#buddy imagine

[juiche]

a moment of peace before the whole world shatters 😇

get your own print here ❤️

[cait-sith]

Day 12: Core

[epiaphany]

Now that the competition is out of the way

[marvelstoriesepic]

In too deep

Pairing: Fuck buddy!Bucky x Reader

Summary: After Bucky calls, and you come running, you end up locked in his bathroom, trying to get rid of the evidence that something hasn’t gone well this time.

Word Count: 7.4k

Warnings: 18+ (mdni) blood; descriptions of sex; feeling pain during sex and not saying anything; friends with benefits; mentions of periods; mutual pining; miscommunication; self-doubt; self-loathing; worried!Bucky

Author’s Note: This is my first time writing something more suggestive. It is not outright smut, but there’s lots of talk about sex, so if you are a minor, please stay away. And if you are not, then I hope you enjoy and I'd be happy to know what you think ♡

Masterlist

You are bleeding.

The sting between your legs is sharp. Like a wound still weeping after the blade has been pulled away.

The yellow light above the mirror of Bucky’s bathroom hums and flickers slightly, ghostly shapes of shadows draping against the walls.

Your breath is shallow.

The bleeding won’t stop.

With toilet paper in your hands, you press your trembling fingers against the inside of your thigh. It soaks, leaving your skin warm and sticky. The scent of iron is in your nose.

You know your body. You know how it shifts and bends beneath pleasure, how it aches in the aftermath and you know that this is different. It’s wrong.

A breath shudders out of you at the pulsing pain.

Bucky is still in his bedroom.

Probably waiting for you to come out and leave.

That’s how it’s always been.

He calls, you come, you make him feel good, then go.

He never asks you to stay. Not really. He asks you to come over, to press your lips against his, to carve his pleasure into your skin, but he never asks you to stay thereafter.

But you still keep running. Every time.

The sting flares up again and you clench your fists against your thighs, your body curling inward on instinct.

You don’t know how long you usually take to freshen up, but it certainly takes too much time right now.

You don’t want to be a burden. You want to be something simple, something easy.

But fuck, it hurts.

You glance down again, lifting the hem of your shirt you pulled over quickly before retreating to the bathroom. Crimson smears against your skin, staining the inside of your thighs and you curse under your breath.

Squeezing your eyes shut, you exhale slowly.

You need to get up. You need to clean yourself up, put on your clothes, and walk out of his apartment like nothing happened. Like it doesn’t matter. Like you don’t matter.

The thought is a sour taste on your tongue.

Bucky had a bad day. That’s why he called. That’s why you came. That’s why you let him take and take, why you let yourself pretend it was more than just relief and release.

And now, you are bleeding in his bathroom, barely able to stand, barely able to breathe without wincing.

Your fingers grip the edge of the sink as you haul yourself up. The room tilts for a moment, and you grip it tighter, knuckles whitening.

You look in the mirror. You look ruined - cheeks flushed, eyes glassy, lips swollen from kisses.

You press your hands to the cool porcelain.

One more breath.

Then another.

Then you reach for the toilet paper again, dabbing at the blood, pretending you don’t see the way it just keeps coming. Pretending it’s not seeping through the white thin fibers. Pretending it doesn’t matter.

Because if you want to keep coming back, it can’t.

It’s not like he hasn’t been nice to you.

Bucky is always nice.

You were friends first, after all.

Before the weight of need, before his hands started lingering a little longer, before the heat and the fleeting contact.

Things had been easy, light, and simple.

You had inside jokes, late-night conversations that bled into mornings, you even cooked together - well, you cooked, while he hovered, occasionally stealing a bite, occasionally setting the table with that soft little smirk. It was comfortable. Safe.

Until he kissed you one day. So many weeks ago.

It was an accident. Or maybe it was inevitable.

You were both drunk. You were both in a good mood. There is not much you remember about that night. All you remember is how close you two were and that all your friends from the party were gone already.

You remember the way his knee had brushed yours, sitting on his couch, the way his fingers twitched like he wanted to reach for you. And then you remember that he did. He kissed you. And your heart stuttered, his breath caught, he hesitated for a second, giving you a chance to pull away. You didn’t. You should have.

Because there was no stopping from then on.

You left the moment you woke up in his bed to him snoring in your ear and leaving drool in your hair.

But you keep coming back when he calls.

He is careful with you, always. Slow and attentive. He never lets you leave without asking if you are okay, without pressing a bottle of water into your hands, without brushing his fingers against your wrist as if needing something. Maybe a reminder that this is real. Maybe something that’ll hold him back from saying something.

But today was different.

He didn’t ask you how your day was when you walked through his door. Didn’t wait for you to slip off your shoes, to drop your bag onto its usual spot by the couch. Didn’t even give you a chance to breathe before his hands were on you.

He had you pressed up against the wall next to his door and claimed your mouth in a searing kiss that almost tasted desperate.

His fingers curled around your waist and pulled you to him so tightly, you felt every single one of his ragged breaths against your chest, the tension thrumming beneath his skin.

Then he lifted you, carried you over to his bedroom, and basically tossed you onto his bed, his body following. He pressed you down, caging you in, his weight and scent and whole behavior dizzying you.

There was no hesitation. No slow unraveling. No playful touches and teases meant to draw things out. It was pure and unfiltered need.

His hands gripped your hips so firmly, not enough to leave bruises, but hard enough to tell you that he needed this.

He fucked you like you were the only thing on his mind.

He fucked you like you were the only thing keeping him here.

He fucked you like it’s you he craved.

He fucked you like it was making him blind.

It did.

Because he didn’t see the way you gritted your teeth, the way your nails dug into the sheets beneath you, the way the dull pain at the beginning began to sharpen, spreading with every of his hard thrusts.

His face was buried in the crook of your neck, lips tracing the curve of your skin, his breath warm and heavy against your pulse.

He was lost in it, consumed by the feel of you, the way you were wrapped around him, the way your body clenched.

Normally; his weight, his deep groans, the heat of him, his sheer presence pressing you into the mattress would be grounding, would be something good. Something addicting.

But it wasn’t today.

Because the pain only grew.

The stretch felt wrong - too much, too sudden. He gave you time to adjust, asked if you were ready with that husky tone of his, and you only nodded. You lied.

You thought you were able to push through the pain and that it would soon turn to pleasure. But that wasn’t the case, and every snap of his hips only had you fighting to keep from flinching.

Your breath stuttered as he shifted, angling deeper, hitting something that made you gasp. It must have sounded like pleasure to him because he then groaned into your hair, but it was a sound stemming from startled pain.

You felt that deep, bruising pressure that shot up your spine, making you bite down hard on your lip to refuse a cry to slip out that would surely make him stop out of concern.

You only squeezed your eyes shut, trying to will it away. But it didn’t.

It kept spreading, kept tearing, kept building with every thrust.

You know you should have said something.

You know you should have told him to stop, to slow down, to give you a second to breathe.

But then he panted against your neck, breathing into your skin how good you feel, whispering praises and words that sounded a little too affectionate for the kind of arrangement you are having and you felt him let go of whatever was plaguing him.

So when he checked in again, asking if you were alright, you nodded once more. Forcing your lips into a shape that could resemble a yes, and you felt him shudder, felt his grip on your waist tighten as he dived into you again, lost in the feel of your walls.

And you let him.

Because you didn’t want to ruin this.

Because this is what he needed, what he asked for, and if you had told him to stop, what if it changed something? What if it broke that thing between you? What if he would have ended up being disappointed? Unpleased? What if he stopped calling?

So you swallowed the pain. You kept biting your lip and tried to focus on his breathing, the warmth of his skin, anything but the way your body protested, the way the ache morphed into something unmanageable.

You still don’t stop bleeding.

It’s not your period.

You had your period last week. It’s what kept you away from him, what had you say no when he asked you to come over. The thought of bleeding on his sheets, on him, was enough to make heat run along your neck, mortified at the very idea.

But Bucky had just shrugged, voice low and unbothered when he told you he didn’t mind.

But you did, so you declined. And when he asked you, soft and caring, if there was anything he could do for you, you declined as well.

There is a limit to his affections you can take. A limit to the sweetest things he can tell you, the lovelies things he can do for you, and the softest ways he can touch you because you believe none of them mean as much to him as they do to you.

So you stayed home, curled in your bed with a heating pad, ignoring the way you ached for something that had nothing to do with cramps.

And now, here you are, bleeding anyway.

God, you hate this.

Thankfully, the blood started coming when you already sat down on the toilet. When your thighs pressed together and you felt the wetness along the sharp sting that made your breath catch.

But you tell yourself it will stop soon. It has to.

You just need a few minutes - just long enough for your body to calm, for the pain to fade into something tolerable. Long enough to clean yourself up and pretend like everything is fine.

You take another breath, pressing your palm against the cool porcelain of the sink. Your time is running out. You can’t stay here too long or Bucky will notice. You never take this long. And you certainly can’t let him see this. Can’t let him know. Can’t let him ask questions you don’t want to answer.

A knock comes. Soft and firm, rapping against the wood of the bathroom door. Once, twice, before his voice follows, rough but laced with something gentle. Careful.

“Hey, you alright in there?”

Your stomach drops. Shit, you took too long.

You squeeze your eyes shut, inhaling sharply, trying to keep yourself from spiraling. You force your voice to steady, to keep the waver out, to sound normal.

“Yeah,” you call back, trying to make it sound light, breezy, unbothered. “I’ll be out in a minute.”

Silence. Just for a second. Then, another knock, a little firmer this time, a little more insistent.

“You sure?” Bucky’s voice carries through the door, and there is something new in it now. A crease in his tone.

You can practically hear the way his brows furrow, the way his jaw ticks, that little frown tugging at his lips and deepening the line between his eyes.

Normally, you would think it’s cute. Normally, you would have to suppress the urge to press your finger to that little divot and smooth it out like your touch could unravel the tension in him.

But right now, thinking about it only makes your pulse halt, makes you feel like there is something thick and choking in your throat.

Bucky shifts on the other side of the door, his voice lower, softer when he speaks again. “Do you need-”

Panic flares in you. “I’ll leave as soon as I’m done,” you blurt out, too fast, too sharp. “Just- just give me a minute.”

There is a beat of silence.

The air in this small bathroom seems to be thinning out. You stare at your own reflection in the mirror, at the wide eyes, the parted lips, the tension in your shoulders that pulls them up.

“You don’t gotta leave, doll.”

It’s quieter. His words are careful, almost hesitant, but there is something insistent in them too. Him trying to piece something together.

“I just-” He exhales, and you hear the way he scrubs a hand down his face, the way he shifts his weight from foot to foot, like he is trying to keep himself still, trying to keep himself from pushing open the door and looking at you. “Is everything alright?”

It’s the way he asks, the way he lingers on the words, like he already suspects the answer but is hoping - praying - you will say or do something to prove him wrong.

And you want to. You want to smooth it over, to push away his worry before it sinks too deep, before it turns to annoyance or impatience. But before you can get a single word out, he keeps going.

His voice turns tighter. Faster. His knuckles still seem to rest on the door.

“Are you hurt?”

Your breath stays caught in your throat.

“Did I-” He stops. Starts again. “Did I hurt you?” The words rush out of him, like he can’t stop them. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

You open your mouth, but he still continues talking.

“Shit,” he exclaims, as if it hits him square in the chest. His voice dips lower, rawer, tinged with something like guilt, something thick and pressing. “Doll, was I too rough?”

You can hear it all in his voice - the worry, the guilt, the panic, that desperate need to fix something before it even fully breaks. And there is no impatience, no annoyance, none of the things you were afraid of.

You should have known, but somehow you keep lying.

“No, Bucky,” you say, and you hate the way your voice wavers, the way it doesn’t sound that much convincing. “Don’t worry.”

The door handle rattles.

“Doll.” Bucky’s voice is closer, pressed right up against the other side of the door, low and urgent. The knob jerks in his grip, testing it, trying to keep his touch gentle but unable to stop himself. “Can you let me in?”

You swear you can hear your own heartbeat, a dull, thrumming thing pounding in your ears.

“I’m fine, Bucky.” The lie stumbles out too fast, but you don’t know what else to say.

The knob shakes again, this time harder. “C’mon,” he breathes out, and you hear the strain in his voice, the way his words come tighter. “Please, doll. Just open the door.”

You don’t move. Your knees are weak.

“Fuck.” He is frantic. His breath is ragged and sharp. You hear him shift, pressing more of his weight against the door as if he is fighting the urge to force it open. “Y/n, I didn’t mean-” he stops himself, and you can almost picture his hand running through his hair, his jaw clenched tight, his brows pinched together so deeply. “I didn’t mean to be rough with you. Fuck, I- I swear, I-” His voice falters, cracking on something heavy.

You swallow hard, but your throat is closed up and it can’t pass through cleanly. “You weren’t rough, Bucky,” you try to assure him.

But he only lets out a troubled sound. “Yeah?” His voice turns gravelly. His tone turns desperate. “Then why the hell won’t you open the door?”

You can’t answer that. You can barely stand, gripping the sink so hard you feel your fingers might start to cramp. The pain flares up again and you grimace.

“Doll,” he tries again, his voice frenetic. “Please, let me see you.”

The door handle tugs again.

“I need to see you.”

You blink rapidly, trying to keep the frustrated tears from welling up your eyes.

“Bucky-”

“Please.”

That word is laced with a plea so deep, you feel it in your bones.

“Buck, I need a second, okay?”

You force a slow inhale through your nose as you rip off another wad of toilet paper and press it between your legs. The crimson smears against the white. You do it again. Again. Until there is nothing left to wipe away and nothing more is coming. For now.

Your thighs sting where you rub at the dried streaks, the skin tender, hypersensitive. You force yourself to ignore it. You just have to get out. That’s all. If you can get out of his apartment before it starts bleeding again and without crumbling to the floor in pain, there is nothing to worry about.

“You’re scarin’ me here, baby. Please. I need to see you. Need to make sure-” His voice catches.

You toss the balled-up paper into the toilet, reaching blindly for the handle, flushing it down, and cutting Bucky’s desperate words off for a moment.

The pain gets worse, dragging along your nerves and making you lose your balance slightly. You grip the sink again. Your vision goes dark for a short second. The floor is cold beneath your bare feet.

“I wasn’t tryin’ to be rough with you. Y/n! I- I needed you, and I got lost in it, and fuck- I didn’t-” he chokes out, not able to continue. His words sound like a confession.

You grit your teeth, twisting the faucet of the sink too hard, too fast. Water rushes out, scalding against your skin as you scrub your hands, scrubbing at the blood, scrubbing at the proof, as if that will make it disappear.

Your lungs feel too tight, too small to hold enough air. Your heart beats against your ribs like it wants out.

You don’t know if it’s because he went too deep, or too hard, or if something inside you just wasn’t ready for him, but it doesn’t matter now. What matters is that you don’t let it show.

On the other side of the door, Bucky exhales vehemently.

His fist knocks twice again before curling around the door handle. “Baby, please let me in.”

“I’m fine,” you call out, but it doesn’t sound right.

Bucky’s breath shudders out.

You try to straighten, try to compose yourself, and open that door to pretend you are fine, but a sharp, searing pain rips through your lower abdomen and you gasp. Your vision swims and the ground beneath your feet feels wobbly, shifting like it might fall out from under your feet.

Bucky’s breath is rough and broken through the crack beneath the door. His palm presses flat against the wood, a low thud that makes your stomach churn.

“Y/n,” he warns, voice low, but so incredibly distressed. So incredibly worried. “If you don’t open this door, I swear to God-”

Your legs give out.

It’s not a full collapse, but it’s enough. Your knee buckles and you stumble, hip knocking hard into the edge of the sink before you pitch sideways, shoulder crashing into the shelf beside you.

The impact rattles the whole thing.

A bottle of cologne topples over, then a razor, then something heavier - a glass jar filled with cotton pads - shattering on the tiled floor with a violent crack.

“Alright, I'm coming in.”

Bucky doesn’t wait for permission.

The door bursts open with a bang, the hinges groaning under the force of his shove. He is on you in an instant, all broad shoulders and frantic energy, filling the small space with his presence before you even have time to react.

Bucky’s hands find you - not grabbing, not pulling, just there, at your back, your arm, holding you together, holding you up before you can fully meet the ground.

His breathing is uneven, his chest rising and falling too fast, and the sight of him nearly knocks you off your feet once more.

His eyes are wide, pupils blown, that storm of worry you have heard in his voice through the door now a full-blown hurricane.

“What’s goin’ on? Doll, what is it?”

You don’t answer. Instead, your own gaze shifts to the glass jar at your feet, fractured lines spiderwebbing through the surface from the fall.

Your chest tightens. Your throat locks.

“Shit, Bucky, I’m so sorry.”

You barely recognize your own voice - thin, trembling, too damn weak. You grip onto him, the shirt he must have pulled over when you disappeared into the bathroom, and you hate it. You hate how bad of a burden you are to him right now, when all he wanted was to let off some stress of the day.

But Bucky doesn’t even seem to hear you.

He doesn’t seem to see anything else than you. Doesn’t look at the glass, doesn’t blink at the mess.

His eyes are on you.

And the way he is looking at you makes something inside you crack even deeper than the broken jar at your feet.

His eyes are sharp and they trace over you, cataloging everything.

He doesn’t just look at you, he dissects you. His gaze maps every inch of your body, searching, calculating, reading between the lines of what you’re not saying.

The way your shoulders are drawn tight. The way your chest stutters on each inhale, as if even breathing is too much right now. The way you clutch at him, your knuckles white, not even trusting your own legs to hold you up.

You swallow hard, shifting your weight in his hold, and the pain flares again, enough to make your body involuntarily tremble. You clamp down on a wince, but he notices.

Bucky’s jaw is tight.

You tug at the hem of your shirt, yanking it lower, bunching the fabric between your fingers as if that will do anything.

Bucky’s gaze snap to your movements. He narrows his eyes, drinking you in with an intensity that makes you want to shrink.

“Doll,” he lets out, voice hoarse and rough, like the single word is punched out of him.

His hands skim over your arms, your waist, searching.

Then he stills.

His fingers twitch against your hip. His shoulders stiffen.

His gaze drops.

The storm behind his eyes turns feral.

You know what he is seeing.

You feel it before you even look down - the slow, unwelcome warmth trailing down your inner thigh.

The blood.

A single, thin ribbon of red against your soft skin.

For a second there is nothing. No sound. No breath. Just his stare.

“Jesus Christ.”

His voice comes in a way you’ve never heard before. It’s rather a harsh croak of sound than his normal voice.

You try to move, do anything to shift his focus, to stop the way his grip on you tightens as if he’s afraid, in pain himself.

But the second you move, another sharp pang shoots up your core, stealing what little breath you have left and you gasp.

Strong arms wind around you tightly, pulling you into his chest firmly.

“Bucky-”

“Hush.”

It’s not an order. It’s not a demand. It’s a plea, soft and urgent and broken, whispered against your hair as he holds you like you might break. No, like he might break.

“You’re hurt.” There is an aching note of guilt hanging between each syllable. It’s so thick and pronounced, you wince. “Fuck- I hurt you.”

You shake your head against him, trying to swallow past the lump in your throat. “No, Bucky, you didn’t-”

“Don’t.” His voice breaks on the word. His grip tightens, his fingers pressing into your skin. “I hurt you. God, fucking hell, I hurt you.”

His grip on you is firm, but not rough.

His arms cage around you, holding you as if you might slip right through the cracks of his fingers if he lets go.

Large fingers press into your hip, your thigh with a feverish desperation, enough for you to feel the slight tremble in them.

His breathing is so ragged, like he’s been running. Chasing something he’s already lost.

He is shaking.

A whisper of his lips presses to the side of your temple, lingering. A contrast to the way he has been claiming your mouth moments before.

It feels like he is pressing his regret into your skin, hoping you’ll absorb it.

“I'm so sorry,” he breathes. It’s hoarse. Nearly choking.

You hear the fracture in his voice, something splitting open inside him.

Another kiss, this time on your forehead. Another apology, spoken in the warmth of his mouth against your heated skin. Another kiss, soft, like he’s praying to you, trying to breathe the apology into you.

“Shit- I'm so sorry, baby.” The words rasp out of him, broken, spilling into your hair, against your forehead, over your cheek.

His hands won’t stop moving. You feel them everywhere - gliding over your back, skating down your arms, searching. For what, though you are not sure. A sign that you’re okay? Proof that he hasn’t broken you?

But perhaps he has. Just not in the way he fears right now. Not in a way that bruises or cracks like a bone, but in the way that has you swallowing down the shame rising thick in your throat.

You don’t want him to see you like this.

It’s humiliating. It’s too much. The way he is looking at you is making you lose control over your limbs and you really can’t afford that right now.

Heat pools beneath your skin, then it vanishes, leaving you cold, your body not able to decide whether to fight or flee.

He gathers you and lifts you in the air, pulling you to his chest. He does it slow. Careful. Looking at your face for any indication that he hurt you some more.

With that, he walks you out of his bathroom.

You should fight him, tell him you can walk, but you’re not sure you can. Your legs are trembling in his hold, unsteady, and the deep throb of pain is still biting at your insides.

And Bucky is holding you like you are the most important thing he ever carried.

You whimper in pain and his hold tightens instinctively. His hands shake against you.

You hate the way your stomach spins in on itself at the thought of staining him. At leaving blood on his clothes, on his skin, on his belongings.

But Bucky does not seem to care at all. He does not seem to think about that at all.

None of it seems to matter.

Only you.

He sits you down carefully, on the edge of his bed. The very same one he just fucked you raw in. His hands hover even after he lets go, still gripping at your waist, brushing along your arms, your knee.

Then he takes off.

You can hear the frantic rustling - the opening and shutting of drawers, cabinets, his movements fast and panicked.

And when he returns to you, he is kneeling in front of you with a damp cloth.

He doesn’t speak at first.

Just opens your legs slightly, with gentle hands, for better access and begins to swipe. Soft, slow drags over your sensitive skin, barely any pressure at all, afraid even the slightest touch might make this worse for you.

But the thing is, he is already making this worse.

Not in the way he thinks.

Not in the way that physically aches in your body but in a way that fills you with something barely manageable.

Bucky is not annoyed, or exasperated at this turn of events. He is not disgusted. Not even a little.

He is not wincing at the blood smearing on your thighs, isn’t hesitating when it stains the cloth, and also might stain his hand, the sheets on his bed. He just keeps wiping. Keeps caring. Keeps frowning with that expression of utter concern and remorse.

And this hurts so much more.

It would have been easier if he had been an asshole about it. If he had sighed in annoyance, rubbed a frustrated hand over his face, and told you to just go if you were gonna act weird. Maybe you would have been able to handle that.

But Bucky Barnes is anything but an asshole.

He is kneeling before you, hands still cautiously wiping at your skin. Each motion is so slow, painstaking, like an artist restoring a ruined masterpiece, knowing no stroke of his hand can undo the damage.

His touch is soft, but his body is anything but.

His spine is a pillar of strain, each muscle wound so tightly, even the act of breathing seems like an effort to him, like something he must force past the knot in his chest.

His jaw is hard, teeth pressed together in a pressure you can almost hear.

Rigid shoulders don’t really move with his breaths, as if the guilt inside of him has turned to iron and settled deep in his bones.

Every inch of him seems to be screaming with the need to undo something that has already been done.

His blue eyes are flooded with regret. With something heavier than guilt, something closer to self-loathing.

It feels like he is bleeding grief.

And it would have been easier if he didn’t care so much.

Because if he was indifferent, if he brushed it off, if he let you go, then at least you could pretend this didn’t mean anything. At least you could convince yourself that this arrangement was just that - an arrangement. A convenient thing. A way to feel wanted without asking for more.

But this makes it impossible to lie to yourself.

This makes it impossible to stop falling for him over and over again.

And that is what really hurts, what dives deep into your insides to carve out a room and stays there.

His fingers brush over your knee as he cleans.

And then, after a long, silent moment, he speaks.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

His voice is rough. Not accusing. Not angry. Just wounded. Pained.

He lets out a sharp breath, his throat bobbing as he swallows thickly. He looks away for a moment, squeezing his eyes shut as if blocking out what he did to you.

His gaze flicks back up to yours and the way he looks at you nearly takes you apart.

“Why didn’t you stop me, doll?” His voice breaks, as if it physically pains him to say it. “I- Jesus, I- why didn’t you tell me?”

You shake your head, your throat tight, trying to find the words. Trying to explain. But the shame, the embarrassment make it hard to pull in a full breath, making it impossible to speak.

Bucky waits.

And again, that makes it worse.

Because he is patient with you, even now. Even when he desperately searches you for something, when he looks like he wants to rip himself apart with his bare hands.

He is still waiting for you, waiting for you to think about your answer.

You push past the lump in your throat and force up something. “I didn’t want to ruin it,” you admit quietly.

His brows pull further together, face twisting. His hand stays on your knee. “Ruin what?”

You exhale shakily, your fingers curling into the fabric of your shirt. “For you,” you say, voice barely above a whisper. “I didn’t want to ruin it for you. I just- I wanted you to feel good.”

Bucky might have stopped breathing in front of you. Might have just died and come back in the same second.

A sound leaves him. You can’t make out if it is a word or something else, but it is deep and gravelly and it slams into your chest like a fist.

His head dips forward, his hands flexing into fists on his thighs before he drags them over his face. The stained cloth lay discarded.

He shakes his head, not believing what he is hearing. Not even knowing what to do with himself.

He looks at you again. His eyes are darker now. So full of pain.

“Doll,” he breathes, and the way he says it - like it hurts him, like it breaks him - have you staring at him helplessly. “You think I’d rather you suffer through it? That I’d rather have you- have you just take it? That I’d rather get off than-” He stops. He has to stop. His breath hitches in a gasp. His fists shake. “Fuck.”

You can’t look at him.

You want to. But you can’t.

Because he is too much.

Because he is everything.

Because he is making it impossible to pretend like this isn’t something more than what it is.

There is a deep, pulling sensation in your stomach, a hand reaching inside and twisting and turning everything around.

“I’m sorry,” you choke out. Your bottom lip trembles and you fight against tears welling up in your eyes.

Bucky moves instantly.

He is on you in a heartbeat, as close as he can possibly get, as if he could crawl into your skin if it meant keeping you from hurting.

His head shakes, frantic, desperate. “No, hey- no.”His voice sounds like it has been dragged over broken glass. Fractured.

“Don’t apologize, baby. Please, don’t.” He cups your face, his palms warm against your skin. He forces your eyes to his, refuses to let you look away, refuses to let you hide in your shame.

His brows are pulled together, his jaw is tight. His entire body vibrates with something fierce.

“Don’t be sorry. I’m the one who is. I’m the one who needs to apologize.”

His thumb catches a tear.

His hands tighten, like he can physically hold all of you.

“God, I gotta apologize, baby,” he breathes, and the sheer pain in his voice has your heart pounding. “I shouldn’t have- I should’ve never let you think this was all it was.” His fingers flex against your face and he drags in a breath that seems to hurt him.

His forehead almost touches yours.

“I should’ve told you,” he croaks out, words something like a confession. “That first night. That next morning. Should’ve told you then. Should’ve never let you leave thinkin’-” He stops himself, his eyes so blue, so damn intense, burning into yours with something so vulnerable it has your ribs crack open.

He regains a firmness in his voice when he speaks next.

“I should’ve never let you walk out thinkin’ you were just some good time to me.”

You choke on your next breath.

Your mind blanks.

He shakes his head, like he hates himself.

“I thought-” He exhales and rubs a hand over his jaw, his stubble rasping against his palm. “You were gone so fast that first time, baby. So fast. And I- I thought maybe that’s how you wanted it. Maybe that’s all it was for you. It broke my heart, but hell, I thought that’s all I was gonna get. And I didn’t wanna risk it. Risk losin’ that with you.”

You didn’t feel your lips part. You just know that they are gaping.

Words are lost on you.

Bucky’s hands slide down your arms, squeeze at your elbows, needing to ground himself, needing to feel you solid beneath his fingers. His thumb brushes over your pulse point, as if trying to memorize the beat of it.

His voice lowers. Softens.

“But I can’t do this anymore.”

His fingers tighten.

“Not- not like this.” He swallows hard. “Not when it’s hurtin’ you. Not when I-” His throat tries to work around the words, his gaze searching. “Not when I’m hurtin’ you, and giving you the impression you’d just have to take it. That you couldn’t tell me to stop when you need me to.”

His voice splinters.

You stare into the glossy sheen of his eyes and only see sincerity and the utter despair he is in.

Something pushes against your ribs, trying to carve out space where none existed before. A deep heat blooms low, not the kind that you knew to ignite in the dark between tangled sheets and intertwined limbs, but something slower, something deeper.

“I left that morning because I thought it’s what you wanted, Bucky.” Your voice wavers, but you hold his gaze, watching the way his entire body tenses, the way his brows draw together.

Your hands move to his shirt, nails pressing into it, eyes moving away from his, but he keeps them on you so firmly.

“I was scared,” you admit quietly. “I was scared you would wake up, look at me, and regret it. That you’d think it was a mistake. And then, you never asked me to stay-” You swallow hard, blinking rapidly to slow the tears. “And I thought that meant I was right. That you didn’t want me to.”

Bucky’s eyes go wide.

He looks broken.

His body jerks forward as if you hit him. His mouth is parted and his lips are trembling. His throat works words up.

You watch as something dark and agonizing moves through him. He blinks fast, breathes in sharp, and exhales even sharper.

Then he shakes his head, over and over again, lips moving to a curse he doesn’t speak out loudly. His hands adjust themselves on your skin.

“You thought I wanted you to leave?”

The sheer disbelief, the sheer devastation in his voice makes your chest cave in on itself.

“I-” You try to answer, try to explain, but he continues.

“No. No, sweetheart, no.” His hands slide down, gripping your arms, your hands, begging you to listen. “I never- Fuck. I never wanted you to leave.”

His eyes are wild, urgent, stormy.

“I wanted you to stay. Every damn time. But I thought it’s what you wanted.” His voice hitches, his shoulders rigid with tension. “You were gone so fast, doll, you didn’t even-” He swallows, his expression shattering. “I figured you didn’t wanna wake up next to me.”

You feel everything crack open inside you.

Your pulse hammers in your throat, in your wrists, in your ears, in the very tips of your fingers, both in a wild and certain way.

“You never told me to stay,” you whisper.

Bucky’s face contorts in pain.

“I was terrified,” he breathes, his forehead pressing against yours. “Terrified that if I asked, you’d tell me no. And I- I couldn’t-” He exhales a profound breath, shaking his head. “I couldn’t stand hearin’ that, doll. I couldn’t stand losing even the little of you I had.”

Something harsh tugs at your chest, making it hard to breathe.

You had it all wrong.

And so did he.

You want to laugh, maybe, or cry, or press your hands to his face just to make sure this moment is real, to make sure he won’t take back what he just told you.

You let out a shaky breath. A finger lifts gradually and brushes against his jaw. He leans into your touch like he is starving for it.

“I always wanted to stay,” you whisper, voice breaking.

Bucky’s breath stutters, his fingers twitching against you. His lips are parted.

With a long and drawn-out breath he moves to cup the back of your head, his fingers threading through your hair, holding you to him.

His lips press against your forehead, once, twice, a third time, his breath warm and unsteady against your skin.

“I fucked up,” he mutters, voice thick with regret.

You shake your head, but he won’t have it.

“No, baby. I shoulda told you from the start. I should’ve never let you walk out that door.” Another kiss. Another released breath. “But you ain’t walkin’ out now. Not this time. Not ever. M’ not gonna let you.”

His voice is low and rough, filled with something sore.

“You’re stayin’ right here.”

You pull him in, needing him closer, needing his arms around you and his warmth against you.

And Bucky melts.

Completely, he folds into you. His arms wrap around your body, pressing against the small of your back, fingers digging in like he needs to feel you.

He buries his face into your hair, leaving kisses there, his breath strained against your scalp. He smells like soap, like something faintly sweet, like safety.

His hand smoothes over your back, tracing slow and grounding patterns, memorizing every inch of you, needing you to be okay.

“How do you feel, baby? You still hurtin’?” he whispers against your temple.

Your stomach flips at the care in his voice. How much he wants to know. How much he needs to know.

You hesitate for a second, words sticking to your tongue.

Bucky pulls back slightly, enough to look at you. His eyes sweep over your face, over every tiny micro-expression, over every little glimmer of pain you can’t quite hide.

His gaze drops lower, assessing you, thoroughly. The bleeding seems to have stopped and relief washes over his features. But it’s fleeting.

“I’m okay,” you assure, even though the soreness still lingers, the ache still exists beneath your skin.

Bucky gives you a warning look.

“It only hurts a little.”

Bucky closes his eyes for a beat, and when he looks at you again, you get uneasy. It seems he wasn’t quite done with confessing things.

“Please don’t do that again, baby. Don’t ever put me before you like that. Don’t ever let me hurt you just ‘cause you think it’s what I want. I could never feel good at the cost of your hurtin’.”

His face is twisted with pain, the idea of you suffering in silence unbearable to him.

He is looking at you like you are everything.

“I promise, Buck,” you tell him reverently. Softly. “But I really am okay.”

“Doll.” His voice is low, firm. “We need to get you checked out. We ain’t just sittin’ on this and hopin’ it’s fine. We’re going to the ER.”

You sigh.

“Bucky-”

“Not up for discussion,” he retorts, shaking his head. There is tension around his mouth, pulling it taut. “We’ll let a doc check you over, and gonna let ‘em tell us you’re okay. And if you’re not, we’re gonna figure out what to do. But we won’t ignore this, sweetheart. Not when it’s you. Not when you’re in pain and bleedin’.”

Your chest is filling with something warm, something fond, something that hurts and heals all at once.

Still, you try. “It’s better now, Buck-”

He doesn’t even let you finish.

He is already moving, already reaching for clothes. He grabs a new pair of his boxers for you to pull on, seemingly not caring about the remnants of blood that will stain them, along with sweats and one of his hoodies.

And before you can argue, or can even fully process what he is doing, he dresses you in those clothes and immediately lifts you into his arms when he is done.

His hands are strong, gentle, so cautious, one cradling your back, the other under your knees. He holds you like you weigh nothing, but also like you are the most precious thing in the world.

You let out a startled noise, but Bucky shushes you tenderly, pressing a sweet kiss to your temple.

“I got you, baby,” he soothes, voice so warm and full of something so achingly deep you don’t know how to hold it.

But you try to.

Because you want to.

“Real love doesn’t meet you at your best. It meets you in your mess.”

- J.S. Park

[poughkeepsies]

sick to my stomach cause every time I think about all the stupid things buck said and did this episode all I can think is how fondly eddie would've smiled to find out about them

[chloesimaginationthings]

What comic is the bottom left image of springtrap from? (On the post where you say why you draw him blocky)

It’s from this comic!! A very normal father son reunion

Og post here

[eddiegayass]

EDDIE 'SLUTTY TANK TOP' DIAZ in 9-1-1

[mipmoth]

It's only me and you in this cruel world walking radiator

[panevanbuckley]

soulmate au where your soulmate's thoughts appear on your skin except your soulmate has adhd and your body becomes a living canvas of nonsensical, never-ending, constantly entertaining trails of thought

[justskyla-art]

get crackin', egg!

[graciehart]

how to say "I love you" in x-files [83/?] ⤷ 1.02 — “Deep Throat”

[willgrahamscock]

Really happy that this year has been so positive for the queer community in terms of confirming a characters queerness on screen with a kiss so that the homophobes can't argue it. We had an ineffable husbands kiss and now, 9-1-1's Evan Buckley is canonically bisexual! Sorry destiel fans, your time will come, but then there are the fannibals. The ACTORS were told by the producer that the kiss that they had decided on together for the end of the finale, is 'too much' because their chemistry on screen is so homoerotic that kissing each other is not necessary because it is already obvious that they’re in love.

[oshaskell]

and on today's episode of Eddie Diaz and the Sudden (but Wonderful) Absence of Personal Space

[swiftiesbuddie]

when i realize why i recognize the fanfiction i’m reading:

[megalony]

That's Enough

This is a new Buddie x reader imagine based on an old request. I'm sorry it's taken me so long to write this for you anon.

I hope you will all like it, feedback keeps me motivated.

Taglist: @justagirlthatlovedtoread @musicistheway @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @luula @missdreamofendless @bradleybeachbabe @woderfulkawaii @amberpanda99 @daggersquadphantom @marvel-and-chicago-fan @angryknightstatesmantrash @minjix @lyje @kmc1989 @itsmytimetoodream @noonenuts @hiireadstuff @ashie-babie @classyunknownlover @jayyeahthatsme @sp1ritssz @dumb-fawkin-bitch @oliverstarksbae @gimatida @heart-35 @supernaturalstilinski @kyky9103 @gay4hotmilfs @itshamleth @chaoticnosleepinfluencer @gs29 @wh0reforsmutstuff @mel-vaz @natashamea18 @chrisevansdaughter @alexandra848484 @deena-beena-weena @targaryenluvs @kpoplover-19 @marvelmenarebeautiful @gillybear17

@zoeybennett @mrspeacem1nusone @zephyrmonkey @estella-novella @eleventhdoctorsangel @kniselle @senjoritanana @shauna-carsley @dottierose @cfdhouse51 @darkfemme1 @rainechase45 @lolalolsstuff @jupiter1700 @ashdoctor @an-aliens-ghost @lunaroserites @houseoftwistedspirits @callsignwidow @winterreader-nowwriter @reneinii @bellsbomb @western-pyro @itsgigikay @harry-satellite @midsummereve1993 @babyqueen17 @buckyyyismahhlife @sammiejane22 @mrsyixingunicorn10 @op-81-lvr-reblogs @talicat713 @niamhmbt @strawberry-canyon @bieberhoodforever @911fangirlie @hollandxxmix @jasmineee05 @creat1venat1onn @devilslittlehelper @darlingcharling-blog

Buddie Masterlist

Summary: When a person on a call begins to get aggressive and violent towards (Y/n), Buck and Eddie step in to protect their partner.

Enjoy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A discontented groan left Eddie's lips when the sound of his alarm rung out through the air, jostling him from his dream.

It was early. He felt like he had gone to bed five minutes ago, but if his alarm was waking him up then he guessed he had slept longer than usual. Most of Eddie's recent shifts had been early, usually starting at five or six in the morning.

Today's shift was lined up to begin at nine which would feel like turning up in the afternoon compared to normal.

With a grunt, he twisted to the right and flopped onto his back, reaching his arm out to try and turn off his alarm. He had to get up, get Chris up and ready and drop him off at school on his way to work.

His brows furrowed when he groggily opened his eyes and looked towards the other side of the bed. (Y/n) was awake; more specifically, she was sitting up in bed. He didn't expect her to be wide awake the moment his alarm went off to remind them to get up for their shift.

His tired eyes glanced beside (Y/n) before a light went off in his mind and he remembered. Evan was already at work. He had agreed to a double shift. Evan went to do the night shift and he would be on shift until three in the afternoon. That meant while (Y/n) and Eddie were on shift, Evan would be able to head off and pick Chris up from school and be with him for the afternoon.

He reached his hand out and began to glide his hand up and down (Y/n)'s thigh while he tried to wake himself up. It took Eddie a moment to clear his head enough to sit up and properly start to wake up and when he did, he looked over to his left. His eyes raked her up and down, taking in the way she was sat to see what she was up to.

She was sat up in bed with the covers strewn across the middle of the bed. One hand was pressing down into the mattress, presumably to help keep her balance and her other hand was pressed against her temple while her head was tilted forward.

"You okay, amor?"

He let go of her thigh to stretch his arms up above his head, straining to click his neck into place before he twisted to the side. His knees gently nudged hers and his hand came up to rest on the side of her neck, his thumb swiping across her jaw until she opened her eyes.

"What's up?" He murmured softly, leaning over to peck her cheek when (Y/n) leaned her cheek into his palm. She nuzzled into his touch, trying her best not to lean on Eddie too much in case she let all of her weight fall onto him and have him hold her weight up for her.

"I feel sick."

For a while now, she hadn't been able to sleep. All she could do was fidget and squirm and groan. She felt sick. She felt like she was starting to burn up, but it just seemed to be her imagination. She hadn't thrown up, she wasn't sweating and she wasn't about to collapse, she just felt the need to be sick. Morning sickness was still her friend, even now.

She twisted to the side so she could lean her cheek on Eddie's shoulder when his hand dropped from her face so he could loop his arm around her waist. His hand splayed out on her hip and he kissed the top of her head while his other hand moved round to brush across her stomach.

"They're still asleep." (Y/n) muttered softly, and she managed a smile as she tilted her head back to look up at Eddie.

She knew what he was doing. Now they were twenty-one weeks along, (Y/n) was starting to feel the baby move and kick and the boys were enamoured. She knew Eddie was trying to see if the baby would kick but they were too settled to entertain him. But she liked the way Eddie continued to drag his fingertips along her stomach like he was either waiting for the baby to disagree or like he was soothing them to keep them asleep and content.

"Do you want me to get you a drink?"

"I'll grab one, we're both getting up anyway." (Y/n) found the will to pull away from Eddie's embrace, but not before he tilted her head in his direction to steal a kiss.

It wasn't like she could go back to sleep when they were both on shift and there was no way (Y/n) was calling in sick. She was on restricted duties down at the station and it made her work days very dull when she couldn't help out as much as she liked. She wasn't going to stay home when she could go to work and wait around for meager tasks to do to keep busy.

When Eddie climbed up off the bed and held his hands out towards (Y/n), she smiled softly and let him pull her up to her feet. His hands moved down to hold her hips and he attached his lips to the top of her head, waiting patiently for (Y/n) to move first so he knew she was alright.

Eddie's eyes kept glancing back towards (Y/n) while he rummaged around for some plain clothes. His work gear was washed and waiting in his locker at the station so he simply needed some casual clothes to wear until he could get changed.

He found a few things but his focus was solely on (Y/n), watching to see if she was sluggish or tired or wobbling as she slowly got dressed. They both knew Eddie would have a shower before work whereas that never woke (Y/n) up, how showers and baths made her want to go to sleep instead.

"You good?" Eddie murmured against the back of her head once she was dressed in a pair of maternity leggings and one of Evan's gym shirts.

"Hm."

She could feel Eddie's arm securing around her waist as he followed her out their bedroom and down the hall. Once they reached Chris's room, Eddie knocked on the door and nudged it open, muttering a groggy "Time to get up bud." in the process.

He knew Chris had heard him because of the grunt he heard and he knew in five minutes Chris would drag himself out of bed and get dressed.

(Y/n) could feel her stomach twisting as they aimed for the kitchen and her head fell back on Eddie's shoulder when they got there. She still felt sick and her head was starting to ache, but that was most likely because she needed a drink.

"Go sit down amor. I'll get a shower and find you some painkillers."

If she wasn't feeling great then Eddie would rather her sit down and take it easy for a while before they debated whether she was well enough to go to work or not.

His hands moved to her shoulders and he kissed the back of her head while he followed her into the living room to make sure she sat down and that she was alright in there.

His lips pursed as he watched (Y/n) flop down on the sofa and curl into the cushion. She brought her knees up until they were pressing into her bump and one arm flopped over the cushion while her other hand started to rub circles around her stomach.

"Won't be long," He mused against her temple before he kissed her cheek, then the tip of her nose and finally her lips when she tilted her head up, chasing after his lips.

When Eddie finished his shower and got dressed, he wasn't too sure whether it was a good thing or not that (Y/n) had moved from the living room. His head angled to one side and he turned and backtracked to head into the kitchen instead to see if she was in there.

"Will you try some painkillers?" Eddie glanced towards (Y/n) who was stood near the sink with her back to him, but he knew she was sorting out Chris's pack lunch.

When (Y/n)'s morning sickness had been rather bad last month, the midwife had prescribed some anti-sickness medication that could be dissolved in water as (Y/n) kept throwing her tablets up. But their struggle now was that (Y/n) wasn't throwing up as much as before, she was feeling sick instead. She felt the urge to be sick and she couldn't stomach much food or even water, but the doctor said she was 'much better' simply because she hadn't been sick.

They didn't have anymore of the anti-emmetics so Evan had stocked up on some dissolvable paracetamol to see if (Y/n) could drink those to settle her stomach. But she couldn't keep them down most days.

Eddie found the new pack and opened it up, finding a glass from the cupboard too. But when he turned around, he grinned in confusion and tilted his head to one side when he looked at (Y/n).

She turned around to face him, pressing her hips back into the sink behind her while her eyes cast down and a sheepish, timid smile pulled at her lips.

"And what is that?" The teasing tone to Eddie's voice made (Y/n) keep her eyes cast down to her stomach but she couldn't help but look up when he was stood in front of her with one hand on her hip and the other on her neck.

"Breakfast?"

"Really?" Eddie cast his eyes between (Y/n) and the ice lolly in her hand with a gleam in his eyes. "You know that's not gonna give you much substance, right?"

He could see that it was a berry ice lolly and it looked like one of the homemade ones Evan and Chris were always making. That wasn't going to fill (Y/n) up or make her feel full, nor was it going to give her any energy considering they had a full shift ahead of them and they were always busy in their job.

"Evan's idea for fluids, and it doesn't make me feel sick."

Evan had been extremely worried when (Y/n) hadn't been eating very much and when he noticed she couldn't keep drinks down or take big gulps of water, it panicked him even more. But he suggested an ice lolly might work. It took longer to get the fluids into (Y/n)'s system, the cold was refreshing and it was better than her drinking and then throwing up juice. This got more fluids into her system at a slow but steady pace.

(Y/n) leaned her cheek into Eddie's hand and pressed the lolly to her lips that began to tingle from the cold.

She knew it wasn't the best choice, but (Y/n) still felt queasy and she knew her body. She knew anything she tried to eat would either come back up or she would gag and cough before she could take a bite. At least this wasn't making her feel queasy and she might be able to keep some fluids down this way.

"Hm, I'll be having words with him then when we get to work." Eddie muttered softly against her temple as his hand wormed around to cradle the back of her neck to hold her close.

He would admit that this was creative and it was clearly an Evan idea and if it worked he would thank their boyfriend for thinking of something like this to keep (Y/n) from being sick or off work. But they needed to come up with something to help her eat as well as drink.

"At least you're having something, I guess."

***

(Y/n) ran her hand across her temple, warding away the headache that was dull at the back of her mind. She tried to push it to one side and ignore it so she could focus on the task at hand.

She forced a smile onto her face as the truck pulled up at the scene. It had been a few days since (Y/n) had been allowed out on scene, the last few calls had been too hectic for (Y/n) to attend. She and Bobby were in agreement that if she couldn't do anything on scene then she didn't want to stand around like a statue, unable to help.

She had remained at the station cleaning and tidying and answering calls and seeing the few people who popped in with questions or small emergencies she could deal with.

But to finally be back in the fire truck and out on a scene was joyous and (Y/n) was relieved to be back with the team and feel somewhat included again.

Her hand rested on Evan's shoulder as she climbed down from the truck, following behind him as they all took in the scene they were at.

She kept her hand on his shoulder and pressed up into Evan's side while she glanced around.

There had been a pile up in the middle of a junction. Someone ran a red light and caused a major pile up. (Y/n) was rather surprised she had been allowed out on this call, but then again, the roads had all been blocked off and there was no risk of fire or people yielding weapons.

There were enough emergency responders here to do the heavy lifting and let (Y/n) take a step back and be useful as a medic or to guide people away from the scene and tend to non-life threatening injuries.

"Okay, Buck and Chimney grab the jaws and saws, we might have to cut free the person in the red Honda. The rest of you spread out and check on anyone who needs medical attention."

(Y/n) timidly pointed to herself, waiting for Bobby to grin and nod at her before she dared move. She needed that green light so she knew she could go and help people too and that Bobby didn't have anything else in mind for her to be getting on with.

She pushed up on her toes and pressed a quick kiss to Evan's cheek before she turned and followed after Hen to grab a medic bag.

With a medic bag in hand, (Y/n) took a deep breath and headed towards the scene. There were at least five cars piled up and two on the outskirts, at least a few of them wouldn't need to be taken to hospital but they would all needed to be assessed in case of a concussion or minor injuries.

Seeing as no one was at the yellow car yet, (Y/n) set her sights on that one and wandered towards it. She needed to help but she wasn't able to use the jaws if anyone was trapped in their cars. (Y/n) couldn't use any of the heavy equipment or do anything strenuous. Once someone was on the gurney (Y/n) wasn't supposed to push it by herself as it was technically a two person job.

There were so many rules and so many little things (Y/n) couldn't do now she was pregnant which she hadn't paid any mind to before. Even the boys were rather surprised at how restricted their girlfriend was now she was on light duties.

Before she got to the car, the driver's door flung open. (Y/n) slowed down her pace, watching the driver as he stumbled out of his car and slammed the door shut with such force that it caused the whole car to jerk and rumble.

The way he wobbled and had to lean on the car for support told (Y/n) that he might indeed have a bad concussion so she picked up her pace and aimed towards him.

He seemed like a golden patient, he got out of the car on his own and he immediately wobbled towards the pavement and sat down on the curb. Exactly what (Y/n) would have told him to do.

"Sir, I'm a medic, can I take a look at you?" When he didn't give her a response, (Y/n) stepped closer until she was in front of him.

He looked drowsy. The way he lolled his head back to look up at her and squinted through bleary eyes made her sure he had received a bad concussion. He seemed to glare at her but he didn't say anything so again, (Y/n) moved on initiative and set the bag on her shoulder down to the floor.

She slowly lowered down until she was knelt on the edge of the pavement beside him and opened the bag so she could find a pen light.

"What's your name?" (Y/n) braced her hands on her knees and smiled softly while she waited for him to come back to his senses and when he muttered his name, she nodded. "Okay John, can you look straight ahead for me please?"

He squinted once again and seemed to snarl while he looked over (Y/n)'s shoulder, allowing her to flicker the light across his pupils which were constricted, and he was still squinting badly.

"Do you feel drowsy or sick?" (Y/n) reached down and pressed her fingers over his wrist to feel his pulse but she shuddered when he craned his head to look at her.

"Get off." The way he spat at her made her shudder and lean back and she had no choice but to let go of his wrist when he flung his arm in her direction.

Maybe he wasn't concussed. (Y/n) could be mistaken, but she knew what beer smelt like and there was a tang to his breath that suggested he'd been drinking. It was early afternoon, a bit early in (Y/n)'s book to be having a drink and especially wrong to be drinking and then getting behind the wheel.

"John have you been drinking today?" (Y/n) switched the pen light for a stethoscope and this time she held it out for him to see before she tried to listen to his heartbeat. She still had to assess him whether he was drunk or not, he could still have internal injuries or a concussion or uneven heartbeat.

Her words clearly aggravated him because he sneered, looking her up and down with a crinkled nose before he muttered "Fuck off." at her.

Leaning towards him didn't seem like a smart move to make but (Y/n) had a duty of care and he didn't object when she pressed the stethoscope against his chest to listen to his heart. If anything he seemed confused which made her certain that he was drunk. She would have to inform the police after they were finished blocking off the roads so they could take his name and follow him down to the hospital- if indeed he needed a hospital visit.

"Can I take your blood pressure?"

"No, I'm leaving."

"Sir, your car is in the middle of a pile up-"

(Y/n) shook her head with a sigh and quickly bundled the stethoscope back into the medic bag when John heaved up to his feet. Where did he think he was going to go? He would have to walk wherever he was trying to get to and he couldn't walk away from the scene. The police had blocked off the roads, they were hovering around for safety, they would stop him and try to take his statement.

He wasn't going anywhere except the hospital or the police station. Those were his only options.

"John you can't just leave the scene and I think you've had a drink. You need to be assessed and the police will need to speak to you." (Y/n) finished speaking before she pressed her hand down into the pavement to push herself up to her feet.

She left the medic bag where it was, it was close to the scene and she could fetch it after she had gotten this man either to an officer or safely sat down somewhere else.

"John-"

All she did was rest her hand on his arm. She didn't grip, didn't pull or grab or yank him back towards her. It was a simple touch to his arm but John spun on his heels as if her touch burned him.

"You need to get the Hell off me." He managed not to slur his words but the way he had to fight for his sense of balance definitely confirmed to (Y/n) that he was drunk. She had dealt with both her partners when they were drunk, and although both of them were loveable drunks, they still displayed the same signs as this man right here.

(Y/n) shuddered when he curled his fingers around her wrist and gripped so tight that his short nails started to puncture into her skin.

She didn't have chance to ask him to let go before he pushed her arm back towards her, still gripping tightly, and started to walk towards her instead of in the other direction. (Y/n) stumbled backwards, finding her footing before she fell and she tried in vain to yank her wrist out of his hold.

"Please let go." She was being nice. She could twist his wrist and force him to let go, she could push him or raise her voice or jam her elbow into his abdomen. But (Y/n) asked kindly because she was still on the job and she couldn't slap him like she would have done if this were any other public situation and he was simply a stranger brushing off her help.

When he released his grip on her, (Y/n) nodded and flexed her hands to stop them from trembling and to try and rid the pins and needles from her fingertips.

She felt like turning and leaving. She could always find another person who was more in need and more receptive of her help. But (Y/n) caught sight of a gash on his upper arm that was now trickling blood down his bicep towards his elbow. That needed tending to. He might need stitches.

"You're bleeding. Will you let me assess you please?" Her hand indicated to his arm and he tilted his head down, surprise written across his face at the sight of blood. Clearly he was too shocked and drunk to have felt any pain or noticed he had an injury.

Seeing as they were back near his car, (Y/n) leant over the medic bag on the floor and found a pair of gloves and some cotton swabs. She doused the swabs in antiseptic solution and turned back towards John.

(Y/n) motioned her hand in front of him so he could see what she was doing before she tried to cleanse the wound and see how deep it was. It looked like he would need stitches.

Once most of the blood was cleaned and (Y/n) could get a good look at the wound, she tried to prod the skin and check the wound better. But clearly John was feeling more pain than before as his arm twitched in her light grasp. She tried to carefully elevate his elbow up to restrict the blood flow and help her see the wound which was rather deep now she could see the ripped flesh better.

His elbow barely rose high before he wrenched his arm back towards his chest with a gruff noise that turned into a snarl when (Y/n) sighed.

He either wanted help or he didn't but he couldn't be this indecisive as it was getting tedious now.

"You'll need stitches, I can pack and bandage the wound for now until you can get to a hospital." No sooner had the words left (Y/n)'s lips than John growled his annoyance and ripped his arm from her hold.

He coiled his wounded arm near his chest and without a second thought, he swung his right arm towards her. (Y/n) gasped and leaned back so far that her lower spine clicked and her stomach twinged, the weight of the baby almost setting her off balance. She stepped back, scuffing her heel against the pavement as she dropped the bandage roll in her hand to the floor and her other hand moved to her lower back.

If she had been any slower in reacting, he would have swung his fist at her face. No one had tried to hit her before. People had shouted at her, fought her when they needed to be restrained to the gurney. Someone had pushed her once before Evan pinned him to the wall and told him to learn some manners for the responders trying to help him. But no one had swung at her before.

Her chest heaved as she tried to control her breathing and she stepped back onto the curb while her hand slowly moved round from her back to her lower stomach.

"Don't do that. I can't help you if you lash out at me." Her mind was already made up. She wasn't helping him any further. If he wanted that wound bandaged someone else could do it. All (Y/n) was going to do was find a police officer to inform them that he was a drunk driver.

"I don't want your fucking help."

Good, because he wasn't going to get it.

That was fine with (Y/n). She would pack the medic bag and find someone else who actually wanted and needed her help. She had done all she could for this man anyway, she couldn't do anything else if he wouldn't cooperate or accept her help.

Before (Y/n) had chance to reach down for the medic bag, her chest tightened and her head snapped to the right when she felt his hand curl around her wrist again. Her eyes narrowed and a streak of panic shot through to her heart which added a few extra beats and caused her chest to shudder.

Why try and cause confrontation when (Y/n) was trying to leave? He said he didn't want her help, grabbing her wasn't going to change anything and it contradicted his earlier words telling her to leave him alone.

"Get off." (Y/n) tried to steel her voice and yank her arm out of his grasp but it didn't work. He tightened his grip until his fingers were positively bruising her skin and the glaze overcoming his eyes showed he wasn't in the right frame of mind. He was more drunk than she first thought.

She took a step back, almost tripping over the curb when he tried to yank her towards him at the same time. Her feet stumbled down from the pavement onto the road along with him and shivers coursed through her blood when she sneered down at her with those vicious eyes and snarling lips.

"Or what?"

(Y/n) was taken by surprise when his free hand suddenly reached out and gripped her chin. His fingers pressed bruisingly into her jaw and his thumb punctured into her cheek almost cutting the inside of her cheek against her teeth. His grip was tight and pinching and he yanked her head up in his direction, causing (Y/n) to gasp.

Her wild eyes darted around as much as she could when John was holding her head in place. She tried to see who was around, to catch someone's eye and see if any of her team were close enough to notice that something was indeed wrong over here. She couldn't quite see any of the team, but she couldn't look properly with her head angled in John's direction and her eyes were beginning to water.

She wasn't sure whether to fight for the freedom of her wrist first or to get him to let go of her face. Deciding to free her jaw, (Y/n) curled her hand around his wrist and tried to roughly shove him away but he kept hold of her jaw. She could feel his nails scratching into her face and her body shuddered when he leaned his weight into her and pushed her into the car beside them.

Her hips ached as she clattered against the bonnet and one foot left the floor and swayed in the air as she tried to find her balance before she fell. The last thing she needed was to fall or be held in the air by John's grip on her chin and wrist.

A dull ache throbbed in her lower back and her eyes snapped closed as a whimper parted her lips at the pain tingling through her nerves.

She could feel him leaning into her and his pointed elbow jammed against her side as he hovered over her like he was going to collapse on top of her to pin her to the car. God, she prayed he wouldn't.

Without thinking twice, (Y/n) let go of John's wrist in favour of reeling her hand up to slap him. She knew she wasn't supposed to. (Y/n) was on shift, she was an emergency responder and she was taught and told how to get out of bad situations. They weren't allowed to fight back if someone tried to attack them.

There were ways to defend themselves, but everyone knew those methods only gained them more injuries. How could they get away if they couldn't fight back? How could (Y/n) get away from John if he wouldn't let her go and he was about to pin her down to the car?

The slap worked in shocking John and his hand let go of her jaw, causing her head to jolt to the left and a throbbing pain worked up through her jaw towards her ears.

The shock wore off quickly and became replaced with a look of anger that circulated through John's raging, drunken eyes. Just as (Y/n) pressed her hand to his shoulder and tried to push him off her, his hand rammed into her shoulder and slammed her back against the bonnet.

"Stop- ow-" A broken sound escaped her lips and her eyes snapped closed when shockwaves rattled through her back.

Evan wasn't sure what made him look, but something caught his attention and dragged his eyes away from the car door that he had just wrenched loose. He swung the door open so Chimney could lean in and assess the driver and he just happened to turn his head to the left.

Someone had (Y/n) pinned against a car.

His hands clenched into fists at his sides when the wrench was dropped on the road and he stormed away from the car before Chimney could ask where he was going or what he was doing. All he could see was red. A dark mask clouded Evan's expression and his lips curled into a deep frown as he thundered towards his partner and whoever this idiot was who clearly thought he had the right to touch and hurt her like that.

"Hey! Hey that's enough!" The words roared past Evan's lips and the moment he got close, his hand grabbed the man by the shoulder, close enough that he almost lifted him up by the scruff of his neck.

His other hand pressed into the stranger's chest and he shoved him back until he was tripping over his feet and he stumbled over the curb. Evan watched him land on his backside and scuff his hands against the pavement to try and stop from smashing his head into the concrete.

There was nothing Evan wanted more than to lean down and smash his fist into this idiot's face for what he had just done. He wanted to pummel him into the pavement and plaster him to the floor for this. But he couldn't. He was on duty, he would get reprimanded for it.

He twisted his head to look over his right shoulder and he quickly reached his arm out behind him and clutched onto (Y/n)'s hip when she slid against the car. He deadlocked his arm against her side and held steady when both (Y/n)'s hands clutched at his bicep, clinging to him to stop herself from falling to the floor as she couldn't quite find her footing.

(Y/n) tried her best to stop herself from shaking as she pushed up from the bonnet so she was sitting up rather than lying across the car like she was the one who was drunk. Her body curled forward until she was pressing into Evan's back and her hands clutched at his arm tighter as she pressed her face into his bicep, pressing her nose against his sleeve to inhale his scent in a vain attempt to calm herself down.

Her head felt like it was spinning on the waltzers and her sense of balance was wobbling from left to right as she tried to shuffle off the bonnet and stand on her feet again. She couldn't help but lean into Evan once she was on her feet, she felt like her knees were going to give out beneath her.

"Are you okay?" Evan twisted to the side so he could look at (Y/n) properly rather than having her stood behind him.

His free hand cupped the side of her face and he gently tilted her head back so he could look her up and down. She looked shaken and he could see tears welling up in her eyes, but at least she didn't look hurt.

(Y/n) wasn't so sure she could trust her voice so she nodded, keeping her eyes focused on Evan's lips so she didn't have to look into his eyes and have him know that she was lying. She didn't feel great. Her jaw was tingling, her lower back was aching and her heartbeat was fluctuating causing the baby to jolt and squirm to life in her stomach.

She cringed and moved her hands to hold onto Evan's hips when he spin round to look down at John who was now sitting up, trying to wobble to his feet.

He barely got up before Evan took a menacing step closer to him, his hands balled up into fists at his sides and his lips curled into a nasty snarl.

"What the Hell were you doing?" It wasn't normal to hear Evan's voice go so low and gritty and a deep rumble rattled through his chest and made (Y/n) shiver.

(Y/n) kept her hands on Evan's hips and meshed her cheek against the centre of his back, staying behind him so she didn't have to look over at John. She could hear his shoes scraping the floor as he struggled to get up and find his balance and she heard him grumbling something incoherent. But it was the feeling of Evan's muscles tensing and his shoulders rising that made her uneasy.

She knew the rest of the team were looking over now and she cringed when she realised Eddie was aiming towards them. He had his sleeves rolled up past his elbows, blue gloves snapped onto his hands and his brows were furrowed in confusion.

"She- she wouldn't stop pestering," John drawled and waved his hand in Evan's direction to try and signal to (Y/n) who was hidden behind him.

"She's a medic and she was trying to help you. That doesn't give you the right to pin her to a fucking car."

If there was one thing Evan didn't like about this job it was how rude some people could be. They didn't seem to grasp the concept that they were helpers, they were first responders and all they did was try to help. No one should shout at them or push them or get aggressive and this man certainly shouldn't have scared and tried to grab (Y/n) like that simply because she was doing her best to help him.

"Woah, what'd he do?" Eddie held his hand out in Evan's direction as a look of anger began to seep onto his features.

He had caught the last few words of Evan's sentence but Eddie prayed he had heard that wrong. He prayed he didn't get that right and that someone hadn't tried to hurt her.

But when Eddie leaned back and looked over at (Y/n), she wouldn't meet his eyes. He watched the way she shrugged her head down and leaned further into Evan while she curled one arm over her stomach and looked down towards the floor.

"He had (Y/n) pinned down on the car."

Reaching out, Eddie gently curled his hand around (Y/n)'s elbow and slowly tugged until she got the hint and trudged towards him.

She was taken by surprise when Eddie's hands cupped her face and he tilted her head back so they were looking at one another. His brows were furrowed in concentration and she could see his tongue poking between his teeth as he looked her up and down to try and see if she had any marks or bruises or anything to imply that she had been hurt.

"Just back ache." (Y/n) murmured to the silent question that was burning in his eyes, asking whether or not she had any injuries they should know about.

Eddie nodded but he snapped his head to the side when he watched the stranger take a wobbling step back and turn as if he thought he could just leave. Where did he think he was going? He had practically assaulted (Y/n), not to mention he had been involved in a major car accident. He wasn't going anywhere until the police had been here to talk to him.

When Eddie let go of her and grabbed the man by his shoulder, (Y/n) shivered and began to drag her hands up and down her hips out of anxious habit.

She heard Evan mutter "You're not going anywhere," while Eddie leaned into John's line of sight and clicked his finger in his face to gain his attention.

"You pinned her to the car, why?" Eddie gave the stranger a rough shove in the shoulder to get him to focus but he kept blinking and wincing like his eyes weren't coming into focus. "Hey, you just tried to assault a medic and you think you're just gonna walk away from that? Can you not see she's pregnant?"

Evan let go of the guy's shoulder when he felt (Y/n)'s hand curl around his arm and he turned to look over at her, his expression softening just a little. And he leaned down when she motioned for him to come closer so she could murmur in his ear "He's drunk."

Those words caused Evan's expression to falter and he squeezed her arm as his head shook and his lips curled through a sigh. He twisted so he was facing (Y/n) and he attached his lips to her temple, taking a second to kiss her skin before he weaved around her.

He rested a heavy hand on Eddie's shoulder and hovered his lips over his ear. "I'm gonna get an officer over here, he's drunk." Evan felt the way Eddie tensed up and he could practically see the anger boiling through him.

He was drunk and he had been driving. He was drunk and he had almost hurt (Y/n) and undoubtedly worried her for no apparent reason.

With a heavy hand on the man's shoulder, Eddie shoved until John stumbled and once again found himself sitting on the curb with his legs sprawled out in front of him. He tried to plant his feet down and push up off the pavement but he stopped when Eddie once again pushed him and pointed a menacing finger at him.

"Sit down." He spat before he turned away once he knew John wasn't about to get up and try to abscond. Not that he could get far in that state anyway.

(Y/n) tried to smile when Eddie's hands fell to her shoulders and he nudged her to take a few steps back so they weren't too close to John anymore.

She couldn't help the relieved sigh that left her lips when Eddie looped both arms casually around her shoulders and reeled her in close so he could kiss her hairline. He breathed in her scent and tried not to let his breaths run away without him. He didn't dare think what might have gone on if Evan hadn't of spotted the scene or if neither of them had been on shift today when this happened.

(Y/n) didn't have to look to know that it was Evan who was now stood behind her with his hands on her hips and his nose buried in the back of her hair. And she managed a smile when she felt his hands slither round from her hips to cradle her stomach.

"Promise you're okay?" Evan whispered into her hair while his cast his eyes across to the drunken stranger who was sat on the curb with two police officers crouching in front of him. He wasn't their problem anymore.

"I'm okay."

[kiszjuli]

・── spot me .ᐟ (N.JM)

(재민) ; fem!reader x na jaemin

──in which you start going to the gym, determined to try something new-even if it meant wrestling with difficult machines. seeing you struggle, along comes na jaemin, who offers to help with a bit of his experience. and somehow he keeps popping up.

genre. fluff, slightly suggestive, non!idol au ; tags. flirt!jaemin, jaemin is annoyingly shameless, gym au. ; w.c. 3.1k

!! not proofread !!

you had barely stepped foot into the gym when you started questioning all of your life choices. at least you had a cute workout set?

the air was thick with the scent of sweat and rubber, the sound of weights clanking against metal echoing in your ears. everyone here seemed to know exactly what they were doing. adjusting machines with ease, moving through sets like it was second nature. meanwhile, you stood there, clutching your water bottle like a lost child in a supermarket.

still, you weren’t about to back down. you set your sights on a machine that seemed harmless enough and made your way over, trying to act like you belonged. but as soon as you sat down and attempted to adjust the settings, you realized you had absolutely no idea what you were doing.

“okay, no big deal,” you muttered to yourself, tugging at one of the levers. it didn’t budge. you tried again. still nothing. “seriously? why is this thing built like a medieval torture device?” you grumbled to yourself.

“need some help?”

the voice came from beside you, smooth and effortlessly amused. you turned your head, already prepared to politely refuse, only to freeze when you took in the sight before you.

a guy, probably around your age, maybe a little older, stood there, watching you with an easy smile. black hair, strong frame, gym bag slung over one shoulder like he walked straight out of a sportswear ad.

and he was looking at you like he had just found his new favorite thing.

you blinked. “uh—”

“jaemin,” he introduced himself before you could even process a response, he leaned on the machine—which you had at least discovered to be called a leg press.

you eyed his frame, then looked back at his eyes. “is this the part where i say my name and suddenly my gym struggles are over?”

his grin widened. “could be. or it’s the part where i help you before you embarrass yourself further.”

you scoffed. “bold of you to assume i’m embarrassed.”

“oh, my bad,” he said, leaning in slightly. “you’re totally owning the whole ‘fighting for my life against a leg press’ thing.”

you narrowed your eyes, but there was no real heat behind it. still, you crossed your arms. “i was doing just fine, actually.”

“right,” he nodded, clearly humoring you. “so, if i walk away right now, you’ll definitely figure out that you need to pull this knob first before adjusting anything?”

you glanced at the machine, then back at him. “…obviously.”

jaemin let out a soft laugh before reaching past you, fingers brushing yours as he effortlessly adjusted the settings. “there. now you won’t accidentally crush yourself.”

you exhaled through your nose, trying to ignore the way your skin tingled from the brief contact. “wow. thanks, random gym hero.”

“anytime,” he said easily, before flashing you a smile that was just a little too charming for his own good. “but if you really want to thank me, let me know when you need a spotter. i’d hate for your gym journey to end in tragedy.”

you rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t help the small smile tugging at your lips.

unironically, maybe you wouldn’t mind fighting with more gym machines if it meant talking to him again.

—

one day, after weeks of playful banter and his relentless presence at the gym, you finally give in.

“jaemin,” you call out, catching his attention as he fills his water bottle.

he turns instantly, eyebrows lifting in surprise—probably because you’re actually asking for him instead of trying to shake him off. “yeah?”

you hesitate for a second, then sigh. “can you spot me?”

his grin is immediate, almost smug, but there’s something warm in it too. “you finally trust me, huh?”

“don’t make me regret this,” you warn, but he’s already heading over.

standing behind you as you position yourself under the barbell, jaemin is different than usual. no teasing, no cocky remarks. just focused. and it’s… weirdly attractive.

“all right,” he says, voice even and steady. “you got this. unrack it slow, control your breathing.”

you do as he says, gripping the bar and easing it off the rack. as you lower into the first rep, you feel the weight immediately. heavier than you thought, but not unmanageable. still, it’s reassuring knowing he’s there—hands hovering just under the bar, ready to step in if needed.

“good, keep it steady,” he murmurs, eyes sharp. “breathe in on the way down, out on the way up.”

you push through the first few reps, his voice calm and guiding. when you hesitate on the last one, struggling slightly, his hands shift just enough to support you without taking over.

“c’mon,” he encourages, his voice lower now, right by your ear. “push through it. you got it.”

you grit your teeth, putting everything into the final rep, and with his steadying hands just beneath yours, you manage to rack the weight back up with a small, breathless laugh.

“see? easy,” he says, nudging your shoulder lightly as you sit up.

“easy for you to say,” you mutter, wiping the sweat from your brow.

he crouches beside you, eyes glinting. “you did good.”

for once, there’s no teasing in his tone, just genuine pride. and it does something to your stomach that you’d rather not acknowledge.

“thanks,” you say, meeting his gaze.

he grins, leaning just a little closer. “anytime. but you know… if you need help with anything else, i offer full-time training services. very exclusive.”

you roll your eyes, shoving him away lightly, but the warmth in your chest lingers.

—

the second time jaemin spots you, he actually does his job—for the most part.

you’re pushing through a set of squats, trying to focus on your form, when his voice comes from just behind you, steady and low.

“slow and controlled,” he says. “yeah, just like that.”

his hands hover close to your waist, not touching but near enough that you can feel his presence, his warmth. it shouldn’t be distracting. but then he murmurs, “perfect,” and something about the way he says it. soft, almost like praise, throws you off completely.

your balance wobbles mid-rep.

“shit—” you exhale, adjusting your footing before you tip over entirely.

jaemin is already there, steadying you with a hand at your hip, his fingers pressing firm through the fabric of your leggings. his grip is warm, sure, and the brief contact sends a zip of something unidentifiable up your spine.

“you good?” he asks, amusement flickering in his tone.

“yeah.” you clear your throat, regaining your focus. “just—distracted.”

he hums, far too entertained by this. “happens. but if i’m too distracting, i can always—”

“don’t.” you shoot him a look, and he grins, unrepentant.

“got it.”

you finish the set without any more mishaps, though you swear jaemin is closer than necessary for the rest of it, his presence a constant weight in the back of your mind.

when you straighten, breathless, he tilts his head. “so? will you admit i’m good at this?”

you roll your eyes, grabbing your water bottle. “for once, i’ll admit it you’re useful.”

“wow.” he presses a hand to his chest. “the highest compliment i’ve ever received.”

“don’t get used to it.”

his smirk lingers, eyes flickering over you in a way that makes it clear he’s already gotten used to being this close.

—

the next time you see jaemin, it’s not at the gym. and it’s not exactly planned either.

you’re standing at the counter of your favorite café, waiting for the barista to ring up your order when you notice the guy behind the register giving you a little extra attention.

“you come here a lot, right?” he asks, punching your total into the screen. “i feel like i’d remember someone like you.”

you blink at him, caught off guard by the obvious attempt at flirting. “uh, yeah. something like that.”

before he can say anything else, an arm drapes over your shoulder like it belongs there.

“she does,” jaemin’s voice cuts in smoothly, and your entire body tenses. “i should know. we come here together all the time.”

he says it so casually, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, and before you can even process his presence, his warmth, his scent, the fact that he’s touching you. he reaches into his pocket and slides his card across the counter.

“put both on me,” he adds with a grin that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

the barista’s expression flickers, just slightly. “right. okay.”

you don’t even get a chance to protest before the receipt prints, the transaction complete. jaemin thanks the guy with a polite nod, then leans down a little, voice dropping just enough for only you to hear.

“should i start getting jealous, or was that just a customer service voice?”

you elbow him lightly, heat creeping up your neck. “you are so—”

“charming? thoughtful? boyfriend material?”

you roll your eyes. “ridiculous.”

“same thing.”

your drinks arrive, and jaemin grabs them both before you can. he hands you yours, fingers brushing yours just enough to make you aware of the space (or lack thereof) between you.

as you step outside, you side-eye him. “you didn’t have to do that, you know.”

“i know.” he takes a sip of his drink, then glances at you with a smug little tilt of his lips. “but it was fun, wasn’t it?”

you scoff. “what, throwing your wallet around to intimidate some guy?”

“no,” he says, bumping his shoulder into yours. “having coffee with me.”

you don’t answer right away, but he catches the way your lips twitch like you’re fighting a smile.

jaemin hums. “i’ll take that as a yes.”

you shake your head, exhaling through your nose. “you are something else.”

“and yet, you keep talking to me,” he points out, grin widening.

you hate that he’s right. you hate even more that you don’t actually hate it at all.

—

following the day you met jaemin outside of the gym, you end up right back in the gym, deciding against better judgement to attempt deadlifts.

you’ve watched enough videos, seen people do it effortlessly, and it doesn’t look that hard. at least, that’s what you tell yourself. but after setting up the barbell and bracing yourself, you realize very quickly that maybe you’ve overestimated your abilities.

your grip keeps slipping, your back doesn’t feel quite right, and when you try to pull the weight up, it barely budges.

“need a hand, angel?”

you don’t even have to turn to know it’s jaemin. you exhale sharply, shaking your head. “i got it.”

“mm,” he hums, unconvinced. “that’s cute.”

before you can bite back a sarcastic remark, he steps behind you, far too close for your brain to function properly. his hands find your waist, adjusting you effortlessly, like he’s done this a million times.

“you’re all tense,” he murmurs, voice low near your ear. “relax a little.”

you swallow hard, hyperaware of the heat of his palms. “hard to relax when someone’s all up in my space.”

jaemin chuckles, his breath warm against your skin. “you’re welcome to tell me to move.”

you don’t.

instead, you let him guide you, let him adjust your stance by nudging your foot with his, let him drag his hand along your arm to reposition your grip. when you attempt another lift, he follows the movement, hands skimming down your sides in encouragement.

“just like that,” he says, voice smoother than it has any right to be.

you manage to get the bar up, but it’s not the weight making you feel breathless. it’s him.

the second you drop the bar back down, you realize how close you still are, his chest brushing your back as he leans in slightly. “better, right?”

you exhale shakily, nodding. “yeah. better.”

jaemin tilts his head, watching you. his lips curl just slightly, like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you.

“you sure?” he teases, voice dipping.

you turn your head just enough to meet his gaze, only now realizing how close your faces are. his eyes flicker to your lips for a second, too fast to be certain, but enough to make your stomach flip.

you wet your lips, your breath still uneven. “positive.”

his smile deepens, and just when you think he might say something else, he steps back, leaving behind nothing but warmth and the frustrating ghost of his touch.

“good,” he says simply, picking up his water bottle. “same time tomorrow?”

you roll your shoulders, trying to shake off the tension he left behind. “yeah. sure.”

jaemin grins, tossing you a wink as he walks off. “can’t wait.”

you don’t realize how long you stand there, gripping your water bottle like it might bring your heart rate back to normal.

you were struggling to lift weight, so why does it feel like he’s the one who completely knocked the air out of you?

—

after the deadlift incident, you found yourself avoiding jaemin. not because you disliked him, but because you weren’t sure how to handle the way he made you feel. his easy confidence, the way he got under your skin without even trying—it was distracting, and the last thing you needed was more distractions.

so, you started going to the gym at night, hoping for some quiet time to focus on your workouts. fewer people, fewer chances of running into him. it seemed like a solid plan.

until you walked in and saw him already there.

jaemin was standing near the squat rack, adjusting weights like he had all the time in the world. he noticed you immediately, a slow grin spreading across his face as he rested his hands on his hips.

“well, well,” he drawled, tilting his head. “didn’t expect to see you here at this hour.”

you sighed, already bracing for whatever he was about to say. “i could say the same to you.”

he shrugged, picking up a towel and tossing it over his shoulder. “what can i say? some of us are just dedicated.”

you rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the small smile tugging at your lips. “right.”

jaemin stepped closer, his gaze flicking over you with something unreadable but undeniably amused. “and what about you? didn’t think i’d see you sneaking in for a late-night session. trying to avoid someone?”

your stomach twisted at how easily he caught on. “just thought it’d be quieter,” you said, keeping your voice light. “easier to focus.”

“ah,” he nodded, feigning understanding before smirking. “and yet, here i am. ruining your peaceful gym night.”

you exhaled, shaking your head. “not ruining. just… unexpected.”

jaemin stepped even closer, lowering his voice just enough to make the air between you feel heavier. “unexpected, huh? i’ll take that as a compliment.”

you opened your mouth to respond, but before you could, he leaned slightly to the side, as if assessing you. “so… what’s the plan for tonight? need another spotter? maybe a personal trainer?”

there was no stopping the laugh that escaped you. “you just don’t quit, do you?”

“not when i see something worth my time,” he shot back smoothly, his grin widening.

the tension was there, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. it was easy, playful, charged in a way that made you more aware of him than you wanted to be.

you sighed, shaking your head. “let’s just work out, alright?”

jaemin raised his hands in mock surrender, though his eyes still held that teasing glint. “whatever you say.”

and with that, he turned back toward his weights, leaving you standing there, already feeling like you’d lost some unspoken game.

—

the workout should’ve been simple. just you, the machines, and an hour of sweat and focus. but with jaemin there, throwing glances, flashing smirks, making casual comments that left your stomach flipping, it was anything but.

you were halfway through your set when he appeared beside you again, towel draped around his neck, arms crossed as he watched you with an amused expression.

“you sure you don’t need my help?” he asked, voice low, teasing.

you exhaled sharply, adjusting your grip on the bar. “pretty sure i can handle it.”

“mm,” he hummed, stepping just a little closer, enough that you could feel the warmth of him. “i don’t doubt you. but you did come here at night to avoid distractions, right? doesn’t seem like it’s working.”

you shot him a look, only for him to grin like he knew exactly what he was doing.

“you’re talking a lot for someone who’s supposed to be working out,” you muttered, refocusing on your reps.

jaemin didn’t move, just watched as you powered through the set, eyes flickering between your face and the way your body tensed with each movement. when you finally finished, you let out a breath, shaking out your arms.

“see?” you said, lifting your chin. “didn’t need you.”

he laughed under his breath. “sure. you looked good doing it though.”

you turned to him, raising an eyebrow. “you flirt with every girl at the gym, or am i just special?”

jaemin leaned in, lowering his voice just enough to send a shiver down your spine. “oh, you’re definitely special.”

your breath hitched, but before you could say anything, he grabbed his water bottle and walked off, leaving you standing there, heart pounding.

damn him.

—

the gym was supposed to be a place of focus, of self-improvement—not whatever this was. not standing here, watching na jaemin wipe the sweat off his forehead, chest still rising and falling from his last set, looking every bit like he belonged on the cover of a sports magazine.

you should’ve walked away the second he caught you staring. but of course, he had to notice.

“see something you like?” his voice was still a little breathless, but that didn’t stop the teasing lilt in his tone.

you scoff, crossing your arms. “just shocked you’re finally breaking a sweat. thought you were invincible for a second.”

he grins, stepping closer. “cute. but you know what’s actually shocking? how long it’s taken me to ask you out.”

your stomach flips, but you mask it with a raise of your brow. “is that so?”

he nods, resting his hands on his hips. “yep. been waiting for the perfect moment, but you keep distracting me.”

“me?” you let out a short laugh. “right, because i’m the one shamelessly flirting while pretending to teach proper form.”

he smirks. “see? you do pay attention.”

you roll your eyes, turning to grab your bag, but he shifts, blocking your path. “just one date,” he says, voice softer now, but still playful. “somewhere nice. no gym memberships required.”

you pause, weighing your options, not that there was ever much of a debate. with a sigh, you shake your head. “fine. one date. but if you show up in a muscle tee, i’m walking out.”

his grin stretches wide. “noted. though i can’t promise you won’t get distracted again.”

you push past him with a groan, but he just laughs, calling after you. “don’t be late, princess. i’ve been waiting long enough.”

—

▸ j.note ; i am hyper fixated on jaemin’s arms sorry not sorry