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peterman-spideyparker · 5 months

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my tears ricochet (Matt Murdock x fem!Reader) 3/5

Author’s Note: Hi! This part is more angst, I’m sorry. I promise things will turn up eventually! I wouldn't put everyone through all this angst for nothing! Enjoy!

Summary: You're alive, but barely. Matt blames himself.

Warnings: Angst, unresolved feelings, canon-typical violence, vague wound descriptions/unconsciousness, friends arguing, post-season two/pre-Defenders era Matt, swearing

Other Characters: Foggy Nelson

Word Count: 1,193

Matt’s thankful for every beep on the monitor that he hears, but he can’t help but hate it. The robotic, cold monotone mocks him. It announces his shortcomings, his failures. He wasn’t strong enough, fast enough, good enough to save you or Elektra that night. Elektra’s dead, and the doctors aren’t exactly sure where you stand. You made it through surgery, a long surgery, but there was a lot of trauma and blood loss. A waiting game, they said. He’s always hated that phrase. Nothing attached to those words has ever been fun, only painful. And now it’s attached to you and your life.

He remembers when he first met you at Columbia. You had walked by him in the hall, your pomegranate and honey shampoo catching his attention. When he went into his next class about a half hour later, you were there, second row to the front, just off center to the right. Matt’s feet led him to the open seat next to you, using his cane to push the guy with the expensive cologne away from the coveted free seat to your right. He gave you a small smile as he sat down, and he could tell you did the same, softly introducing yourself and making small talk until class began. It took you a while to tell him about your family and your background, and he could tell that you were nervous as you did, waiting for some kind of shoe to drop when you finished—maybe that you expected him to ask for money or if you could help him get a job somewhere. You didn’t expect him to appreciate you for you, only what you could potentially do for him. When he gave you a smile and cracked a joke, saying that he still wouldn’t let you pay for ice cream next time you guys walked through Central Park, you let out a little laugh. His heart skipped a beat when he heard that, how your posture relaxed, and when he sensed how you smiled back at him. After that, it was always you, him, and Foggy, and if Foggy wasn't around, Matt would manage to find his way to your side—it was a pace he never wanted to leave. A place that felt like home. Something he hadn’t really felt since his dad died.

But when Matt met Elektra, everything changed and he pushed you away. Part of Matt always thought you’d be there for him—you’re his friend through thick and thin, why wouldn’t you still be there for him? But when that relationship went up in flames and Matt needed refuge to lick his wounds and work through his feelings, you were long gone, tired of waiting for him to come around, hurt by the last person—the only person—that you thought you could really, truly trust. And now you’re here, barely hanging on because you re-entered his life at the wrong time.

He's a real fucking lucky charm, isn't he?

Matt leans back in the uncomfortable hospital chair, letting out a long breath as he lets a new wave of shame roll over him. Foggy puts a hand on his shoulder, giving him a reassuring squeeze.

“Two people I love are hurt because of me,” Matt croaks, hanging his head. “Elektra is dead, and (Y/N/N) is barely hanging on.”

“We’d be in worse trouble if you didn’t do any of what you did on the rooftop,” Foggy tries to console him. Matt’s still surprised he’s in the same room as him after how he has treated his best friend and partner.

“I ruin everything I touch, huh?” He angrily wipes away a tear.

“Matt, this was beyond anything anyone could have imagined. It—.”

“It’s the best if I stay out of all your lives. That way, no one else gets hurt. I won’t let anyone else down.”

“Matt, don’t be obtuse, that’s ridiculous.”

“But it’d be effective.” He sniffles and stands, putting his glasses back on. “It’s the way it has to be. It’s the only way I can keep people safe.”

“So what’s gonna happen when (Y/N/N) wakes up and wants to talk to you? ‘Sorry, he’s ghosting everyone because he’s going full Batman broody.’ She’ll need you—you were with her that night, you’re the only person who knows what kind of trauma she went through—.”

“And that’s exactly why I should leave!” he snaps. “You heard the doctor—she barely had enough blood in her to keep her organs in salvageable when she got here, and the blade absolutely shredded her internally. It barely missed her spinal column. She could have been paralyzed if it was a half inch over. It’s better for everyone if I disappear. She doesn’t have to see me and remember anything from that rooftop or remember everything I’ve done to her.”

“You don’t think she’d think about that without seeing you? And what about when she sees her scars? What about when she needs to talk to someone, to have a shoulder to cry on, because everything from that night haunts her? Who’s she gonna call when she has nightmares? No one knows what she went through but her and you. You can’t leave her alone again.”

“I didn’t leave her the first time.”

“Bullshit. You left. You chose not to stay. You cut her out cold. You weren’t around to see it, but that’s when she changed. That’s when she closed herself off, started to do everything her parents wanted. That’s when she lost herself. It was heartbreaking to watch that, Matt, but you wouldn’t know, because even after Elektra, you didn’t care enough to rebuild that bridge and see the damage you did.”

Matt’s voice is cold and low when he speaks next: “You have no idea how much I cared.”

“You say you care, but you’re so ready to let her suffer alone.”

“You don’t have a goddamn right to say shit like that. She didn’t want to see me.”

“How do you know? Did you try?”

“Foggy—.”

“There was still half of the school year left for you to fix things. You didn’t even try to—.”

“We’re done talking about this.”

“Right. Walking away because it’s easier and because it didn’t go your way. God forbid you actually have to address your feelings!”

“Excuse me?”

“You couldn’t juggle school and Elektra, so you were ready to throw it all away. Hell, you almost did. This time, you couldn't juggle your job and Elektra, so you walked away from the people who needed and relied on you. Now, when that fell apart even further, you’re walking away from the consequences and once more, the people that need you most." Foggy scoffs, venom dripping from his words. "You know what? It is probably best that you’re not here when she wakes up, because if you’re not even the person I called my best friend for years, you’re sure as shit not who she loved in college.” Foggy grabs his things as he walks toward the door, leaving Matt alone with his consequences that weigh him down like cement bricks in the Hudson.

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sydnikov · 1 year

Note

saw you were asking about requests and if that’s still the case: something hurt/comfort where the reader is comforting svech when he finds out he has have to surgery, and helping him through the recovery process.

either established relationship or a feelings realization maybe? whatever you’re most comfortable with.

In Five || A. Svechnikov

Author: Sydney / @sydnikov

Pairing: Andrei Svechnikov/Reader

Word Count: 6.7k

Warnings: Cursing (mild this time), sports injury (torn ACL/ligament), steamy kissing, bad proofreading, so much angst, but don’t worry there’s fluff at the end

A/N: I really tortured myself writing this. The emotions are still high, I hate the Bruins (sorry Bruins followers), and I hope you guys get all the feels as you read this. In all seriousness though, THANK YOU to whoever sent this in because it got me out of my writer’s block. (p.s. I’ve now opened requests to get me more inspired… so go submit stuff!!) anyways, I hope y’all enjoy 😁

It wasn’t bad. Not at first glance—at least that’s what you told yourself from the stands, clenching your fingers so hard they left nail indentations in the middle of your palms.

But you knew. You knew your best friend because you could read him like a book. Every twitch of the eye, a quirk of his lips, they all were a glimpse into his mind of what he was thinking. Andrei is your favorite book, and you just reached the chapter where everything starts to fall apart.

He was trying to hide it, the pain he was feeling from the quick stumble he took at center ice. It was just a small muscle pull, though, right? That’s what you thought, but then you saw him skate to the bench, favoring his right knee with the expression of one who knew he messed up.

Andrei played the rest of the game, but as you headed down to the locker room you couldn’t fight the feeling of dread steadily creeping up your heart.

“Hey,” you greeted a few of the girls leaning against the wall, waiting for their significant others to finish interviews. You were sort of an outcast in that manner, because Andrei wasn’t yours… No matter how much you wanted him to be. “Has he come out yet?” you asked.

The solemn shake of their heads gave you your answer, and you didn’t even bother trying to hide your worry when you leaned back against the wall with them, anxiously chewing your lip. The time came and went, seconds turned to minutes and minutes turned to an hour of watching the other Hurricanes players come and go—none of them the man you wanted, no needed to see.

It was times like these where you questioned how you got here, waiting on Andrei like a girlfriend but being firmly stuck in the friend zone. He had never made you feel like anything less because of it, but you felt it aching in your very bones when he’d flash a smile to the girls at the bars you frequented, or when he’d ask you whether the blue shirt or the red shirt would look better on a date with the cute girl he met at a shopping mall.

It was funny, too, because you hadn’t met him any differently than he’s met the other girls he’s taken out. It was at a bar, actually, one in downtown Raleigh not too far of a drive from PNC Arena, and you were nursing a drink with a few friends from work when the place exploded in activity because players from the Carolina Hurricanes had just arrived.

You didn’t ask “who?” like one of your coworkers asked, because you loved hockey and went to a decent amount of games, and you could confidently answer which player had which number. In one game you’d even managed to snag glass seats, and that had been the best night of your life.

Never had you actually met any of the players, though. Odd, considering you had always made it a habit to go out at least once on the weekends, but one fateful Saturday night was when you finally were able to get a good look at the players outside of their hockey uniforms. You were content to merely watch them from a distance, but soon you realized they were just like any other regular bar patrons and soon lost interest in eyeing them a few tables back.

It was as you were ordering another drink that you caught from the corner of your eyes a body settling down on your right, too close to be convenient because there were other open seats far from you. You hadn’t been looking for a hookup that night, though, so you figured playing hard-to-get might ward off any men looking for a quick one-night stand.

“Hi,” the man suddenly spoke, accent too thick to be attributed to intoxication. A foreigner? You met his eyes, your gaze colliding with warm brown that reminded you of the hot chocolate you’d buy to keep your hands warm in the winter. “Drink not up to standards?” he said, leaning against the bar counter to get a better look at you.

Your brain had short-circuited, because wow this guy was good-looking, and it only took another minute of analyzing his features with your tipsy brain to realize you were talking to Andrei Svechnikov, or rather, he was talking to you.

“Not much of a drinker to begin with.” you had replied smoothly, shocking even yourself because talking to attractive men had never been a strong suit. “What about you? What do you drink?”

You and Andrei, who had later introduced himself and to which you responded with a cheeky quirk of your lips, “I know”, had hit it off immediately. You talked for hours that night, unable to shake the undeniable chemistry you had between you until one of your friends ran into you slurring her words and stumbling in place that signaled your outing time was up.

You exchanged numbers that night, and unbeknownst to either of you, your hearts were beating in tandem for days after, and brains spiraling with ‘what ifs’ and ‘I think they like me’. Unfortunately… It had never gone beyond that, because communication was hard to begin with for Andrei without the added challenge of having to speak English, and well–past relationships have made it a little hard for you to put your trust in people.

So, here you were. Confidently able to say that Andrei was one of your closest friends who you just so happened to be in love with, but knowing it would never go beyond that. You’d rather have Andrei in your life as a friend than not at all, right?

That’s what you told yourself when you finally heard the familiar sound of Andrei’s deep voice from the locker room, coming closer and closer as the distance between you decreased.

“No, no,” Andrei said, firmly, finally making his appearance. “No hospital. I feel fine.”

“Son, you’re favoring your knee. You need to go, now.” Head Coach Rod Brind’Amour marched in right behind the left winger. “I let you wait out the rest of the game, that’s what we agreed.”

Andrei remained in place, stubbornly glaring at the older man with the two looking like raging bulls getting ready to charge the other.

“‘Drei?” you finally found the courage to speak, hesitantly stepping forward and breaking the heated glare between the two men. You didn’t even notice until now that the athletic trainer was waiting behind them, phone held to his ear. “What’s going on?”

Immediately, the Russian’s eyes whipped towards you and he stepped back from Rod immediately. He said your name in slight confusion, even embarrassment at being caught in the metaphorical pissing match between him and his coach.

“I—” he licked his lips, struggling to find the words in English. “My knee. It is… Messed up.”

“Messed up?” you said. “What do you mean?”

That’s when Rod popped in. “He took a bit of a stumble on the ice, it didn’t look too serious at first but his knee is hurting.” He turned to glare at Andrei. “He can barely stand on it.”

Andrei clenched his jaw, attempting to shift his weight onto his right knee, but he could barely manage to stand before his face twisted up in pain and he had to use the wall to balance himself.

You stepped up to the Russian, worriedly wringing your hands together before stilling them to grab your stubborn friend's arm. “You’re too stubborn for your own good,” you smiled wryly, attempting to mask your worry with a small tease.

Andrei towered over you, but his size had always made you feel safe rather than scared, and that applied to now, roo. “I am fine, darling,” he murmured the pet name in Russian, his voice matching the softness of his eyes he could never hide when looking at you. Sometimes he’d speak in his native tongue in front of you because he knew you didn’t understand, and the scowl on your face afterward always made him laugh.

But, even though he was definitely not fine, he could barely take having to bother his teammates and coaches with his issues, nonetheless you. He didn't want you to see him so weak, at least not like this.

“My knee is just stiff. Sore.” he shot a look towards Rod, who up until this moment had been staring at the wall to give the two of you privacy. “It is not that bad, I am sure of it.”

“Then you’ll go to the hospital to get it checked out since it’s ‘not that bad’.” Rod deadpanned, finally breaking the bubble of tension that always seemed to surround you and Andrei when together.

“I agree with him, Andrei,” you said, placing another hand on his arm to gain his attention. “You need to get it looked at, at the very least.”

You gave him your best puppy eyes, peering up at him as he stood over you. You could see the hesitation on his face, knowing his protesting was mostly because he hated bothering others with his problems.

“If not for your career, do it for me?” you said, attempting to bring back his smile by poking him in the chest. “Please?”

A moment of silence, you staring at Andrei and Andrei staring at you…

“—fine.”

He agreed, but his knee was not fine as he said it was. It was bad because it wasn’t actually his knee that had been causing his pain, but rather a torn ligament connected to the knee that turned out to be the ACL in his right leg.

And Andrei was devastated. You weren’t allowed to be in the room with him while they checked him out because he needed an MRI, but Martin and Seth were and it was them who came up to you in the hallway, grim looks on their faces as they broke the news. You could hear the raised voices of both Andrei and Brind’Amour shouting from the room.

You couldn’t see Andrei’s face, but you felt your heart breaking for him anyways as the doctor probably told him how long his recovery would take, the physical therapy he would need to endure, and the amount of time he wouldn’t be able to play hockey for.

“Nine months,” Andrei said, angrily typing away on his phone to his brother, Evgeny, probably. “Maybe six if I am lucky.”

You remained silent, watching him from the kitchen counter at a loss for words. You had offered to drive Andrei home, unofficially taking on the role of caretaker since Martin lived with his girlfriend and Seth was, well… Seth.

Andrei was on the couch, dressed in an old Hurricanes hoodie with shorts, his right leg propped up on a stool wrapped in a temporary cast. His face was flushed, and his hair messy from all the times he had run his hands through it. You knew he was in pain, both mentally and physically, but it really was unfair how he still managed to look so attractive all throughout.

Leg cast and all included.

“Is that what the doctor said?” you asked, finally gaining the courage to speak as you crossed the room. You carefully sat on the couch next to him, not wanting to jostle his leg.

The Russian dropped his phone on his lap, bringing a hand up to rub his eyes before gazing at you with determination. “Yes. But I’m going to be better in five.”

You finally cracked a smile, there’s the ‘Drei you knew and loved, your first one since hearing the news and bringing him back to his house. Andrei couldn’t help but grin, feeling the fondness for you in his heart grow. You were so good to him, and he wasn’t sure how he was going to keep his feelings to himself while you stayed with him.

He wouldn’t lie and say he didn’t mind having you stay with him for the rest of the year, though. Andrei was selfish, and he was also possessive, so he liked having you to himself. He considered Martin and Seth and Sebastian his good friends, his teammates, his bros if you will, but you were his. His best friend, his best girl—you were the only one he wanted, and maybe this new living situation would give him the opportunity to finally tell you.

Andrei just hoped you felt the same. He wouldn’t be able to stand losing you because he couldn’t keep his heart under control.

“Well, you know I’ll be here to help you get through it.” You stated with conviction, reaching over to give his hand a squeeze and your heart beating all the while.

You held your unspoken promise, especially on the day of his surgery a little less than a week after his prognosis. It was an early surgery on a Thursday morning, and you even called off work so you could be at the hospital with him when he woke up.

You already knew most of your friends and family were wondering why you were putting so much effort into caring for someone who was just a friend, and if you were being honest you didn’t have much of an answer to give them. They had a point after all, right?

You and Andrei were just friends. That was it. You may be in love with him (now more than ever), and you definitely omitted that little detail during past conversations, but still. Friends move in with each other to help recover from big injuries all the time.

This time with Andrei was no different, and you had to repeat this mantra over and over again in your head as the anesthesia slowly wore off and his eyes were so soft and droopy, mumbling his words and his accent was thicker than ever and your heart was beating so fast it was going to jump out of your chest–

“Thank you for being here with me,” Andrei slurred, gazing up at you with those warm, half-lidded eyes.

You grabbed his hand, gently, lacing your fingers together and squeezing once. “There’s nowhere I’d rather be.”

Andrei squeezed back once before losing consciousness, his eyes closing and his head lolling back against the pillow. “That’s normal, right?” You asked the nurse, who was busy writing on a clipboard. She only had to look up once to take in the situation before responding.

“Everyone responds to anesthesia differently. Your boyfriend is just one of many who has to sleep it off.”

You felt your stomach drop, your eyes widening only slightly at the nurse’s casual use of ‘boyfriend’. Of course, that’s what you and your best friend must have looked like to her, right? You, holding Andrei’s hand, and he gazing up at you like you hung the stars and the moon.

It was probably just the drugs in his system. Definitely.

Andrei was cleared to leave the hospital the next day, and you heard the news from the group chat you, Martin, and Seth were in. It was comically titled, ‘Andrei’s bobble-leg’, courtesy of Seth, of course, and it was essentially just the three of you coordinating who has Andrei duty on the days you weren’t able to be with him.

Unfortunately, the day he was able to go home was the day you had to be back at work, so Martin and Seth left their morning skate early to drive him home. And so, here you were now, finally off from work and driving down Capital Blvd road to Andrei’s home.

Martin, Seth, and surprisingly quite a few of the players were already there when you arrived. You knocked on the front door before letting yourself in, curiosity written all over your face as you walked closer to all the noise.

Happy shouts of your name rang across the room when you appeared in the doorway, and your face flushed red in embarrassment at all the eyes suddenly upon you. “Hey guys,” you said, eyes scanning around the room looking for the only man you really cared about.

Finally, you found him. Andrei was seated on his couch, leg safely propped up on the ottoman and wrapped in tight bandages and a brace. He had an Xbox controller in his hand, the video game he was previously playing on pause.

“How was work?” Sebastian asked from the right of Andrei, also holding a controller. There were several bags of chips laid out across the ottoman, and both men were currently snacking.

It was probably against their diet, but you weren’t going to be the one to tell them that, especially Andrei.

“Work,” you finally responded, rather dry. Most of the population, including you, unfortunately, were not lucky enough to play the sport they loved as their job.

A few chuckles and about an hour later, everyone began packing up to leave. Somehow, you had gravitated toward Andrei during this time of catching up with his teammates and ended up on the couch next to him, on his left. His arm was casually strewn across the back of the couch, fingertips playing with the ends of your hair and occasionally brushing against your neck, sending shivers up your spine.

You liked to pretend it was just you harboring feelings for him sometimes because it was less scary, but every day that fantasy was getting harder and harder to live… Especially when you would turn your head to catch a peek at his side profile, and he was already staring as if knowing the effect he had on you.

“How’s your leg feeling?” You asked once you heard the front door shut, signaling the exit of the last guest. It was silent other than the TV playing softly in the background, it having changed from Call of Duty to a rerun of Friends some time ago.

Andrei sighed, attempting to hide his emotional turmoil with a smile. Bringing his arm down from the back of the couch, he tentatively rested it on your shoulders, gauging your reaction before bringing you to his side. He’s been an affectionate person since you first met him, so you were used to the random hand-holding or hugs, but it still never failed to make you long for something more.

He patted his leg gently, careful not to disturb it from where it rested. “Hurts. But that is to be expected, no?”

“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean it can’t suck.” You said, your voice nothing more than a murmur. You rested your head against his shoulder, tugging at a loose string on one of your sleeves.

The hockey player didn’t respond, instead, he placed one of his big hands on your shoulder and squeezed, a sign he at least heard your attempt at reassurance. Time passed quickly like this; Friends continued playing, as did your position tucked into Andrei’s side.

You felt at peace, and while he didn’t say it with words you could tell the Russian beside you felt the same. Hopefully, the next few months of healing will just fly by.

And they did, at first. But even though the Carolina Hurricanes were missing one of their star players, the games must go on. His teammates went out on the ice, each and every one of them feeling Andrei’s absence keenly.

You felt it too, as the Boston Bruins scored their fourth and final goal of the night, winning the game in a shootout. The hope immediately dissipated within your chest and in rose frustration and disappointment to take its place, but you were sure that was nothing compared to what Andrei was feeling beside you.

The entirety of the game, your hand was wrapped in Andrei’s, his squeezing down when the Bruins scored their first goals in regulation and releasing to clap when we were finally able to tip the puck in. Then the team came back in the third period—you weren’t sure what Brind’Amour had said to the boys during the second intermission, but whatever he said had worked.

The Hurricanes had been controlling the puck in the Bruins’ zone, something they had failed to do in the first two periods. They were passing, aiming, shooting, scoring, first by Skjei in the corner of the net and then by Aho on a tight pass from Martinook that slipped right past Swayman’s shoulder.

It was looking so good because Andersen had finally gotten his head in the game and the defense had stepped up, but then we went past overtime scoreless, and then to the fateful shootout.

You had felt the anxiousness from every fan in the arena. If anyone was an avid Hurricanes watcher, including you, they knew shootouts had never been this hockey team’s strong suit.

Andrei’s frustration was palpable next to you. His left leg was bouncing up and down for the entirety, and you could see the muscles tensing and untensing in his right leg as if he had wanted to move. It only got worse when Brind’Amour sent Burns out first, something that had you, Andrei, and every single Hurricanes fan in the arena watching on in confusion.

“No, no,” you had heard the Russian mutter from next to you. “Why is he sending Brent? He needs to send Fishy, or Turbo—” the words then died in his mouth as Brent missed as everyone knew would happen, and sadly Teuvo, who went out next, did too.

Unfortunately for us, the Bruins had good goal-scorers. Coyle had slipped the puck past Andersen, as did DeBrusk, and then it was done. Game over. Just like that.

You finally turned to face the man next to you just as his head fell into his hands, tugging at his hair and messing up the gel you forced him to put on because no, Andrei, you can’t show up with bedhead. He was muttering words you couldn’t understand, most likely the creative Russian curses you heard him say on occasion.

If this game had been hard to watch for you, you couldn’t even begin to imagine how Andrei was feeling.

“‘Drei,” you said, tentatively. “Are you—”

“No. Don’t.” He snapped, rubbing at his eyes before unsteadily rising to stand. His right leg shook, but he refused the arm you held out and didn’t dare to look in your eyes to see what look they held. As he tried to reach for his crutches, his leg buckled from underneath him, and this time you ignored the hurt of him lashing out to put your arms around his back to steady him.

“Can we— Is it okay if…” he struggled to speak, his accent thick with emotion as he struggled to find the words. Andrei had never been good at communicating when upset, literally, because everything always came to him in Russian naturally, and this time was no different. “Leave? Can we leave?”

“What about—”

“No. No team. No reporters.” he said, digging his fingers into the back of his jersey you were wearing.

You softened, gently maneuvering your body so you could face him better. Now you were chest-to-chest, your arms still wrapped around his midsection to keep him steady. “What do you want then, Andrei?”

“Home,” he murmured. “Home. With you.” he wasn’t able to convey it right at this moment, but his heart was pounding as he said the words. To him, to anyone in his culture, this was the closest he could come to expressing his love without outright saying it.

He found he wasn’t scared about finally admitting this out loud, either, because you were his home. Everything about you was home because he wouldn’t dare let anyone else except his brother and mama see him so vulnerable.

Of course, you were oblivious. He normally found it cute, but right now he wanted to shake you because all he wanted right now was to hold you in his arms and kiss you as he found comfort in your presence.

“Okay,” you finally whispered, the double meaning of his words flying right over your head. But something emboldened you, gave you the courage to raise your hands to his shoulders so you could reach up and press a gentle kiss to his cheek, right next to the corner of his lips.

“Let’s go home, ‘kay?”

The ride home was silent, comforting even despite the rough loss the team took. By the time you finally managed to get to the car, the two of you were struggling to keep your eyes open and also keep your hands off each other. Andrei tangling your hands together, you gently leaning against his side…

It was all surface-level, neither wanting to speak the words out loud but yet not wanting to sacrifice the innocent, physical intimacy you found with each other. This was all racing through your mind the closer you got to Andrei’s house, and you were almost positive he was thinking the same.

Andrei, in fact, was actually contemplating the one-hundred different ways he was going to kiss you, if he ever gets to that stage with you. He was currently facing the window but left enough room at the corner of his eyes to take little peeks at you, only fuelling his determination to do something about the tension between you.

And, yeah, maybe he was hyperfixating on you to distract him from the fact his team lost and if he was down on the ice he knew he would have been able to fix it, been able to score. His emotions had skyrocketed since the game ended, and everything felt so much more intense than usual.

Maybe that was just the pain medication he was on, though…

After you finally arrived at Andrei’s house, it took a little bit over an hour to finally get yourselves ready for bed. The problem? Neither of you were ready for any sort of sleeping, and you both knew it.

Currently, Andrei was leaning back into the couch, his right leg once again propped up on the ottoman and a blanket haphazardly thrown over his lap. You were next to him, legs comfortably tucked underneath you with a few inches of space left between you and Andrei.

There was half a family-sized bag of Doritos in between you that he said was in his pantry, so you were both currently snacking on them while watching the NHL channel. It was quiet other than for the TV, for neither of you were speaking a word for fear of breaking the thick silence between you.

The tension was so thick you could have cut it with a knife, and what made it even worse is that you didn’t think Andrei even noticed. He was wrapped up in his phone, most likely watching the game recap because his face was twisted up and his whole body seemed tense.

You shoved another Dorito in your mouth. Fuck. You were so, so screwed. You needed to get it together before you said something you regretted, especially since you had temporarily become his roommate.

Finally, you couldn’t take it anymore and spoke. “Andrei?” you said, hesitantly looking towards him.

“What?” he responded after a moment, not taking his eyes away from his phone.

Now you felt uncomfortable. Before, in the arena, he was looking at you like he loved you, but now he was snappy and tense and worse than normal because his team lost without him being able to play.

Picking at the skin around your nails, you attempted scooting down the couch before just giving up and moving to stand. “Nevermind,” you said with a mutter, feeling withdrawn and defeated. If he didn’t want to open up to you, fine, but you didn’t deserve to have him take out his frustration on you.

At least, not like this.

Andrei didn’t even respond, furthering your feelings of bitterness towards the man you had so many feelings for. Wrapping your hands in the long sleeves of his hoodie you were still wearing, you shuffled down the hallway and into the guest room you claimed as your own.

You could still hear the TV playing in the background, but that was the only sound in the otherwise silent house. You blinked the frustration from your eyes and crawled underneath the bed sheets, scrolling on your phone until you fell into a dreamless sleep.

Hours passed of restless tossing and turning, and then suddenly it was three in the morning and you were being woken up by countless knocks on your door.

“The fuck?” you muttered sleepily, crawling out of the cocoon of blankets you were in to answer your door. For whatever reason, your sleep-addled brain wasn’t able to comprehend that it was probably Andrei on the other side. “Andrei?” you said, confused as the Russian leaned against the wall.

He looked rather sheepish, slightly embarrassed. His hair was ruffled, and the TV was still playing so he probably fell asleep on the couch.

“Oh, shit,” you said, suddenly realizing that he was probably here because he needed help. Of course. That was all it was. “I’m such an idiot, sorry,” you breathed, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes as you stepped out of the room. “C’mon, I’ll help you get in bed.”

Andrei stopped you with a hand, opening and closing his mouth as he struggled to find words. “No, that is not it.” he finally settled on.

Okay, now you were curious. “Huh?”

“I am sorry.”

What?

“For what?” You asked, staring up at him wide-eyed. You were honestly too tired for a heavy conversation like this so you were struggling to keep up.

Andrei swallowed the lump in his throat. His leg was currently throbbing, but it was nothing compared to the throbbing in his heart as he looked at you. Your hair was all over the place in the most endearing way, and your eyes were droopy in a way that told him you were just sleeping.

“For not treating you right, for—” He cut himself off, sighing in frustration. Why was English so complicated? If only you understood English. “English is stupid.” he muttered, then released a big sigh and steeled his resolve.

Stepping closer, he brought the two of you chest-to-chest and brought his arms to cage you against the wall.

And you, you meanwhile, let out the most embarrassing noise possible when he suddenly got close, and then Andrei was everywhere and nowhere all at once. His body was trapping you in, and while your senses were on overdrive you strangely enough didn't feel like fleeing.

“Andrei?” You squeaked, sinking further into the wall if it was possible. Your eyes dropped, finding the center of his chest to firmly set your gaze. His eyes were so dark, intimidating, and swimming with an intention you were nervous to find out. “What are you doing?”

“Look at me, please?” A large hand smoothed against your skin, gently tilting your head up. Your eyes automatically locked with his, and the emotion on his face had you gasping. “There’s my girl,” He said.

Okay, yeah, your body was frozen, the breath leaving your lungs in a torrent of sharp breaths. This… This was new territory, for the both of you, and you couldn’t help but wonder how Andrei looked so calm while you looked like a startled deer—an unattractive one, at that.

He started speaking, heart thundering while the words poured from his throat like warm, melted butter. “I’m in love with you. You are my person, I knew from the very first moment I saw you in that bar so many months ago. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner, but tonight, having you next to me… You’ve always been next to me, and I’ve taken advantage of that. Darling, I want to make up for all the times I never kissed you senseless, and I want nothing more than to have you as mine, and I yours.”

Your favorite music, your favorite voice, words so filled with emotion and yet you couldn’t even understand him as he looked at you like you were his sun, and he a plant desperately seeking your warmth. Andrei had only spoken in Russian a handful of times in front of you – most being curses or quips exchanged with Pyotr – and never had he spoken so much of it.

You’d always thought Russian was rather harsh. The sharp whistles, clicks of the tongue, hissing of certain words; you admired anyone who could speak it, but it had never been an easy language to listen to you. But, when Andrei spoke Russian… It was soft, almost musical, and expressive to the point you felt like you could understand the very subject at hand if you thought about it. Maybe you were just biased, but you swore you fell more in love with him every time he spoke it.

“No words?” he said, a grin on his face that made you realize you’d maybe been silent for a little too long.

You opened your mouth to speak, but nothing came out. You were breathless— literally.

“I show you, then, what I said,” Andrei brushed his fingers against the side of your neck, almost fully grasping it as he gently brought you closer. You had no complaints, though. “Yes?”

He said your name again, looking at you with those warm eyes so full of depth they hypnotized you and had you nodding yes, almost instinctively.

Andrei sucked in a breath, tightening his grip on you only slightly as he slid his hand around the back of your head. Your lips were slightly parted, shiny and red from where you’d been biting them previously, and that cupid’s bow that always drove him crazy when you smiled was quirked upwards as if it was asking him to kiss you.

He waited a moment, stared into your eyes, his fingers merely a whisper of a touch against your cheek, and finally took the leap. The first touch of his lips was shy, testing, but then you whimpered with need and tugged at his shirt to bring him closer and Andrei had an internal moment of fuck it where he realized just how crazy he was for you. Pressing you into the wall, he nipped at your bottom lip and was granted entrance with a gasp drowned out by the sound of his own groan. He put every ounce of his passion and love and relief into this kiss as if trying to convince you to stay because this, this here? It was worth it—you were worth it. Fireworks, electricity, butterflies, and everything all at once was igniting in your gut and caused you to let out a pathetic whimper the moment your lips finally detached. He was clearly skilled at this, wholeheartedly controlling the moment as his lips left a trail of kisses down your neck, nipping at the skin that met your collarbone.

“‘Drei,” you gasped, clutching the hair right at his scalp – when did you move your arms around his neck? – as he sucked a mark under your jaw. “Hm?” he hummed, not stopping with his ministrations.

“What,” you said, throat dry and raspy as you tried to speak over the sound of your beating heart. “What did you say— oh,”

Andrei’s grin was almost feral as he drew the beautiful sound from your lips. “Found it,” he said, voice full of pride as he brushed his fingers against the newly-found sweet spot on your neck.

Finally, you couldn’t take it anymore and grabbed his head in between your hands, bringing his head to yours so you could press a quick, affectionate kiss to his lips before pulling back to gather your thoughts because you had a lot of them.

Andrei pouted the moment you pulled him away but respected your boundaries and merely rested his hands on your waist to keep you close. He said your name gently, his tone bordering on questioning. “Did I… Did I push too far?” he said.

“No, no, not at all,” you rushed to correct him, already having caught the guilt in his eyes. “I just want to know what you said earlier, before you— you know.” It felt almost taboo to say ‘before you kissed the life out of me’, not wanting to break this delicate balance you found yourself in.

The Russian hummed, already catching on to your bashfulness and deciding to tease you for it. “No, darling, I think you need to remind me,” he brought a hand up to loosely wrap around your neck, the contact keeping you grounded. “On what I did before what?”

“Andrei,” you said, immediately dropping eye contact as your face flushed red. “You’re being a tease,” you muttered.

He dipped his head, brushing your lips together as he spoke. You felt his breath against your skin and had the sudden desire to taste him again. “I can do this all night, but the question is can you?”

You gave up at that because the moment he spoke he drew back and you couldn’t stand the feeling of not having him close to you anymore. “Andrei,” you sucked in a breath. “What did you say before you kissed me? In Russian?”

“I love you,” Andrei didn’t miss a beat as he crept his other hand farther up your waist. “That is mostly what I said. And more.”

“More?” you squeaked out as he drew closer.

The hockey player hummed, then suddenly stepped back and grabbed your hand. “Much more,” he confirmed. “Now—bed?” Short, sweet, and to the point Andrei always was…

Just one of the many things you loved about him.

Twenty minutes later you lay in Andrei’s bed, swallowed in another one of his shirts, and curled into his chest. His arm was wrapped around your waist, stroking gentle circles into the skin exposed to the room. It was silent, null except for the steady hum of the air conditioning and the gentle breathing of two humans reveling in each other’s presence.

“I miss it,” he said, suddenly speaking up. You lifted your head only slightly from his chest, already missing the sound of his heartbeat lulling you to sleep. “Hockey. And I miss playing with my brothers.”

Brothers. Your heart broke at hearing the longing in his voice, because every single player on the team he played with was his family, in one way or another, and now he was being forced to watch them play the sport he had no chance of helping them win.

You couldn’t even begin to imagine the pain he was feeling.

“I know, Andrei,” was what you finally settled on. Your voice was soft, gentle, trying to convey your understanding with actions rather than words. You drew tiny circles on his chest, taking pride in the way goosebumps rose in your fingers’ wake. “I know.”

He tightened his grip on you, holding you closer to him as if he were afraid you’d disappear. “Will you be here?” he suddenly asked, frowning. Andrei knew he was being slightly irrational, feeling so vulnerable, but he really hadn’t felt secure in himself since first tearing his ACL.

What was his purpose in life, really, if not to play hockey and have you with him?

You hadn’t yet spoken, so he quickly clarified. “In the morning. And all the mornings after.”

A smile broke across your face as you buried your head into his chest. You felt the rumble of his chest as he chuckled, and then he shifted to where you were laying on top of his chest so he could see your face. “All the mornings, huh?” you asked, feeling bashful.

Andrei grinned, his tongue poking out from behind his teeth, knowing the effect he had on you. “Every one,” he replied. “If you will have me.”

“There’s nothing I want more.”

And you meant it, truly, with every fiber of your being. The next months were going to be rough, the ones where you’d have to be there for Andrei as he watched his team ultimately compete and fall through in the playoffs especially.

But you knew the two of you could do it. Andrei was nothing if not committed, even through all the arguments, tears, and emotional breakdowns, you were there for each other through the long haul.

And Andrei, meanwhile, after many difficult months down the road, had the biggest smile on his face as the doctors told him it was a miracle.

Because he had healed from his ACL injury in five.

fin

A/N: Before my medical professionals come at me, YES I KNOW acl injuries take up to a year to recover from almost all of the time, but for the sake of this fic just pls ignore that little fact 😭 in all seriousness though, I can’t wait till our favorite Russian gets to play again bc I miss him sm. As always, please leave likes, reblogs, and comments. Ily all <33

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gotham-ruaidh · 6 months

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Little Bit Better Than I Used To Be

Catch up: Chapter 1 (Starry Eyes) || Chapter 2 (Save Our Souls) || Chapter 3 (Dancing On Glass)|| Chapter 4 (Merry-Go-Round)|| Backstage (1) || Backstage (2) || Chapter 5 (Danger)|| Backstage (3) || Chapter 6A (Love Walked In) || Chapter 6B (Without You) || Backstage (4) || Chapter 7 (Stick To Your Guns) || Chapter 8 (Time For Change) || Backstage (5) || Chapter 9 (Take Me To The Top) || Backstage (6) || Chapter 10 (Home Sweet Home) || Backstage (7) || Chapter 11a (Nightrain) || Chapter 11b (Nothing Else Matters) || Chapter 12a (Handle With Care) || Chapter 12b (I’m So Tired of Being Lonely) || Chapter 13a (Angel) || Chapter 13b (She’s My Addiction) || Chapter 13c (Patience) ||| Also posted at AO3

Chapter 14A: Where Do We Go Now?

Soundtrack: “Sweet Child O' Mine,” Guns N' Roses, 1987 [click here to listen]

She's got eyes of the bluest skies As if they thought of rain I'd hate to look into those eyes and see an ounce of pain Her hair reminds me of a warm safe place Where as a child I'd hide And pray for the thunder and the rain to quietly pass me by...

Philadelphia || June 1988

Claire pushed her chair back a bit from the desk. Raised her arms. Stretched. Breathed deeply.

Reading for the eighth time the words she’d finally tapped out on the Selectric this morning, after days of rolling them around in her head.

Chief Physician

Boston Medical Center

To Whom It May Concern,

As you may be aware, I am a trauma surgeon at BMC. Twelve months ago I was placed on administrative leave by the BMC, and my medical license was suspended, pending the resolution of BMC’s internal investigation into my conduct. The investigation started by looking into a near-fatal error I committed during a surgery, and then quickly discovered that I had not only been forging prescriptions and stealing painkillers for quite some time, but also developed a severe addition to those painkillers.

As you may also be aware, I did not contest the actions taken by BMC. Subsequently I enrolled in an intensive drug rehabilitation program in North Carolina. I am happy to share that I am almost twelve months clean, having completed the program last December and successfully maintained my sobriety since then.

I have previously communicated to the Board, on several occasions, my sincere regret for what I did and my remorse for the incredible lapse of professional judgment and ethical standards I demonstrated. I repeat those regrets to you now.

Which is, in part, why I am writing you today. I wish to understand what else is required of me to return to work, in any capacity, at BMC.

Making amends for wrongs was something that Claire and Geillis had talked about a lot, during her time at The Ridge. Yes, doing that was a formal part of any 12 Step program.

But it was more than just saying sorry – it required the addict to recognize the wrongs.

To own them. To understand why they had happened, and the impact they had had on others.

Because nothing sounded more inadequate in the English language than the two words, I’m sorry.

But words matter. And this attitude shift was a crucial step on any addict’s road to recovery.

Making amends was something that Claire and Jamie had talked a lot about, too. She had seen him make amends many times, in their short time together – and quite often during their last few weeks on the road, as they traveled city to city for Print’s acoustic tour and Jamie came into contact with many people who had last seen him drunk/rude/high/demanding/hung over/acting like a total asshole during the last (disastrous) tour in ’86.

He made it a point to really talk to each person, to apologize for specific things he remembered doing. No matter if it was the venue manager, or the catering guy, or the lighting guy, or the security guard. I was a dick when I was drunk. I said terrible things. I hurt you. I’m sorry.

Two weeks ago in Chicago, he couldn’t sleep after a fucking incredible show at the old Chicago Theater. The adrenaline buzz after the show so much better than any pills or bourbon or groupie could have given him. He had tossed and turned for hours, until finally, quietly slipping out of their bed and perching in the easy chair in their suite at the Palmer House, watching Claire shift restlessly under the covers without him.

But of course, she knew when something was wrong. She woke, and turned to face him, easing up on one elbow. Watching him back. Giving him space.

When he finally spoke, it was just above a raspy whisper.

“How can you be here, Claire, when all you do is hear me talk about how awful I was to so many people?”

Her heart did break a little bit. “Because I never knew that version of you, Jamie. What I care about is who you are now.”

He sighed, breath ragged. “This shit is so fucking hard.”

“I know, baby.” Somehow she was standing beside him, and blindly he buried his face into the warm skin of her belly. She threaded her fingers in his hair, held him close as his pulse spiked.

“Deep breaths, Jamie. Focus on me. I’m here.”

He had had several panic attacks during the tour. Which could be chalked up to anything – the stress of changing hotels every day, the crush of fans and press that clustered around their tour bus when they arrived in a new city, the women who pulled down their tops in the front row at every concert, the Jack Daniels bottles and little baggies of powder left in his dressing room before the show in Wilkes-Barre.

But instead of smashing to pieces all alone, she sheltered him. He knew when to ask for help. And always found her just in time to crash against her, shaking and crying in bathroom stalls and green rooms and even once on the deserted tour bus. And each time she was so grateful for the psych rotation she’d done in med school that prepared her to help him.

But that didn’t make it any easier.

“Breathe in, Jamie. Think about how much I love you.”

He drew in a deep, sobbing breath.

“That’s right. Now exhale. I’m never going to leave you.”

He exhaled, shoulders shuddering.

“And inhale, Jamie. We can get hamburgers for breakfast again, if you want.”

He inhaled, and she felt a faint smile against her belly.

“That’s right. And out. Think about how amazing our wedding night will be.”

He exhaled. Gently bit the soft, soft skin above her bellybutton. She shivered, and smiled.

“Good. Center on me. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

She counted along with him – twenty four more deep breaths. Caressing his forehead, and kissing his hair, and loving him and loving him and loving him.

Finally when he had calmed down, she crawled back into bed, and he held her so close against him. Kissing her forehead. Whispering endless words of love.

“If I ever fuck up with you, Claire, know I’ll always own it.”

She kissed his eyebrows. “The same for me, Jamie. I’d rather be mad at you than not have you.”

He had said the same words to her this morning. A promise he never tired of repeating. Murmured against her hair when he bent over to kiss her in the bed, body thrumming with energy.

Colum had booked a studio here in Philadelphia for the day, so that the band could lay down recordings of the acoustic tracks they’d played to dozens of sold-out crowds during the tour. With the incredible press from the tour – thanks in no small part to Geordie Ash’s profile in Rolling Stone – and bootlegs in wide circulation, it was time. And for once, the band agreed with the label.

She would join him later, of course. But today she needed the time to herself, to finally write and then mail the letter to Boston.

All because of Jamie.

“You can’t stay in a state of limbo forever, Claire,” he had said one night, meeting her eyes in the bathroom mirror as he gently brushed her shower-wet hair. “And I know we still don’t know where we’ll live when we’re married. But you have the right to know.”

She had sighed, jamming her hands in the deep pockets of the hotel bathrobe. “I don’t want to go back to that life.”

He had set down the hairbrush they shared, slipping his hands into the pockets, pulling her close against him. “I know. But you can’t have that door hanging open, Claire. Whether you open it or close it, you know I support you. But you’re not doing yourself any favors by not knowing.”

She had nodded, and pursed her lips. Smiling just a little as he kissed the shell of her ear.

She blinked, and turned back to the typewriter.

I have been traveling for the past few weeks, and won’t be back to Boston for at least the next month. Although I may not be immediately reachable by mail or telephone, I’m enclosing the contact information for someone who can get any letter or other message to me.

I look forward to hearing from you.

Sincerely,

Dr. Claire Beauchamp

She gently pulled the paper from the typewriter roll. Signed her name. Took a deep breath. Began to address the envelope.

#outlander #outlander fanfic #jamie and claire #little bit better than i used to be

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rebeliz7 · 9 months

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AUGUST - DRABBLE #10

10. Wanda and Natasha

…

The mission is not a complicated one, you’re to infiltrate a military base, hack into a computer, copy the drive and go back home.

Wanda isn’t worried, no one really is, you’re a specialist and working on your own is what you do best. Still, she’s in the room on coms next to your girlfriend as you infiltrate the base just so she can keep an eye on you.

You’re in, you have the drive and you’re on your way out when you go radio silent.

Daisy frantically hacks into the systems again but Wanda---Wanda leaves the Compound immediately.

…

Later, when it’s all said and done, she can’t stop shaking as the doctors take you away on a gurney. She’s terrified.

Rhodey is facing martial court for keeping an open line with the Avengers, and Ross is hellbent on gaining the upper hand, and it’s all because Wanda destroyed a military base in search of you.

She found you unconscious, two bullet wounds on your body and she lost it. No, she didn’t kill anyone but she could have--she certainly wanted to.

Her hands are shaking, even as Natasha drags her away and gets her to gently enter the shower in their room. Blood and water mix together on the white marble floor of the shower and her hands shake harder. There was so much blood---you were bleeding so much.

…

She sits outside of your room in the Medbay after you come out of surgery for the rest of the night. Natasha, Steve and Tony are gone, trying to contain the mess she made but she can barely think about any of that.

You could have died.

You could have died before she found you, and you could have died on that operating table.

You could have died, and she can’t even fathom a universe where you don’t exist.

She has to watch Daisy lay beside you through the large glass window, but she swallows down that pain because she’s aware of the pain she could be feeling right now and how much worse it’d be.

You wake up around eleven am the next morning, and Wanda can finally breathe. She retreats to her bedroom and finally cries, although she refuses to truly let it all out.

Tears roll down her cheeks as she pases back and forth, while flashbacks of you in this same room keep swirling through her mind.

…

Natasha gets back after midnight, feeling exhausted and uncertain still. She’s not sure if they managed to appease Ross, but a ceasefire was called and they were let go.

Logically she knows that someone’s head will roll for the destruction of that military base, and Ross will not rest until it’s done, but she’ll destroy him before letting him touch a hair on Wanda’s head.

She stops by your room first, talks to Daisy about your progress and even sits with you for a little while. You’re sleeping, the white sheets somehow swallowing your battered body and she feels her shoulders tensing.

You shouldn’t be on this bed, that mission was not supposed to put you on this bed. You were set up, which means Sam’s informant was followed, and she’ll have to tie a lot more loose ends than she anticipated.

…

Wanda is sitting on the couch when Natasha walks inside their bedroom. The large glass of red wine and the glistening eyes on her wife’s face tell Natasha everything she needs to know.

“Can I have one of those?” Natasha asks as she takes off her jacket, and Wanda moves to grab the almost empty bottle from the center table.

“Yes.” She drunkenly smiles as she stands up to retrieve another glass and bottle, as Natasha sits down in the loveseat.

Wanda is only wearing an oversized military green hoodie that isn’t hers, her hair is down and her face tells the story of a woman who’s been in agony for the last several hours.

“Here.” Wanda offers her a glass with a smile, that only accentuates the pain she’s feeling.

Natasha tries to swallow the heartbreak with a sip of wine, but the task is impossible. Wanda looks like she’s about to burst into tears, and Natasha finally remembers where she’s seen that hoodie before.

The hoodie is yours, you usually wore it when it was particularly cold, but she hasn’t seen you wear it since August.

“How did it go?” Wanda asks, her voice breaking at the end of her question and Natasha downs the rest of her wine before taking a deep breath.

“Ross was a pain, but we’ll get it settled. We always do.” She clears her throat when Wanda turns to look at her.

They’ve always shared this silent connection, and Natasha’s loved it until this very moment. The dam is broken, and the waves that take it down drown Natasha along with it.

“Are we finally gonna talk about this?” Wanda asks, her chin trembling and tears softly sliding down her pale cheeks.

The pain hits Natasha in the stomach first, and she can’t help but compare it to an actual punch, since the similarity is uncanny. But the pain slowly travels upwards to her chest and throat---she looks away.

Her eyes fall on their bed, the same bed that you probably became very familiarized with during August. She looks back at her wife, and reaches for the bottle on the table to fill her glass one more time.

“Where did you keep the hoodie?” She asks and Wanda lets out a little laugh, that resembles a howl of pain and that hits Natasha with the intensity of a second punch to the gut.

“I went and got it earlier---from the cottage.” Wanda says, and Natasha nods in understanding. She suspected, but the cottage was a sacred place for their marriage, and a part of her didn’t want to believe it if she’s being honest.

She downs the rest of her wine again, and sets the glass down. Wanda’s tears continue to silently roll down her face, but she sets her glass down as well. They look at each other, and Natasha knows that this is not the end.

“Do you want a divorce?” She still asks, and Wanda gives her a look that Nat knows well.

“Never.” Wanda says.

“Do you need space?” She asks next, and Wanda shakes her head.

“Not from you.” Wanda says, her chin continues to tremble---she’s scared.

Natasha knows where the fear is coming from, and she’s scared too. Wanda’s powers are still a mystery to her, but Wanda’s always learning, growing and that’s not a mystery either.

“What do you want then?” She asks gently, and Wanda takes in a deep breath that seems to break her.

A beat passes and then another, they don’t break eye contact and the silence stretches, embracing them in it until time itself seems to come to a halt.

“You know.” Wanda breaks the spell, and Natasha limits herself to nod her head once.

The sound of silence is now replaced by Wanda’s elaborate breathing, and Natasha welcomes the rare pressure on the back of her skull with a grimace. She’s not a stranger to headaches, but she’s been hurting for quite some time now, what’s a headache on top of it all?

Still, Wanda’s tears are gone and something else has settled on her shoulders--something that Natasha can’t quite define.

“Remember the day I asked you to marry me?” Natasha asks, her eyes still on Wanda and the nervous way in which she keeps playing with the glass in her hands.

“Yes.” Wanda clears her throat, decisively swallowing down more tears and refusing to break eye contact, stubborn as always.

“I knew we were doomed from the start,” Natasha says and this time Wanda’s interest becomes more real. “Not because love was running out, no, lack of love has never been our problem. I can safely admit that I love you now with the same intensity that I loved you back then, and it wouldn’t be a lie.”

“I wasn’t aware that we had problems.” Wanda says and Natasha allows herself to smile, however sardonic it might seem.

“Before August, you mean.” She says it softly, voice low and tranquil. The blow is not gentle though and it doesn’t lessen the hurt, hurt that reflects in Wanda’s expression without an ounce of regret.

“Are we gonna do this?.” Wanda frowns, the tone of her voice becoming hostile and Natasha doubts for a moment.

Does she want to humor her wife, and enter an argument that will definitely break her? The answer is no, the answer is a howling no.

“I don’t want to fight.” She deflates slightly, which only spurs Wanda into action.

Natasha observes her in silence and with a sinking feeling on the pit of her stomach, but Wanda stands from the couch, and begins pacing their bedroom like a caged animal in a rage.

Hands in her hair, on her waist, anger lacing every expression of her face that does nothing to hide the pain that is so obvious and that pokes at Natasha’s heart just as cruelly.

“Wanda.” Natasha calls her, still holding onto the hope that this won’t escalate.

“I can do anything I want. Anything!” Wanda’s voice echoes in Natasha’s ears, but Wanda’s pain stabs her mercilessly.

“And what do you want?” Natasha asks, her question hangs in the air for a few very tense seconds before Wanda turns to look at her.

That look on her face is devastatingly obvious but Natasha’s never been one to shy away from pain, not even when the pain is new.

You--your name is everything she can hear although neither one of them speaks it.

“Well, you can’t have that.” Natasha says, perhaps coldly but she’s only human, and she’s already taken more than she should have.

“I could.” Wanda says, stubborn as always, doubtful as always. Natasha almost recognizes the girl she married years ago in those scared, terrified eyes.

She’s always known, perhaps since the first time they met, that Wanda resembles a ticking bomb. Perhaps that’s what Natasha fell in love with in the first place.

“You could.” She concedes, because it’s the truth. Wanda could have you back just as easily as she erased herself from your memory. She knows it and Natasha knows it, but she’s learnt more than the proper way to throw a punch in the Compound as well.

“I won’t.” She shakes her head, a little taken aback from her own head, her own thoughts. Natasha knows her, she’s not scared. “You’re not mad?”

“Oh, I’m pissed.” Natasha admits, as a raw and unpleasant feeling washes over her. “The thought that you would throw away years of our marriage and betray me like you have, is sickening.”

Her words bring Wanda to a stop, the night becomes darker and Natasha stands up too, she’s not done.

“The thought that you, my wife, would seek out the person I care for the most, the person I protected as if they were my family---”

Running out of breath and hands trembling, Natasha stops for a moment and Wanda can do nothing but wait.

“I’ve thought about what I’d say and what I’d do,” Natasha continues. “When we finally talk about it, but now that we’re here all that comes to my mind is the fact that I don’t really know you. Not completely, and not like you had me believe that I do.”

“I didn’t plan for this to happen.” Wanda says, and it might be the weakness of the excuse that makes Natasha’s anger die down.

“But you did it anyway.” Natasha concludes as tears begin to roll down her cheeks, finally unable to contain them like she has for the last several months.

“I’m sorry.” Wanda says, but it doesn’t take much for Natasha to realize that she’s not exactly apologizing for the right reasons.

When Wanda kisses her, it takes Natasha by surprise. There are lines that they haven’t crossed and Natasha respects those lines, lives by them. Wanda kissing her into silence is a clear sign that she no longer cares for those lines.

Wanda kneeling on the ground, taking down Natasha’s pants and underwear along with her means that she’d do anything, anything to leave those lines behind.

Later, as she lays on her bed with her wife cuddling up next to her, Natasha can’t sleep. She doesn’t know what’s worse, that she let Wanda take her to bed after months of no sex or that she’s willing to play along.

…

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x you #wanda maximoff imagine #wanda maximoff #august

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wordsbyrian · 2 years

Text

Dislocated - Sophia Smith x Reader

Summary: R gets injured during the game and handles it poorly. her girlfriend Sophia is not very happy about it.

A/N: requested by an Anon. And as your author I must let you know that dislocating your shoulder is not a pleasant experience.

It’s official, you hate corner kicks.

Not only do they rarely result in a goal but they also force you, a defensive center midfielder, to be in front of the opposition’s goal. Somewhere you have no business being.

And now, they’ve caused you to dislocate your shoulder in the least fun way you can imagine, by banging it straight into the goalpost.

Of course, this isn’t the first time you’ve dislocated your shoulder, more like 5th or 6th time, but it isn’t one of those things that gets less painful the more you do it. It is, however, the first time you’ve done it in the middle of the game which really, really, sucks.

There is nothing worse than having the entirety of Providence Park staring at you while you pull yourself off the ground, one arm hanging limply, and walk to the trainers on the side with less than two minutes remaining in the first half’s injury time.

You spend most of the halftime break in the treatment room getting your shoulder back where it needs to be and the rest convincing Rhian and the medical team that you’re good to play in the second half.

On one hand, your begging works which means you do indeed get to continue playing. On the other, the successful campaign to stay on the field means that the trainers can’t give you anything stronger than the cold spray before sending you back out.

You don’t manage to see your girlfriend Sophia that entire time but the look she gives you when you trot back onto the field with the rest of the team means nothing but trouble for you.

The second half of the game goes fairly smoothly as far as you’re concerned and you guys manage to hold onto the lead to secure the victory. You do find yourself favoring your injured shoulder and you know that it’s fairly obvious to everybody.

When the final whistle sounds and you shake all of your opponents’ hands, you try to join Sophia in interacting with the fans like you normally do but all she says to you is “Go see George,” before walking away.

“Soph, babe,” you say, jogging to catch up.

“I’m serious Y/N, go have George and the rest of the training staff look at your shoulder.”

Her voice is frosty and before you know it she’s walking away from you.

Deciding to just give her the space that she clearly needs, you shake your head and head down the tunnel to the treatment room.

“George,” you call out, opening the door, “What do I have to do for you to tell Sophia I’m fine and to stop worrying.”

To his credit, George, the head trainer, doesn’t even flinch when you barge in like that anymore, he doesn’t even look up from the paperwork he’s filling out.

“Take a shower, come back and let me have another look,” he says.

“Bet.”

Running back to the locker room, you take a quick shower and gather your stuff before heading back to the trainers.

As you sit on the table and watch George poke and prod at your shoulder, you can already tell that while it’s bad, it’s not nearly as bad as it could be.

“Alright, Y/N good news is you likely won’t need surgery but we won’t know until the bruising goes down,” he says, taping your shoulder.

“Bad news is you’re gonna be out and in a sling for a few weeks.”

Groaning you let him finish doing his job before putting on your shirt and the sling and heading off to find your girlfriend.

You don’t spend too much time looking for her, as you come across both her and Crystal waiting by the door that leads to the parking lot.

In what is probably going to go down as the worst decision you’ve made today, you choose not to say anything and instead just use your good hand to reach for your bag that Sophia is holding.

“Uh, no,” Sophia says, taking a step back and away from you, “And while we’re at it give me the car keys.”

“Babe, I can carry my bag, I’ve still got one working arm,” you say, not bothering to fight her on the car keys, placing them in her open palm. But you do reach for your bag again, getting frustrated when she takes another step back. “Seriously Sophia?”

She doesn’t say anything, readjusting the bags on her shoulder and heading out the door and into the parking lot.

Looking at Crystal, you just see her shaking her head and following Sophia out the door, you behind her.

For the most part, the parking lot is empty and you’re glad because, at the very least, you won’t be subject to the embarrassment of having your whole team watch your girlfriend ignore you.

After saying your goodbyes to Crystal and asking her to say ‘wassup’ to Marcel for you, you and Sophia climb into your car and begin your silent ride home.

And it is truly a silent ride as she refuses to speak to you.

Even once you make it back to your apartment, she just goes about getting ready for bed without saying anything to you.

You try to do the same and give her space to cool down but eventually, you have the dilemma of attempting to take off the long sleeve shirt you were dumb enough to put on.

Wandering towards the kitchen you stop in the doorway when you see her filling the dog’s bowls.

“Are you just going to stand there staring or do you need something,” Sophia says, standing up to wash her hands.

You mumble out what you’re trying to tell her, cheeks heating up at the predicament you find yourself in.

She starts to say something but turns around and sees you standing there with half your shirt bunched up around your neck, bad arm held close to your body.

“Oh, baby,” she says, making her way to you, “why didn’t you just say that you need some help?”

Biting your lip, you stay silent allowing her to maneuver your shirt over your head and carefully down your arm. When she lets out a gasp at the sight of your bruises peeking out from under the wrap, you turn your head, face getting inexplicably hotter.

“It looks worse than it is,” you say, still not looking at her.

“You shouldn’t have come back into the game and you know it Y/N/N.”

“I didn’t think it would be bad enough to keep me out for more than a week,” you say in an attempt to explain.

“That doesn’t matter,” she exclaims, tossing your shirt onto the counter. “Do you know how scary it was to watch you run into that post and then walk off without saying anything to anyone, your arm dangling only for you to come back and try to act like nothing happened?”

“I’m sorry,” you say, but she’s on a roll and has taken to pacing while continuing to rant.

“You always do this and it fucking sucks because one day you might get seriously hurt but ignore and where will that leave me?”

“I know and I’m sorry,” you say again.

“Damn right you’re sorry. Wait what?”

“I’m trying to apologize for scaring you and being an inconsiderate idiot, if you’ll let me,” you explain, pulling her into a hug with your good arm. “I’m still not used to having people care about every dumb decision I make and I want to do better in the future because you deserve better than having to put up with my shit.”

She mumbles something into the side of your neck before placing a light kiss there, and you don’t need to hear her to know that you’ve been forgiven.

“Wanna go lay in bed and watch Love Island while I pretend to not pay attention,” you ask when she pulls away.

She doesn’t bother answering you, simply grabbing an ice pack from the freezer and trotting off back to your shared bedroom, so naturally, you follow her.

It takes the two of you a while but eventually, you find a position that’s comfortable enough for the two of you to fall asleep in and you both know that you won’t get through much more than an episode or two.

As the first episode draws to a close, you can’t help but look down at Sophia who is currently doing her best impression of a koala with the way she’s so fully wrapped herself around one side of your body.

“Hey Soph, you know I love you, right?”

“I love you too, even when you’re a jerk,” she says, moving her head slightly to look at you.

You lean over pressing a kiss to her lips, sighing happily when she returns it.

It gets heated pretty quickly but as you begin to run your hand up the inside of her shirt, she pulls away causing you to whine a bit.

“Soph, come back.”

“Nice try, Y/N/N.”

“I’m not trying anything,” you say, not very convincingly considering your hand is still up her shirt.

This of course causes her to shoot you look best described as unimpressed, so you pull your hand out and wrap it back around her shoulders.

“So explain to me again why all these women are fighting over these dudes that are carbon copies of each other?”

#sophia smith imagine #sophia smith x reader #woso x reader #uswnt imagine #uswnt x reader #woso fanfics #woso imagine

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perpetuelledaydreaming · 2 years

Text

Do I wanna know? | chapter ten

summary: honestly bucky and you don't even get along when you are rescuing the other, petrovich needed his lesson and if your teachers of the red room saw you at the moment, they wouldn't be proud.

warnings: blood, violence, torture, kidnapping... you get the gist. and also smut!!!!!

listen to: notice me -role model (playlist here)

word count: 5.6 k

series masterlist + read the next chapter early on my ko-fi!!!

Bucky immediately knew that something was wrong as soon as he reached the end of the hallway, the midpoint that you’d described it and you weren’t there.

You were supposed to reach a point and review the path to see if there would be a way out, but you hadn’t arrived. If Bucky was being honest, it had been a while. The act of the injured Winter Soldier came easily to Bucky, so the men didn’t even manage to see his attack coming. He took all of the tasers out on their way to Bucky’s lab, stepping on them or throwing them so hard against the concrete walls that they turned to pieces. He knocked them out easily, one after one, and managed to do so without raising any alarms. But he knew that if in the lab they realized that the men hadn’t arrived with the Winter Soldier, they would quickly alert everyone.

“Fuck, where are you?” Bucky muttered. You would be in a type of trouble, he knew that you just did. Maybe they’d caught you, maybe they’d strapped you and knocked you out. Bucky tried not to think about Petrovich touching you or killing you, and he tried to remain as calm as possible as he walked through the hallways and looked for you.

Bucky ran as fast as he could, his heart beating faster in his chest as he tried to reassure himself that you were okay. And then, he ran into some men. They stared at him for a moment, debating if they should fight him or not but Bucky didn’t give them time. He quickly glanced at the guns in their hands and with a disgusted growl, Bucky yanked the guns out of their hands and quickly give them a long knee before knocking the other down upping his knee to their face.

Bucky didn’t know if he’d knocked them out completely but as he shoved another man out of his way, fending the attack, he ran through other hallways, in the corner of his eye he recognized a door that was full of packages and he knew that you both needed to run through that door to get out. He kept running until he found a dead end, breathing hard as he tried to figure out which room you could be in. There were too many different rooms and he knew it would take too much time to search every single one without a plan of attack.

And then he heard it.

A cry of agony so deafening and anguished that Bucky’s heart stopped for a moment.

y/n

Bucky felt for a moment that he’d blacked out. He didn’t realize that he got to the door down the hall from which the noise had come too or how fast and without hesitation he’d planted his boot right in the center, kicking it brutally open. He felt that he’d just recovered his mind as his eyes dropped to the image before him, while the door crashed with a loud bang and cracked the wall.

You were there, battered and bruised, and with an alarming amount of blood on your face and hair. There was so much blood running down your face that Bucky couldn’t tell where it was coming from until he identified the blade that one of the doctors that were surrounding you had in his hand.

They couldn’t even put you to sleep properly before the surgery.

The sick bastard.

He did it on purpose so you could feel the pain. Suddenly you looked up blearily in slight shock, your y/e/c looking worn and with sorrow, you had a white sheet covering your body but by the last threats of your body, he knew that they’d cut your clothes.

You were being tortured and Bucky saw red.

Bucky didn’t give them time to think, with an enraged snarl, Bucky ran and knocked the doctor off with a well-placed, harsh kick on the chest as you hissed from a final cut on your forehead. Bucky continued, knocking out and punching his way through each doctor that was surrounding you before men started to get near you, he suddenly recalled he had a gun.

He didn’t miss a beat as he fired at the men, they didn’t even manage to get close to you as you lay on the exam table. You winced at the way the bullets ricocheted through the room, glass breaking, people screaming, while you tried to force your limbs to work. Maybe it was the fact that adrenaline was pumping now throw your bloodstream but you managed to glance at Bucky as he continued to fire around, you managed to grab his thigh and press it with your hand.

“Bucky,” you whimpered and he glanced at you. “Bucky, get me out,” you breathed as you struggled.

He quickly let go of the gun as he tore apart the belts that were holding you down and he glanced at your face. There was a nasty purple bruise under one of your eyes, and Bucky felt his anger increase tenfold.

“What the fuck happened?” He snapped as you quickly sat down at the table exam and glared at Bucky but your eyes fell behind him. Bucky understood your glance immediately as he kneeled down just enough for you to kick the last men remaining in the room, you tried your best to gain enough momentum and you did. Raising your leg towards his jaw and probably breaking it immediately.

Nonetheless, your body didn’t seem to have it together. You quickly fell from the exam table with a hiss but Bucky quickly and tenderly picked you up, holding your weight with one part of his body, his hand on your hip, pressing you up to him. You sighed, the feeling of relief passing through your body was almost all-encompassing as your eyes met with his steel blue eyes.

“See those scratches on his face?”

“What are you,” Bucky asked but soon his eyes followed your gaze to where Petrovich was watching you behind glass, or what was left of it. “You could’ve waited for that!” he scoffed as he glared at you.

“Are you really chastising me?” you snapped at him while you held onto him. Bucky realized that although you were bleeding and hurt, you still had that same dangerous spark in your eyes. “I don’t need your help!”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “Are you sure? cause it sure does like it,”

You glared at him suddenly. “Just come with me,” he stated, pulling you closer to him before turning both of you around and walking you through the door.

“You are leaving now?” Petrovich asked as he got out of the small room behind, passing over the bodies of his men, without a care in the world. “My other men are coming any second. You won't be leaving any time soon,” he stated as he gritted his teeth.

“I told you not to fucking touch her,” Bucky growled but he didn’t turn around, though you knew that you couldn’t leave just like that.

In a swift movement, you took Bucky’s gun out of his hands, and with a growled you turned around and pierced Petrovich with a contemptuous glare. Before Petrovich or Bucky could react, you’d fire at his leg. A howl of pain escaped his lips, a cloud of blood stained his blue suit for a second and he fell among his men.

Your eyes narrowed dangerously, your eyes blazing with rage as you tried to squirm out from Bucky’s hold on you. All you wanted to do was shoot him, so badly. If you did that, pop a cap, everything would be over. You wouldn’t have to live in constant fear, you wouldn’t have a constant threat over you, and you could be free.

“y/n,” Bucky stated from your side. But you simply gritted his teeth as you pointed the gun at Petrovich, your hand shaking from your anger. All you had to do was pull the trigger. “Come on, y/n. This won’t free you,”

You glanced at Bucky, at his soft steel blue eyes. They were as calm as the ocean and you didn’t know what they did to you, but you closed your eyes momentarily, taking a deep breath, and soon your hand was lowering.

Bucky felt like he could breathe once more and he quickly pulled you out of the room. At that moment the alarms went off and you felt as if someone had placed cold water over you. Your eyes met immediately with Bucky’s and you knew that you had to get out.

Bucky didn’t really ask as he quickly pulled your legs up, carrying you as if you were a child, with a gasp he began to run. For a second, you eyed him in irritation at the thought of him moving you around but you knew that it wouldn’t be worth the fight. Soon, as you ran to the hallway, you could hear people shouting to find you coming from another hallway where your cell was. You rounded the corner to head to the door, and promptly you managed to reach the door where the packages were left off.

“There!” you gasped as you pointed out.

Suddenly, you felt the screaming and boots louder than before and as you turned behind Bucky, there they were. A group of Petrovich men, jumped at you with shouts, trying to stop you from leaving. Without a hitch, you took the gun into your hands and a loud bang at Bucky’s ear almost left him without hearing, he glanced at you and there you were, firing your gun at multiple men. To his credit, he was too in awe of you for a moment but he didn’t falter, instead, he pushed through and continue to run.

It wasn’t until you finally reached the door that Bucky felt a sharp, stinging pain in his right arm, he then felt the blood going down his skin as he hissed.

“Fuck that,” he heard you stating before you fired another and even more aggressive round. He was startled by it and turned to you, who literally shot the guy that had hurt him multiple rounds.

“Rich coming from the girl that tried to kill me,” He smiled mostly to himself, as he opened and then closed the door as quickly as he could.

It wasn’t a very bright day, it was raining but you were finally out and you felt tears pooling in your eyes, even though bullets were still coming for you. Bucky let you down softly before bending and twisting the door handle with his vibranium arm so it would be locked up. You tried to force yourself up as you turned around and caught a truck on the corner of the warehouse where you’d been held.

“Bucky, there!” you pointed out and Bucky without much prelude tossed you over your shoulder like a sack of potatoes. You squeaked in surprise and blush wildly as he held you and marched seriously toward the truck.

But suddenly you gasped behind him. “They’re coming!”

Bucky shook his head and as soon as you reached the truck, Bucky placed you on the passenger’s seat before he started to drive. Until then, did the bullets begin to hit the truck. You did your best to move on the seat, pulling the window down and looking through the window, firing at the last few men that were fooling you but soon the bullets ran out. It wasn’t until then that you glanced at the rearview mirror and saw yourself. You looked like a bloody mess, and then you glanced at Bucky.

His eyes were focused on the road, he seemed too okay but you could see how his right arm was bleeding and how his breathing was thick and uneven. You wondered if it was the adrenaline or the pain, you realized right there that the bullets weren’t common bullets, it shouldn’t hurt him so much. You quickly tore one of the final pieces of the shirt that you had on your body and wrapped it around his bicep. Bucky flinched as you did so but his eyes continued on the road, you weren’t sure where you were going but you hoped that he did.

That you were safe.

It wasn’t until half an hour later that the sharp pang of pain came from your face and your body began to feel much more intense. It’d been a while since you’d been hurt like this but you knew that you needed to keep it together, at least that’s what Bucky kept asking for you as soon as you reached a stop and he hurriedly took you out of the truck, forcing you to walk a bit as you winced in pain while he stole another car, it wasn’t until then that your eyes began to close and you slipped out of consciousness.

Bucky wasn’t sure at first about where he was going to take you. He was aware that you were on the outskirts of New York but he didn’t want to risk returning to the city, knowing that they might look at both of you over there. It was until then that he recalled Steve’s safe house, the house that he’d left when he’d passed. It was a bit farther away but you managed to reach it at night, it was raining harshly but he didn’t care.

Bucky brought the stolen car to a stop outside the doors and hopped off carefully not wanting to wake you up but you still did.

“Where are we?” you groaned, your eyes half-lidded as Bucky pulled you to his arm. Still worried about how hurt you were.

“Some place safe,” Bucky said softly as he tried that the rain didn’t touch your skin as he covered you with his body. He failed but you still appreciated the gesture.

You had no idea where you were and you definitely couldn’t tell if this was your last stop, but you felt safe knowing Bucky was leading you somewhere you’d get to be with him.

Bucky placed the code that he knew by heart and entered the small place. It was empty but furnished, he had been there during Steve’s last day and although Steve had given it to him at his will, Bucky didn’t feel too comfortable returning. But in all honesty, he didn’t care about it at the moment as he held you in his arms.

“Hey,” you said softly as he climbed up the stairs. “I can walk,”

Bucky chuckled as he watched you softly for a second and as soon as he reached the top of the stairs he let you down. You smiled as you took in the top floor of the house. It was immaculately cleaned but seemed a bit too empty. You quickly wobbled a bit as you walked towards the main room. It was large with a large bed decorated with dark navy sheets and a comforter. You could tell that the walls had been covered in photos at some point but now there were just shadows in their places.

You could tell people had lived there for a while, but it didn’t look lived in, at least not recently.

“Would you like to shower? or a bath?” Bucky suggested as he watched you from the frame of the door.

You felt like your body screamed at you at that moment and you simply nodded quickly.

“Perfect,” Bucky whispered as he walked towards the bathroom of the room.

You heard the water running and you lingered in the main bedroom, arms crossed and bottom lip nibbled between your teeth as your eyes wandered in the room. Although, your eyes came to a halt as soon as you saw yourself in the mirror. It came as a surprise to you that you were still wearing rags of your clothing, most of it was torn and you were basically in your underwear, which was already stained crimson while your skin was covered in dry blood. Moreover, bruises and cuts decorated your skin and you wondered how long they’d linger on.

Bucky’s head poked out of the bathroom and cleared his throat. “The bath is ready for you,” he stated as you nodded and walked towards him. “I’ll take the bandages off and I’ll replace them once you get out,” he stated so carefully while you simply nodded.

Unsure of what to say as you walked towards the large bathroom.

“Could you,” you started but the words died down as you motioned at him to help you remove your clothes without saying so, at least what was left of them.

Bucky sucked in a breath as he quickly ripped off your clothes softly as you stared at him intently. He tried to be as careful as he could as you were left in your underwear and you saw the slight blush on his cheeks as he helped you take off your bra, his hand lingering on your spine a bit longer as he also took your bandage off, not wanting it to get wet. He then kneeled down and helped you get your panties off while you held your breath as you felt his eyes on your naked body.

It was the first time in the days that you had been locked up that you’d ever felt self-conscious about being inappropriate and about your body on display. Nonetheless, you tried your best not to let him face you, instead, you eased your sore body into the bath that Bucky had prepared for you, placing your head against the back of the tub and groaning with pleasure as you felt your body relaxing.

“I’ll come with comfortable clothes so you can sleep in,” Bucky offered as he picked up the rags of crimson clothes and threw them in the trash, forcing his eyes not to linger on your figure in the water.

“Thank you,” you whispered softly as you closed your eyes and allowed the hot water to soothe your muscles.

Nonetheless, you couldn’t stop thinking about what had happened between you on those days, your mind couldn’t stop going back to the way he had held you, to the way he’d tried his best and had protected you, to the way that he gazed at you, to the way he’d saved you.

You’d been in dangerous situations all of your life, you always knew that you could get yourself killed at any moment. At one point in time, you were always trying so hard not to get yourself killed but the reality of the situation was that you were willing to die than go back, you were willing to get yourself killed and you were so ready for it, for death.

And if Bucky wouldn’t have been there, you might as well have been.

Bucky came in a few minutes later with the clothes. “I’ll leave the clothes here,” he stated as he glanced at the mirror, you glanced at him back, knowing that he was looking at you. “I’m in the bedroom if you need anything,”

“Don’t go,” you whispered before you could even understand the implications of what you were saying.

Bucky froze in his place for a second but it didn’t take long for him to sit on the floor with his back resting against the side of the tub as he waited for you.

Oddly, the fact that he’s sitting on the bathroom floor and the only thing separating him from your naked body is the tub, doesn’t make you uncomfortable.

“How’s the bullet?” you whispered as you realized how red and dirty the water that was surrounding you had turned.

Bucky smiled as he glanced at the makeshift tourniquet that you did. He knew he would be healed in a couple of days but it still hurt like a bitch.

“It will be better once I take it out,” he stated, a beat of silence surrounds you. “Thank you for asking,” his voice was gentle and you felt your heart thundering in your chest loudly.

“Thank you for saving me,” you whispered, voice breaking a moment as you tried not to seem completely rattled to the core as you kept reliving the last moments with Petrovich.

Bucky turned around to face you, he quickly reached out to grasp your hand and brought his lips to your palm, kissing it gently, which only caused your heart to beat even faster.

“Thank you for saving me,” he replied with the same gentle tone.

You smiled at him and for a moment neither one of you spoke. You just stared at the other, sitting with just the sound of the water on the tub and the rain outside. Suddenly, Bucky’s fingertips touched your cheek softly, his hands rotating to cup your face as you closed your eyes and leaned into his hand. Your mind screaming at you, asking you what the hell you were doing naked in a stranger's house with your target touching you like that.

And yet you could help but think about how good you felt while he touched you as if you were porcelain, showering you in affection.

You gazed at him, wondering where the hatred went and how on earth could you feel something for the Winter Soldier, how on earth could you be in that position? It was so dangerous and so awful what you were doing, it made your stomach twist but suddenly what scared you the most was the feeling as if you didn’t lean forward right now, you wouldn’t be able to breathe.

It happened quickly and you had no idea what you were thinking but you just did it. You leaned forward and pressed your lips to his, the water moving as you did so. Bucky could feel your heart beating erratically from where he was as you pressed your lips to him purposefully, just as you had when you’d kissed in that alley where you’d tried to kill him.

“I,” Bucky swallowed hard as his eyes glanced at you once you pulled away while looking down, scared that he might not want the same as you. But your courage made you watch him, steadily holding his steel blue gaze. “I’m overstepping,” he said as he stared at you, not wanting to take advantage of the situation but still aware of the fear in your eyes.

You were looking at him like maybe he would regret it, maybe he would back down, maybe he didn’t want it.

Impossible, he thought.

“Maybe,” you breathed out before you finally press your palm against his chest and got closer to him. You leaned forward and kissed him again, fully and deeply, water spilled on the floor but Bucky didn’t care. He immediately relaxed against you as he slid his hands down to hold your waist in the water.

Bucky had watched your lips over the days for so long. He knew how you smiled and how they stretched when you laughed or how they turned when you were angry, he had the memory of your first kiss engrained in his memory but as he felt his lips against yours, each of you breathing the other, he couldn’t help to whimper into your mouth and groan as he pulled you as carefully as he could from the bath.

You quickly looped your arm around his neck as you pressed yourself as closely as you could to him, accepting his scorching and aggressive kisses that took your breath away and made your vision blurry. It should be dangerous for you to be doing this with your target, with the Winter Soldier of all people, but you couldn’t find yourself minding at all as he slipped his tongue into your mouth and pulled you out of the bathroom, guiding your legs around his waist as he kissed you harder, while he walked you to the bed.

The kisses were feverish, intense, and fiery and you gasped into his mouth when his hands slid down, and you could feel his fingers on the skin of your ass as his hips rocked forward against yours while he sat on the bed and held you tightly. You hummed, arching your back and pushing yourself into his crotch. Bucky pushed harder against you before he nudge your jaw with his nose and started to leave open-mouthed kisses on the skin of your neck, soothing each one of his bites with his tongue while you could only handle grabbing his shoulders tighter.

And then, he dropped his mouth to your chest. He left open-mouthed kisses on your chest as you pushed your hips eagerly against him, moaning as soon as he massaged your breast with one hand and a tongue danced across your nipple. If for some reason you were again in the Red Room, you knew your teachers would’ve discarded you right away because falling into bed with a target was one thing if you wanted to achieve your goal, but this was so much more and you knew it. Your mind was racing as you realized that you felt safe with him, that you’d never experience something quite like this and that you had infinite trust in him, there wasn’t anyone else in the world that you wanted to experience this with.

“Bucky,” you moaned, and Bucky knew right away there was no way he would ever get over the way that you said his name. It caught him off guard for just a moment as he raises his gaze to look at you.

You were perfect.

“You’re sure you want to do this?” he whispered as he kissed your chest once more and your eyes met with his.

There was no hesitation. No question in your mind that you wanted him.

“I really,” you breathed out, trying to find the right words. “I want you,” you whispered as your hand came to caress his cheek. His face was full of cuts and bruises, and he seemed still dirty from the last days but your heart felt as if it was going to burst. “Don’t you?” you asked.

Bucky felt like he could breathe. Softly his palm held the small of your back as he pulled you closer to him as he finally dipped his hand between your legs and you gasped into his mouth, holding the back of his neck tightly as he trailed his fingertips along your core. Your body felt as if it was on fire as if it would combust by the way he was touching you, and kissing you.

“You’re so beautiful,” Bucky cooed, and you couldn’t help but part your legs a little further for him. He groaned at the reaction before he started to trace delicate patterns on your clit as he kissed your collarbones and you moaned louder as applied gentle pressure to your entrance.

“I want,” you breathed, words caught in your throat, unable to express your feelings.

“I know,” Bucky muttered before kissing you while he slid his finger inside of you, you gasped at the movement before you push your hips against his hands.

Moving to your own accord, he started to work you open for him as slid a second finger while you swallowed hard, eyes closed in concentration as you fuck yourself on his fingers. Bucky couldn’t look away though, it was as if he was in a spell as he looked at your features, frowning but your mouth opened in ecstasy. He moved his fingers in and out steadily, curling them upwards into you expertly, his thumb finding their way back to your clit. Your eyes rolled into the back of your head as you moved your hips too.

Waves of pleasure started to invade your body, clawing your hands into his skin thanks to the overwhelming sensation, making Bucky groan into your mouth before he captured your lips into a deep kiss, tongue slipping through your lips and caressing yours. Suddenly, a bolt of shattering electricity ran through your body like white lightning, scorching everything in its path. And just like that, he brought you to orgasm, just with his fingers.

You took some time to recover as Bucky praised you as he gave you sweet pecks through your throat and collarbone and lips, but as soon as you felt like you could move your limbs again, you started to struggle with his shirt before Bucky realized and pulled it off easily before kissing you again. You could feel the hard planes of his body, he was all sharp and strong and you felt a shudder once you touched the skin that quickly turned into vibranium.

“James,” you whined

And he understood.

You didn’t know how quickly he flipped you over but you fell backward and your head hit the pillows behind you as Bucky hovered over you, he tried to be gentle as he tried to remind himself that you were still weak, even though you seemed okay with it. He kissed you softly and deeply before he started to kiss his way down your body, kisses and strokes of his tongue in your chest turned to kisses on your stomach before he kissed your thighs softly, until then you hadn’t noticed the stubble until it was touching the skin of your inner thighs. He kissed them both before he buried his head between your legs, his tongue pressed flat against your sensitive clit.

He unlocked something inside of you and you screamed at how he moved his tongue inside of you. It was almost involuntarily how your back arched up and your hands found their way to his hair, holding them tightly as he slide to fingers while he sucked at the sensitive bundle of nerves before he removed his fingers again and buried his tongue back into you while you moaned.

It was too much.

Your body was burning and you couldn’t think straight.

Once again, you fell apart, snapping as you felt him groan softly against your core, making you writhe against him. Shockwaves of dizzying pleasure rippled through your body, you gasped for air as your body trembled because of his touch.

Bucky climbed again, kissing your body before capturing your lips in a soft kiss, lowering yourself on top of you and you could taste yourself into his tongue, which only made you whimper, jutting your hips up to him but Bucky quickly broke the kiss as he closed his eyes as if he was trying to control himself.

“Please, I need to hear you say it again,” Bucky growled softly as he opened his eyes and looked at you.

You felt like crying, just seeing how soft and gentle he was with you. His delicate touch as he caresses your cheek and your eyes looking at you make it hard to believe that you’d wanted to kill him. Those blue steel eyes now just seemed like pools of calm blue water and you’re not afraid of what might come next, you don’t care if you’re with him.

“I want you,” you muttered and before you knew it, Bucky slid out of his pants and boxers.

He leaned forward in nothing but his dog tags as he planted his forearm beside your head and guided his cock between your legs as he glances down between your bodies. It took a second before he pushed forward and buried himself deep inside of you. You inhaled sharply, wincing a bit at the stinging as he filled you but it subsided soon. Bucky’s eyes close gently as he pressed soft kisses to your face while you dug your nails into his shoulder and bicep as he continued to stretch you. It felt for a second as if you were out of breath but then you relax into his touch as he continued to press sweet kisses to your temple, muttering how good you were doing.

And then your eyes met his and you gave an experimental roll of your hips, which only served for Bucky to grunt softly. He kissed your lips gently as he moved inside of you, while you whimpered, adjusting to the hot, thick stretch of him.

“You’re okay?”

You nod hurriedly as you grabbed onto the back of his neck to ground yourself as he started to move. Soon, the pangs of pleasure returned to your body, sending waves of heat through your limbs as he fucks into you. It became desperate all of a sudden, panting against each other’s lips as he drove himself deep into you. Your whole body trembles from the intensity, by the way, he hits that spot just right, so perfect that makes you feel dizzy. Moaning, whimpers and grunts filled the room as he pounds into you. The rhythm was blinding, desperate and so filled with something that you didn’t dare to say, he held you tight and so softly that tears started to build up in your eyes. You felt so fucking good that Bucky felt like he might be in heaven as he pounded into you, but then he felt your walls clenching and he knew that you were close.

You could feel it too, how you shuddered around him as you started to come apart in seams. The feeling of euphoria took over you as you wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him closer to you as the pleasure coursed through your veins. Drowning, you were drowning in him, in pleasure, in those eyes. Soon, Bucky’s lips parted softly at the sound that you made, his breathing caught, thrust a little bit sloppy as his knuckles whitened around the sheets and he lets out a strained groan as he spilled into you. He sought out your lips and kisses you hard, desperate.

Panting, you both stay there for a second. He kissed your head, and your lips and held you closely while you complied. You stayed there until you fell asleep, never wanting it to end.

author's note: FINALLY CHAPTER 10!!! I hope that you like it and enjoy it as much as I did writing it. things from here are going to get angsty and so good. I hope that you like it. as always thanks for reading and lmk your thoughts!!!

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taglist: @capswife @nohuyck @fluffydanger @queenofshinigamis @missgurlbaddie @flannellover67 @brownlee-22

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feeback is always welcomed!!

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whatgaviiformes · 4 months

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Fic: Reflection 2/2

First Part here or Ao3 here Summary: Gordon stares at himself. In part 2 - ...and Virgil watches Words: <1K ~*~*~

Reflection - part 2

Virgil’s got a pretty good sense of what goes on in his periphery.

Granted, he doesn't immediately scan for entryways and nearest exits every time he enters a room the way his security-inclined siblings do. Kayo somehow manages to do it without an obvious deviation to her gaze, so it's not apparent at all that that's what's happening. But it is, and it speaks volumes to his sister's ability to multitask.

But this doesn't preclude Virgil from being in tune with what's happening around him. He may not be able to sense danger from the way someone’s shoulders hunch to hide themselves when entering a building, but he does have a strong sense of observation when it comes to what he knows well, or what he wants to know well. Things like the island landscape he's painted a thousand times and more; the exact paint hues he needs to combine to create the sapphire in his baby brother's eyes; the number of wrinkles on Scott’s shirt to know if he actually slept that night; how jittery John is in his fingers incremental to his caffeine intake.

Things like that.

So when Gordon rotates his shoulders and eases back to sit on his heels, Virgil notices the movement. He doesn't say anything right away because the moment doesn't warrant it. The chore is a little too heavy for ribbing about laziness, which would be the appropriate response if it were any other type of rescue. As it is, they are both trying to forget about the losses made all too real by the lingering mud on Two’s windshield, caked on so firmly that the water jets only managed to release about two thirds of it. The rest was down to human persistence.

Gordon's persistence.

And his own.

For him, it hurts when he lets himself think about it too much, which is why Virgil buries his ears in Beethoven’s 7th and lets the ache of the composer’s hearing loss envelop him instead while he listens for shifting key centers and tension tossed between instrumentation. The technical music analysis keeps his brain from wandering back to muddied faces, slack with breathlessness. Except for in the second movement, admittedly. Allegretto wasn’t just “less lively.” She was brutal, and his eyes may have blurred with sadness in the key of A-minor for just a moment while faces swam in the glass.

It still helps. Somehow. The painful reminder of human experience.

So that’s him - his heartbeat so firmly tied to the environment around him: the shape of its sounds and the timbre of its sights. He carries on because he must.

When it comes to Gordon, though? His brother is perseverance embodied - all the determination of an Olympian, resolve of a soldier, courage of a survivor, and tenacity of someone who gets up every morning balancing chronic injury with self-care and selflessness. His backbone might be physically lighter after surgery, but it’s equally fiercer.

Gordon’s been doing this work in silence, and Virgil wonders exactly what he’s been thinking while Virgil’s been drowning screams with violins. He knows it is possible for Gordon to detach, become the soldier he was trained to be. But it’s rare for their resident aquanaut to let Virgil witness it. Those experiences are something Gordon will channel with Scott, every now and again.

But Virgil has seen it before - regretfully. And this isn’t it.

Virgil squeezes his eyes closed, and when he opens them Gordon’s pressed his fingertips to his mouth, a strange expression on his face while his eyes lock on the crisscrossing of scars near his hairline. Painful memory or badge of honor? Virgil wonders. A little of column A, a little of column B. From his experience, nothing was ever so black and white.

He just hopes that when Gordon looks at himself in the mirror, when he’s not smiling for the rest of the world to see, he still notices the bravery and feels every iota of admiration marked with his name. Just as on more than one occasion, Scott has reminded Virgil of the same. It’s inherent in human nature to be harder on ourselves, to sometimes see ourselves so differently than those around us. It was never so obvious to Virgil as when he sketched the first draft of each of their portraits. Scott the commander, John the intelligent, Gordon the tenacious, Alan the boy genius. Himself? The supporting role. Scott had shaken his head and called him the heartbeat while Virgil flushed with embarrassment and confusion. Then, he asked Virgil to try again, until he was satisfied that Virgil’s self-portrait captured what the others saw in him.

Shoulders straighter, wider in the frame. Eyes more confident, but softer, kinder.

Eventually, Gordon catches him watching. It was bound to happen; they’ve worked together too long and traveled too far for them not to be in tune with the other. In barely a blink, in front of him is the man he painted all those years ago, scars and all, but eyes carrying the blinding gleam and the joyful spirit of a man who would always get back up again and smile.

He shifts his earphones, Beethoven barely audible as if through a fog, and Virgil asks genuinely if he’s ok. Gordon, true to form, plays it off with a joke and a smile, even though they both know it’s what they call “a moment.” They’ve had many over the years. This is just another, and it won’t be the last.

This part isn’t keen observation; it’s intuition. Virgil just knows that this moment isn’t one he needs to press. Gordon’s ok. They both will be.

So he grins back at him, gives Gordon the lighthearted response he knows he needs, and resets his music.

Virgil takes a breath, emboldened by his brother’s endurance beside him.

And then he keeps going.

#gavii scribit #for the love of fishtank #gordon tracy #virgil tracy #thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds fanfiction

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avengersfantasies · 11 months

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A Night With Him in Bucharest - 6

Summary: You're struck by gunfire, and thanks to Bucky, you manage to survive the injury.

What to expect: violent stuff

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Taglist (people who asked and that I think may be interested): @pattiemac1 @justsebstan @winterslove1917 @crist1216 @lady-loki-barnes-djarin @kandis-mom @vonalyn @mavrellover91 @natashasilverfox @gojoismysensei @ilovetaquitosmmmm

You grabbed your left shoulder – the feeling of a bullet going into the front-left of your chest and all the way to the right side of your back – lodging itself in in the center of your body and causing you to collapse to the ground – heaving and fighting for every breath.

“Get her out of here!” Sam ordered Bucky – shooting in the direction that the bullet came from.

“I’m fine,” you argued – knowing damn well that you weren’t.

“We’re getting you out of here.” Bucky picked you up from the ground and carried you bridal style. “You shoot, I run.”

You nodded and unholstered one of your pistols – keeping it aimed in front of you and shooting anyone who came in the path ahead. While Bucky ran as fast as he could, you began throwing up blood onto his jacket – coughing and gasping for air.

“Hang on, baby,” Bucky pleaded – laying you down on the ground next to your motorcycle and taking your jacket off.

“Open the seat,” you coughed – grabbing and holding the bleeding wound.

Bucky did as told – grabbing the military grade first aid kit from your storage area. Frantically, he searched through it and found a bottle of disinfectant. “This isn’t gonna feel good.”

“It already doesn’t feel good, Buck,” you hissed. “Just hurry up.” You closed your eyes and bit into your shirt – muffling your screams as he poured the alcohol into the wound. Continuing on, Bucky grabbed the packs of gauze and packed the wound as much as he could – the sounds of your screaming making him want to be done with this.

“Almost done, baby,” he assured you – grabbing a wrap and wrapping the upper part of your torso to keep the gauze packs in place and keeping pressure on the wound. He picked you up from the ground and opened the passenger door of the nearest car – running to the driver’s seat and quickly hotwiring it.

“How the hell do you know how to hotwire a car?” you asked through the pain.

Bucky let out a small chuckle. “I’m a hundred and six years old, sweetheart,” he reminded you. “I’ve learned a few things over the years.” He reached over and gently held your hand as he drove through the streets and to the nearest hospital. You were having a hard time in keeping your eyes open, and the amount of silence coming from you caused Bucky to become concerned. “Keep your eyes open for me.”

“Is hard,” you mumbled – coughing up some more blood and growing weaker.

The sight made Bucky drive faster, and he weaved in and out of traffic as fast as he could – holding your hand as tight as he possibly could. “We’re almost there.”

The sound of the tires screeching to a stop jolted you awake, and Bucky quickly got you out of the passenger seat. As he carried you into the emergency room, the staff ran up to the two of you with a stretcher. Gently, Bucky lay you on it and ran with the emergency room staff as they wheeled you into surgery. Unfortunately, he was forced to wait outside, but not before giving you a kiss and whispering that he loved you.

It had felt Bucky had been pacing back and forth for years until Sam and Zemo showed up to the hospital – sitting in the chairs as Bucky continued his rhythm – almost putting a hole in the floor with how frantic he had been moving.

“Buck,” Sam called out – causing the super soldier to look over at him. “She’s gonna be alright.”

Bucky shook his head. “You didn’t see her, Sam.”

Sam knew he couldn’t argue with that statement. He hadn’t actually seen just how bad the wound was, and he wasn’t going to pretend that he did. It took a while, but eventually, Bucky found himself sitting across from the other two men – staring off into space towards the floor. Too many thoughts were racing in his head…too many questions he couldn’t answer.

“Mr. Barnes?” a woman’s voice called out from the door of the waiting area – causing Bucky’s head to shoot up immediately and look over at the doctor. “She’s asking for you.”

Bucky let out a sigh of relief. “She’s awake?”

The doctor nodded. “She is.”

He rushed to his feet and followed the doctor to the room where you lay in – your shoulder wrapped and held in place with a sling. He walked up to the door – knocking gently on the doorframe and causing you to open your eyes.

“Hey, you,” you greeted him sleepily.

Bucky walked in and flashed you a soft smile. “Hey.” He pulled a chair up close to the bed where you lay resting. “How’re you feeling?”

“Like a bullet went through my body,” you chuckled lightly – looking into his beautiful blue eyes. “You saved my life.”

“You saved mine,” he smiled.

You smiled and shook your head. “Is this how our relationship is gonna be? Full of gunfire and fighting?”

“I hope not.” Bucky held your hand and kissed it.

“I love you too,” you spoke softly – causing the soldier to blush hard. You giggled. “I heard you before they put me under.”

Bucky looked down. “That wasn’t how I wanted to tell you the first time,” he confessed. “I just…if you didn’t make it…didn’t want you to not know.” You gave him a soft smile. “So,” he exhaled. “did they say what the damage was?”

You nodded. “Bullet was two millimeters from my heart and right lung is collapsed…They said that the gauze packing you did kept the bullet from moving any further towards my heart.”

Bucky gave you a sweet smile. “It’s my job to protect your heart.”

You laughed at his cheesiness. “You’re adorable, you know that?” you reached your right arm over and brushed his cheek. “I love my old-fashioned gentleman.”

He licked his lips. “I’m only gentle outside of the sheets,” he flirted with a wink.

“Believe me,” you smirked. “I know.”

The two of you laughed at the feeling of relief and cute flirtations. Soon, though, all of the motion taking place at the location of the wound causes you to hiss and cough in pain.

Bucky worriedly moved closer to you. “You alright?”

“Yeah,” you nodded – taking a deep breath and exhaling. “Just can’t move that much.” He placed a gentle kiss on your forehead. “Good thing I have the serum in me.”

“You’ll heal fast.”

You nodded in agreement. “Shouldn’t take more than a couple of days.” You looked over at him with sad eyes. “Bucky…I want our baby.”

“You want me to have someone bring him?” he asked – his flesh thumb rubbing the back of your palm.

You shook your head. “I don’t want him to see me like this...I just need his hugs.”

Bucky gave you a knowing look. “Not happening,” he argued. “I’m not breaking you out of here…you have a collapsed lung.”

You rolled your eyes. “Fine…I do wanna see him though.”

“I know you do, baby,” he smiled sympathetically. “Want me to stay with you tonight?”

“Please.”

“As long as you get some rest,” he bargained. “Need you healed up as soon as possible.”

Knowing that your lover would be by your side, you found comfort in closing your eyes – letting your body take over control and begin healing itself.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #james bucky barnes #james bucky buchanan barnes #the winter soldier #the winter soldier fanfiction #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fluff #bucky fanfic #bucky x reader #bucky x you #the winter solider x reader #winter soldier fanfiction #winter soldier #a night with him in bucharest

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