#and every attempt to fix it makes it worse

[nameless-ken]

Bucky Barnes x Reader - Part Five

Word count: 9.5k (this is a long one)

Warnings: angst, PTSD, mentions of a car crash, death, mentions of death, fluff too because I have to add lightheartedness with angst

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four |

Masterlist

The apartment is quiet except for the soft hum of the heater. Alpine lay curled up on Bucky’s lap, her purring the only sound in the room. Bucky stares blankly at the darkened window, his thoughts tangling. His metal fingers idly stroke Alpine’s fur, the sensation grounding him, even if his mind refuses to settle.

He thought of Y/N—her laugh, the warmth in her eyes, the way she makes Elizabeth light up with joy. The past few weeks have been something he hasn’t dared hope for in years: peaceful. But even as he replays those moments in his mind, doubt gnaws at him. Does he really deserve this kind of happiness? Could someone like him—damaged, haunted—be what Y/N needs?

Alpine stretches, her tail flicking against his hand, pulling him from his spiral. He sighs heavily. His phone buzzes on the table, and he leans over to check the notification.

"Steve: Let's meet up at Sam's tomorrow. Something’s come up. We need to talk."

Bucky’s stomach sinks. He sets the phone back down, dreading whatever Steve has to share. It’s always something, isn’t it? His past never lets him rest.

Alpine meows softly, sensing his unease, and nuzzles his hand. He scratches behind her ears absentmindedly before reaching for the notebook resting on the coffee table. The worn cover feels familiar in his hands, a tether to his scattered thoughts.

He flips past pages filled with his looping handwriting—fragments of memory, observations, and the occasional attempt at poetry. He finds a blank page and pauses, the pen hovering above it as if unsure where to start. Finally, he starts:

Am I even capable of being what someone else needs? Or am I just pretending I can be normal, that I can leave it all behind?

The words hang on the page, stark and accusing. His jaw tightens as he continues.

Y/N deserves someone whole, someone who can give her everything without hesitating. And I… I hesitate. I second-guess every good thing because I don’t believe I’m allowed to have it. But then she smiles, and for a moment, I think… maybe. Maybe it’s okay to try. But is trying enough? I put up a front around her. I suppress my struggles around everyone as to appear normal. 

He stops, pressing the pen harder into the paper than he meant to. The letters blur as his vision clouds, memories of cold steel restraints and harsh voices pressing in.

Alpine shifts on his lap, her weight reminding him where he is. He exhales shakily and sets the notebook aside, rubbing a hand down his face.

Whatever Steve and Sam are coming to talk about, he already knows it will dredge up parts of his past he’d rather forget. And if those parts ever reach Y/N, what then? Would she stay? Or would she look at him the way so many have before—like a problem to fix, or worse, like something broken beyond repair?

He’s been too afraid to let her see his metal arm. It’s more than just the limb—it’s the weight of the memories it carries, the pain it represents. He’s ashamed of it, of what it reminds him of every time he looks at it. The thought of her seeing it, of her being hurt or repulsed by the cold, unfeeling steel, terrifies him. What if she sees the arm and, in it, sees the broken man it belongs to?

He stands, Alpine hopping off his lap with a soft protest. Walking to the window, he stares out at the city below, the faint glow of streetlights shimmering against the glass. His reflection stares back at him—tired, burdened, and unsure.

His phone buzzes again, another notification lighting up the darkened room. This time, it’s a message from Y/N:

"Just thinking about you. Hope you’re doing okay."

The tightness in his chest loosens just slightly. He doesn’t reply right away, instead resting his forehead against the cool glass. The heater hums on, Alpine’s purring resuming as she curls back into her spot.

For now, at least, the world feels a little less heavy.

The next morning, Bucky shows up at your apartment, your usual bright smile faltering when you see the dark circles under Bucky’s eyes.

“You okay?” you ask softly, your hand brushing against his arm. He flinches slightly but covers it up with a tight smile.

“Didn’t sleep great,” he mutters.

You tilt your head, unconvinced. “Would you like to come in for coffee or to the usual cafe?”

Bucky hesitates, his eyes flicking between you and the open door behind you. The warmth in your voice and the gentle concern in your eyes make his chest ache in a way he can’t explain. He shouldn’t have come here, not like this. Not when his mind is a storm he hasn’t figured out how to weather.

“Coffee sounds good,” he finally says, his voice quiet. “Here is fine.”

You smile softly, stepping aside to let him in. “Make yourself comfortable. I’ll get the coffee started.”

As you move to the kitchen, Bucky takes a seat on your couch, his gaze drifting around, admiring all the details–cozy, filled with small, personal touches that feel so distinctly you. There’s a stack of books on the coffee table, a big blue fluffy blanket draped over the arm of the couch, and a framed photo of you and two little boys sitting on a shelf. His heart clenches at the sight of it.

You hum softly as you prepare the coffee, a light tune that drifts into the living room. It’s a sound that, despite himself, Bucky finds calming. He rests his elbows on his knees, staring down at his hands—the metal one covered with his usual leather glove, rests heavily against his thigh.

When you return with two mugs in hand, you pause, taking in the way his shoulders are hunched and the faraway look in his eyes. Setting the mugs down on the table, you sit beside him, close but not too close.

“Hey,” you say gently, drawing his attention back to you. “Whatever it is, you can talk to me.”

Bucky exhales slowly, running a hand through his hair. “It’s nothing,” he lies, his voice strained. “Just...Steve and Sam want to talk. Probably something from my past catching up to me again.”

Your brow furrows with concern. “Do you want me to be there for support?”

His eyes widen slightly, and he shakes his head quickly. “No. No, it’s not...you don’t need to be involved in that.”

“Okay,” you say softly, not wanting to push him. “But if there’s ever anything you need, I’m here. You know that, right?”

He nods, swallowing hard. The sincerity in your voice makes his chest tighten. For a moment, he considers telling you everything—his fears, his doubts, his nightmares. But the words don’t come. Instead, he manages a small, grateful smile.

“I know,” he says quietly. “Thank you.”

The two of you sit in a comfortable silence for a while, sipping coffee. Your presence is steady, unwavering, and though Bucky doesn’t say it, it’s exactly what he needs. Your quiet understanding wraps around him like a safety net, catching the parts of him that feel like they’re constantly slipping through the cracks.

Eventually, he glances at the clock on the wall and sighs. He places his mug down on the table, the scrape of ceramic on wood making you glance up.

“I should get going,” he says, his voice low but steady.

You frown, clearly not wanting him to leave just yet. “Are you sure? You could stay a little longer.”

He shakes his head, standing and running a hand through his hair. “Steve and Sam are waiting. Whatever it is, it’s better to just deal with it sooner than later.”

You stand, too, following him to the door. Your fingers brush his as you hand him his jacket, and he tenses slightly but doesn’t pull away.

“Bucky,” you say softly, your voice drawing his gaze to yours. “Whatever it is, you’ll get through it. And if you need me, I’m just a call away.”

He holds your gaze for a moment, his blue eyes searching yours, his expression unreadable. His attention flickers briefly to your lips before a faint smile tugs at the corner of his mouth—small, hesitant, but real.

“Thanks,” he murmurs, his voice low as he shrugs on his jacket. He pauses, a flicker of indecision crossing his face, and then leans in, pressing a quick kiss to your cheek. The warmth of his lips and the roughness of his stubble send a soft flutter through you.

The gesture is fleeting, almost shy, but it leaves you both standing still for a beat longer than usual.

"I'll call you later." Bucky assures you.

You recover first, smiling warmly. “You better,” you say, your tone light yet reassuring.

His smile lingers for just a moment before he steps out the door. As Bucky steps back out into the chilly, morning air, he exhales a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. The weight in his chest is still there, but somehow, it feels just a little easier to carry. He adjusts his jacket and starts toward Sam’s apartment.

With every step, the quiet doubts whisper at the back of his mind. The fear of what Steve and Sam might bring, the worry of dragging his past into his present. But he forces himself to keep moving.

If there’s one thing he’s learned over the years, it’s that facing the ghosts of his past is the only way to keep them from haunting his future.

As Bucky enters Sam's apartment, Steve meets him halfway into the living room.

“We don’t have all the details yet, but we’ve been hearing rumors. Someone's digging into your past, asking questions about your arm—your history. Could be anyone, but it’s enough to raise a red flag.” Steve informs as Bucky stands, fists clenching at his side. 

His mind races, memories of his past flickering in and out of focus—things he's tried to forget, buried under layers of time and effort.

“What kind of questions?” Bucky’s voice comes out rough, as though it was a struggle to ask, to even speak of it again.

Sam shoots him a glance, his face serious. “Nothing too specific yet, but enough to make it clear someone’s poking around. Doesn’t take much to stir up old ghosts.”

Bucky’s fingers flex at his side, his metal arm feeling heavier than usual. He hates it, hates what it reminds him of. Every inch of him screams to keep it hidden, bury it, away from the world. But now, it seems like the past was coming back for him.

He exhales slowly, his mind clouded with the familiar weight of dread. “I thought I left that part of me behind. Thought I buried it deep enough that it couldn’t find me again.”

Steve’s gaze softens, his expression unwavering. He steps closer, resting a hand on Bucky’s shoulder. “You don’t have to face this alone. We’re here, Bucky. You know that. We’ll figure it out. We always do.”

Sam nods, his face stoic but with a hint of reassurance. “Yeah. We’ve got your back. Whatever’s coming, we’ll handle it together.”

Bucky swallows hard, the knot in his chest tightening. He wants to believe them, but the past has a way of slipping through cracks, creeping back into his life when he least expects it. He isn’t sure he’s ready for whatever is waiting for him.

For a moment, he stands in silence, his eyes distant. Then he nods, his voice hoarse. “Alright. Let’s figure out what we’re up against.”

Steve gives him a firm, reassuring squeeze on the shoulder before turning toward the door. “We’ll take it one step at a time, Buck. Just keep your head up. And if things get too heavy, don’t hesitate to reach out. You know we’re here.”

With one last glance at Sam, Bucky turns and makes his way out of the apartment, the weight of uncertainty pressing down on him. But this time, he isn’t alone. And maybe that’s enough to face whatever is coming next.

The next day, Bucky and Elizabeth arrive at your apartment after school. Elizabeth is her usual excited self, bouncing around with a big grin on her face as she talks non-stop about her day. She runs inside, unaware of the tension hanging in the air, but Bucky is different. He’s quieter than usual, his expression distant. You notice it immediately, the way his shoulders are tense, his eyes too focused on something only he can see.

After a moment, Elizabeth disappears into your guest room, dumping out her backpack with some toys to play with. You turn your attention to Bucky. 

“Bucky,” you say softly, voice filled with concern. “How are you today? Is something bothering you?”  

He hesitates, his eyes flicking toward the door before settling on you. There’s a long pause before he speaks, and when he does, his voice is low, tight.

“It’s nothing,” he mutters, but you can hear the strain. “Just some old stuff coming back to bite me.”

You cross your arms, frustration bubbling up but not wanting to push him to talk. You can see through him, the walls he’s built up. “You don’t have to do this alone, you know. I do care about you, and I want to help. But I can’t if you don’t let me in.”

Bucky glances at you, his jaw tight. For a moment, you think he’s going to say something, but then he just shakes his head. “It’s not that simple. You don’t know what it’s like to carry this around—to always be waiting for the other shoe to drop.”

“Then tell me,” you urge. “Let me in.”

Before he can respond, a loud crash suddenly cuts through the air. Your heart stops as the sound of shattering glass echoes from your guest room. You don’t even think; just spring into action, rushing toward the room with Bucky right behind.

You reach the doorway to the room at the same time. Elizabeth is huddled in the corner, her eyes wide with terror, staring at the broken window. A dark figure is retreating into the night, disappearing into the shadows before either of you can get a good look at them.

Bucky’s entire body goes rigid, his metal arm clenching instinctively. You see the shift in him—the moment his protective instincts take over. His jaw tightens as he looks at you, his expression hardening.

“Stay here,” he demands, his voice sharp, commanding. “Call Steve.”

You nod quickly, fear coiling in your stomach. You pull out your phone, dialing Steve’s number with trembling hands. As you wait for the call to connect, you look down at Elizabeth, her small form trembling in your arms. You whisper soothing words, but your own heart is racing, your thoughts scrambling to keep up with what just happened. You move with Elizabeth out of the guest room and into the living room, sitting on the couch with her curled up in your lap. 

“Shh, you’re safe,” you whisper softly, holding her tightly. “Bucky’s going to handle it. It’s going to be okay.”

Elizabeth doesn’t say anything, but she nods against you with tears streaming down her soft cheeks, the quiet terror in her face tears at you. You wish you could tell her everything’s fine, but you don’t know what’s coming next.

The phone rings once, twice, before Steve picks up. “Y/N? Everything okay? How are you?”

“Someone broke into my apartment,” you explain, your voice shaky. “Elizabeth and Bucky are here and everyone is okay, but they... they broke into my guest room window, and—Bucky’s after them.”

“Is Elizabeth alright?” Steve cuts in, his voice sharp with concern.

“She’s scared, but she’s fine, I have her with me” you say, trying to keep your voice steady. “They ran off, but Bucky’s going after them. Please—hurry over. I am texting you my address.”

“Don’t worry, we’ll be there soon. Stay inside, don’t open the door for anyone else.”

You hang up, letting the phone fall beside you as you continue to hold Elizabeth. Her grip tightens around you as she presses closer, seeking comfort from the warmth of your embrace. You gently stroke her hair, murmuring soft reassurances.

“It’s going to be okay, sweetie,” you whisper again, though your own heart is far from calm. “Uncle Bucky and your dad will take care of this.”

But even as you speak the words, doubt creeps in. The broken window is a sign that things aren’t as simple as they seem. Whoever did this isn’t going to stop with a broken window. You shiver, the weight of the situation settling over you.

Just then, the sound of hurried footsteps reaches your ears. You look up to see Steve and Sam entering the apartment, their expressions grim. Without a word, they take in the situation—the broken window, the tension in the air, the terrified look on Elizabeth’s face. Steve moves toward the two of you, his eyes softening as he kneels down to Elizabeth’s level.

“Hey bub,” Steve says, offering her a warm smile despite the tension. “You doing okay?”

Elizabeth nods slowly, though her face is still pale. Steve wipes at the wetness on her cheeks, leaning in and pressing a kiss to her head. 

“We’ll take it from here,” he says. “Stay with her, Y/N. We’ll figure this out.”

Sam, already on his phone, glances at you once more. “We’ll handle it. Bucky’s not alone.”

The door clicks closed behind them, leaving you and Elizabeth in the quiet aftermath. You’re left with a sinking feeling in your stomach, knowing the fight’s not over yet—and whatever just happened, it’s only the beginning.

You glance toward the guest room—the broken window still gaping, the evidence of the intruder’s presence stark against the fading daylight. It’s a reminder that this wasn’t just some random occurrence. Someone deliberately targeted your home, your safe space. Whoever they were, they were watching.

Bucky’s protective instincts kicked in the moment the glass shattered. You know he’ll do whatever it takes to protect those he cares about. But still, there's a part of you that’s scared. Scared for Elizabeth. Scared for Bucky. Scared for what might be coming next.

You shake the thoughts from your head, focusing instead on Elizabeth. You need to stay calm for her. She needs you to be strong, even if you're falling apart inside.

After what feels like an eternity, you hear the soft click of the front door, and then the unmistakable sound of Bucky’s voice calling your name.

“Y/N?”

You jump to your feet, still holding Elizabeth tightly in your arms. She stirs at the sound of his voice, lifting her head to look around. You meet Bucky’s eyes as he enters the room, his face drawn with concern. His clothes are slightly rumpled, his expression more exhausted than angry, but you can see the relief in his eyes as he looks at you and Elizabeth.

“Is she okay?” he asks, his voice soft but laced with tension.

You nod, holding Elizabeth a little tighter. “She’s shaken, but she’s alright. You... you found them?”

Bucky exhales slowly, his gaze flicking briefly toward the broken window showing through the guest room door frame. His body language is guarded, but there’s a faint flicker of frustration in his eyes. “Yeah. They were long gone by the time I got out there. But I... I think they were watching. They knew exactly where to hit.”

You can hear the unease in his voice, the weight of his words sinking in. It wasn’t a random break-in. Whoever did this had a purpose.

Elizabeth shifts in your arms, her eyes flicking between the two of you. “Uncle Bucky,” she says quietly, her voice small, “is it... is it safe now?”

Bucky kneels in front of her, his metal hand resting gently on her shoulder. His expression softens as he meets her eyes. “Yeah, bee,” he says, his voice soothing. “It’s safe now. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

Elizabeth nods, but her face is still pale, her lips trembling just slightly. You can tell she’s trying to be brave, but the fear is still there, lurking beneath the surface.

“Let’s get going. We’ll stay at Steve’s for the night. It’s the safest place right now.” Bucky responds. “Pack anything you need but do it fast.” 

You nod, handing him Elizabeth as you rush to pack a bag, grabbing the essentials and closing the guest room door, not wanting to look at the damage right now. 

“Let’s go,” you say, voice steady despite the storm of emotions swirling inside you.

Bucky nods, he doesn’t look back as he ushers you both toward the door.

The drive to Steve’s house is a blur. The car is filled with an eerie silence, each of you lost in your own thoughts. Elizabeth has her head resting against your shoulder as you sit beside her in the back seat, not wanting to leave her alone, her small body still trembling as she tries to hold it together. Every so often, you feel her fingers tighten around your hand, as if reminding herself you’re there, that she’s not alone.

Bucky drives with tense precision, his eyes scanning the rearview mirror every few seconds, always alert, always on edge. The streets blur as he takes you through the city, toward the familiarity of Steve’s home. 

When you finally pull up to Steve’s house, the security gates open almost immediately, and you’re ushered inside with a sense of relief, as though the weight of the world has been momentarily lifted off your shoulders. Bucky parks the car in the garage, and you help Elizabeth out, her small hand still clutching yours.

Inside, the house feels different from the night of the Friendsgiving. Steve is waiting in the foyer when you enter, his face lighting up when he sees Elizabeth. His usual warmth is tempered with concern, though, his eyes flicking over to Bucky for confirmation.

“You’re safe now.” Steve reassures, his voice low, eyes darting to Elizabeth’s tight grip on your hand.

You nod quickly, trying to keep your composure. “Thank you, for letting me stay over.”

“Of course. A friend of Bucky’s is now a friend of ours.” Steve gives you a small smile, trying to ease the night. 

Steve crouches down to Elizabeth’s level, opening his arms for her to fall into. She immediately wraps her arms around his neck. “Daddy’s got you. Let’s get you ready for bed bub.” 

“Oh, my darling,” You all glance up at Peggy’s voice. She appears at the top of the stairs as Steve carries Elizabeth up to her room. 

You watch in silence as the family reunite, coddling their daughter, making her feel safe. 

Bucky’s gaze softens at you, eyes meeting yours across the foyer. He doesn’t need to ask. It’s written on your face—the exhaustion, the concern, the fear still lurking beneath your calm exterior.

Bucky’s steps are quiet as he approaches, his expression steady but filled with empathy. "You’re safe here," he promises, grabbing your hand, squeezing it softly. "Take a breath. Let me make you a drink."

You nod, grateful for the offer but too tired to speak. You follow behind as he leads the way towards the kitchen. The sound of the fridge opening and the soft clink of glass are the only sounds that fill the space, an unfamiliar comfort in the quiet after the chaos.

The house feels warm and welcoming, but there’s a lingering tension in the air. The kind that stays even when everything is supposed to be alright. You can’t shake the feeling that whoever did this isn’t done. They know where you are now.

A soft cough pulls you from your thoughts, and you turn to find Steve standing a few feet away, his posture rigid but there's a softness in his expression now, a layer of concern beneath the usual stoic demeanor. “You alright?” Steve asks, his voice quiet but carrying the weight of everything that’s happened tonight.

You take a deep breath, trying to find some semblance of control. "Just… processing," you say, the words coming out more rigid than you intended. "It’s just been a lot."

Steve nods, his gaze flicking over to where Bucky is gripping the counter top, his back tense facing you both.

“If you need anything… I mean, anything... you can stay here as long as you need. You are no longer just Elizabeth’s teacher. Anyone important to Bucky, is important to all of us. Bucky’s right, you’re safe. And we’re not going to let anything happen to anyone."

The words hit harder than you expect, a promise laced with sincerity and a little bit of pain—he means it, and it’s almost overwhelming to hear.

"Thank you," you whisper, barely able to keep the emotion in check. "I really appreciate everything."

As Steve turns to leave you and Bucky alone in the kitchen, you feel the weight of the situation sink back in.

Bucky sets the glass in front of you, his touch deliberate as he slides it across the counter. “It’s nothing fancy, but it’ll help.”

You don’t hesitate to take the drink, grateful for the gesture even if you’re not sure how much it will ease the tightness in your chest. The liquid is warm and slightly burns as it slides down your throat, but it doesn't take away the gnawing sense of unease.

Bucky stands beside you, his posture still tense, but there’s something softer in the way he watches you—his usual hardened exterior momentarily set aside.

"I know it's not much," he says, voice low, "but I won’t let anything happen to you. I’m sorry for bringing all this into your life. I know you didn’t ask for any of this. I guess this is why I was trying not to get too close.” 

You nod slowly, the weight of his words not lost on you. Bucky’s been through his own hell, and yet, here he is—still standing guard, still offering whatever help he can. It’s comforting in its own way, but it also reminds you how much is at stake.

You take a slow, steady breath, your fingers lightly tracing the edge of your glass as you absorb Bucky’s words. “You don’t have to apologize,” you say quietly, your voice hoarse but determined. “None of this is your fault. Just because something happened in your past, it doesn’t define your present.”

Bucky doesn’t respond right away, his gaze softening, a mixture of relief and something else flickering behind his eyes.

The quiet is interrupted by the sound of footsteps approaching. You turn, and there’s Peggy, standing at the doorway to the kitchen. She’s dressed comfortably, her hair pulled back into a loose ponytail, but her eyes are sharp, a knowing look crossing her face as she observes the situation.

“Everything alright?” Peggy asks, her voice warm but carrying an undertone of concern. She glances between you and Bucky, her eyes narrowing slightly as she takes in the scene.

“Yeah,” you reply quickly, though the exhaustion in your voice is impossible to hide. “Just… a long night.”

Peggy’s gaze softens immediately, her expression shifting into one of empathy. She steps fully into the kitchen, crossing the floor to stand beside you. “I’m just glad everyone is safe. Steve filled me in on the situation, but if you need anything, don’t hesitate to ask.”

Her attention then shifts to Bucky, her eyes lingering on him for a moment before she speaks again. “There is only one guest room, but the couch is available too. Whatever you both prefer.”

Bucky’s lips twitch, the faintest hint of humor in his eyes as he responds, “I’ll take the couch, thanks.”

You glance at Bucky, a small sigh escaping you. "That's ridiculous," you say, your voice softer but firm. "You’ve done enough. We’ve already been through enough tonight. It’s okay… It’ll be easier if we’re together. I’ll feel safer, at ease, knowing you're there."

Bucky looks at you for a long moment, his jaw tightening slightly, as if weighing the offer. His expression is unreadable, but you can see the hesitation in his eyes.

Finally, he exhales, the tension easing from his shoulders as he nods. “Alright. If you’re sure.”

“I’m sure,” you affirm with a small, tired smile.

Peggy, who’s been quietly observing, smiles warmly at both of you. “Well, if you’re sure, then I’ll let you two get settled in. Have a good night. See you in the morning.”

As Peggy disappears out of the kitchen, Bucky turns to you, his gaze lingering for a moment before he steps closer. “I’ll keep you safe,” he promises again, his voice low and steady. It’s not the first time he’s said it, but this time, there’s a quiet certainty in his words.

You give him a small nod. “I know.”

Together, you make your way upstairs, the weight of the night still heavy but exhaustion taking over. Bucky leads the way into the room, his presence comforting despite the lingering shadows of fear. You can hear the soft hum of the house around you, the familiar sounds of Steve and Peggy moving a few doors down, here, in this quiet room, it feels like a moment of calm before the storm.

As Bucky takes off his jacket and shoes, you slip into the adjoined bathroom, changing into your pajamas, the soft fabric comforting against your tired skin. When you exit and glance over at Bucky, you see him standing still for a moment, his hand resting on the edge of the dresser, his posture rigid as though he's preparing himself for something.

You don’t want to make him feel uncomfortable, but something about this moment feels more intimate than anything before. The thought that you’ve never seen Bucky’s metal arm, that piece of him he's always kept hidden, lingers in your mind. You watch him as he slowly pulls off his shirt, revealing the metal arm for the first time.

The sight takes you by surprise. It’s beautiful in its own way—sleek and strong—but there’s a quiet sadness in his eyes as he turns towards you, the weight of his past unmistakable.

Bucky catches your gaze, his expression tight. “I’m not… I’m not sure what you’re thinking,” he says softly, his voice steady but full of uncertainty. He reaches up, rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand. “It’s not… it’s not who I am. But it’s all that was left after… the people who took me, who… did this.”

You don’t speak immediately, your gaze softening as you look at him, trying to convey everything you feel without words. You want to reassure him, but you're not sure how.

“It…it was blown off in battle," he continues, his voice distant, as though he’s reliving the moment. "The people who… kidnapped me—they gave me this. And they experimented on me. It’s not just the arm. But sometimes, this thing... It scares me. I don’t want you to be afraid of it, of me.”

His voice falters toward the end, and you can see the vulnerability in his eyes—vulnerability that he doesn’t let others see, but it’s here now, with you. He sits down on the bed, resting against the pillows. You crawl onto the bed beside him, feeling a pull to make him feel safe, just as he’s always made you feel.

“You don’t have to hide it from me, Bucky,” you say softly, scooting closer. “I’m not afraid of you. I know you wouldn’t hurt me.”

Bucky exhales sharply, and for a moment, he looks away, his gaze conflicted. He sits there, motionless, before he finally looks back at you. “I’m sorry,” he mutters under his breath. “For all of this. I never meant to drag you into it.”

You feel a pang in your chest, seeing how deeply he feels this guilt. You reach out, placing your hand gently on his left arm, the cold, metal surface unfamiliar but comforting in its own way.

“You didn’t drag me into anything, Bucky,” you say, your voice steady, as you take his metal hand in yours and place it over your waist. “I’m here because I want to be. I’m here because I care about you.”

Bucky hesitates, his eyes darting from your face to his arm resting on your waist, unsure. It’s almost as if he’s afraid of pulling you closer, of touching you in a way that might break this fragile connection you’ve started to form.

But you know what you need, what you both need. You shift on the bed so that your body is pressed closer against his, and gently guide his arm to rest more over you. You close your eyes for a moment, willing him to let go of his hesitation.

“I know you won’t hurt me,” you whisper again, your voice calm, knowing what you’re asking him to do is not easy. “Please, just hold me. It’s okay.”

Bucky stares at you for a moment longer, and then, with a soft breath, he lays his arm down fully, pulling you into his chest. He wraps his left arm around you carefully, his metal hand resting against your back in a comforting, steady hold.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion. “You deserve better than this.”

You shake your head gently, pressing your cheek against his chest. “Stop apologizing,” you say, your voice firm but tender. “I’m here to stay, Bucky. You don’t have to carry this on your own anymore. And you won’t lose me. I’m not going anywhere.”

Bucky’s breath catches slightly, and he pulls you a little closer, as though trying to make the words you’ve said real in the way he holds you. His heart beats steadily against your ear, and you can feel the weight of everything he’s been through, all the pain he carries—but it’s nothing you can’t bear.

“I’m grateful for every Friday afternoon you’ve picked Elizabeth up at school. So grateful we met each other.” you whisper, your words muffled against his chest. “For all the moments we’ve shared, no matter how small they seem. They’ve meant the world to me.”

Bucky’s heart seems to beat a little faster, his grip tightening around you, as though he’s afraid you might slip away if he doesn’t hold on just a little tighter.

Before you can say anything else, Bucky lifts your chin gently with his metal hand, his expression soft and full of longing. His lips find yours in a kiss that starts tender but deepens as the moment pulls you both in, the weight of everything you’ve just shared passing between you in a breathless, passionate kiss.

It’s a kiss full of everything—comfort, release, promises unspoken, and a bond that’s only just begun to take root. 

And for the first time in a long time, you both feel a little less alone.

The morning light streams through the curtains of the guest room, casting a soft, golden hue across the room. You shift slightly in the bed, stretching as the warmth of the covers cling to your body. The quiet calm of the house is comforting, and for a moment, you almost forget about the events of the night before.

Beside you, Bucky stirs, his movements slow and deliberate as he stretches out beside you. He smiles softly, his eyes still heavy with sleep. The warmth of his body beside yours make the morning feel even more intimate, and you find yourself smiling back at him, your hearts still wrapped in the same contentment from the night before. The quiet, tender moment is enough to make you feel at home in this space, with him.

"Morning," he mutters.

"Morning," you whisper against the stillness of the room.

There’s a small pause before Bucky rolls over to look at you, his face relaxes, his expression warm. "You sleep okay?"

You nod. "Yeah, it was perfect."

Bucky smiles again, and for a moment, neither of you move, content just to stay in the quiet together. But after a while, the sounds of movement downstairs reach your ears. The familiar hum of voices, the quiet clinking of dishes, and the faint scent of breakfast began to fill the air. It’s time to get up.

Bucky let out a low grunt as he sat up, rubbing his face. "Alright, let's go see what they’re cooking up."

You both swing your legs out of bed and make your way downstairs, your footsteps soft on the wooden floor. 

In the dining room, the table is set. Steve and Peggy are busy cooking breakfast, flipping pancakes and eggs, while Elizabeth sits at the table, coloring in her favorite book. Her face lights up when she sees you and Bucky enter, a wide grin spreading across her face.

"Good morning!" she beams, hopping out of her seat.

"Morning, bee," Bucky exclaims, ruffling her hair as he passes by.

Elizabeth turns to you with a hopeful look. "Can you sit beside me for breakfast?"

You smile at her, moving to take the empty seat beside her. "Of course."

Bucky takes the seat across from you two, settling in with a content sigh. Steve and Peggy appear with platters filled with eggs, pancakes and bacon before taking their seats. As everyone digs into breakfast, the conversation flows easily. Peggy shares a few stories, and Steve makes a few jokes, always quick with a smile. Elizabeth, happily eating her pancakes, chimes in every so often with thoughts on her coloring book, her enthusiasm contagious.

It was simple, quiet—a family breakfast that felt like it had been this way for years. You’re grateful for this company. It has been a long time since you’ve had “family” time like this. 

After a while, Elizabeth pauses, her fork mid-air, and then gasps. She points out the window with wide eyes. "Look! Look outside!"

Everyone turns to see the soft, white snow beginning to fall, the flakes drifting gently down from the sky, coating the backyard in a blanket of white.

The room is quiet for a moment as everyone admires the sight, and then Elizabeth breaks the silence, practically bouncing in her seat. "Can we go play in the snow? Please?"

"Well, how could we say no to that?" Peggy says, smiling at Elizabeth's eager face. "Let’s all go out and play."

"Sounds like a good plan," Steve agrees, rising from the table to grab his coat.

The group moves toward the entryway, where everyone begins to gather their coats, boots, and gloves. You turn to Peggy. "Do you have anything extra I can borrow?"

"Of course," she responds, leading you to the coat rack, where she hands you a warm jacket, scarf, and gloves.

Bucky, looking over at Steve’s collection of winter gear, borrows some too. 

Soon, everyone is bundled up, and with a cheer of excitement, you step outside, the fresh snow crunching beneath your boots. The cold air is sharp, but the sight of the snow-covered backyard makes everything feel magical. Elizabeth immediately runs into the yard, throwing her arms out as she twirls, her laughter bright and carefree.

Bucky follows her, offering to help her build a snowman. Together, you all work to shape the snow into the body, laughing at how much bigger the snowballs get as everyone joins in. The snowman’s arms are made of twigs, and soon a carrot is placed as his nose, with mismatched rocks for eyes.

Elizabeth then scoops up a handful of snow, and with a mischievous glint in her eyes, she tosses it toward Bucky. The snowball hit him in the chest, and Bucky grins, picking up a handful of snow in retaliation.

The snowball fight begins—lighthearted and full of laughter. Elizabeth ducks behind the snowman as Bucky tosses snowballs, narrowly missing her. Steve and Peggy, having finished making the snowman, exchange amused glances and head back inside to prepare hot chocolate for everyone.

Bucky turns to you, his face flushes from the cold, but his eyes soft and warm. He catches your gaze, his expression changing, something a little more tender in his smile.

For a moment, it feels as though everything is quiet again, just the two of you standing together in the middle of the snow, the world outside fading into the distance. Bucky takes a step closer, and your heart races a little, caught in the moment, leaning toward him just as he leans in—

But before your lips meet, a snowball hits Bucky square in the back.

Elizabeth laughs, gleefully sprinting across the yard. “Gotcha!”

Bucky grins and, without a second thought, scoops Elizabeth up, tossing her over his shoulder with ease. “Oh, you’re in for it now, bee,” he says, his voice playful.

Elizabeth squeals in delight, her arms flailing as she is carried through the snow.

You can’t help but laugh, the sound escaping before you can stifle it. There’s something about watching them—so carefree, so lighthearted—that makes your chest tighten with affection. You follow them back inside, where the warmth of the house greets you like a hug.

Steve and Peggy have set up in the living room, the fireplace crackling softly in the background, the scent of cocoa mingling with the cozy atmosphere. They look up when you walk in, Steve’s smile warm and welcoming, Peggy’s eyes twinkling with amusement.

“Hot chocolate’s ready,” Steve says, handing you a mug. “Come warm up.” Everyone takes off their winter gear. 

Elizabeth takes a mug from her mom, her face pink from the cold, her grin wide and satisfied and immediately curls up next to the fireplace, wrapping herself in a blanket. You sit beside her, the warmth from the fire seeping into your skin as you sip your drink, the quiet of the evening settling in around you.

As a movie drifts on the tv, the playful energy of the snowball fight still lingering in the room, you realize how different today has felt. It’s as if the snow fall outside has swept away the weight of yesterday, leaving everything cleaner, fresher. The air feels lighter.

It’s as though, for a brief moment, everything’s exactly as it should be.

After a while, as the evening stretches into night, you hear Bucky’s voice, quieter now, as he thanks Steve and Peggy for letting you stay. "I really appreciate it," he says, his tone sincere, and you echo his gratitude.

“Yes, thank you both for everything. I can’t thank you enough for welcoming me in like you have.”

Steve stands up, pulling you into a tight hug, and Peggy follows, wrapping her arms around you as well. “Anytime,” Steve says, pulling back to give you a knowing look. “If anything ever happens like that again, don’t hesitate to call.”

“Same goes for me,” Peggy adds, her voice warm and reassuring. “Take care of yourself.”

The hug from both of them feels like a shield—comforting. You pull away slowly, smiling up at them, but it’s Elizabeth who steals the moment next.

You crouch down in front of her, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear. “I’ll see you on Monday,” you say softly.

Elizabeth’s small arms wrap around your neck, pulling you into an unexpected hug. “I love you, Miss Y/L/N,” she says, her voice filled with such sincerity that it catches you off guard. “Thanks for saving me.”

You freeze, the words a punch to the chest. You’ve had kids tell you they love you before, but this feels different—more genuine, more heartfelt. You hold her close, letting the emotion surge through you, grateful for her innocence.

“I love you too, Elizabeth,” you whisper, pulling back just enough to meet her gaze. “I’m happy to be here for you. Always.”

Elizabeth’s eyes shine brightly as she tightens her arms around you one more time. Her simple, unguarded affection warms you in a way you hadn’t expected. She’s been a light in your life without even knowing it.

As you stand up, Bucky catches your eyes. His expression is softer than usual, something in his gaze that says more than words could. He gives you a small nod, a silent acknowledgment. Bucky says his goodbye to Elizabeth, her hug even tighter around him. 

"Ready to head out?" Bucky asks, stepping toward you.

You nod, your heart full, taking one last look around the room before following him to the door. The warmth from the house still lingers as you walk out into the night, but with Bucky by your side.

Once you’re in the car, Bucky turns to you. “Ready to get some rest?” His voice is low, like he’s making sure you’re okay, like he’s already looking out for you.

"I can’t go back there, Bucky," you say quietly, the words coming out before you can stop them.

He glances at you, his face softening. "I know. You’re coming home with me. You’re not going back until we can get that window fixed and me and Sam find out more about the intruder." His voice is firm, but with a gentleness to his words.

You don’t protest. You trust Bucky more than anyone. Without another word, you let the quiet of the drive settle over you as the snow continues to build outside.

As you arrive at Bucky’s apartment, he’s quick to grab your bags from the backseat. You realize this is the first time you’ve been here, and a sense of quiet anticipation lingers in the air. Bucky holds your bags in one hand and, with his other hand, gently takes yours as he leads you up a couple of flights of stairs. He unlocks the front door and holds it open, allowing you to step inside first.

The apartment is calm and cozy, the kind of place you’d expect to feel at home in. It’s smaller than you imagined, but there’s a warmth to it—soft, dim lights and the gentle hum of a heater make it feel inviting, a stark contrast to the cold outside.

“I know it’s not much,” Bucky says, closing the door behind him and locking it.

You look around and smile. “It’s nice, comfortable, and honestly, it feels very much like you.” You let out a small laugh as you notice a pile of blankets and pillows scattered on the floor near the couch.

Bucky follows your gaze and chuckles. “Uh, I crash there sometimes. The bed can feel too soft at times.”

“You don’t have to explain anything to me,” you reply, understanding more than he knows. “I get it.”

He nods, a slight smile tugging at his lips before heading toward the kitchen. “I’ll make us some tea,” he calls over his shoulder, the sound of running water and cabinet doors closing filling the air.

You take a seat on his small couch, glancing around, your eyes catching a litter box and a few scattered cat toys in the corner. “Do you have a cat?” you ask, curious as Bucky returns, handing you a steaming mug.

“Yeah, Alpine. She’s at Sam’s place right now. Keeps her whenever I’m away.” Bucky’s voice softens as he talks about her, his fondness clear.

“I love cats. I’ve always wanted one but never got around to it.” You smile at the thought.

“I found her in an alley when I first moved here. She keeps me grounded.”

The conversation quiets as you both sit in the comfort of his apartment, sipping tea. Your thoughts drift back to earlier that day, to the warmth of family and the joy you hadn’t realized you missed until you saw it again. A lump forms in your throat, and your heart aches, the tenderness of the moment catching you off guard.

Bucky watches you closely, sensing the shift in your mood. “Hey, you okay?” He sets his mug down, turning to face you fully, his hands gently cradling your face. The care in his touch is unmistakable, and it sends a quiet comfort through you.

You hesitate for a moment. You’ve been holding this back for so long, the weight of it all pressing down on you. “I don’t know,” you whisper, voice shaking. “I’ve been running from it for so long.”

Bucky doesn’t rush you, only nods, waiting patiently for you to speak when you’re ready.

Taking a steadying breath, you grab your bag from beside the couch, pulling out your wallet and carefully removing a folded picture. For a moment, you hold it, your gaze lingering on the photo, the memories flooding back. Then, you hand it to Bucky, your fingers trembling slightly.

The photo is a few years old now, but it feels as fresh as yesterday. It shows you with your sister and your two young nephews, standing in front of your childhood home. Your sister smiles, with her arms around the boys, their laughter frozen in time. You can almost hear the sound of their joy in the background, and for a moment, it feels like nothing has changed.

"I—" You swallow, the words thick in your throat. "A few years ago, we were driving to my dad’s on a snow day from school. We were going to have an early dinner. Nothing big, just a little family gathering." You pause, your chest tightens. "Another car lost control on the opposite side of the road. We didn’t see it coming. The other car slid into us. My sister, she—she died on impact."

Tears begin to slip down your cheeks, your voice barely above a whisper as the pain resurfaces, raw and unbearable. "My nephews, they were only five and seven. They were taken to the hospital, but they didn’t survive. They died hours later."

You grip the photo tightly, the edges worn from years of handling it, your heart breaking once more.

"And me…" You continue, your voice cracking. "I was the only one who made it. I had to have several surgeries, months of recovery. I healed physically, but mentally… that’s still a work in progress. I miss them every day. They were my family, and I—I don’t know how to keep going without them. It’s changed everything, Bucky. It’s changed me."

Bucky’s hand, which had been resting on the couch, moves to gently hold yours. His grip is steady, reassuring, and there’s an understanding in his eyes—an unspoken recognition of the pain you’re carrying. His voice is low, filled with empathy.

“You’re not alone,” he says softly. “I get it. I know what it’s like to lose pieces of yourself in ways you never think you’ll recover from. But you keep going, even when you don’t think you can. You just… keep going.”

His words strike a chord deep within you, his vulnerability a mirror to your own. It’s not just the soldier in him talking—it's the man who has seen the depths of loss, who has lived through it and come out the other side.

You blink back more tears, nodding, the weight in your chest feeling a little lighter just by having him there.

Bucky’s hand tightens around yours, offering a comfort that needs no explanation. He leans back against the couch, his gaze turning inward for a moment, before he looks at you again, his expression softer now.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, your voice small.

Bucky shakes his head, a slight smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Don’t apologize. You’ve been through hell, and it’s not easy. It’s not supposed to be.”

The two of you sit in silence for a while, neither of you rushing through the pain or pretending to have all the answers. There’s a sense of peace, of understanding, and it’s enough. For now, it’s more than enough.

Finally, Bucky shifts slightly, offering a small, almost awkward smile. “Do you want to take a shower? The first door on the right,” he adds quickly, rubbing the back of his neck.

You raise an eyebrow, teasing him. “I mean—uh, not with me, but if you want to take a shower, feel free to.” He’s clearly embarrassed, but the warmth in his voice is endearing.

You giggle at his awkwardness. “Thanks, I can definitely use one.” You lean in and kiss his cheek, the gesture soft and comforting. “You can join me if you want,” you tease with a smirk as you stand and grab your bag, heading toward the short hallway.

Bucky’s face flushes, but his eyes sparkle with a quiet amusement. “I’ll… think about it.”

Bucky sits still for a moment after your teasing remark, his gaze watches you walk into the bathroom, leaving the door ajar. He runs a hand through his hair, taking a slow breath as he seems to gather his thoughts. 

“Fuck it,” He mutters to himself, pushing through his insecurities, gaining courage with each determined step he takes. 

He pushes the door open softly, the sound of water filling the air as steam starts to roll out. His eyes glue to you through the textured glass door. His fist clenches in need, seeing you so vulnerable and you allowing him to see you this way, works him up more than he thought it would. 

He strips off his clothes, glancing down mentally praying for his dick to not intrude this vulnerable moment but one look at you as he opens the glass door, he knows he’s done for. 

Your eyes meet his, as your chest rises and falls faster as he steps in and closes in on you. Your eyes filter over his toned chest, watching the water glides down and glistens against his metal arm. Your breath catches in your throat as you peak down quickly before looking back to his eyes, the apparent smirk resting on his face. 

"I can... I can wash your hair if you want," His voice is calm, but you can hear the trace of nervousness underneath.

You nod, words lost in your throat as you turn around to face the water. Bucky’s hands are careful, gentle as he pours a bit of shampoo into his palm, his fingers working it through your hair with slow, steady movements. The touch is so tender, you almost forget everything else, letting yourself relax into the sensation of his hands massaging your scalp before the hot water cascades down your back, washing away the remnants of the day.

When it’s his turn, you return the favor, taking a bottle of body wash and working it into a washcloth, reaching out to his chest first. His skin is so warm under your touch, and as you slowly move to wash his shoulders and back, you notice how he lets out a soft exhale, as though the act of being cared for, of sharing this moment, is something he didn’t realize he needed.

You both take your time, no rush, no pressure. Just the quiet intimacy of helping each other unwind, of being present in the moment together, with no expectations. His fingers brush against your arm when you rinse his body, and the gesture feels like a silent acknowledgment of how much trust you’re giving each other in this small space, how much it matters.

When you’re both clean and standing close under the cascading water, Bucky turns to face you again, his eyes searching yours for a moment. There’s a vulnerability there, but also something deeper, something more familiar now, as though the weight between you both is no longer as heavy.

You smile softly, your fingers gently tracing the edge of his jaw, and then, before either of you can second guess it, you close the distance, pressing your lips to his. It’s a soft, unhurried kiss, the water flowing over you both, warm and comforting. The kiss is more of an unspoken promise, a way to share everything that words can’t quite express.

When you pull away, you both stand there for a moment, close enough to feel each other’s breath. 

Bucky finally breaks the silence with a small chuckle. “Well, that wasn’t so bad, huh?”

You laugh softly, nodding. “Not bad at all.”

He helps you rinse off the last of the soap, then reaches to turn off the water. You step out first, wrapping yourself in a towel, your hair damp and hanging loosely. Bucky follows, grabbing his own towel, and you both move toward the small bedroom, your hearts a little lighter than before.

The room is cozy and intimate, lit only by the soft glow of the bedside lamp. As you change into your pajamas, Bucky does the same, his movements quiet but sure. When you're both ready, you climb into the bed, the sheets warm against your skin. He slides in beside you, and for a long moment, neither of you speaks.

It’s not a grand gesture or a declaration of anything, just the simple act of being together. His arm drapes over your waist, pulling you close, and you rest your head on his chest. There’s no rush, no expectation.

“Goodnight doll,” he whispers into the quiet, his voice steady and calm.

“Goodnight Buck,” you reply, feeling the weight of the day finally fall away, the quiet peace of being in his presence wrapping around you like a blanket.

And for the first time in a long while, you fall asleep, knowing that tomorrow can wait, and for tonight, you’re exactly where you need to be.

Thanks for reading! Please reblog & comment <3 would love to hear how you enjoy it and feel free to send in requests!

[butleroftoast]

Personally I think I am owed a medal for working 17 years in a retail-adjacent sector and not throwing myself or anyone else into the on-site pond.

Not even the rude, entitled customer who outright lied to me today in order to get the booking they wanted.

[thatone-churro]

okay. i know it’s a very bad idea to seek mental health advice from the internet, especially tumblr of all places, but i have a genuine question about this.

actually, before i get too far, i guess i should add some context about myself:

i’m fairly talkative in a certain sense. i like talking. if i start talking about something i like, or if i get excited while talking, i can talk a lot. when i’m alone, i tend to talk to myself a lot. just verbalizing thoughts, mostly; talking myself through a strategy, just voicing my thoughts as i play through a video game, or sometimes just babbling as though i’m talking to someone else. this is a frequent thing and not the root of my concern.

course, sometimes i talk a little less in public or in certain social situations if i’m not “invited” to speak too (more than just being spoken to first, but that’s another explanation i don’t want to go into right now), but i’ve always been like that; something, something, i know it’s more about social anxiety or something that i know i inherited and is a different discussion for a different day.

so, every now and then i have these days where, for lack of a better description, talking feels like it takes too much energy. even that doesn’t feel like it explains it properly but. like the same struggle to get out of bed on a rough day. like somehow speaking, the act of opening my mouth and forcing words out of my throat, takes too many spoons. the same way it feels like taking a shower or brushing your teeth has too many steps despite it being a simple process when your depression’s acting up (we’ll get back to this comparison in a minute).

i can tell when these days come on before i even have to speak to someone; it feels like my words are stuck in my throat. i mean that physically; there’s not actually something in my throat, but there’s a weight of some sort.

i’ve taken to calling these days “quiet days,” since this feeling affects just about everything associated with talking; making myself talk is a struggle; i can’t even talk to myself and all those monologues and discussions happen inside my head instead, but i can’t verbalize them; i don’t want people to talk to me on these days, as in there’s a deliberate, subconscious feeling already there on those days, not that i’m not wanting to talk because of the other feelings; actively listening to and comprehending things people say is also an effort to do, and i tend to tune out my music or whatever background noise i set for myself more than usual; i’ve recently discovered that this same feeling is applied to singing, much to my dismay, because i found this out on a day i kinda wanted to sing.

it’s not that i can’t speak on these days, i can physically make myself if i have to, it just takes more conscious effort sometimes than something like speaking should.

now, i used to chalk this up to being standard nonverbal bouts. i’d heard those were common among neurodivergents, and while i’m not officially diagnosed with anything (classic “everyone does that”/“that’s just something you got from me” type childhood), a lot of symptoms for both ADHD and autism (that i’ve heard of/looked into) match up pretty sharply with me.

however, no accounts from actually autistic people that i’ve read who go nonverbal at times really match up with my experiences. for me, it’s never a response to stress, anxiety, or overstimulation; it’s just something that happens on any given day and sometimes ebbs and flows throughout the day (as in sometimes it’s easier in some parts of the day, but not others, without any particular cue), and it’s never me going absolutely nonverbal, just a preference not to speak from it feeling like it’s too much to do sometimes.

remember that comparison i made to having to speak on “quiet days” feeling like trying to do basic things on bad depression days? yeah, i noticed on a day it hit that it felt very much like that, because i did feel it earlier that day; i found trying to make myself sing or even talk to myself out loud somehow felt like a process with too many steps and i didn’t have enough energy, just like trying to get out of bed that morning (to the point that i didn’t “get up” until that afternoon).

so, all that text and explanation leads to my one question: are these bouts and “quiet days” more from “going nonverbal” as a “symptom” of autism, or simply a symptom of my depression? or can it be chalked up to anything else at all? i’ve never seen or read anything about this on either side, and if it’s something from my depression, then that’s gonna make me take it much more seriously than i have been in the past. or like, is it just me and not anything at all?

any advice appreciated 🙏

[thethingything]

I would really love it if maybe we could have a break from the horrors for five fucking minutes

[calamarispider]

.

[eclipse-ofthe-sun]

.

[ironmanstan]

So much work to do but im actually doing it which scares me more than the fact i have work to do and u can tell bc i keep fucking posting like this

[finalgirlgretchen]

this doesn't. feel the same as the other rough periods i've gone through before.

[kavehater]

Do I have to start saying not that anyone would care in that super duper passive aggressive way to guilt people into caring or what

[arolesbianism]

I've been thinking more abt raccoon universe Olivia again and I love her sm she's so fun imagine if your wife plagiarized years of your work and then cut you out of her life with no warning and then had the audacity to invite you to work at the company she founded on the basis of the very work she stole from you. Id have considered murder Way sooner than she did Jackie is lucky Olivia went with the thinly veiled threats route for several years before finally getting a bit bloodthirsty

[bunny-1111]

Whoopsie - Theo Nott x clumsy!reader

Word Count: 1.7k

Fluff + slight angst

Description: You can't help your clumsiness, but when you land with a bruise on your face, you're reminded that your boyfriend Theo really hates to see you hurt.

...

The sound of hurried footsteps echoed through the dimly lit corridors of the Slytherin dungeons, each step clumsy and uneven. You weren’t exactly the most graceful of creatures, but today had reached new heights of disaster. It was one of those days when the universe seemed to be playing tricks on you—making every doorframe, stair step, and corridor seem like an obstacle course designed specifically for you to fail.

And fail, you did.

It had started innocently enough. You had forgotten your Charms textbook in the dormitory, and in your haste to retrieve it before your next class. The last thing you needed was detention from McGonagall for being late or forgetting your book, and you were sprinting down the corridor. Too fast, too distracted, and—

BAM.

Your face met the hard, unyielding brass of the doorknob. Pain radiated through your skull, and you stumbled back, clutching your nose. "Ow, ow, ow," you hissed under your breath, blinking back the sudden tears that sprang to your eyes.

By the time you had made it to the mirror in the girls’ bathroom, a glorious bruise was already blossoming across your cheekbone and the area around your eye, swelling quickly and turning an alarming shade of purple. You groaned. Great. How were you going to explain this to anyone? Even worse, how the hell are you going to explain this to Theo?

You decided to skip class altogether and carefully make your way to Madam Pomfrey.

You managed to slip into the common room unnoticed at first, pulling your hood up in a futile attempt to hide the evidence of your clumsiness. But, of course, it didn’t take long for someone to notice. It was Theo, he always noticed everything about you, no matter how much you tried to downplay it.

“Baby, why weren’t you in class, Enzo ended up taking the seat I saved for you and Merlin he chewed my ear off about Quidditch being fixed last Saturday,” he rambled on.

Don’t reply, don’t look up, you thought to yourself. It was impossible; this was happening right now.

“What the hell happened to you?” he asked, voice low and alarmed as he crossed the room in quick strides, his hand gently lifting your chin. You felt the warmth of his fingertips against your skin, but his expression was anything but warm. His brow furrowed in concern, soft brown eyes locking on the bruise that marred your face.

"I’m fine!" you blurted, though the words came out far too high-pitched to be convincing. You tried to pull away, but Theo wasn’t having it. His grip on your chin tightened ever so slightly, his thumb brushing against the edge of the bruise with a gentleness that made your chest tighten.

“Who hurt you?” His voice was low, barely more than a whisper, but the intensity in his tone made your stomach flip. His eyes searched yours, dark and stormy. Theo wasn’t the type to raise his voice in anger. No, his was the kind of quiet fury that built up slowly, seeping into the air like a cold, creeping fog.

"I did," you confessed, trying to laugh it off, but the tension in the room was suffocating. You could feel his anger brewing, and you knew what was coming next.

“I’m fucking serious, don’t lie to me!” Theo snapped, taking a step back as if putting some distance between the two of you would help him calm down. His hands clenched into fists at his sides as he began pacing, his jaw tight. “There’s no way you did that to yourself.”

“I did!” you repeated, trying to sound more convincing this time. Rubbing your hand quickly against your bruise. Not a good idea, as you instinctively winced at the touch. “I ran into a door. A doorknob, to be exact. It’s not that serious, Theo,” you try convincing.

Theo froze mid-step, staring at you like you had just said something utterly ridiculous. Which, to be fair, you probably had.

“A doorknob?” he repeated slowly, his eyes narrowing as if he was waiting for you to take it back, like it was some kind of joke. But when you just nodded, Theo let out a long, frustrated breath, running a hand through his hair. He shook his head as though he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “You’re telling me… you smashed your face into a doorknob?”

“Yes,” you mumbled, feeling your cheeks heat with embarrassment. God, you wished the ground would swallow you whole.

“It's embarrassing already, alright? Leave me alone,” you huff.

Theo stared at you for a long moment, as if trying to decide whether or not to believe you. Eventually, he sighed and dragged a hand down his face, turning away abruptly. “Unbelievable,” he muttered under his breath before storming off, leaving you standing there with a gnawing pit in your stomach.

Theo didn’t go far. He was in the common room, pacing like a caged animal, still visibly agitated. His eyes flickered over the other Slytherins lounging nearby, most of whom had noticed his outburst but said nothing. That didn’t last long.

“Oi, what’s got you in a twist, Nott?” Blaise called from the couch, a lazy smirk tugging at his lips. Beside him, Draco looked equally intrigued, lounging back with his arms crossed.

Theo glared at them but didn’t answer. Instead, he turned to look at you again, his jaw still set in that hard, unyielding way. The others followed his gaze, and it wasn’t long before the topic of conversation turned toward your rapidly bruising face.

“Wha- what the hell happened to her eye?” Blaise was the first to ask, looking genuinely confused as he gestured toward you.

“She said she ran into a door,” Theo growled, clearly still not convinced.

Draco, who had been staring at you with a mixture of concern and amusement, furrowed his brows. “Wait, what happened to who’s ey-?”

Before he could finish his question, Mattheo, who had just entered the common room, cut in with a dramatic, “Holy shit! What happened to your eye?” His tone was a mix of shock and humour, his eyes wide as he took in the sight of your injury.

You could feel everyone’s eyes on you now. Heat rushed to your face as you tried to explain yourself once again. “I fell,” you say quickly, raising your hands in a placating gesture, as if that would make everyone drop it and move on.

But of course, they didn’t.

Mattheo raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying it. “You fell? Into what, a troll?”

You huffed, crossing your arms over your chest. “I ran into a doorknob, okay? I wasn’t paying attention, and it just… happened.”

Blaise let out a low whistle, his smirk widening. “You really need to work on your coordination, love.”

You rolled your eyes, though the action hurt more than you expected, causing you to wince. Theo, noticing the movement, shot Blaise a glare that could have frozen over the entire Black Lake. “It’s not funny, Zabini.”

“Hey, I’m just saying…” Blaise shrugged, holding up his hands in mock defence. “You know, we could get you a helmet or something, just to be safe.”

"We should wrap you in bubble wrap", Pansy joins in laughing

You groaned, burying your face in your hands. “I’m fine, really.”

But the conversation was far from over. Despite your protests, the teasing continued—though most of it was good-natured. Still, you couldn’t shake the feeling of Theo’s eyes on you, watching every movement, every wince. He hadn’t said much since his initial outburst, but you could feel his worry like a tangible weight in the air.

Eventually, the others got bored of the topic, and the common room returned to its usual low buzz of chatter. You took a deep breath, thankful for the reprieve, but when you glanced toward Theo, you saw that he was still tense, his hands shoved deep into his pockets as he watched you.

“I’m going for a smoke,” he stated as he stormed out of the common room. Well, we’ve done it, stressed him to the point of smoking. You thought he’ll be back soon, sinking deeper into the couch.

Later that night, when everyone had dispersed to their dorms, Theo found you sitting by the fire, absentmindedly poking at the flames with a poker. He sat down beside you without a word, the warmth of his presence instantly comforting. For a while, neither of you spoke, the crackling of the fire filling the silence between you.

Finally, Theo broke the quiet, his voice low and careful. “You really need to be more careful.”

You looked at him, your heart giving a small, traitorous flutter at the concern etched into his features. “I know.”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair again. “I hate seeing you hurt.”

There was something in his voice that made your chest tighten. You smiled softly, nudging him with your shoulder. “It’s not that serious, Theo. It was just a stupid accident.”

He didn’t respond right away, his gaze fixed on the fire. Then, after what felt like forever, he turned to look at you, his expression softening. “Promise me you’ll be more careful next time.”

You chuckled, leaning your head against his shoulder. “I promise.”

Theo wrapped an arm around you, pulling you

closer. “Good. Because I don’t think I could handle seeing you like that again, seriously.”

You gently kiss him, as you make your way towards his dorm, he wraps an arm around your shoulder, everything seeming good again.

That is until you tumble over your own feet, almost meeting the floor, but this time, Theo was there, tightening his grip on you, catching you before disaster could strike for the second time today.

You laugh as he stares at you, eyes widening. He cannot believe you actually fall over your own feet. He softens with a deep sigh.

“What am I going to do with you, my clumsy girl?” he laughs himself, kissing your head.

Author note: um like 4 theo fics posted in the last 24 hours.... getting that grind LMFAO

[fastandcarlos]

Baby Sibling : ̗̀➛ Max Verstappen

summary: whilst all his friends are having siblings, your son is keen for the two of you to start thinking about when he can have one too

Puzzled eyes looked to Max as your son refused to hold your hands as the two of you picked him up from school. It was routine for you both whenever Max was home, it had been since your son started school a little over a year ago, something you had done every single day together. 

Max shrugged back at you as his empty hand felt lost. His eyes glanced at your son who was a couple of steps ahead of you, scuffing his feet along the path. Neither of you quite knew what to say, it was unlike anything that you had ever seen from your son before.  

As you arrived home, your son immediately took himself into the living room where his toy box was. Max followed you into the kitchen as you took his bag to unpack and check for any letters or drawings. A huff came from Max as he took a seat, his head resting in his hands as he tried to piece together the pieces to figure out what was going on. 

“I don’t understand,” you sighed as you took a seat opposite Max. “His teacher didn’t say anything to make me think that something happened at school today.” 

“He was smiling until he saw us,” Max informed you. 

Your heart broke as you listened to Max, only to be interrupted by the sound of footsteps entering the room. Your son trudged in silently, picking up his water bottle that was on the side, turning his back to you both and drinking from it. 

“Evan, do you want to play a game?” Max offered, choosing one of his favourite things to do whenever his dad was home. “What about that board game you bought the other day?” 

Your son’s head shook as he took the bottle and headed back into the room. You both were sat in shock, mouths wide in disbelief at how distant Evan had suddenly become. 

“He’s quite sensitive, maybe he just needs a little bit of time,” you suggested, trying your best to reassure the two of you. 

“But we’re his parents, he should talk to us about anything,” Max despairingly sighed. 

Attempts were made by the two of you for most of the night but Evan gave you nothing. Whenever you struck up conversation you were met by short, snappy answers, or just the shake or nod of his head. 

As night arrived, Max was determined to unpick what was troubling your son, sitting down at the end of his bed after you’d tucked him in. You stayed in the room with them both, leaning against the doorframe and giving them both some space. There was a pause in the room once Max sat down, trying his best to figure out the right thing to say so that he didn’t worry Evan more. It took a moment, but eventually he cleared his throat. 

“Evan, you know if something, or someone, is upsetting you, mummy and I are here to help you, right?” Max asked him, keeping his eyes firmly on him. “We’re always here to help you, no matter what the problem is.” 

Evan nodded as Max spoke, shuffling slightly closer towards him. “I’m the only one at school who doesn’t have a brother or sister and people keep leaving me out of their conversations.” 

Max’s eyes flickered across to you to make sure that you were listening. “You’re feeling a little left out buddy? Are you saying that you want to have a little brother or sister?” 

Evan continued to nod back at Max, “I think it would be fun to have one.” 

A sigh of relief came from you, glad that it wasn’t anything worse that was troubling your son. It still upset you to know that he was being left out at school, but at least it was something that could be fixed. Most likely. 

“There’s a lot of reasons why people do, or don’t, have little brothers and sisters,” Max tried his best to explain to Evan. “It’s not always an easy thing for families to do.” 

“Is it tricky for you and mummy?” Evan enquired. 

Having another child was a subject that you and Max had barely even thought about. You were so busy, and Max’s schedule was insane, but with Evan nearing six, you didn’t want the gap between your children to be too big. 

“A little bit,” Max weakly smiled, not wanting to lie to your son. “Daddy works away a lot, don’t I? And mummy does a lot of caring for you, but hopefully one day it won’t be quite so difficult for us to potentially have a baby sibling for you buddy.” 

You weren’t entirely sure if Evan understood what Max was saying to him, but he nodded anyway. Max stood up and walked over to your son, pressing a relieved kiss to the top of his head as he began to say goodnight. 

“Can I do anything to help make it happen daddy?” Evan whimpered as Max stepped away from him, his hopeful eyes looking between you both. “If it’s tricky, then maybe I can help you and mummy.” 

“You just need to keep being awesome,” Max cheerfully told him, “that’s the only thing that me and mummy ever want from you, you’re already the best.” 

You went in to say goodnight to your son too before following Max out of the room. There was silence between you as you headed into your bedroom, both perching on your respective sides of the bed, giving yourselves a moment to debrief and take in the conversation that you’d just had. 

“Why do I feel guilty?” Max asked, breaking the silence. “It’s not up to anyone else but us when we have another child, but I hate that it’s leaving him feeling left out at school.” 

“Maybe it’s the shove that we need to do something about it,” you responded. 

Max’s body jumped, quickly turning to look at you. His smile was wide as he listened to you. “Are you saying you want to have another baby? I never thought you were keen on another with how much I’m away right now.” 

“I mean it would be tough,” you admitted, “but we’re not getting any younger, and I don’t want Evan being a single child forever. I think we’d be able to do it, it would be tough, but we’d smash it don’t you think?” 

“Absolutely, we’ve always been a great team,” Max reminded you, “and I can make sure that I’m home more often to help out too.” 

“Have we just agreed to a second baby right now?” 

“I think we might’ve done,” Max laughed, laying himself down and pulling you down with him. “Promise me that you’re not just saying this to please me, or to please Evan either.” 

“I promise, as long as you do as well.” 

Max nodded eagerly, leaning across and pressing a kiss to the top of your head. Your body turned inwards so that you were resting in Max’s side, feeling his arm wrap around you to keep you nice and close, exactly where he wanted you. 

“Do you think there’s any harm in getting a bit of practice in now? We might need it,” Max whispered. 

“I’d say there’s no time like the present.” 

˗ˏˋ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ! ´ˎ˗

[pynkfairyheart]

Hii I was wondering if you could do an collage au armin arlert oneshot, imagine or Drabble (totally up to you) where armin is a very popular soccer player at the college and since he’s so popular that causes him not have as much time for his gf so she catches an attitude and ignores him and he fixes it ifykyk. I was thinking more of like a dominant or switch armin for this yk?

pairings: soccer!player Armin x black reader

warnings: smut 18+, a lil angsty, orgasm denial, car sex

a/n: i love this request, armin is just so ૮꒰ྀི˶˃ ⌓ ˂˶꒱ྀིა

Ms. Attitude

“I’m sorry, baby. I promise I’ll make it up later. I love you, bye” The monotone beep of the phone soon followed his hurried voice informing you he ended the call before you could even breathe.

“Yep, I love you too” You mumbled. Glossy eyes scanning the hair and makeup you spent hours on.

This was the second time Armin failed to show up for your date.

Soccer season was picking up and with Armin being the captain you understood you'd no longer be able to spend as much time due to practice, but the frequent outings with his team members were becoming infuriating.

Was it that hard for him to plan around your date nights?

With a deep breath, you soaked a cotton pad in makeup remover. Too exhausted to even take pictures before the excess liquid on the pad mixed with your stray tears. It was rare for you to cry over a guy, even rarer to cry over Armin, but the disappointment was turning into frustration that was too overbearing to contain.

What made things worse is that you felt it wasn't fair to Armin you were having these feelings.

You knew what you were entering into when you said yes to being his girlfriend. He told you his goals from the start; become captain, graduate with a 4.0, play professionally, and ultimately make it to the World Cup.

Of course, you knew achieving all he wanted would take time, and you wholeheartedly supported him.

To maintain a healthy relationship you two had a system. Once a week, you would set aside time for a date. It didn't need to be elaborate or fancy; the simple goal was for you to spend time alone. Everything was perfect. Until it wasn’t.

Something Armin didn’t take into account with the new season was the influx of freshmen on the team. This meant lots of bonding time with the team and less time with you.

°⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

It was a week before you saw Armin. Granted it wasn't on purpose and you just happened to catch a glimpse of him from across the crowded room, but you saw him nonetheless.

The events on how you approached him are a little cloudy, your actions encouraged by the shots you took and your anger. The only true remembrance was Sasha’s attempt to make you stay and the snickers from certain teammates who could predict what was about to happen.

“What the actual fuck, Armin.” You huffed

“Baby? What’s wrong?” His smile disappearing at the pout settled onto your face

You were baffled, was he actually serious?

“What’s wrong is that I haven't seen you in three weeks all because of your little bonding outings. Which this does not seem like bonding” A mixture of frustration and hurt fueling your emotions as you motioned to the party

“I know how this looks, baby but I swear we just got caught up after practice, sit with us I promise to make it up to you- Did you just roll your eyes at me?” Nothing pissed Armin off more than when you rolled your eyes at him.

“Yes! You've said the same thing every week Armin, you're like a fucking broken record and it's actually pissing me off”

“I'm pissing you off?” The indifferent tone of his voice and minuscule smirk on his face should have told you to stop and think but you were just too upset to think.

“Isn't that what I just said” Your iris slightly disappearing as you rolled your eyes once again.

He’d been waiting for it.

Many people knew Armin to be the passionate sweetheart he was. It was rare to see him upset. That emotion reserved for whenever his team got a foul and occasionally whenever you gave him attitude.

Before you could even register what he was doing he grabbed your arm and dragged you out of the party

That little eye roll ended up with you in the backseat of his car, legs on his shoulder as he drilled into you.

“Minniee, pleaseee” You whined, tears threatening to spill from your eyes at the pleasure building in your lower stomach

“You wanted my attention right? So stop fucking complaining and hold it like I said” His hips snapping forward as he buried himself deep inside you with every thrust.

You were certain stars were blurring your vision. He was just stretching you out so well, the girth and the angle he was at leaving no spot along your walls untouched with how deep he was.

Just looking and hearing the whines that slipped passed your lips made him want to fuck orgasm after orgasm out of you.

Just looking at you had him on the brink of a second orgasm.

You just looked so pretty to him. Bouncing breasts no longer confined by the tight shirt you wore, hardened nipples glossy from his previous sucking. Don't even get him started with your teary eyes and glossy lips.

What really got him though was the way your puffy cunt surrounded him. Folds so warm and wet with your slick and his cum that your walls failed to contain.

Armin however didn’t reward bad behavior, especially yours. Maybe he’d let you cum if you whined enough, but who knows. For now, he’d continue to use you for his own pleasure as he pounded into you.

“What's wrong princess? Isn't this what you wanted? Caught an attitude just to get fucked like a slut” He hissed, blonde strands sticking to his forehead as he increased his pace.

“I’m sorry, Minnie, please. I just missed you” You spoke through your broken moans and cries

Leaning down he encaptured your lips, his pace slowing as the guilt seeped into him, oh how he wanted nothing but to go back and spend that time with you.

“I know, I’m sorry. I’ll make time for us, I mean it this time” His voice coming out in a whisper as he kissed along your neck

“Y-yeah? “ Speech broken by the newfound pleasure as he applied pressure to your clit

“Mhm, as long as you stop with that fucking attitude” Within that second the soft and caring Armin was gone and now replaced with the Armin whose only goal was to make you feel pleasure

You were so close, every rock of his hips hitting your spot so perfectly you were seeing stars and begging to cum but he kept denying you over and over. His responses consisting of “Be my good girl and hold it” or “You want it so badly don’t you?” a condescending pout resting on his pink lips every time

It was only when he grabbed your ankles and pushed your legs up against your chest that he allowed you to cum, pace becoming sloppy as he watched you cream around him, basking in the way every contraction of your cunt added to the milky ring around his base.

The feeling of you clenching around him, the sight of your closed eyes and slightly agape mouth as you came, it was too much for him to handle as spurts of his milky cum forced its way into your stuffed cunt.

“That's my girl” He mumbled. Smirking at the cum spilling from your hole the moment he pulled out

It was only when you felt his hands spreading your legs apart and his tongue plunging into you that you opened your eyes.

“Armin” You shrieked

“Mmm, relax, baby. I've got three weeks' worth of orgasms to get from you.”

[luveline]

Hi, I’ve never actually sent a request before so hopefully this is okay, but maybe Hotch’s adult daughter calling him dad for the first time when she’s in trouble or hurt which could also open up an opportunity for Hotch to see her mother for the first time since he found out about her

You’re gonna throw your pants in the trash when you get home. The blouse is a loss —getting blood out of champagne material is a pipe dream. But the pants were unscathed until now. 

“Can you look at me?” 

You lift your pounding head. The EMT cups your cheek, her lips quirked into a deep frown as she raises a small flashlight to your eyes. “Just gonna check your pupils again,” she murmurs, shining the light in your eye. 

Each flash has a heated knife of pain slamming into your brain. You moan in pain and tip your head forward, wanting more than anything to lay down. 

“What can I do to make you more comfortable?” the EMT asks. 

“I want to go to the hospital,” you say. Surely they can fix the carving agony behind your face. 

“I know. As soon as the ruckus upstairs is clear, we’re going to take you there.” 

“I don’t want to sit here.” You grimace at the clammy stone under your legs. The subway is not a good place to touch things. 

“It’ll be over soon. There’s a heavy police presence. You’ll be okay.” 

“Got blood on my shirt,” you mumble. 

“I’m sure someone will wash it for you.” 

“My dad,” you say without thinking. 

If you asked, Aaron would wash the blood from your shirt. He could buy you a whole new wardrobe and he would if you let him, but he would just as happily stand at the sink scrubbing away your stains. 

“Ah, Mr. Hotchner,” the EMT says. “I’ve heard about him, I think we all have. He’s a very important man.” 

“He’s just my dad,” you whisper. 

You’re not really talking to her anymore, the thumping pain behind your eyes a wave you can’t get past. It hurts with every breath. When you hold out your hand, the EMT knows without asking that you’re going to throw up. 

She’s more alarmed after that. “Okay, I’m gonna take you upstairs now, okay? I’m sorry there’s no gurney, but we just have to get to the top of the stairs.” 

Each step sucks. You taste blood and vomit alike on your tongue, the daylight is too bright as you ascend the steps, and the EMT isn’t taking enough of your weight. You moan something incomprehensible even to yourself on the second to last step and cover your eyes, aware of the sirens, the roaring crowds, glass shattering at your feet. 

“Shit,” the EMT says. 

You search for your phone blindly, your hand lost in a pocket full of gum wrappers and tissue. “I don’t have my bag... I want my phone. Need to call my dad.” 

“It’s okay,” she says, giving you an encouraging jostle to look out at the clearing sidewalk. “I can see him.” 

Aaron is speed-walking through the crowd. He’s surrounded by people in Kevlar vests, but he himself wears nothing more than his usual suit and tie. His face changes when he sees you from glaring to a strange flitting panic. 

“Are you all right?” he asks, jogging those last few metres to take you by the elbows. “Sweetheart, are you all right?” 

Your eyes are tired. “Somebody hit me,” you say. 

“I know.” His sympathy is warm, his hand smoothing up your arm as he turns on the spot. “Morgan, can we get better access down this street?” 

One of the Kevlar vests doubles back the way they came. You’re trying to make sense of who you’re seeing, and what’s happening, but the confusion since you got hurt is enthusiastic. You can’t make sense of anything but the splitting pain in your head. 

Aaron’s talking five miles a second and ushering you up those last few steps, a gentleness to his touch that’s absent in his barked commands. 

You’ve never heard him shout like that. You can’t help staring at him. 

“This is an attempted insurrection. The aggression is only going to get worse. JJ, see if you can coordinate with metro PD, make sure there aren’t any other injured civilians in the subway. Dave, I need you to run the operation while I go with her.” 

“Aaron,” you say, watching his frown deepen. 

“Reid, you’re with JJ. Prentiss, I want you to find who laid hands on her–”

“Aaron,” you say again, shocked. 

He gives your arm a placating squeeze. 

“They could still be here.” Everything he says is unarguable. He’s suddenly a monolith, and he’s freaking you out, and you’re no closer to being in the back of the ambulance than you had been ten minutes ago. “Have Garcia pull the security footage–”

“Dad,” you say in a short breath, your hand grasping weakly at his arm. 

He falls silent for a moment. The agent you’re unfamiliar with becomes the man who brings you teddy bears at dinner and sends encouraging missives in the morning. 

“What, sweetheart, what’s wrong?” he asks. Not gentle, but hushed.

“I think I’m gonna be sick again.” 

The EMT passes you a paper bag. 

—

You could hear a pin drop in your hospital room. Your broken nose has its own heartbeat, but that’s a feeling, rather than a sound. Aaron hasn’t spoken in a long time, he just sits there with his hand on your arm, waiting for a cue you don’t give. You’re so embarrassed about calling him dad you’ve decided to never speak to him again. 

His hand occasionally comes to life, giving your arm a soft up and down. 

It’s strange to suddenly have a father, but not bad. His paternal caring is a comfort with all the pain, and it doesn’t feel stilted. With Aaron it never has, he found out you were his and he immediately began to act like it, though you suppose you’ll never know how he would’ve loved you as an adult if he’d known you as a child. This feels genuine. Careful, but genuine. 

“Time to take it off,” he says. 

You meet his eyes. 

“The ice pack,” he explains. 

You drop it onto your leg, and he takes it and sets it on the rollover table instead. 

“You can come and stay with me for a few days,” he suggests quietly.

“I’ll be okay.” 

“Your mom’s working. I can take the time off.”

You give him a dubious look. “And then you’ll get called away and it’ll be just me and Haley in the house. That won’t be awkward at all.” 

He shakes his head. “You’re hurt. You’re gonna feel dizzy for at least another day, and that’s not thinking about how hard it’s gonna be to breathe for a while. I’ll stay home, and you can get familiar with my guest room.” 

“You don’t have to look after me.” 

“But I want to.” He holds your wrist. “I know we aren’t a conventional father and daughter…” His brow furrows, and he looks at your hand just below his rather than your face. “I want the chance to look after you. How many times were you sick as a kid? Hundreds of times. Mostly colds, a runny nose. Maybe you– maybe you broke your arm, I don’t know. But I wish I did. I owe it to you to take care of you now.” 

You give him a small smile as he raises his head. 

“Just think about it,” he says, “we’ll be here all night anyways.” 

“You can go home.” 

“Don’t be difficult,” he says, his sincerity swapped for teasing as he stand. “I have to go find you something to eat.”

He stoops to give you a warm hug across your shoulders. You should want it to be over quickly, you smell like blood and sick and sweat, your clothes are ruined, and you’re not used to him seeing you like this, but let the feeling of his hand on your back persuade you into closing your sore eyes. 

“Okay?” he asks. 

“I’m okay.” 

“Okay. I need to do a lap before your mother gets here anyhow. I might… be more unkind than I plan on being, otherwise.” 

You laugh at his half-joke and hurt your face. He is very sorry. 

[himbosandhardwear]

Eddie has a bad habit of picking at his skin when he's nervous. Not, like, shy nervous or stage fright nervous, but the real kind of nervous, not-sure-I’m-gonna-survive-this kind of nervous. Like while he was alone in the boat house, he'd shredded every one of his cuticles. That time Hopper caught him behind The Hawk, very obviously selling his wares, he'd bitten his lips bloody.

Tonight he's picking a scab off his knee. It's practically healed already, so it won't bleed, he just needs to feel something on his body come loose before he does.

“You good, dude?” Steve asks, so in tune to Eddie's nervous disposition. Such a good guy. What a friend.

Eddie lets his head hit his knee caps with a thunk.

“Yup.”

Steve snorts. “You don't look good. I mean… You know what I mean.”

He smiles, tilting his head to look at Steve, always happy to give him a hard time.

“Oh, absolutely. You think I look good, don't cha, Stevie?”

He gets a couch pillow to the face for that, but they're both laughing so he doesn't think he's crossed the line yet.

Yet, yet, yet.

“Seriously, what's up with you? You've been quiet. It makes me want to call the squad.”

“Har har,” Eddie mumbles, but he does uncurl himself, sitting back against the couch again. “I'm trying to work up the nerve to ask for advice but it's-” Christ, he doesn't even want to admit to being embarrassed, that's how embarrassed he is.

“It's what?” Steve asks, the picture of earnest encouragement. “You can talk to me about anything, man, we're, like, bonded in blood or whatever.”

“Right. Yeah. Except this has the potential to get real awkward, real quick, and I'm not sure we're at that level of friendship yet.”

“Well,” he drawls, “if you ask me whatever it is that's got you all flustered I'm sure that will level us up. Right?”

“I'm not flustered.” God damn his red fucking face. Steve just laughs at him. “It's just, I don't have anyone else to ask about this. Jonathan probably doesn't have this particular problem, cause he's got- Uh. Sorry.” Steve waves it away, so Eddie goes on. “The kids are too young and the band guys don't understand what we went through-”

“Eddie, just spit it out.”

“Fuck! Okay, fine! You asked for it.” He takes a giant breath, steels his spine and just says it. “The Trauma is affecting my ability to get laid and I don't know how to fix it. Every time I get close to it I freak out and have to bail.”

There. All out now.

He looks over at Steve, and it's so much worse than being laughed at or pitied. He just looks sad.

He shakes it off quickly, hair barely moving, Eddie notes. He finds Steve's hair routine both endearing and ridiculous.

“Yeah. Okay. That's super common, just so you know,” Steve assures him first. “Robin says it's all connected, your mind and your body, so trauma can, like, get trapped in weird places like that. I can't play baseball anymore. Cause the memory of beating demodogs to death.”

“As you do,” Eddie quips.

“Right. But your thing. Uh. Yeah, it took some time before I could relax enough to even attempt getting laid, let alone actually do it.”

“So?” Eddie drawls, waiting. “How did you get over it?”

Something is off. Steve's not known for being skiddish about sex, but his hesitation and his inability to look Eddie in the eye is setting off alarms.

“Hey, if this is too weird for you-”

“No, I'm good, it's fine. Just, I'm the only person you have to talk to about this, so I'm gonna try to be helpful but, uh,” he scratches at the back of his head awkwardly, “in all honesty, I haven't been laid since before Vecna either. Way before. So. Yeah. Not sure I should be giving out advice on anything.”

That's crazy. Like actually crazy. He can't even compute Steve Harrington not absolutely dripping in women. He must have some look on his face because Steve gives a dry sort of laugh, self deprecating, and leans back against the couch with him.

“Weren't you on a date with Brenda Mulligan the night- Vecna’s first attack?”

Steve shoots him a look. “Y- Yeah, but that didn't go anywhere. We weren't, like, compatible or whatever.”

Oh, yeah, it was weird that Eddie knew that at all, let alone remembered it nine months later. “That's too bad,” he replies lamely.

“Yep.”

He feels terrible for dragging down the whole night, it would've been better if he'd just kept his mouth shut. But that's never been his strong suit, as evidenced by him blurting out, “If the hottest guy in Hawkins can't find a suitable date, what fucking chance do I have.”

Steve snaps, “Don't say that. What the fuck?”

Great, now he's gone and made it weird. Good job calling your straight friend hot, you fuckin’ dipshit.

They sit in the awkward silence, out of things to say or out of useful things to say. Either way it's them breathing, the clock ticking, and the M.A.S.H. rerun playing softly in the background.

Steve clears his throat. “Whatever, let's get back to the point. You don't have to tell me if you don't want but…what do you think the specific reason is for your…issue?”

He thinks about it. Has been thinking about it, for a while now. “My dick still works, if that's what you're wondering.”

Steve chuckles, high and surprised. “Good for you.”

“Yeah. It's more like, I can't get out of my head. I start worrying about my scars, explaining them if someone asked. I think about how even though I don't want anything long-term, I wouldn't be able to do long-term anyway, because I'm a fucking mess. If it's really bad, I'll get flashes of Chrissy or Patrick's bones snapping, as a little soundtrack to the fun shit happening outside my head.”

Steve looks sad again. Maybe it is pity but it looks more turned inward, like he's dealing with his own shit more than Eddie’s.

“You hooking up with strangers then?”

Eddie blinks at Steve. “Well…duh. Right? Not like I have guys lined up around the block here in Hawkins.”

Steve is full blown scowling at the TV. It's weird.

“What if-”

Eddie waits but Steve doesn't finish his thought.

“What if…what?” He prompts, giving a little nudge with his foot.

He's still avoiding eye contact, not even turning his head to look in Eddie's direction.

In a soft voice, almost too quiet to hear, he says, “What if we helped each other out?”

He must've heard that wrong. Or he's misunderstanding.

“What?”

“What if we help each other out? Like, a mutually beneficial arrangement.”

That can't be right. No fucking way. It's a test. Like as soon as Eddie agrees, Steve yells ‘Aha! I knew you wanted to molest me! Goodbye forever!’ and runs out the door.

“What, exactly, do you mean? Like, what are you getting out of it?”

Steve finally looks over. “Well, I would think that was obvious. If you're willing.”

Eddie's legs are starting to go numb.

“Okay, so I blow you and you blow me, except when you're doing it I have to watch you take it like you're being force fed liver and onions at Grandma's house?”

Steve slowly shakes his head no.

“Oh, okay, so you're going to blow me and enjoy it,” he snaps sarcasticaly.

Steve nods once.

“You want to blow me?”

“Mmhmm,” he hums without moving a muscle.

“Since when!” Eddie brings his octave down from the upper atmosphere. “Since when, Harrington? This is insane behavior. Should I call the squad for you? I'm serious. I'll do it.”

“You don't have to say yes. I was just offering.” He says it like Eddie isn't one green flag away from stomping on the gas.

He starts nervously laughing, which makes Steve flinch unfortunately, but he can't stop.

“It's cool, just forget I said anything.” He moves like he's about to get up and leave, which is fucking insane because it's his living room. Eddie stops him with a tight grip around the bicep.

“Don't you dare. If you're even remotely serious, we have to have a much longer conversation. Sit.”

Steve drops like a sack of bricks. Which is…something.

“Right. First off, this is uncommon behavior in a straight friend. Is there something you'd like to tell me, so I don't think you've been body snatched?”

He pinches at the top of his nose, like Eddie is inconveniencing him greatly. Too bad.

“I'm probably bisexual.”

“Probably?” Eddie asks with a raised eyebrow.

“I'm an inexperienced bisexual,” he amends through clenched teeth.

“Good. Great. Happy to hear it.” His heart may explode from his torso à la Ridley Scott's Alien but sure. “Second on the agenda, what do you mean help each other out? What's on the table? Mutual handjobs and then we never talk about it again?”

“No,” Steve answers immediately. That's good. “I'm open to…whatever you're open to.”

“Steve.” He has to clear his throat. “You dont even know what you're agreeing to.”

“I trust you.”

Fuuuuuck.

“Okay, right, uh, let's circle back to that later. Third thing, what, uh, what is your level of commitment with this?”

He just stares at Eddie, all doe eyed. It shouldn't work, Eddie fucking invented that look. It's gotten him out of more scrapes than he can count. Now it's being used against him but to what end? Does Steve want to get bundled up in a blanket and tucked into bed? Because Eddie can make that happen for him.

“Whatever you want, I guess,” he finally says. “I mean, like I said earlier, friends who help each other out. Casual. I'm not interested in looking for Mrs Harrington anymore and you're having a problem relaxing around guys who don't understand what you went through.” He makes a gesture like ‘Ta da.’

He's not wrong. It makes sense. But…

“Fourth thing. Is this just an experiment for you? Cause I'm all for you exploring your sexuality but, historically speaking, friends are a bad place to start.” AKA ‘it will break my fucking heart if you decide you're not that into it and it's because it's me.’

“Eddie. Look.” He gets more comfortable, facing Eddie straight on finally. “What you're going to provide is practical knowledge on what has only been theoretical up to this point, but the theory has already been well established.” He taps his head. “Understand?”

A smug confidence melts Eddie into the couch. “You liiike me,” he sings. “You think about me naaaked. You wanna-”

Steve lands on him, lacking any elegance or grace, and nearly caves their skulls in with his Jay Garrick approach to kissing. Eddie doesn't say a fucking word. He does wonder at the fucking majesty that is making out sober. What a revelation. Steve keeps making these tiny, almost wounded noises, to the point where Eddie tries to back up and do a check in but Steve doesn't let him, he chases him down and latches back onto Eddie's bottom lip like he's Hannibal Lector. It's stupid hot.

Everything is going great until Steve lets out a sound that legitimately has Eddie worried he's upset about something.

He pulls back and asks, “Are you okay?”

“Oh fuck, I'm sorry. I just can't, I can't believe I got this fucking far. You're so hot I'm losing my fucking mind.”

“Me?” Eddie snaps. “Dude, you're out of your mind.” He pokes Steve in his meaty chest. “Literal. Prom. King.”

“Fucking stupid high school shit, are you kidding me?” He sits up, straddling Eddie's hips, which is boner enhancing to say the least; he's got Steve's thighs in his grasp immediately. “You don't get it, I'm gone on you. I've got it bad, man. I was playing it cool earlier-”

“At no point tonight were you in any way playing it cool.”

“-but, fuck it, guess I'm ruining it, cause I can't be cool about this. I don't want casual. I don't even want to date you,” and before Eddie can even worry about that, he says, “I wanna skip straight to boyfriends, man. I know you said you didn't want long term with anyone but-”

Eddie interrupts again, this time by pulling Steve back down horizontal and kissing him like he just bravely declared himself as all in.

If this is a pod-person, well, that's a problem for Tomorrow Eddie. Tonight Eddie just landed Steve Harrington as a boyfriend.

[unripe-lemon]

Since i know no one will see this:

1 note and i will email my therapist

ok so for this one,, like since then i have emailed my therapist?? that counts right????? tbh i dont even know what to talk abt anymore, but i do have a session with her so dw

2 notes and ill put my laundry away

ugh….. stupid. internet.. making me do things that will make my life easier…. gugh yeah i put my laundry away!!!!! everyone clap now

5 notes and ill try to brush my teeth more often

ok so like for this one i found this video https://youtu.be/pvutTiPY7q8?si=PASnBmUXZ0xiHzWM imma sing this song to myself every tike i dont feel like brushing my teeth

6 notes and ill try to put on cream for my dermatitis (anxiety hives!!! yayyy!!!!) more often

just did it hehe :) tho it is getting a little worse and my kitten scratched me on top of it 😭

10 notes and ill attempt to learn my timestables

11 notes and ill study for my exams

my exams are over!!!! so idk what to do for this one? maybe ill go do my homework instead

20 notes and ill try to go one day without using my pc/phone

30 notes and ill vaccum (more bc we just adopted kittens) my room entirely

40 notes and ill try to explain my depression to my mom again

50 notes and ill clean my locker out at school

imma do this tmr!!!

i forgot 😭 someone remind me

80 notes and ill fix the posters that are falling off of my wall and are probably going to rip soon

doing this rn! taking dinner break

100 notes and ill REALLY unpack everything with my therapist

maybe tmr?

we talked about medication and kittens, also exams so like success??

200 notes and ill ask my mom if we can go to my go and get! me! medicated!

ill discuss w therapist tmr

discussed with therapist, we are now getting the conversation started with my mom and are going to see what my gp says after that!! :) ty to everyone in the notes rooting for meds

300 notes and ill re organise my bookshelf

400 notes and ill clean all of the mold off of my wall

damn 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭 ion wannaaaaaaaa

this is a weekend activity tbh, and idk if its even going to BE this weekend :P

500 notes and ill clean the mold off of my roof

600 notes and ill try sewing some new clothes

i crocheted a scarf!!! does that count?

700 notes and ill buy some new shoes

800 notes and ill check out dnd club at school (im scared)

900 notes and ill come up with more goals

edit: bro……. 😭

so im gonna take my time w these bc there is a lot to go thru!! i will try my best to remember to update!!! ty for notes :)

- random internet stranger

edit 2: WTF 1000 NOTES GUYS CHILL

ok so like i have to come up with more goals now???

1500 and ill start taking study notes with a study method (rb with study method that is your fav eg cornell method)

1700 and ill attempt to hype myself up enough to eat at school (long story, germs)

2000 notes and ill start whatever book wins this poll: