that rarely saw the light of day- was awash in hope. Maybe you returned his feelings. Maybe you wanted him just as much as he wanted you. 

But he couldn’t allow himself to get tangled up in the marvelous world of what ifs; he had a job to do. He had to get you home safely. To get you settled. To keep a watchful eye on your condition. It was his responsibility, his duty. After all, he was to blame for your injuries.

At least, that’s what he believed. 

When the cab finally pulled up in front of your building, Bucky helped you from the car with careful hands. He treated you like glass, fearing you’d shatter if you tripped on the uneven curb. His arm laced around your back, prepared to catch you in the event of a misstep. 

A quiet, mischievous voice in the back of your mind told you to trip- just a little. If it meant he’d hold you tighter, you’d throw yourself to the ground without shame. But you resisted the urge, knowing he was worried enough about you as it was.

He wasn’t just your neighbor, anymore. And the word “friend” no longer held the same weight. No “friend” had ever cared about you like this. No “friend” had ever sacrificed their job for you- not that you’d ever expect them to. But the lengths to which Bucky was willing to go for you spoke volumes. 

The two of you made it inside without incident and boarded the building’s small, outdated elevator. A rush of relief flooded Bucky’s system. He was so glad to have you home. So glad that you were safe and on the mend. 

And you seemed glad, too. A quiet sound of contentment slipped past your lips as you leaned against Bucky for support, your face resting against his chest. As the creaky elevator slowly came to life, both of his arms wound around you, encircling you in his embrace; it was the safest place in the world. His warmth spread through you, easing some of your pain. And by the time the elevator reached your floor, you’d nearly fallen asleep. 

It almost scared you how comfortable you were with him. How easy it was for you to drop your guard and allow him in. But nothing had ever felt so right. 

The elevator doors parted, but you didn’t move an inch. You were too wrapped up in the warm, cozy sensation of Bucky’s body pressed against yours. Of your face buried in his chest. Of his hands sweeping over your back. 

And Bucky was more than happy to stay in the moment as long as possible. But when the doors began closing again, he knew it was time to go. He couldn’t allow you to ride up and down in the elevator with him all night, not when you needed some proper rest. 

“Hey, sweetheart…” He gently traced his hand up and down your spine.

The sound of his voice brought you out of your stupor, “Hmm?”

 “Let’s get you home, okay?”

Without a word, you allowed him to lead you by the hand to your apartment. He fished your keys out of your pocket, unlocked the door, and escorted you carefully inside. And when he got you comfortably seated on the couch, he finally released the breath he’d been holding since you hit the floor.

“I was thinking I’d stick around for a while, if that’s okay,” Bucky took a tentative seat on the edge of the couch, “Just so I can keep an eye on you.”

A tired smile stretched across your face, “You know, the whole ‘you can’t go to sleep when you have a concussion’ thing is just a myth, Barnes.”

“I know, doc. But I still wanna make sure you’re alright,” he cupped your face in his hand and swept a thumb over your cheek. “And if you need anything, I want to be here for you. Unless you want me to get out of your hair-” 

“No,” It came out more urgent, more needy than you intended. “No, I want you to stay.”

A comfortable silence permeated the apartment as you leaned into his touch. Your eyes fluttered shut. The sharp pain inside your head dissipated. And all that remained was his skin on yours. 

He sighed, “Plus, this whole thing is kinda my fault. So, it’s only right that I-”

Your eyes shot open. The sense of peace he’d granted you only moments ago vanished. 

“Barnes, none of this is your fault.”

He shrugged, “I feel like it is.”

His tendency for shouldering blame that didn’t belong to him would almost be impressive if it wasn’t so goddamn heartbreaking. He could twist and contort any scenario and find a way to make himself culpable. To make himself worthy of reproach. You knew it stemmed from his past; from the decades he spent doing Hydra’s dirty work. 

And you refused to allow it.

“No. It’s not. Some asshole knocking us both down isn’t your fault- you didn’t do anything wrong.” An overwhelming desperation leaked into your voice, “I don’t want you to feel guilty about this.”

The pleading in your eyes snapped Bucky out of his self-flagellation. He knew the blame would return in a few hours, but your sincerity banished it for the time being. You weren’t saying these things just to make him feel better, you meant them. You believed them. And Bucky chose to believe them, too. Even if that belief could only last a little while.

An almost shy smile flickered across his face, and he cut his gaze to the floor. He was made bashful by the way you cared about him. By the way you trusted him so wholeheartedly.

“Um, is there anything you need? Anything I can do for you?” He gestured to your arm, resting in its sling. “You know, since you’ve only got one good arm for the time being- I know what that’s like.” 

There was, indeed, something you needed help with. You’d thought about it at the hospital. In the cab. And while you knew Bucky would have no issue helping you out of the goodness of his heart, the task in question would certainly force your friendship into new territory. 

“There is one thing that I don’t think I can do by myself, but I don’t want to make you uncomfortable,” you said, cringing at the thought. “So, if it’s too awkward, I can figure something out and-”

“Whatever it is, I’ll do it.”

Nothing was off limits between the two of you. Nothing could ever make Bucky shy away. He was entirely and wholly committed to being there for you- whatever that meant. He only ever wanted to make you happy. 

“Could you-” you stopped and opted to rephrase your request, “Would you mind helping me change?”

Bucky’s heart started pounding. 

“I can handle the pants,” you laughed. “But I’m not gonna be able to get out of my shirt by myself.” An apologetic smile pulled at your lips, “I just can’t lift my arm very well, you know? But again, if it’s too weird-”

“It’s not too weird,” Bucky said. “I’m- I’ll help as best I can.”

He assisted you as you struggled to get off the couch and supported you when your concussion made your feet unsteady. He didn’t rush you as you walked, didn’t complain that you were taking too long. He simply kept an eye- and a hand- on you, ensuring that you wouldn’t fall. He would never let you fall. 

“Not to ask you for another favor,” you said as the two of you made it to your bedroom, “But could you get me a pajama shirt? They’re in my dresser, third drawer from the top.”

Bucky took a step or two in the direction of your dresser but paused when an idea popped into his head. 

“Wait- what about a hoodie? The zip up kind, I mean,” he offered. “That way, you won’t have to raise your arm to get it on and off.” 

“Barnes, you’re a genius.” 

Bucky blushed at the praise. Something about his proud smile, his scarlet-tinged cheeks made your heart lurch. The instinct to deliver a firm kiss to his lips grabbed you by the throat, cutting off your airway. But you couldn’t plant one on him now, not when he was moments away from helping you take your clothes off. The two of you were already entering uncharted territory and you feared that kissing him would only make things more awkward. 

“Um,” you cleared your throat, “I have a few in my closet. Dealer’s choice.” 

Bucky rifled through your closet until he came across a zippered hoodie and plucked it from its hanger. 

He wanted to do anything he could to help you. To make you more comfortable. But the thought of helping you undress made his hands shake. There was nothing sexual about helping an injured friend change clothes. Nothing erotic about your situation. But he couldn’t deny his want. It thrashed inside his chest, begging him to tell you the truth.

And as much as he wanted to confess his feelings for you, this was not the time to make a move. You were hurt, vulnerable, exhausted. You trusted him. And to turn this moment into some sort of romantic confession felt like a betrayal of that trust. Instead, he opted to cage his hunger for you. To assist you with your predicament in the most innocent and respectable manner possible. 

He’d never dream of making you uncomfortable or making you doubt his intentions, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t keep his heartrate from increasing with each step he took in your direction. 

“Okay, so… I guess let’s just get it over with, huh?” You started lifting the bottom of your scrub top, but stopped when your sling got in the way. A hopeless expression crossed your face, “See what I mean? I need help, I’m a mess.”

A quiet laugh rumbled out of his chest, “Here, let me.” 

Bucky cautiously removed your sling and set it to the side with care. And together, the two of you slowly worked your scrub top over your head. Pained groans left your chest every few seconds, and expletives fell from your lips now and again. 

Bucky apologized over and over. He knew you were miserable. Knew that his shaking hands didn’t help the situation. But he did his best to rid you of your shirt with as little pain as possible. And he made a conscious effort to avert his eyes as he helped you shimmy out of your sports bra. It was the least he could do, given the circumstances.

“I appreciate you trying to preserve my modesty, or whatever,” you chuckled. “But you don’t have to. I really don’t care.”

“Yeah, no. I was- I didn’t want you to think that I was-” Bucky stumbled over his words. “I didn’t wanna make you feel weird.”

“You can’t. Nothing could ever be weird between us,” you said. 

Bucky couldn’t help the smile that spread across his face. Knowing that you were as comfortable with him as he was with you filled him with all-encompassing warmth. 

“And I mean, if you’re gonna help me get dressed,” you added, “You might have to- to look a little.”

Bucky slowly lifted his gaze from the floor and found a tired smile stretched across your face. It was only when he reached for your hoodie that he gave your bare torso a quick, passing gaze. He didn’t allow himself to stare- though, he wanted to. Instead, he adopted a clinical approach and assisted you with donning your jacket in the least offensive way possible. 

He did, however, make a mental note of just how perfect you were. How beautiful. Part of him knew he shouldn’t have been surprised, as he always knew you were flawless. But actually experiencing your soft, beautiful body made his chest tight. He didn’t linger, though. Didn’t allow himself to ogle you. He got right back to the task at hand and got you dressed without incident. 

A sense of pride filled his chest as he zipped up your hoodie. Not only did you trust him enough to be his friend, but you trusted him so much that you were willing to undress in front of him. You didn’t see him as a threat or a menacing presence, you saw him for who he was: gentle, kind, caring. 

He placed your sling back in its proper position, carefully resting your arm inside. 

“Is that okay?” he asked.

“Mhmm. All good.”

The two of you locked eyes for a long moment. Part of you wondered if Bucky only saw you as a friend. You’d just allowed him to undress you and even gave him a pass to stare at your bare chest- and found yourself disappointed when he didn’t take it. You could’ve sworn there was a mutual, lustful tension. A shared romantic interest. But maybe it was one sided. Maybe he wasn’t interested. Maybe you were wrong. 

Finally, he broke the silence. “Um, I’ll give you a minute to finish changing. Let me know if you need help.”

And just like that, he was gone. He wasn’t proud of the way he fled the scene, the way he practically ran from your bedroom and left you in the dust. But his overwhelming feelings, his suffocating need for you was reaching a boiling point. And if he didn’t take a moment to clear his head, he feared he’d misspeak and ruin the fragile, beautifully crafted trust the two of you shared. 

With Bucky waiting in the living room, you removed your scrub pants and underwear and donned a pair of pajama shorts. In all honesty, you wished he’d stayed in the room while you slipped out of your work pants. But clearly, you’d misread his signals. Hell, maybe he hadn’t sent you any signals at all. Maybe you made it all up. He obviously wasn’t interested. And so, you unceremoniously dumped your scrubs in the hamper and opened your bedroom door.

“Could you do me one more favor?” you asked. 

He nodded immediately. 

“I could use some help getting into bed.”

With that, Bucky flew into action. He pulled back the covers on your side of the bed and carefully guided you onto the mattress. He propped pillows behind your back to ease the pain of your broken clavicle. And once you were as comfortable as possible, he tucked the blankets snug around your body.

“Is that okay? Do you need another pillow?” He took a glance around the room, searching for more. “I can-”

“It’s perfect.”

A proud smile shone on Bucky’s face. “I can get you some water, or some tea?” He offered. “And if you’re hungry I could make you something. Or if you just want to crash, I can go hang out in the living room in case you-”

“Do you wanna stay in here?” The words tumbled out of your mouth before you had the chance to stop them. 

Bucky almost laughed. Of course, he wanted to stay in your room; it was a stupid question, really. 

“Yeah. If that’s alright with you-”

“It’s more than alright,” you assured him. “I’d prefer it, actually.”

“Well, in that case,” Bucky shrugged and threw you a wink. He removed his jacket and sunk down into the armchair in the corner.

You did your best to suppress the laugh that bubbled inside your chest, but it escaped against your will. “Oh, that’s- that’s not what I meant.”

The gears inside his mind came to a screeching halt. Had he done something wrong? “What- what do you mean?” He felt his face burn with embarrassment. 

“I meant, do you want to stay with me?” With your good arm, you folded back the blankets on the other side of the bed, welcoming Bucky in. “It’s late. I know you’re probably tired. And my bed is way more comfortable than the chair.”

The offer was enticing, overwhelmingly so. But Bucky couldn’t find it in him to say yes. He couldn’t guarantee that he wouldn’t hurt you in his sleep. That he wouldn’t have a nightmare that resulted in borderline-violent thrashing. If he knocked you the wrong way, if he jostled you even a little, it was certain to send apocalyptic pain surging through your broken clavicle. And he simply couldn’t risk it. 

“Um, I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” the disappointment in his voice was almost palpable. “I don’t want to hurt you, you know? I think it would be best if I just-”

“Would it change your mind if I said I wanted you to sleep in here with me?” 

The hope in your tired eyes sliced through him. He never wanted to disappoint you, never wanted to leave you hanging. And he had to admit, hearing those words come out of your mouth was his dream come fucking true.

“Then I guess,” he shrugged, “I guess I can’t say no to that. Not that I’d want to.” He shot you a wink before shedding his boots and emptying the pockets of his jeans. 

He climbed into your bed with the utmost caution, watching your face for any signs of discomfort. But all he found each time he looked at you was a satisfied smile. He took his place- his rightful place- next to you in bed, and finally allowed himself to truly relax. He hadn’t realized just how exhausted he was. But in the safety of your bed, the fatigue hit him like a truck. 

You watched as he snuggled under the covers, “Comfortable?” 

He answered with an emphatic nod. 

“Good. And hey, I’m,” you reached for him, allowing your hand to card through his hair. 

Bucky used every ounce of his strength to suppress the sound of pleasure that rose to the surface. 

“I’m sorry I got you fired…” you said.

All at once, the exhaustion left Bucky’s body. He was wide awake, completely and totally alert. “It isn’t your fault. I got myself fired, sweetheart-”

“But it’s my fault,” you insisted. “You got in trouble because of me. I should’ve-”

Bucky put his foot down, “Hey, this isn’t open for discussion.” With the utmost care, he removed your hand from his hair and brought it to his lips, pressing a kiss to your palm. “I wasn’t gonna ditch you, okay? I wasn’t gonna let you go to the ER by yourself. I chose to leave with you.” He let his lips lazily drag across your knuckles, “And if I had the choice to do it over again, I wouldn’t change a thing.”

The dark, stormy clouds of guilt that loomed over your head parted a bit. They didn’t recede completely, but Bucky’s words helped alleviate some of their doom and gloom.

“Well… I really appreciate you having my back tonight,” your fingers drifted over his stubble, “You were a real knight in shining armor for me.”

Bucky shot you a smile, “Happy to do it, sweetheart. Anytime you need me, I’ll be there.”  He thought about it for a second, and added, “Plus, it’s the least I could do, you know?”

You gave a small shake of your head, regardless of the pain. “What do you mean?”

“I just mean, you’ve been so nice to me. You’re the only one- aside from Sam- who actually treats me like a person.”

A jolt of pain shot through your chest, but it didn’t stem from the evening’s injuries; it was Bucky’s words that forced your heart to splinter. You knew just how tough it was for him to reacclimate to society, to put himself out there. And though he deserved nothing but warmth and understanding, he received only vitriol. 

“It just means a lot to me- you mean a lot to me,” he said. “I didn’t think I’d ever have friends again, let alone friends who are so good to me.” 

‘Friends’. The word took a bite out of your heart with its sharp, gnarly teeth. Bucky only saw you as a ‘friend’. All the sweet gestures, all the kisses he’d pressed to your cheek- it was just friendly rapport. Platonic. Neighborly. The disappointment crushed you, but before the agony could set in, Bucky continued speaking.

Adoration splashed across his face as he stared at you, “I’ll literally do anything for you, sweetheart. I want to you to feel like you have someone in your corner, like you have someone who cares. Cause that’s how youmake me feel- and it’s…” A warm smile pulled at the corners of his lips, “It’s the best feeling in the world. And if I can give that back to you, if I can make you feel as good as you make me feel, then I’m happy.”

It was the most heartfelt, gushing sentiment anyone had ever expressed to you- and it was completely authentic. Not a hint of sarcasm seeped into his words, and you didn’t find even a drop of cynicism. Bucky’s appreciation for you, his gratitude for you was one hundred percent genuine. It was so sincere, in fact, that you forgot how to speak.

So what if he didn’t return your feelings? So what if you’d read into his actions more than you should’ve? He was a good person, a good friend. And you were lucky to have him, even if he showed no romantic interest in you. 

“Anyway, I should stop talking your ear off and let you get some sleep.” He cautiously leaned over a pressed his lips to your cheek, “I’m really glad you’re okay. I don’t know what I’d do if-” He cleared his throat, “I don’t ever want to lose you.”

The back-and-forth of Bucky’s sentiments nearly gave you whiplash. He’d called you a friend only moments ago. But there was something lurking beneath his latest words. Something that made your chest tighten. It was almost romantic. Almost pining. And maybe if you hadn’t received a head injury only two hours earlier, you would’ve been able to navigate the confusing waters of Bucky’s words. But the world inside your mind was fuzzy. Foggy. Confusing. You kept getting turned around. More than anything, you needed a map. A clear-cut sign. 

“If you need anything during the night, you can wake me,” Bucky said. 

Now was as good a time as any to find your sign. You did your best to chase his lips. To follow him as he retreated to his side of the bed. But in your injured state, you simply couldn’t make it happen. You were too slow. Too uncoordinated. And your broken clavicle screamed in pain as you tried to pursue him. 

He clocked the agonized look on your face and returned to your side in an instant, “Are you okay? Is there-”

“I need you to kiss me-” You shook your head- sending a dizzying pain through your skull, and rephrased, “To kiss me for real.”

Bucky stared at you with wide eyes. A hint of a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

“I know we’ve been ‘just friends’ for a while and I love- I love being your friend,” the words fell from your lips before you had the chance to make edits. “But I’m pretty sure I’m in love with you. And if you… if you don’t feel the same way, that’s totally okay, but I just-”

His lips met yours in a soft, careful kiss. It was feather light. Cautious. Not the intense, passionate kind you’d dreamed of. 

But you were already hurt, and he’d rather die than make things worse. And so, he kept his intensity measured, exercising the most restraint possible. 

And even though he couldn’t completely consume you like he wanted, it was still the best moment of his life. His heart threatened to beat out of his chest, and he’d certainly forgotten how to breathe, but that was fine by him. If he died with his mouth pressed against yours, at least he’d die doing what he loved. 

When he finally broke the kiss, the mutual hunger remained. Neither of you were sated by his gentle, ginger affections. And the deep ache in your chest only multiplied. 

“Yeah, I’m-” Your good hand twisted into the front of his t-shirt and pulled him closer. “I’m gonna need you to do that again.” 

“I don’t want to hurt you-”

“You won’t,” you breathed. “And I’ve been dying for this for months, so-”

His hand cupped your face, and his mouth slotted over yours in a firm, desperate kiss. This was what you’d been waiting for. This was what you’d dreamed about. Finally, as his lips devoured yours, everything was right in the world. 

Only when your broken collarbone howled in pain did you pull away. 

Bucky stared at you, and you stared right back. No one moved. No one spoke. You weren’t even sure that this was real. But it didn’t matter, because after months of pining, of desperation, of want- Bucky was in your bed. And his lips had finally touched yours. 

“So…” Bucky broke the silence. “You’re ‘pretty sure’ you’re in love with me, huh?” He tilted his head in an expectant manner and let his hand drift across your cheek. “Is there anything I can do to make you sure-sure?”

You sighed, “Well, I was pretty sure. But now…”

“Now?” Bucky nodded.

“Now, I’m sure. I’m sure-sure. I’m as sure as I’ve ever been. About anything.” Your good hand slipped through Bucky’s hair,  and you did your best to uphold the light-hearted tone of the conversation. But a few drops of anxiety slipped through the dam and colored your words with worry. “What about you? Are you… on the fence?” 

A loud laugh boomed out of Bucky’s chest. “I haven’t- I haven’t been on the fence about you. Ever. The day you brought me those cookies after I moved in? I was done for.”

“What?” You said, incredulous. “Really?” 

“Really.” He lowered his lips to yours and gave you a long, soft kiss. “I have been sure about you from the start.”

His words set your entire body alight. To know that he’d been smitten with you this entire time, that he’d wanted you, that he’d been hopelessly in love with you- it was almost too much. You heart pounded; your mouth ran dry. All you’d wanted for months was to hear him say those exact words. 

But a sudden realization hit you like a truck, and you mourned what could’ve been. The weight of regret made it impossible to inhale. If you’d been braver, if you’d had the guts to tell him how you felt, he could’ve been yours months ago; you wouldn’t have wasted so much precious time. You could’ve had him in your sheets for every night. You could’ve kissed him each morning before leaving for work and welcomed him to bed when he returned from each shift at Lucky’s. 

“I should’ve said something sooner,” you sighed. “I feel like I wasted so much time, I-”

“It wasn’t wasted,” he assured you. He brushed his lips against your cheek, “We got to spend every night together at the bar- that was not a wasted.”

A large yawn escaped your mouth as you nodded in agreement. “Yeah, you’re right. But I just-” Another yawn interrupted you.

“Okay, alright, I think it’s time you get some rest,” Bucky tried to remove himself from your space, but you refused to let him go.

“No,” you protested. “I don’t want to go to sleep yet, we just- we just figured this whole thing out. I want to stay up, I don’t want us to-” 

“We’re not wasting time,” he said gently, reading your mind. “You’re hurt. You need to sleep. And we will have plenty of time together, I promise.”

There was no such thing as “plenty of time” with him; there could never be enough time with him. You thought back on all the days you went without seeing him. All the times you could only talk for a few minutes before rushing off to work. And suddenly, you feared for the future. Feared that you’d still only catch passing moments with the man you loved. 

Bucky could practically see the worry radiating off of you. He understood exactly what it felt like to fear the passage of time. To feel as though you might miss something. He knew what it was like to have time stolen from him, to know he was never going to get it back. But he didn’t feel that way with you. 

To him, the time the two of you spent cultivating and nurturing your friendship was invaluable. If given the opportunity, he’d never trade it- not for anything. And he would never classify time spent with you as time wasted. Though part of him wished he would’ve kissed you months ago, he knew somewhere deep down that this was the right moment. That everything- the cookies, the countless stitches, the beers, the innocent cheek kisses- it had all built into a perfect crescendo. 

“You don’t have to worry,” he assured you. “I have all the time in the world for you- I’m unemployed now, remember?”

You rolled your eyes and gave a weak laugh, “Yeah, yeah. I remember.”

“You’re going to see me so much that you’re gonna get tired of me,” Bucky said. “You’re gonna pick up extra shifts at work just to get away from me-”

“I don’t know about that-”

He shrugged, “It’s true. I’m gonna be here so often that you’re gonna beg Sam to take me on missions with him! You’re gonna want me out of your hair! And I’m-”

“Okay, okay!” You laughed so hard that your head and chest ached. “I get it! We’re gonna be together a lot!”

“Damn straight.” He dotted a kiss to your forehead, to your cheek, and finally, your lips. “Now, get some sleep. You need your rest.” 

He flicked off the lamp by your bedside and slipped his hand into yours. He wanted nothing more than to pull you tight against his chest and hold you there all night. But your injuries kept him at a safe distance. Once your body healed, he’d spend every night molding his body around yours. Playing with your hair as your head rested on his chest. He just had to be patient. He could do that for you- he could do anything for you. 

“Goodnight,” he whispered. 

“Goodnight, Barnes.” He could hear the smile in your voice.

The two of you settled into the darkness, the quiet, relishing in the sensation of the other. This was worth the wait. Worth the diametrically opposed schedules. Hell, it was even worth the concussion.

And just as sleep threatened to pull you under, Bucky spoke up.

“Hey, I know I was originally against the idea of you hanging out at Lucky’s,” he said. “And I know I tried to steer you away-”

“You practically kicked me out- you tried to bounce me,” you whispered.

”I know,” he laughed. “But I’m glad you decided not to listen to me. Thank you for not listening to me.”

“Any time, Barnes.”

You inched closer to him, ignoring the unyielding pain scorching through your body. Finally, after what felt like an eternity of relentless hunger and undying want, Bucky was yours; he always was, you just never realized. 

And as sleep finally sank its hooks into you, you sensed the turning of a page. Like the ending of one chapter, and the start of the new one. A chapter in which the two of you were no longer neighbors. No longer friends. No longer drinking buddies. It wasn’t just a new chapter, but a new book altogether. And while you’d knew you’d occasionally miss the days of shameless flirting at the bar and the will-they-won’t-they of it all, you were thrilled to be his. Thrilled that he was finally yours. And you knew in your heart that the two of you would always have Lucky’s. 

———————————————————

Tags: @beefybuckrrito @shadytalementality @everything-burns-down @rainbow-unicorn-pony @mandersshow @breakablebarnes @psychoticmason @glxwingrxse @lonewolf417 @purpleshallot @seitmai @itvy5601 @dailyreverie @navs-bhat @eviesaurusrex @themorningsunshine @buckys-metal-arm @broadwaybabe18 @the-kestrels-feather @avocadotoastwithegg @goldylions @lokisasgardianvampirequeen @vrittivsanghavi @idkitsem @avengetheunnatural @rassvetsky @hereforbuckyandsteve @juvellian @samanthacookieone @frombkjar @blackbirdsinatrenchcoat @anything-more-than-human

[lady-lostmind]

Hellfire Club

Read on a03 Rating: E

thank you @oh-stars for betaing!

part one

Eddie is leaning against the bar again. Moth drawn to a flame or some other ridiculous metaphor for coming here two nights in a row, hoping the pretty bartender will take the bait. He’s being patient. Not being loud and obnoxious to get Steve’s attention as he flits around getting people their drinks. He just waits his turn. Waits for Steve to notice him, sitting in the same spot he was last night. 

Steve’s eyes finally roam his way, flicking back and locking on when he spots him. Eddie grins and wiggles his fingers at him in a wave. Steve shakes his head before heading over and leaning in front of him with a heavy sigh. 

“Are you here every night, then?” 

Eddie’s eyes glimmer, already getting addicted to this little game they’re playing. He shrugs, “Most.” 

Steve pours him a jack and coke, setting it nicely on a napkin in front of him, his eyes lingering on Eddie’s vest, his patches. Knows he’s wondering where he lands in all of this. 

Eddie chuckles, “You can ask.” 

Steve’s eyes flick back up to his and he blushes before ducking his head with a little shake. “Ask what?”

Eddie lifts his glass to his lips, taking a sip. “Come on. You can’t tell me you aren’t curious.” He gestures around. “Lots of lore to catch up on, Stevie.” 

Steve scoffs and mumbles ‘Stevie’ under his breath. Eddie files the little grin that follows it away to reference later. Things that make Steve smile. 

Steve glances behind him, checking if anyone needs his attention. Maybe hoping they do, so he has an excuse to leave Eddie by himself again. But he settles in more against the bar when no one snags him back to work, looking at Eddie with curious eyes. He nods at Eddie’s vest. 

“Do the patches all mean something?” 

Eddie hums, a smug grin pulling across his face. “Yeah. They do.” 

Steve’s eyes flick to Eddie’s left shoulder, where his V.President patch sits. 

Steve lets out a low whistle, his eyebrows raising as he reaches out and trails his finger over the patch. “Vice President? That seems like a very important patch,” he says with mock reverence. 

Eddie huffs out a laugh and shrugs. “You could say that.” 

Steve pulls his hand back and crosses his arms. “Guess I better be on my best behavior then. You’re basically my boss.” 

Eddie leans back and hums, letting his eyes slide slowly up and down Steve’s body. “Oh– I like the sound of that, big boy.”

Steve’s mouth pulls into a wide smile and he leans forward like he’s got something very interesting to say about that when someone slams their hand down on the bar, making Steve jump. He gives Eddie one last look before turning to go back to work. 

Eddie shakes his head and mutters ‘Fuck’ under his breath. He’s so screwed. He promised Chrissy he wouldn’t do this anymore. Wouldn’t fuck around with her hires anymore. It always ends badly and then they want out, and Chrissy is left having to vet someone new. But–

Eddie looks over at Steve with his pretty hair and sweet smile. The way his eyes crinkle when he laughs, the easy way he moves around the bar. Moth to a flame. He really can’t help himself. Steve bends down to grab something off a lower shelf and Eddie groans, watching his jeans stretch tightly across his perky ass.

He can make it up to Chrissy. 

–

Eddie rips down the highway feeling the rumble of his bike between his legs, the wind whipping in his face. He takes a deep breath, soaking it in. Most people would tell you they like to ride because of the rush it gives you. Addicted to the adrenaline, the risk, the power you feel with such a heavy piece of machinery under you. But for Eddie it’s when he feels calm. When all the excess energy that’s constantly bouncing around in his body and mind just stops. The world blurs out and he doesn’t have to worry about anything but the curve of the road. Following lines on the ground. Staying upright. It’s simple. Easy. 

Eddie sighs, slowing down to take the turn off that leads to the club’s garage, already mourning this, wishing he could just ride all day. He pulls into the parking lot and cuts the engine, twirling his keys as he heads into the garage, flicking on lights as he goes. When he gets to the back office and light floods the dark room, he jumps, seeing someone sitting at the desk. 

Chrissy turns in the chair, arms crossed and glaring at Eddie. “No, Eddie.” 

Eddie grabs his chest, leaning against the doorframe and trying to catch his breath. “FUCK ME, CHRIS! You scared the shit out of me!” 

She points at him, shaking her head. “No!” 

Eddie rolls his eyes, shrugging out of his leather jacket and hanging it on the hook by the door. “Nothing has even happened.” 

Chrissy gets up, walking around the desk and getting up close to him, looking up at him with daggers in her eyes. Eddie would laugh at the irony of something so small and cute looking so deadly if he wasn’t absolutely terrified of her when she’s like this. 

“You promised me, Edward.”

Eddie winces. “Don’t Edward me.” 

She smacks the side of his arm. “Leave Steve alone. I’m serious.” 

Eddie sighs. “Chris–”

She shakes her head, reaching up and pressing her finger against his lips. “No–no. I don’t even want to hear it. Steve has had a rough time, okay. He doesn’t need you smearing his heart all across the fucking ground, okay? Not to mention I really don’t want to find a replacement for him.” 

Eddie sighs, pulling her hand away from his face. “Then why did you hire him? You know me. You knew what he would do to me. I can’t help it.” 

Chrissy rolls her eyes and goes to lean against the desk. “Listen, Steve is a really good guy. I’m just trying to help him out, okay? Just…don’t hurt him. He deserves better.” 

Eddie’s eyes go wide. “What did you drag him into all this shit for then? You sure he can even deal with–”

Chrissy huffs out a laugh. “Oh, don’t worry about that. Steve can handle himself just fine. Just–” She sighs, running a hand down her face. “Seriously. Don’t fuck around with him if you don’t think it could actually be…something, okay? Don’t make him just one of the many Munson casualties.” 

Eddie’s mouth drops open with a scoff. “How dare you, Christine!” 

Chrissy shrugs. “Don’t even. I know what a slut you are.” 

Eddie’s mouth pulls into a cocky grin and he slides in close to Chrissy, trailing a finger down her arm. “Don’t be jealous, sweetheart. You know you’re the only girl for me.” 

Chrissy swats his hand away and scrunches her face in disgust, a choked laugh escaping her throat. “Ew. Don’t remind me of that. Ever again.” 

Eddie chuckles and leans on the desk next to her. “I’ll be a perfect gentleman, okay? But babe, he’s way too hot. I can’t just– not.” 

Chrissy sighs. “Yeah, I know. I knew it when I offered him the fucking job, honestly.” 

The door opens and Wayne walks in, glancing between them both. “Uh-oh. Whatever you did boy, I’d start apologizin’. I wouldn’t want to be on that girl’s bad side.” 

Eddie holds up his hands. “I haven’t done anything. I’m completely innocent.”

He gets up and heads back into the garage to get started on today’s jobs, ignoring Wayne’s little huff of disbelief and the way he leans in close to Chrissy and mumbles, “You don’t let him get away with shit, you hear me?” under his breath. 

Chrissy’s giggle rings out from the office and Eddie shakes his head as he grabs his tools.

part three

[nyoomfruits]

N. “How did you get into this profession?” “Family business.” demigod au and carcar please 🙏😊

thank u for my discord friends for helping me come up with this one <3

The card slides across the bar before the guy – Steven - has even fully made his exit. Oscar doesn’t even notice it at first, too busy staring after Steven, wondering if he will look back, wondering if maybe he just imagined the way he totally fucked up that interaction. But Steven doesn’t look back. And the new guy, the one who slid the card across he bar, clears his throat.

“Here,” he says, and Oscar looks up, startled. They guy is unbelievably pretty, with dark, swoopy hair and intense eyes and a cocky kind of smile that comes across as sexy instead of self-righteous. “Looks like you need it.”

There’s a Spanish accent too. For a second, Oscar loses himself in a fantasy, a world where it is him and this guy and a wild night between the sheets. Maybe even a night that turns into a date and then another and another until there’s moving in and a wedding and-

Carlos Sainz jr, the card reads. Love doctor.

Or not.

“What the fuck,” Oscar says. “What do you mean, need it, you self righteous bastard, what do you think I-“

--

He takes the appointment.

It’s. Whatever. Maybe Carlos is right. His flirting has been kind of off lately. He hasn’t been able to pull like, well. It’s not like he ever used to, but. People used to find him charming. Cute. Now they just find him weird and off putting.

“How did you even get into this profession?” Oscar asks, as he wanders after Carlos through the halls of a big sprawling office building. He didn’t realize the world of love doctor’s was so profitable. He might have to consider a career change. Love doctors need accountants too, right?

“Family business,” Carlos says, as he makes his way into one of the office’s, offers Oscar a chair, pulls it out for him and everything.

Oscar’s face flushes as he sits down, has never been able to resist a gentleman. He knows he likes taking care of others, knows that how he shows his love. But he likes to receive it sometimes too. Feel taken care of. Loved. It’s been a long time since he felt that way. Maybe that’s why he’s here, too.

“Carlos Sainz Sr?” Oscar guesses.

Carlos shakes his head. “My mother is Aphrodite,” he says. There’s a twinkle in his eyes, like he’s daring Oscar to believe.

“Sure,” Oscar says. “Yeah, let’s go with that. As long as it gets me a boyfriend.”

“Oh, it will. I am the best,” Carlos says, with so much confidence that Oscar can’t even find him cocky for it. If anything it’s kind of. Hot? Weird moment to find out he might have a competency kink, but then again, maybe that’s what a love doctor is for.

“Alright,” Oscar says. “Work your magic, then.”

(And in a way, Carlos does, bcause in the end, Oscar ends up with a boyfriend, a life partner, a lover.

Neither of them had maybe really expected that person to be Carlos. But, oh well. The gods work in mysterious ways, after all. Even Aphrodite.)

[hanginginthevoid]

Idk If you're taking request BUT I really need

Bucky Barnes platonic love him

What if reader is like bucks adopted daughter or sum she got powers lowkey I feel like she could be really into bob (what if Bucky and reader and drifting apart and it seriously makes reader sad cause she really loves her dad)

pairing: father!Bucky x daughter!Reader

summary: Bucky took you under his wing pre-blip, but after he got dusted and you didn’t, he just couldn’t accept the fact that you’ve grown. His refusal to adapt eventually pushed you away. 

a/n: I’ve never written for bucky before so please dont scorch me :’) I am very pleased w this tho. Also!! I didn’t include reader being into bob, i hope thats okay anon!! (ps. I jumped for joy seeing a request) ty sosososo much for the love on my bob post

warnings: probably ooc bucky, mention of a gun, very possible disappointment ahead

word count: 2k

--

James Buchanan Barnes, better known as Bucky, had many, many regrets. Most people would say it wasn’t his fault. He wasn’t in control of himself, so he should logically be able to move on. He didn’t agree though. He took so many lives, most times with a weapon, but sometimes with his own hands. 

Still, those very same hands were the ones to cradle you as Bucky took you back to Wakanda on one of his missions as the White Wolf. The Wakandan’s sent Bucky to assess if someone had somehow taken Wakandan technology without permission. See your powers happened to be the organic version of King T’challa’s new suit, allowing you to absorb and redisperse any damage dealt to you. 

After you awakened, you explained in as little detail as allowed, about how you were being experimented on after a kid hit you and he flew back into a wall. You swore over and over again that you didn’t mean it, and had no idea what was happening to you, fearful that they would start to experiment on you too.

That was the moment that Bucky decided to take you in. You’ve got so much trauma built up already and you’re barely able to drive. He knows the feeling, and even though the Wakandan’s helped him fix a lot of his problems, he still has enough to deal with on his own that he’s sure he can aid you in your recovery.

He trained you, teaching you hand to hand combat, how to dodge properly, and even how to block a hit so that it has no impact on you at all. How to use a gun was a brief lesson, Bucky didn’t want you using one but he more so hated the thought of you being at a disadvantage if you didn’t know what to do with it.

When Bucky wasn’t with you, it was Shuri and or T’Challa if they were available, helping you to hone in on your powers and the best way to manipulate them to benefit yourself. Shuri made you a suit that would protect you from injury since your powers didn’t stop bullets or shrapnel from piercing your skin.

Your world collapsed when the closest thing you’ve had to a father figure was snapped away. You weren’t there to see it happen, Bucky forbid you from going on the actual battlefield so you guarded Shuri as she worked on removing the Mind Stone from Vision. Even after it seemed like everything went to shit, you still held faith. The Avengers hadn’t seen anyone they couldn’t handle yet, and today would not be the day.

But then people started turning to dust. And maybe today was the day because when you got down to the scene of the final fight Bucky was nowhere to be found. You find Steve Rogers, after all the stories you’ve heard about him you know he’ll know where Bucky is. 

Steve grabs you into a hug before breaking the news, “He’s gone kid.” And the tears start welling in your eyes. But you don’t believe him.

“What do you mean he's ‘gone’?” You’re pushing at him, trying to get out of his grip, but he’s a super soldier and you’re just a girl. 

“Thanos. He - he got him. With the snap.” He’s cradling your head, trying to be as comforting as he can even though he too, needs comfort.

Time passes slowly after that.

–

When you notice people starting to form from nothing all around you, you know where you have to go. Your dad, that you’ve spent 1 thousand, 8 hundred, and 26 days mourning, has finally come back to you.

The first thing he notices is how you’ve grown. Five years is a long time for the average person, you’re a little taller, grew more muscle, and even hold yourself differently. After the initial shock wears off though, he still sees you as the teenager that he pulled out of the rubble.

Funnily enough, that’s why you don’t talk to your dad anymore.

He couldn’t get past the fact that you willingly are putting yourself in danger. Sure he allowed it when he, Sam, and Joaquin were taking down the flag smashers. But there were three sets of eyes to make sure nothing happened to you! Now you wanted to go off on your own? Where did you even get your intel from? How could he be sure it wasn’t just somebody setting you up?

You distanced yourself when you realized Bucky would never trust you.You get it, really you do. He taught you so many things and helped shape the person that you wanted to be. But it’s not your fault that he disappeared and you didn’t. Maybe it would have been better that way. If you both got blipped then maybe, just maybe, he could really understand that you aren’t a useless child anymore. 

You’ve kept contact with Sam and Joaquin funny enough. When they need someone to snoop where Captain America can’t be seen, they ask you. In turn, when you need intel on something just beyond your reach, you ask them. It's a mutual relationship, a solid, stable one that you’re appreciative of.

They used to try to get you to speak with your dad. He nagged them, which is uncharacteristic for him, the man barely responds to his texts. He made it a point to ask about you in every message, it didn’t matter if he was reaching out just to touch base, asking about a mission, or telling Sam that he was going over to Sarahs for dinner. And while Sam and Joaquin didn’t want to get involved, it was hard not to feel for the guy.

You, however, shut down at any mention of Bucky. At first you’d only go off the map for a couple of days. Then it was a week. Then it was two whole months. After that they decided that it was better not to bring it up. Being able to secretively update Bucky about your whereabouts was a much better option than finding you in an abandoned building someday because of some shitty intel. 

You loved Bucky, in the way that only a child could love a parent. If you hadn’t been prepared from the rejection of your biological parents, you probably would have folded by now. But dealing with them helped you to focus on putting yourself first. If he can’t accept, and love, you for who you are now, then so be it. 

–

It’s a shock when you see your father on the news with the headline reading How will New York welcome the New Avengers? The last you heard was that Sam was putting together a team, and he would be the one taking over the Avengers title. 

Naturally, you call Joaquin. He could give you all the details, without any anger that Sam may or may not have. 

He told you that Sam was unbelievably disappointed in Bucky specifically. How could he, of all people, join a government mandated team? Him, Bucky and Steve, among many others, did not fight the Sokovia Accords, just for Bucky to flip sides. 

Supposedly your dad had called Sam to talk it over, but Sam just retaliated by informing him that he would be copyrighting the Avengers name. Who would have guessed Sam could be that petty. But more importantly, why would your dad rather join a team of ragtag, mismatched, hooligans, instead of Sam’s Avengers? 

Maybe it's time to face the music and get some answers yourself. After booking a flight, and hotel, you pack a small bag and head out. 

After getting to the hotel and freshening up a little bit, you shoot off a text to your dad.

y/n: stopping by

You don’t even make it to the elevator before your phone dings.

Dad: where?

Dad: the tower?

Still a bit salty, you don’t grace him with a response. Maybe you should have though. In your haste, you forgot about the hooligans who also resided in the tower.

“Uh - Is Bucky here?”

“And who are you supposed to be?” Ghost, or Ava you guess since she's not on a mission, is eying you warily.

Instead of backing down you walk more into the common space. Taking it upon yourself to lightly scour the area by moving your head from the right side of the room to the left, almost akin to a lifeguard. “He should be waiting for me.”

Then you spot him, hands around a mug, immersed in his phone. So you start walking in that direction, shouts from behind you about how you ‘can’t be in here,’ and you ‘don’t know how much trouble you’re gonna be in,’. It doesn’t deter you from resting a hand on your fathers non-vibranium arm, and giving it a light squeeze. 

His head whips around, the look of shock adorning his face is new to you. His voice almost seems different when he speaks too, “You - you’re actually here.”

Nodding, you respond, “I am.”

“Can I give you a hug? Would that be alright?”

Bucky sounds nervous. Fearful that you’d reject him. Even if you’re confused by his actions, he’s still your dad. It’s almost non-negotiable that you’d fall into him. He’s cradling your head while embracing you as tight as possible without cutting your airflow or breaking bone, much like Steve did when he originally broke the news that Bucky was gone. The motion makes you tear up again. 

“I’m sorry kid. I know you’re grown now, and there's nothing I can do to change that. It was just hard, y’know?” Bucky’s making you cry for real now, it's a slow stream and instead of stopping and giving you time to collect yourself he keeps going, “We spent everyday together in Wakanda, and I got to see you grow into a different person in real time. After Thanos, it felt like I got put into the wrong universe. There you were, grown, a whole different person. And sure, your fundamentals were the same, but you didn’t need me to protect you anymore and I didn’t know what to do with that.” 

“It wasn’t like that. I still needed, still need, you. I just need you to understand that I won’t sit on the sidelines anymore.” It's unsteady, but you want to make your point, you quiet as you near the end, “If I hadn’t maybe I wouldn’t have lost you.”

Bucky pulls you away then, both to look into your eyes and wipe your tears. “It wasn’t your fault. Don’t ever, even for a second, think that it was.” You’ve got a pout and you nod, trying to accept his statement. Really brand it into your brain, so that you’ll never forget it. 

The problem with Sam can wait. It’s important, and pressing, but for the first time in years you’ve got your dad. You think you’ll extend your hotel stay, really take some time to get to re-know your dad. You’ve both missed a lot, hell he became a congressman since the last time you’ve talked. 

On the other side of the embrace, Bucky couldn’t care less about the team being privy to this situation. He’s a private man, but he’s been waiting years for this moment and he would be damned to the depths of hell before he gave it up. He would explain everything to you, how he was working against Valentina, trying to get her impeached, then he rounded these guys up to testify, but they kept talking about some ‘Bob’ guy, and the ‘Bob’ guy was sweet but he housed a huge problem, and then Valentina made sure to save face by placing them as the New Avengers. 

He would wait though. Anything that happened in your life would be leagues more important than his. Even if it’s just a new coffee order, or that you found out you actually don’t hate string cheese. Suddenly the world was a whole lot brighter, all his stresses were lighter too, just because he finally had his baby back.

Likes/Comments/Reblogs make me giggle and kick my feet fr

[sightseertrespasser]

"I have a whole other tangent I could elaborate on about Tacnet specifically" Staring at you with big HUGE eyes. I would love to hear the tangent

Alrighty then.

First things first, what is Tacnet?

Sometimes also referred to as a Battle computer, Tacnet is short for Tactical Network and its ostensibly the worlds most demented excel spreadsheet.

In more literal terms, Tacnet is a type of supercomputer.

Supercomputers are incredibly useful pieces of technology. Able to run simulations, predictive algorithms and utilizing real world statistics to essentially speculate the past, present or future. The bottleneck for a regular old supercomputer is that someone has to sit down and manually input all the information necessary for those calculations.

You want to know what kind of gun made that specific bullet hole?

Well first the supercomputer needs the ballistics data off as many kinds of guns as possible, then it needs data on the material that was shot, and it also needs as much information as possible on the bullet hole in question.

You skip out on any of that input and the odds of the supercomputer being correct gets progressively lower.

Problem is, the supercomputer can’t actually think, and therefore can’t estimate how accurate its own calculations are. A computer works in total binary. If it only has the ballistic data for three kinds of guns, it doesn’t matter how much the bullet hole doesn’t match the data sets its been provided, the supercomputer will select whichever of the three matches the hole the most closely.

A computer, no matter how advanced, is incapable of knowing when it doesn’t know something.

But people on the other hand. . .

We turn now to an ambitious young R&D developer many millennia ago.

Once upon a time, this member of Research and Development was on the team responsible for designing new Cold Constructed mechs for Sentinel Prime. And they had a GREAT idea.

“I’ve got it!” They say, unaware of the ominous music rising in the background.

“The great powers of the supercomputer cannot be realized within its current limitations! Its greatest flaws are that it must be stationary, it must be manually fed information and all calculations it does generate must be reviewed by a thinking mech!”

Their coworkers groan. It’s too early in the morning for this shit.

“Therefore!” The mech says, quickly sketching out a box full of smaller boxes that is supposed to be a computer and the miserable approximation of a mech.

“We simply remove the separation, and make the mech itself the data intake for the supercomputer!”

Lightning crashes in the distance, someone tiredly gets the fire extinguisher. Again.

It’s not a hard sales pitch for a totalitarian government to go “Yeah we want super-cops. Here’s the money, make it happen.”

And in a tale as old as capitalism, an untested feature was rolled out with catastrophic consequences.

If you’ve read my tangent on how Crashes work, then you already know about logic cascades.

Tacnet is a supercomputer. A tool. Like any tool, it’s only as good as the person using it, and someone who really doesn’t know what they’re doing is liable to hurts themselves.

So what can Tacnet really do in the hands (or processor) of a master?

Some psychic-type level nonsense. Anyone who’s gotten the hang of their Tacnet, in their own fields of expertise, are able to know exactly what will happen before anyone else.

Let’s compare Smokescreen, Bluestreak and then Prowls Tacnets and how they’re used.

Every Tacnet starts the same, but can be developed and trained to excel at different things.

Smokescreen - Place Your Bets

Smokescreen has trained his to work best for gambling. “Training” can be anything from downloading tables of statistical analysis to personally observing the phenomenon and making notes.

Let’s look at rolling dice. If you rolled a six sided die, any number is equally likely to be rolled. Or 16.67 % odds for each.

So if 3 dice are rolled, then every total value outcome from 3 to 18 must be equal odds as well, right?

Nope! If three six sided dice are rolled, there is a 12.5 % (or 25% if you combine them) chance it’ll be a 10 or 11. And that’s out of sixteen possible outcomes.

So if you know the difference but your opposition doesn’t, then suddenly you have a huge advantage while betting. And this is just the most simplified example I can think of.

If you’ve got the time, statistics are absolutely wild and there’s a mathematical equation for pretty much anything.

All Smokescreen has to do to get good at a game is learn the rules and then plug in the numbers. You know how card counting will get you banned from most casinos? Well Smokescreens worked that out too. Talking to other players (collecting preexisting data points) he can find the average of how much he can win in a night before people get too pissy.

Another thing Smokescreen has going for him (especially over Prowl) is that Smokescreen is much better at reading people. He doesn’t just have statics on the games, but the players.

Mapping out the connections between individuals and taking personal motivations into account, Smokescreen at his peak can not only predict who the winners will be, but he can also predict who will loose on purpose, who will bet the most, who will cheat and who will seek to take their winnings by force.

Experience, experience, experience is the golden ticket.

Also, it’s Smokescreen himself who has to craft the profiles of his victims gambling buddies. Once fleshed out, Tacnet can do wonders mid game, giving Smokescreen room to focus on his social schemes instead.

Luckily, after the burning of Praxus, most people don’t really know what a Tacnet is truly capable of. So Smokescreen looses just often enough to keep folks from realizing that he always knows how every game will play out before they even start.

Bluestreak - Shoot Your Shot

Going in the opposite direction of utility, Bluestreaks Tacnet is all about kinetic calculations.

This fucker is doing the type of math that’s more letters than numbers. Constantly.

Air resistance, velocity, acceleration, gravity, weight, density, temperature, vector, displacement and time.

There’s equations that call for each and every one of those factors, usually in combination.

Your average sniper, even a good one, is usually considering wind speeds, the pull of gravity and the distance from the target when lining up a shot. Bluestreak is taking in all that and then working out the influences of about 15 more factors on top of that. Even before he’s picking where exactly on the target he’s going to hit. Since remember, if he’s got data on not just his own weapons but his enemies defenses, then it really becomes as simple as “would you like them disabled or dead?”

Aim is no longer a question of ability, but an equation to be solved.

Still, physical capabilities does play a part since a steady hand goes a long way towards realizing those calculations.

Tacnet may crunch the numbers, but Bluestreak is the one who has to find all the details relevant to the shot and pick which ones to feed to the machine.

Additionally, Bluestreaks Tacnet in particular has the experimental feature of massively increasing the amount of sensory data he can take in per second, effectively causing him to perceive things in slow motion. This is less something Tacnet is doing, and more a case of Bluestreaks own processor utilizing the bandwidth normally taken up by Tacnet.

Tacnet itself takes a substantial amount of power to run. Normally, it causes problems by siphoning too much power from other systems to do its job (see logic cascade crashes). But Bluestreak has the funny little quirk of somehow doing that in reverse. So when his sense of time dilation becomes maxed out, Tacnet isn’t running the formulas to help him shoot anymore, it’s just Bluestreaks own skills at that point.

Outside of that rare circumstance, Bluestreak is effectively playing with aimbot in real life.

Prowl - Know Your Fate

So we’ve established that Tacnet is powered by mathematical formulas and data collection.

What would happen if someone just, kept going? Kept feeding it? Building up more and more infrastructure for Tacnet to grow around until it has a point of reference for almost anything?

You get an oracle.

Prowl puts the Tactical back into Tacnet. He’s essentially the Jack of all Trades and Master of several of those subjects actually.

Sure, Smokescreen has him beat for behavioral analysis, and Bluestreak is leagues beyond what Prowl can calculate for trajectories. But no one has doubled down on what Tacnet can really do like Prowl has.

You know that (not actually true) statistic about how humans only use 25% of their brains? That’s your average Tacnet user.

Prowl just happens to be insane.

He is constantly taking in new data. He is constantly taking notes, making observations, stripping it down to the raw numbers involved and packing it away into monumental resource centers for Tacnet to refer to.

You ever see someone who’s really good with excel sheets and then see them do some shit you didn’t know excel sheets could even do?

It’s kinda like that.

If you’ve ever read the classic Sherlock Holmes stories, a lot of what makes Sherlock so effective is having such a detailed knowledge of the world around him.

Let’s go back to the bullet hole analysis.

Prowl could look at the bullet hole and tell you after two minutes: “It was this specific Cargo vessel at this time with an illegal weapon.”

From the outside, this looks like a baseless guess. But to Prowl it looks like this:

a) The gun must be a new imported weapon as nothing he currently has on file matches the marking its made in that kind of material.

b) The shooter not only missed their shot, but was shooting downward at an excessive angle. Indicating this was a very large mech firing downward at a much smaller target, likely a mini bot.

c) The shooter can be exactly tracked by looking at the local registry for recent out bound flights, specifically ones with no cargo.

Why? Because the shooter is most likely a transport shuttle. Easy access to imported goods, very large but not a war frame (hence the missed shot) and having failed to kill their victim, would flee town immediately without waiting to take on cargo.

Of those two minutes it took, he spent 1:30 waiting for the flight records to load so he could look up the name of the shuttle.

Scale those skills up to a war room, and Prowl not only knows why an enemy troop is retreating, but where they’re retreating to, what losses they must have taken and whether or not it’ll be worth it to finish the job.

Prowl isn’t smart because he has a Tacnet. Tacnet is OP because Prowl is that smart.

When I write his perspective, Prowl often has an accuracy percentage attached to his calculations. Tacnet isn’t the thing making those estimates. Prowl is the one judging how accurate Tacnets suggestions are.

Dudes just a freak.

—————————

In summary, Tacnet is like if you had every kind of calculator in your pocket and the only limit was how many equations you’ve added on and the amount of information you can feed it.

That last bit is the biggest challenge for Tacnet, as conflicting or flawed data can cause. . . Issues. Aka Logic Cascades. Aka “Why can’t I make it make sense.” Disease.

Let’s just say there’s a reason not many people know what Tacnet is capable of, as a lot of early Praxian Enforcers could be taken out by confusing emotions, plot holes, and particularly well executed magic tricks.

Doesn’t exactly inspire confidence when your new shiny police force can be hospitalized by watching Back to the Future 2.

Being one of the first Cold Constructs built with a Tacnet, Smokescreen figured out how to mostly get around that glitch early on and taught Prowl and Bluestreak how to do the same. In this particular setting, Tacnet is poorly understood and best kept mostly secret for those reasons.

(Bizarrely, between Tacnet and the radar uses of doorwings, Prowl and his brothers would actually be really good at predicting the weather.)

———————————————————————

Bonus bit: Good fucking lord it would absolutely terrifying if you could somehow combine Smokescreen, Prowl and Bluestreaks skills into like a Tacnet hivemind or something.

Though with wing speak, to an outsider that’s probably what it already looks like.

———

The three brothers look at the same bullet hole, silently communicating in a way the local non-Praxian officer couldn’t pick up on.

“Oh yeah, looks like Rotor didn’t like Brick cutting into his half of the dirty money. Slippery little guy but you can find both their hideouts here and here.” Smokescreen, the eldest, pulls up a map for reference.

Prowl is already out the door, Bluestreak is lining up a shot through the window.

“What is he. . ?” The other officer looks from Bluestreak. Then to Prowl, trailing off, “Where is the other one. . ?”

“Oh Prowls off to arrest the shooter.”

“But he’s a grounder, can’t Rotor fly?”

A shot rings out.

“Not anymore!”

[witherby]

The long-awaited next part is here! It's not my best work 😔 be gentle in your criticisms.

Flight of Fancy, part 4

Masterlist is Here!

"Ah, sorry —" Clark apologizes over the comms line when day breaks, "I'm actually in Russia doing search and rescue after a natural disaster. Won't be back for hours. You could try calling Lantern?"

"He's off-world right now." Damian slumps into the chair in front of the bat computer and resists the urge to rub his temples. "Thank you anyway, Superman. You can go back to what you were doing."

"Alright, stay safe!" Clark says, then cuts the connection. Damian punches a few keys and the screens of the Batcomputer go dark. He leans back in his chair and rubs his face, irritated and exhausted. After dealing with the shit show that was Jason scolding him for "tonguing" a victim — which was not his fault! You kissed him, not the other way around! — and then bullying him into coughing up more money than necessary to take his hoodie to a dry cleaner, a headache bloomed and has been steadily worsening with time and sleep deprivation.

He's been up for almost twenty-four hours, now, and called most flight-capable contacts at his and his father's disposal to no avail. Nobody is available for your extraction, and Damian can't let you, an undocumented and uncategorized meta, go off by yourself lest you either get recaptured or end up committing a villainous act without supervision.

So you're stuck in the cave for a full day, until everyone comes together for patrol in the evening to clear the rogues out the metahuman outpost and get you safely moved out of Gotham.

Damian spins in the seat and looks at where you're balled up on the floor. Or, rather, he's looking at your wings, fully extended and wrapped around you like a cocoon. He watches the puddle of feathers gently and silently rising and falling with your dozing breaths after you refused a bed and curled up like this three hours ago.

Cute, he thinks, standing up and stepping quietly around your figure. He slips his fingers underneath the domino mask to rub the grit from his eyes, then messages Alfred requesting two breakfast trays be brought to the cave whenever he has the time. They're delivered half an hour later, the quiet rattling of the butler's cart rousing you again.

"Sorry to disturb you, dear," Alfred says, watching your head poke out and you blink groggily at the food. Damian takes the trays from him with a nod of thanks. "Might either of you require anything else whilst I'm here? I'm happy to check on your stitches."

You shake your wings out as you stand and then carefully tuck them against your back, glancing at your shoulder. The bandages are slightly stained gold, the wound disturbed from how hard you'd shoved Jason back earlier.

You look to Robin for guidance. He gives the bandage a similar once-over, then clicks his tongue.

"That might be wise. Agent A won't hurt you," he promises. "You can trust him."

Alfred bows and offers his hand for you to shake. You grasp it a touch too firmly and just hold it in place for a few seconds, but he just smiles and excuses himself to fetch some supplies from the med bay. While he's gone, Damian carries both trays to the table near the center of the room, placing them down and taking a seat.

"You can come eat," he says. You sit and look at your offerings — buttered wheat toast, two poached eggs, a couple strips of turkey bacon, and a glass of orange juice — with no change of expression. "Something wrong?"

"No," you say, "I just... can't eat this."

"If it's a matter of diet, we can find you something else —"

"I apologize," you gently interrupt, "I mean to say, I don't eat. I don't need to."

Damian pulls the notepad, crinkled from the earlier confrontation with Jason, out of his pocket and jots that down.

"How do you get energy, then?" He asks. You shrug.

"I rest. Other than that, I need nothing."

"That is a shame," Alfred says, returning with some fresh bandages and a small bottle of saline to keep the wound clean. You don't protest when he asks to remove the old gauze. "Should you find yourself curious to try a nibble, I hope it might please you. I am also available for anything else you might require — new clothes, perhaps."

You perk up at that. You dislike the gaping tear in your sleeve, so a replacement robe would be nice.

"Yes," you reply. "Please. What do you require in exchange?"

"Nothing but your measurements, so I can make sure it fits correctly."

You nod, acquiescing to whatever is needed. Alfred pulls out a tape measure and, with your consent, notes your size and approximately how much fabric space you'll need on your back to accommodate your wings. Damian finishes eating by then, so he retrieves the trays and leaves with another bow and a promise to be back in a couple of hours with new clothes.

"Robin," you say, when Damian gets up to go back to the computer. He looks at you intently. "I know I cannot leave this place, but is there somewhere...bigger that I can fly?"

He frowns, shaking his head. "The cave system is mostly long, not wide. It doesn't get much bigger than the part we're standing in."

Damian turns and points to his left, to a dark corridor just beyond the Batcomputer.

"If you don't break anything and keep away from the bats, you can fly around as long as you want. The pathways split off in different sections and levels, but they all lead back here to the center of the cave."

He looks at you again, hand on his hip.

"Does that suffice?"

Well. It's not open air where the breeze can rush through your wings and you can admire the sky overhead, but it's something and you are restless. It'll have to do.

Wordlessly you extend your wings, feathers shaking themselves out as you stretch the limbs, and you take off.

Damian sinks into the chair in front of the computer again, pressing a couple buttons to reawaken the screens. He glances at the roster of available allies and feels his headache intensify when there's no change. Still no help for now. Still stuck in the cave, watching over you and not getting any sleep.

He leans back and rubs his eyes under the mask again, lids drooping. Damian can't hear any wing flapping, which indicates you're likely long gone in the elaborate cave system. He can switch the cameras on the computer from key observation points around the city to the different levels of the cave itself, but the idea of subjecting his corneas to the harsh screens again is nearly unbearable.

You're likely going to be occupied for a while, and you already know not to leave the cave.

Damian could just...can just...

Just rest his eyes for five minutes.

[bespeckledstars]

I was thinking about how Scratch leaves the party to go live with a little girl in Baldur’s Gate, and I can understand why. He’s been adventuring with the team that stopped the end of the world, and though you and the Tadfools obviously shielded him from The Horrors, he obviously deserves a nice comfy place without any stress, lots of fetch, and all the treats and snuggles he can handle.

But if you go with Astarion on more adventures, I don’t think you’d give him up. But he can be a distraction, according to the elf.

One day you’re resting at an inn, or in your home in the Underdark. It’s mid-day, and light is pouring in through a window in the room you, Astarion, and Scratch are resting in. He’s been moody all week, coming up behind you to wrap his arms around your torso and burying his face in your hair, as well as asking to feed from you more than usual. He’s in some clingy state of mind, and you’re perfectly content with it. While you have been busier than normal, it’s not been anything the two of you aren’t used to dealing with. And yet, he won’t let you out of his sight for more than a minute. He’s too busy staring at you with his signature brooding face.

Sitting on a sofa facing a kitchenette, you rest comfortably in his lap while Scratch gives you the biggest, saddest, wettest eyes you’ve ever seen. So used to taking “Speak with Animals” you ask, “Oh, is someone feeling a little hungry? Does someone want a wittle snack?” in your best baby voice. You pet and pat his face as you always have, watching his face squish around in the cutest way possible. You pepper little kisses on his silky white fur, and as you do you hear the most annoyed of scoffs hit the side of your head.

“What’s wrong with you?” you ask him.

“Oh, nothing. Nothing at all,” he says, with all the weight of the world bearing down on him, clearly.

The two of you have been working on taking each other at your words, so you decide to wait for him to share his feelings without pushing him or accusing him of lying.

Slipping off your elf is a bit hard with a dog in between your legs, but you manage without falling over. At the kitchenette, you prepare a quick meal for the Bestest Boy, but you can feel a prickly sensation at the back of your neck as you do so. Almost like two little eyes boring through your neck. Or perhaps two sharp fangs. Either way, when you set out Scratch’s bowl in the room over and return to your vampiric lover, he’s sitting with his arms crossed and sporting a scowl sour enough to make a lemon scrunch up. His foot is tapping a mile a minute and you know he’s getting ready to talk, just that he’s letting out his anger before he speaks.

“Are you ready to talk now?” You say, parking yourself in front of him.

His face scrunches up farther than you’ve seen it do in quite some time. He lets out a breath before slipping on a version of his old mask.

“You’ve been forgetting something, darling,” he says like dry ice.

“Oh.” You reply. Now that he’s actually saying something, especially something you’ve forgotten, it worries you.

“Oh? That’s all you have to say for yourself? All week I’ve been doing everything in my power to give you hints. Affection, intimacy. And yet, nothing! You’ve neglected me at every turn! What do you have to say for yourself?” he cries.

You take a moment to think of all the things you and he still need to do, and all that you’ve completed this week. Your to-do list is near its end, he’s always fed and you haven’t missed any scheduled times to spend time together. It has been busier lately, but you can’t think of anything. Until it hits you: you haven’t given him a single kiss in days.

Ever since you modified your mornings at the beginning of the week to accommodate a large-scale event at the end of it, your entire routine has been totally messed up. Each morning you start by kissing your partner’s face, and he bemoans it, and you know he loves, and then he tells you as much in hushed and someone stinky whispers. You never mind his morning breath as you lazily let your lips collide, and he doesn’t seem to mind yours either. You can’t say for certain, but you think your strict routines and schedules are just as helpful for him as they are for you. He knows what to expect, and can plan for it. It demystifies his life and calms his anxiety. But now that things have been different, he’s clearly more elevated.

When you zone back in (when did you zone out?) you can tell he’s been talking for a while. His hands are more animated, his voice is just like when you first met with all those silly theatrics, and there’s just a hint of a glimmer in his waterline. Your eyes lock and then you step to him, bending down and capturing behind his neck all in one graceful arc of your body and hands.

When your lips press against his, his eyes go wide and the most precious little yelp sounds off from his throat. You don’t need to see anything else, so you close your eyes to lose yourself in the feeling of his tongue and yours reintroducing themselves for the first time this week. And when you settle yourself over him to get better access to his shoulders, he whimpers at the feeling of you resting over his most vulnerable parts. And when you wrap your arms around him, his hands fly to your back and hold you like you’re the last thing on Faerun.

Each press of your lips to his is carefully calculated to make sure all of your mouth is available to him. So cautious have you both been to never nick your lips on his fangs, but now, you throw that caution to the wind. Each connect and disconnect of you and he is languid, wet, and sensual. You know now the neglect he speaks of, and hopefully, the smooth glide of your tongue across his lips can make up for it.

Running your hands through his hair, caressing his neck as you lap and suck at his ears, and most importantly, laying thousands of kissing on every part of him you can reach, all contributes to the blushing, heaving elf in front of you presently. His chest rises and falls in time to his quickened heart, and you make no indication you recognize the effect you’ve now had on him. You brush your nose across his like a kiss all its own, and settle one last brush of your lips against his, like an invitation. When you rise from his lap, you will never confirm nor deny the brushing of yourself against him is purposeful. But when you glance over your shoulder, he jumps at the chance to follow you, and you know you’re more than happy to make up for as many neglected days as he asks.

★｡･:*:･ﾟ☆｡･:*:･ﾟ★

Haha who said that? Anyways…

[alltimecharlo]

can we get a fic where mack sees that Will got demoted to 4th line and is absolutely livid about it please!

yes absolutely!! necessary, even!! fic under the cut🩵

Will flops back on the stiff hotel mattress, his hair still damp from the post-game shower, his phone glowing dimly in his hand. He’s halfway through pulling on a sweatshirt when the FaceTime notification pops up: Macklin Celebrini.

He grins automatically and hits accept.

Mack’s face fills the screen, eyebrows already furrowed, mouth halfway open in the beginnings of a rant.

“Okay,” Mack says, skipping any semblance of greeting, “what the actual hell.”

Will leans back against the headboard and tugs the sweatshirt over his head. “Hey to you too.”

“No, seriously,” Mack says, eyes wild. “Fourth line? FOURTH?”

Will shrugs. “It’s not that big a deal, Mack.”

“Not that big a—Will.” Mack is pacing now. Wherever he is, the lighting is golden and warm, throwing his silhouette against a plain beige wall. Will can hear the low hum of the hotel A/C through the speakers.

“You were on the second line like, all tournament. You’ve got what? Four assists?”

“Five assists,” Will corrects, because he’s still a little competitive even when he’s pretending to be zen.

Mack points at the screen like Will just proved his point. “EXACTLY. And then Warso throws you down with the grinders for Czech? I’m sorry, that’s actual insanity. You were one of the best players on the ice in the Germany game.”

Will sighs. “I mean, it worked. We won. Five-two. We needed the points.”

“Oh my God,” Mack mutters. “You’re too well-adjusted. It’s disturbing.”

Will laughs. “Well, sorry I’m not going full scorched-earth about it. What do you want me to do, key Warso’s car?”

Mack looks like he might actually be considering it.

Will leans forward, phone wobbling slightly in his hand. “Seriously, I’m good. It’s not the end of the world. I’ve played fourth line before. At least I wasn’t benched like that one time against Minnesota.”

Mack scowls. “That was wrong too.”

Will smiles, fond. “You’re very dramatic.”

Mack throws his hands up. “You deserve better!”

“I’ll survive.”

Mack flops onto his own bed with a groan, one arm thrown over his eyes. “I scored a goal today.”

Will raises his eyebrows. “Yeah? When were you planning on telling me?”

“I was going to lead with it,” Mack grumbles. “But then I saw the lines and blacked out.”

Will grins. “Crosby assist?”

Mack peeks out from under his arm. “Yeah. Ridiculous pass. I broke free.”

Will whistles. “You gonna marry him or what?”

Mack snorts. “Nah. I’ve got someone else in mind.”

Will tries to pretend his heart doesn’t do a weird stutter-step at that.

“You looked good today, though,” Mack says, serious again. “Even on the fourth line. That zone entry on the second power play? Sick.”

“Appreciate it.”

“And your backcheck.”

Will grins. “Now you’re just sweet talking me.”

“It’s working, isn’t it?”

Before Will can respond, a voice calls from the bathroom. “Yo, Smitty, you still romancing your boyfriend in there?”

Cutter.

Will groans. “Bye, Mack.”

“Tell Cutter I said he’s annoying,” Mack calls.

“Tell Mack he still owes me ten bucks after BC won the Beanpot,” Cutter says, stepping into frame with a towel around his neck.

“Tell him to come collect it himself,” Mack chirps back.

Rolling his eyes, Will hangs up before it escalates.

He stares at the blank screen for a second, then smiles to himself.

Fourth line or not, he’s always first star in Mack’s eyes.

♡

[pleasantlycrazyworld]

i saw you were open for requests and I had an idea in mind‼️‼️

a shy!reader who is just a ball of sunshine and horrendously down bad for Logan, while Logan is just grumpy as shit (myb Worst!Wolverine??) and basically hates the reader. Lets just assume that they are roommates, and one night, the reader was just being nice or something and Logan absolutely snapped at them for no reason and kicked them out of the apartment. And he never realized how much he cared for them until he had to nervously wait for them to come home, praying that they are ok. (bonus points if its raining outside cuz we love angst) And ofc fluffy ending if you're up for it :)

(Absolutely fine if you choose to ignore this, i understand and also feel free to change any parts of the prompt if you feel like doing so. Love you and wish you all the best <3 ).

A/N: I HAVE A PART TWO!!!! Please tell me you want a part two 🥺As always if you like my work please like, comment, and reblog! It means the world and keeps me motivated. Thank you so much for the request, sorry it took a while for me to get to it

The apartment was always felt a little warmer when you were in it. Logan hated how quickly he noticed how cold he felt now that you were gone. You were quiet. Sweet. A little skittish, like a bird that never realized the cage was open. You said “good morning” like it was a sacred ritual and left little sticky notes reminding him to eat or drink water sometimes with doodled smiley faces that made his chest tighten.

You never took up space. You never yelled. And you never stopped being kind, even when he gave you nothing but his usual gruffness and grunted responses. You called him “Logan” like it was a soft word. Like it meant something.

And tonight, you’d offered him a cup of tea. That was it. Just a warm mug, he glanced down at it and noticed it was your favorite one. It was held in your hands, cradled so softly it seemed like you were holding pure crystal and that gentle smile graced your face like always. You’d said, “Thought you might want something to wind down. It’s chamomile.”

He snapped.

“What the hell is this, huh? You think I need you mothering me like I'm some lost cause? I’m not a damn project!” You blinked. Just once and flinched like the words physically hit you.

“N-No, I just--I didn’t mean...”

“You never mean anything, do you?” he snarled. “You’re always flutterin’ around here, bein’ nice like it’s gonna fix something. Just… leave me alone.”

Your breath caught and Logan noticed how you physically seemed smaller after his words flooded your ears. You looked like he’d struck you. And then without another word you slipped on your shoes and left. The door clicked shut. Not slammed. Just clicked. Quiet as always.

An hour passed. Then two.

Logan paced. Growled. Poured out the tea in the sink and slammed the mug on the counter, the handle breaks off from the bluntness and his eyes followed it as it fell to the floor. Guilt immediately filled him. Shit. Where the hell did you go?

He thought about calling. He didn’t. You were grown, surely you were fine. Anxiety was clawing at him as he kept glancing at the door like he could will you through it. But you weren’t made of metal. You were made of warmth, of sunlight and gentle hands and those stupid little sticky notes. He kicked out one of the brightest lights he's ever seen into the cold night like some sort of trash.

At some point, guilt and anxiety bloomed into fear. And that fear bloomed into panic. What if something happened? What if you're hurt? What if you don’t come back? What if someone takes you?

The lock clicked. He's entire body jumps at the noise. You stepped in, clutching a paper bag from the 24-hour corner store. You looked damp, and cold, and small. “Hey,” you said softly, not meeting his eyes. “I got you those protein bars you like. Thought… you might want some for the morning.”

Logan didn’t speak. Couldn’t. You gave him a little smile much more broken than usual and quickly moved past him toward your room.

“Wait.”

You froze.

He stepped closer. “I didn’t mean it. What I said.”

“I know,” you whispered.

“You--you should’ve yelled back or somethin’. Thrown somethin’ at my head.” You laughed once; soft, tired, broken. “I don’t like yelling.” Logan stared at you. The way your shoulders curved inward. The way your hands trembled slightly, still holding that dumb bag of snacks. “I didn’t deserve that tea,” he said. “No. You didn’t,” you said gently. “But I'll make it anyway.”

“I’m sorry,” he rasped. You finally looked at him. “I missed you,” he said. “I was only gone a few hours.” You responded with a confused chuckle. “Felt longer,” he shrugged before quietly muttering, “So much longer.”

Silence again. Then, softly: “You want tea now?” you asked. “Only if you sit with me while I drink it.” You smiled. For real, this time. Later, the two of you sat on the worn couch, your knee barely brushing his. Logan nursed the tea like it was pure crystal. "I'm sorry I broke your mug..." He mumbled guilty. You shake your head against his words. "It's just a mug."

You leaned your head against his shoulder, tentative at first—then fully. He didn’t flinch. Didn’t growl. He just sat there, letting the warmth bleed back in. “You’re somethin’ else, you know that?” he mumbled. You hummed. “So are you.” Logan reached over, laced his fingers with yours. Maybe he wasn’t good with words. But he could be good with you. Eventually... Maybe. As long as you kept making him warm.

Taglist:

@userchai

@mahi-tamashi

@100percentlazybonez

@lanassmarty

@western-pyro

@misscrissfemmefatale

@marit332

@navs-bhat

@fluffy-b33z

@chaimshelii

@aoi-targaryen

@eyes-ofhell

@sad0nion

@fries11

@slowlikehoneyyy

@brisinggamenwearer

[demonic0angel]

After ur dickjazz married/getting divorced au

After Dick and Jazz’s absolutely unhinged divorce—complete with screaming matches, a broken coffee table, and at least three emergency family meetings—they somehow manage to cobble together a custody arrangement for Damian.

Which sounds normal until you realize Damian is now shuttling between his dad (Dick -who is actually his brother-), and Dick’s new boyfriend (who is technically Damian’s step-uncle??), and then back to his mom -step mother- (Jazz), who’s dating Jason, who is—wait for it—Damian’s brother.

So now every other week, Damian has to go from one deeply chaotic household to another, pretending like any of this makes sense, while everyone else acts like this is fine. He’s not even sure who’s allowed to ground him anymore. All he knows is he’s probably going to need therapy. A lot of it.

He's weirdly happy about it

(Bruce and Talia: *toxic asf who lowkey both don't care and do care ab Damian but they show it in the worst ways possible, traumatizing Damian*

Damian: I sleep.

Jazz and Dick: *the most weirdly friendly divorced parents who literally didn't care for any assets but Damian*

Damian: Real shit?)

Damian contentedly laid in Dick’s arms as he was driven over back to Gotham. Dan was the one driving, his finger tapping on the steering wheel as he and Dick sang together with a song on the radio.

It was closer to night and per Damian's agreed upon schedule, it was approaching his bed time. Damian yawned again, blinking slowly as Dick and Dan's harmonious singing filled the car with a soulful tune.

Eventually, the car stopped in front of an apartment building, which also had another familiar car in front of the street.

The door opened and Jazz stepped out with a beaming smile before she looked down and gasped.

"Oh! Is he sleeping?" She asked, reaching over to draw Damian into her arms.

Damian rolled his eyes slightly but allowed it as he spoke up. "I'm awake."

"You can go back to sleep, baby," she said, patting his back.

Jazz kissed his head and he blushed, feeling warm. The cool summer breeze made him sleepy again. He cuddled against her neck as she and Dick made conversation. Behind her, Damian could see Jason sitting at the living room with Bruce and Alfred, all three of them staring at the door curiously where Jazz was still chattering away.

"— and he ate a big lunch today after Dan brought us to a new vegan restaurant on South Street. He also completed all of his homework and we're currently working on summation rules."

"Summation rules is crazy," Jazz laughed, stroking Damian's hair. "He's so smart."

Damian blushed, silent as he kept his head tucked into Jazz's hair.

"He is, isn't he?" Dick gushed. "He and Dan were also painting over the weekend! I'll show it to you when it's finished, but it looks so good already!"

Dan also spoke up, "We're making both of you a picture. It'll be done by next month, I believe."

"Oh, I can't wait to see it!" Jazz cooed.

Interrupting everyone, Bruce walked up to the door and asked, "Can I hold my son too—?"

"Your grandson," Dick, Jason, Jazz, Dan, and even Alfred all said in unison, completely and utterly deadpan.

Damian hid back a snort.

Bruce blinked and then sighed long and hard before he corrected himself, "Can I hold my grandson?"

Damian reached for him and Jazz silently complied. Back in his father's arms, Damian was slightly more awake and turned his head to look at Jazz and Dick, who were still enthusiastically discussing him like it was the best topic in the world. He couldn't help the smile that wouldn't lower on his face.

He had the best parents in the world.

[loverstrings]

A warm night in Wakanda - Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

At the end credits of Civil War, where Bucky gets offered rehabilitation in Wakanda. Y/N decides to tag along—not just to keep Steve company, but out of curiosity about Wakandan culture… and maybe a little curiosity about Bucky, too. She never realized peace like this could exist for people like her and Bucky.

a.n - I PROMISE IM ALIVE!!! I've been packed with work and my summer classes atm so project spindle updates will be a little slow this week, so take this little drabble :3

| can be read as a standalone or apart of project spindle |

The sun was setting, a wash of gold spilling across the treetops as silence settled over the outer edges of the compound. The air buzzed faintly with the hum of distant tech and the rustle of leaves stirred by the breeze—but down by the water, it was quiet.

Y/N sat cross-legged on a flat rock, tracing a smooth stone across her knuckles like a nervous habit. She didn’t look up when she heard footsteps behind her—didn’t need to.

“You’re late,” she said, voice soft but teasing.

“Sorry,” Steve replied, stepping up beside her. “He wanted some air. They’re still getting everything ready.”

Y/N finally glanced over—and there he was.

Bucky Barnes.

The infamous Winter Soldier. The ghost in the machine. Steve’s best friend.

And, for a long time, just a name in a classified file. One she’d seen back when she was still running missions for Strucker. Before Sokovia. Before Wanda and Pietro had thrown in with Ultron. They’d tried to find her back then. The twins had come looking, eyes wide with fury, asking why she wasn’t standing with them.

But Y/N had already made her decision. “I’m done,” she’d told them.

And when that wasn’t enough, when she saw the betrayal starting to bloom behind Wanda’s eyes, she’d used her power—just once more. A swirl of nightmare-fog, soft as sleep, sharp as sorrow. By the time it cleared, they’d forgotten she was ever there.

Steve found her a week later. Hiding in the skeleton of a crumbling Sokovian outpost, eating canned beans cold. He offered her a blanket, and a second chance.

They’d fought side-by-side ever since.

Now, she saw the man who’d nearly torn the world in half—haunted and cautious as he lingered behind Steve, arms crossed, body still like a coiled spring. But his eyes weren’t cold. They were… tired.

“Hey,” she said simply, nodding once.

Bucky didn’t speak right away. He just looked at her, brow slightly furrowed, like he was trying to place her.

“You’re the one with the pink magic,” he said at last.

She smirked. “You’re the one with the metal arm.” A flicker of guilt tugged at her smile. “I mean—were. Sorry.”

Then, like a flicker of something long dormant, Bucky’s lips twitched—just barely. “It’s fine. I’ll grow a new one.”

Steve stepped away without a word, letting the moment settle between them.

Y/N patted the stone beside her. “You can sit. I won’t bite.”

Bucky hesitated… then slowly lowered himself beside her, posture stiff.

The silence felt loud, so Y/N leaned back on her hands, tipping her head toward the sky. “Y’know, when I first got pulled into all this… I don’t really remember much. Just… pieces. Flashes. I knew I was being used, but I didn’t know how to stop it. Didn’t know how to live without someone barking orders at me.”

Bucky let out a breath that wasn’t quite a laugh. “Yeah. I know the feeling.”

She turned her head to watch him. “Steve ever tell you how he found me?”

“He said you left Strucker before things fell apart. That he and Nat tracked you down. Gave you a shot.”

Y/N nodded. “I wasn’t ready to be saved. Thought the only way to stop hurting people was to disappear. Steve didn’t buy it. Kept showing up, talking like I was more than what I’d done.” Her voice softened. “Eventually, I started believing him.”

Bucky looked down at the running water. “Guess he’s doing the same for me.”

“Shows he has a type.”

That earned a quiet huff of laughter.

The silence stretched again—this time, easier. The kind that says I see you, without needing to explain it.

“You stayed with Steve during the airport fight,” Bucky said, his voice low.

“Course I did,” she said, tossing the stone into the river. “He gave me a second chance. Figured I’d return the favor.”

He looked back at the water.

They sat like that for a long while. No grand speeches. No apologies. Just quiet understanding.

The sun dipped below the horizon. The first stars appeared.

And for the first time in a long, long while, Bucky didn’t feel like a weapon.

He felt… almost human. And sitting next to Y/N, he wasn’t so sure that was a bad thing.

[arbitrarykiwi]

I desperately need a thanos version of now streaming 😭 i think I can wait☹️😔 as a matter of fact take your time😁🫶🏾🫶🏾🫶🏾

Now Streaming...

Thanos Version

Yalllll I was really trying my best to get this out as fast as I could I PROMISE. idk what it was but I had so many people asking for a Thanos version of my ‘Now Streaming…’ and I wanna give yall what yall wan!

I hope this is up to y’all’s standards! It was admittedly so fucking hard to write w/o making it too similar to the Namgyu one I just did. So I hope I did the request justice💕💕

Warnings: none, sfw, fluff

“Hooooly fuck!!! Thank you for the donation!” Your boyfriend, Choi Su-bong, yells at his computer. “You’re an absolute beast for that!! I guess that means we have to keep this good energy rolling! We can stream for a lil longer guys.”

Despite it being just you and him in his apartment; he’s talking like there’s other people there. In a way, there is. Known as the famous twitch streamer, Thanos, your boyfriend often was doing long streams into the middle of the night.

From music review, to video games, to opening fan mail- he seemed to have a knack for it all. He got most of his following from his streams in which he would produce a whole song live within a time limit. Now that is what the people came to see!! He was talented, he could make catchy songs you would want to hear on your drunkest night out in under 20 minutes. He’d mix the whole song effortlessly all while interacting with the chat and providing commentary. It was no wonder he was famous!!

There was also a clear other reason for his influx of watchers. Thanos, Choi Su-Bong, your boyfriend…was fucking hot.

He was a big man, tall and muscular. The tattoos that accent his arms and hands just add to it. Not to mention the boisterous purple hair with personality to match! He could captivate someone so easily with just a witty sentence or a cocky remark. Even a flash of his smile could have new subscriptions pinging into existence, each being welcomed in with an ecstatic, “Welcome to the Thanos world!”

When you started dating, it was him that practically begged you to come on stream with him. He could respect your need or desire for privacy…but he really wants to show you off!!

He’s been streaming for a while, cultivating this niche group of viewers that he almost viewed as a distant family. The viewers who were there from the beginning of his twitch career watched him grow from nothing-living in his mom’s basement and high out of his mind on a mixture of substances, to living in his own place and producing music for other big rappers while having a successful rap career of his own. So to him…it only makes sense to brag about his next big step- his beautiful girlfriend!

He does monthly Q & A streams that are timed to go with the re-dying of his hair. And who does his hair? You!!!!! He’ll be seated in his gaming chair, towel tucked into his shirt as you work to coat his hair in the purple dye. Red tinged eyes beaming at the chat as new questions keep rolling in.

‘When’s the next song dropping?’

“Uhhhh.” Thanos drags out, eyes looking to the ceiling as he calculates an estimate of a release date. “Prolly next month. Won’t be an album though, unfortunately. Jus’ a single.”

‘What brand of hair dye do you use? Wanna make sure I buy some to have for when we get married’

Thanos’ eyebrows furrow a bit, scoffing at the commentary after the question. Can’t whoever this was see you behind him?! When he reads it out, he only reads the question.

He’s quick to fall back into a rhythm, trying to ghost over the thirsty comment- he doesn’t want to bring it to your attention. “I actually don’t know!” He chirps, reaching behind him to tug at your shirt, pulling you down into the cameras view, “we can ask my girlfriend though! She’s the one that does my hair so she’s in charge of alla that.” He says, turning to look at you.

You laugh, waving to the camera with gloved hands. Despite the gloves being for protection from the hair dye, the majority of your forearm is covered in purple. “I use this one. Works really well! Doesn’t come off when he sweats as much.” You tease, showing off the bottle of purple dye.

Thanos hopes showing you off would make those comments die down. And when flood of comments come in just talking about his single he’s dropping, his grin is widening- this is what he lives for!

Sure back when he wasn’t in a relationship and fucking women left and right he wouldn’t mind them, he’d even play into them. But he’s not been shy about you, about being with you. There’s no need for those comments to boost his ego when he has you doing it. Those comments are boring to him now!!! He wants people critical of his music, giving advice, asking him questions about himself, or giving requests!

One of the things that got Thanos big on twitch before he started to stream his music was his Minecraft videos. He’d force Nam-gyu who was strangely good with making mods, to make mod-packs that he would then add to the game. His Minecraft kick never went away- the dude loved that fucking game. He yearned for the mines. So you often found yourself curled up on the small futon in his office while the dull, muffled thrum of the Minecraft music blasts through Thanos’ headphones.

“Okay chat I think we hafta stay the night in here…” Thanos says chuckling as he blocks himself into a makeshift hole with half a heart left. “When I told ‘Gyu to go all out with this horror mod thing I didn’t think he’d add 30 mod packs into one!!! I can’t do anything without almost dying!!!!” He yells dramatically, spinning his mouse to make his character move erratic in the game. “It’s okay!!! Let’s…uhhhh….whats goin on in the chat! Yeah, what’s up with you guys!?!” Thanos says, shifting slightly to look at his second monitor and watch the chat as he tries to pass the nighttime cycle of Minecraft with whatever he can.

‘Been streaming your song for the whole week! It’s sooo good!’

‘I’ve been waiting for the next Minecraft stream. I’m so glad it’s back.’

‘You been working out?’

The comment makes him chuckle, and he grins proudly. “Fuck yeah I have!” He’s replying pushing up his sleeve and flexing his arm. “It’s really starting to show ain’t it?!” He jokes, beginning to flex for the camera.

As a dutiful girlfriend, you’re watching the stream as always. You have your phone propped up on the vanity across the same room he’s in so you can watch the stream while doing your makeup in a small round mirror. With your back turned to him- you can hear him but you can’t see him- so you prop your phone up in front of you on mute to get the best of both worlds.

You laugh silently, watching him put on a dramatic show for the camera, flexing his arms. Your eyes catch the chat, of course it’s filled with fangirls spamming the chat with various sexually driven compliments. Each one spaced out by other comments which joke around with Thanos and talk about the actual stream.

‘Yes LAWDD!!! Need him to put me in a headlock!!!!’

‘The tattoo going up his arm makes this so much hotter’

‘All muscle but still screams at a Minecraft mod.’

“Hey! Watch it!!!” Thanos yells teasingly, obviously catching the one comment that wasn’t begging for his attention. “When you have 6 jump scare animations play back to back- a man’d gonna scream!!!” He says, hands coming up in a defensive position, “That’s jus’ gonna happen!! I say it would be abnormal to not have a reaction to jump scares…..like ‘Gyu! That man has to be a different breed to not react at all!” He rambles.

If there was one thing he was good at it was interacting with the viewers. He was so in tune with it, even if you put aside the bias of him being your boyfriend, you would have and could have watched him for hours!! He was so entertaining and wildly interactive with viewers allowing for engagement that only made the stream better.

‘I need him so bad’

‘Play the game that I’ve been requesting!! Please!!’

‘I wonder if you have any tattoos we can’t see.’

Your eyes narrow, you pause your makeup and turn fully to the phone. You can see on the small screen that Thanos reacts, scoffing a little as he now sees the influx of horny messages that ensue after his flexing. He mentally scolds himself, he really didn’t mean to do it! He can’t help he looks so good!! Trying to deflect and calm the fangirls down he responds.

“Uhh… yep. Got a lot of em.” He says with a grin and a nod. “The one on my arm connects to a large one on my back that’s far too big to show…” he says, immediately putting down the notion of showing that one off. You let a breath you didn’t know you were holding, the thought of the chat of horny women seeing your boyfriends sculpted back makes you sick.

“…I got a few on my legs, I’d show those but I’m wearing sweatpants…oh!! Annnd~” his voice trails off into a sing-song tone, hand coming up to grip at the collar of his shirt, “got my baby’s name on my collarbone.”

A smile spreads across your face as he shows off the tattoo of your name in elegant script across his collarbone. He had done it a couple months ago- without you knowing- but after he came back home and showed you oh-so excited, you couldn’t help but adore it!

Thanos hopes that him showing the viewers that he literally has his girlfriend’s name tattooed that it would make the sexual or flirty comments die down. He knows it comes with the job, but he is also painfully aware of how those comments could make you feel- he’s had more than a few conversations with you about this.

Yes, they’re from people he doesn’t know and will never meet. Yes, he only has eyes for you and only loves you. You know that- he knows that. But it doesn’t make it easier when you’re forced to see thousands of women thirst after your boyfriend in ways that seem far too explicit to comment on a live twitch stream.

The stream continues, Thanos going back to playing the modded Minecraft world he had made. You had gone back to finishing up your makeup. You two were going out on a date after his stream wrapped up after all!

“Okay chat, what wood should I use for the base? Oak or Spruce?” Thanos’ voice echos through the room. He turns his head to the chat, watching as the choices get picked- trying to see which one wins out the majority.

‘It’s such a shame he’s not single…like she’s literally not even here to support him lolz’

The comment takes him off guard. It’s bold, not something someone should say to a random streamer they watch. It also pisses him off that it accuses you of not supporting him. You, out of all the viewers, were Thanos’ biggest supporter. He wouldn’t be here without you.

“I’m seein a lot of oak…oak it is!” Thanos then clears his throat, “Me n my señorita are going out after the stream, so I think I’ll probably finish the base and call it a night..”

Your head snaps to the phone you have his stream on and then to your watch, he has at least 2 hours before your reservation- he doesn’t need to get off…

You turn back towards his set up, looking over at him confused. He looks up from his monitor towards you, a smile beaming on his face as he sees your completed makeup look.

“In fact…C’mere.”

You furrow your eyebrows and stare at him blankly. He waves you over. It only takes a couple strides before you’re next to where he sits in his gaming chair.

Thanos pulls you down, throwing you over his lap before you have time to react. “Chat, look at her! Fuckin’ beautiful thing!” He boast, moving the camera to get a good view of your face.

A tattooed hand is coming up and squishing your cheeks together, bringing you closer to the camera and turning your head each way. “Seee~ ohhhhh look how good that liner is….and the blending?!!”

You’re giggling now, knowing truly he has no idea what good blending was or even how your eyeliner gets put on. His makeup knowledge is 0 to none. But boy howdy is he gonna show you off!!!

“Fuckin’ perfect!” He comments, like he’s marveling at a 5 star dish that was plated in front of him, “just look at her!! She was over there watching while she got ready.” Thanos coos, placing an obnoxious kiss to your cheek as if he’s trying to drive it in that it is not a shame he is not single- because he has such a great girlfriend like you.

“I jus’ needed to show you off…” he mumbles against your cheek before helping you stand back up. He looks up at you, proud smile on his face. Laughing, you nod, hand caressing his cheek before you return to the vanity to work on your hair.

“She’s been in the room the whole fucking time watching the stream by the way, moron.” He says, glaring into the camera before banning the commenter, smirk widening as he watches the chat now flood with comments on how hot you were.

I hope you guys enjoyed this one! This one was an odd lil struggle for me but I did enjoy the challenge!

Also I’ve been thinkin’ that some anons are returning anons and if you are…I just wanna say that I don’t have any emoji anons 😗😗😗😗so if you wanna claim one so I can recognize ya 😗😗😗😗 let möther know who ya are 😏😏😏 it’s just a think 🤭

I have a couple other requests and stand alone fics in the works! I promise I’m getting through them even though I don’t upload everyday. Love yew alllllll 🗣️🗣️🗣️🗣️ - <3 kiwi

[mothinked]

"Hey, look, the lake wasn't dried up when I last came through. There's a cabin still intact where I stayed for two days. There was even fish in the lake and no infected around from what I could tell; it's not some mirage oasis I dreamt up, alright?" Ellie tipped the beak of her hat down to shield more of her face from the sun. It didn't help much. "We'll have a campfire near the water to cook fish and we can even sleep inside if there's too much bugs at night." She wanted to just leg it the rest of the way to the lake right now and swim until she was as shriveled as a raisin. "You'll be thanking me once we're swimming and I'm catching us dinner."

They could divide the responsibilities. Ellie would go fishing or hunting (whichever got them food more quickly), Lev would scout the area and Abby would set up camp as agreed. It's what had been working for them all this time so why change the system.

Sweat was making her tank top cling to her back and chest like a second skin. Wearing a pack all day long only worsened her discomfort so she tried wearing it with just one strap. Shifting the nylon material irritated her sunburn, making her wince and swear under her breath. The water in her canteen was too precious—shared between her and a large dog not fit for such a climate—to cool herself down with in the same manner as Abby. She was trying to distract herself from the heat with conversation and found that talking to Abby wasn't as difficult as it had been during those first weeks.

Both women were calm and stoic to the point of indifference despite the gravity of their mission, putting survival before their personal issues shockingly well. Ellie knew this wouldn't have been possible had so much time not passed. Time didn't heal all wounds but it did help you see life more clearly. See things, people, for what they really were. Had she not sought serious help for her mental and emotional trauma then she wouldn't have been fit to be a parent to that precious boy... Let alone function as anything remotely resembling a human being. Probably would have slipped on a noose then kicked the chair long ago, if she were honest.

"I keep thinking about how much of a risk you took in coming to find me."

She held a begrudging degree of respect and it was shown in the look she gave Abby at the end of that sentence. "And I've gotta ask: do they know about our... history?" A pause. "Did they assume I was still out there after Salt Lake or did you offer up that information yourself? I know why you're doing this..." For her father. For the mere possibility of a future where one bite or broken gas mask wasn't a death sentence. Even if this was achieved, if a vaccine was engineered and produced for the masses, it would be well past her and Abby's time. They'd live long enough to see their loved ones inoculated but not the whole world. Ellie would be just fine with that.

"What I'm trying to understand is... you could have let other Fireflies talk me into it. Your father's legacy would have continued with his work, right? They need that research. You could have just been the face of it all instead of risking your ass to take me to them personally." Ellie was looking at her again. Las Vegas almost out of view now. "Did you feel like things were..." She searched for the right word, chewing her lip. "... unfinished between us? It was supposed to be the end. I could live with my choice to let you go, and I have." There was that feeling again. That tightness in her chest.

"If Tommy didn't get so fucked up from—" She cut herself off and shook her head, swallowing thickly. It was her who discovered he was still alive after that gunshot to the head. Dina who sewed him back together as best as she could before tending to Ellie's arm. "He would have gone after you in Santa Barbara. Killed you at any cost. Instead he, uh—he guilted me for choosing to move on after Seattle. Told me I was breaking the promise I made. He came to the farmhouse one day saying he got word about a woman that fit your description from a trader." Opening up about all of this wasn't easy but she felt Abby should know the reasoning (or lack thereof) behind Ellie's final pursuit.

"He was angry, hurt... Wasn't himself anymore. I thought if I went I could put my mind to rest, to make the nightmares finally stop." She had that thousand-yard stare, like she was reliving it all. "I told him I killed you but... here you are and here I am. Guess it was meant to be, in some twisted, fucked up kinda way." They were gradually traversing from desert to an area with more vegetation. Beyond the tumbleweeds and cacti there were grass and trees. Patches of sun-bleached grass but grass nonetheless. She began picking up the pace, moving ahead of Abby and Lev, and Jack seemed excited by her sudden energy.

Fuck the sun and fuck Nevada.

“May not have had time to put all the bodies somewhere…” Especially during the early stages of the outbreak. If outposts or camps were overrun, time was of the essence and getting as far away from the infected as possible was crucial. She’d heard some of the horror stories from her dad about how fast towns had fallen. How fast cities had been erased. How fast the world had almost ceased to exist. As terrifying as it was to navigate a cordyceps infested world like they were, the early days sounded borderline unsurvivable.

As they walked, Abby slung her pack over her shoulder so that she could pull her water out of it and take a sip. It was continuing to heat up but thankfully they weren’t quite tiptoeing the line of dangerous heat yet and she was hopeful it remained that way. After another sip, she poured a small bit into the palm of her hand and rubbed it over her face. Another small palm full goes onto the back of her neck before she caps her bottle up and slips it back into her backpack. It’s refreshing and reinvigorates her with a fresh batch of energy to carry on.

Navigating through the cars, Abby was careful to not catch anything on any of the rusted metal that was jutting out in their path as she listened to Ellie continue to speak. A cordyceps infection wasn’t the only way to die and getting a nasty cut from one of these without access to proper care and antibiotics sometimes was just as much of a death sentence. The mention of what seemed like a spore city made her cringe but bringing up Chernobyl was also a nice link. She’d read about it and knew the details but admittedly hadn’t thought about it much. “Yeah I know of it.,” she mumbles out as she hops over a hood with ease and plants her feet back firmly on the ground. “Med supplies or not, you wouldn’t find me within 50 fuckin miles of a place like that… at least not on purpose.” That last part was an addendum as it dawned on her that if nests really were a thing, she’d likely been closer to them than she realized.

Abby hops over another hood and stumbles forward after having to hop off a little hastier than expected to avoid keeping her hand on the heated metal any longer than it needed to be. “Are you sure this lakeIs even still there? Hasn’t dried up? I know mother nature took her shit back after everything but finding any water in a place like this feels suspect.”