#i just needed to get myself to answer this ask

[open-sketchbook]

to the guy replying to that post about how much it hurts to be hated for being a man, for being perceived as dangerous

look, i fucking get it. i was exactly where you are when i was younger. this is exactly how i thought of myself before i transitioned.

i need you to understand that i was where you are now, and i would do pretty much anything to only deal with what you're dealing with.

i used to think all that stuff was hard. then a group of men followed me home in their car screaming slurs at me. i had to ask a manager to use the back door to escape a man who tried to hit me with his bike, then followed me to the store i was going to and waited by the door for me to come out. i had to sleep on the floor of the hotel room i was paying for because a cis person got uncomfortable.

and suddenly i was surrounded by even more vulnerable people confiding in me the much, much worse things that happened to them, things they were scared to bring up to the men in their lives.

i'm not saying it doesn't hurt to be hated.

what i am saying is that it is not fair that the hurt of men facing resentment is treated as an apocalyptic issue in need of immediate repair or else fascism is just the natural and normal answer, but the hurt of everyone else facing much more hate is business as usual, that even bringing it up is driving division and violence.

i'm saying it hurts us to be hated too.

[pleasantlycrazyworld]

Part two of this Worst!Logan request

A/N: Thank you for all the love on part 1; I hope you enjoy part 2 just as much! I have a lot of request that I am currently working on but request are still open for both Logan and Bucky!

Where we left off:

Logan was left standing in his room with wide eyes. Wade was trying to convince you that he loves you…why would you need the convincing? Obviously Logan knew that he needed convincing, like look at him? Hundreds of years older than you, from a whole different universe than you, full of a dark past and trauma…but you loved him too? Or at least you did before he threw a hissy fit tonight. 

FUCK! Logan yelled out when he realized that he had to go fix this now! 

*********************************************************************** 

Logan had to fix his stupidness. After the realization hit him like a truck he rushed out of the apartment with no shoes on. You only lived down the hall, something Logan was always thankful for, and he was even more thankful for it tonight. He reached your door in seconds and knocked on your front door with such force that he was slightly afraid that he might’ve broken the door. I’ll fix it later. He thought to himself as he tried to catch his breath and fix his hair before you opened the door. 

You opened the door far too quickly for his liking, yet way too slow. He was already in his head trying to convince himself that it was probably better for you to be mad at him, for you to not want him around anymore. That’d keep you safe…it would keep him safe. Feelings can be dangerous, relationships and getting close to someone can be dangerous. But he would die if he didn’t have you in his life anymore, he’s gotten greedy, selfish, he’s gotten comfortable for the first time in a long time and he isn’t ready to lose that yet. He won’t lose you, not when he knows you love him back. 

He was in the middle of fixing his hair when you opened the door, embarrassment flooded his body and he quickly ripped his hand away from his hair. “Logan?” You croaked out weakly, your voice thick with tears. His heart breaks in a way it never has before when he looks you in the eyes and sees the redness, the puffiness, the tears falling freely. “Oh. Oh darlin I am such a fool.” His shoulders fell and his own voice thickens with tears. The shame he felt when you started to reassure him made him want to dig his own claws into himself, he shook his head interrupting you and started going into a rant before he even realized what he was doing. 

“I am a fool! I was so wrapped in my own head that I convinced myself that for some fucking reason you were already taken and I didn’t want to get in between you and Wade-” You cut him off quickly, “Wade!?!” Logan winced when you exclaimed his roommates name, “I know okay! I know how ridiculous I’ve been, I was so blinded by you being close to Wade and all of the whispers and the sharing of clothes and the touching that I didn’t even notice the way you would get up early to make my coffee or stay up late when I had to work a closing shift even though you had to be up at 5 in the morning, I didn't notice that you always asked me how I was doing and never took okay or fine as an answer. I didn't even realize that you only cleaned my wounds and allowed Wade's wounds to get infected if he didn't clean them himself! I didn’t allow myself to see how much you cared about me because I still don’t think I deserve that; I don’t deserve tenderness, the soft caresses and whispers…I don’t deserve you darlin I just don’t.” He ended his rant with a whisper, nearly ashamed of himself for feeling this way and for admitting this aloud to someone as caring as you. 

He knows how much you care about him, he knows you won’t judge him or be mad at him for long, but he is so ashamed that he ever doubted you, there’s still a part of him that’s upset with himself for being so mad towards Wade when he thought you were with Wade. Wade deserves someone as kind and loving as you, Logan just wants to be greedy and keep you to himself.  You could tell that Logan was starting to get back into his head, he was starting to get that dazed off look in his eyes, it was like he was in another word when he started overthinking like this. “Logan” You called out to him before slowly touching his arm. “Why don’t you come inside? I’ll make us some coffee or tea and we can talk about where you’re taking me on our first date.” He looked at you with clear shock on his face, he was fully prepared for you to tell him to fuck off. Your laugh ringed through the air making his heart mend back together again. “Come on you fool” You teased him with a smirk and a quick roll of your eyes, he stumbled over his feet and ended up on your couch quicker than he could notice. 

It was the first time he had actually been in your apartment, and he never wanted to leave. Looking around it looked very you, very lived in, very homey. Your warmth surrounded him, your scent enveloped him, it felt like home. It felt like peace. 

You came back with two mugs and handed him his with that soft smile that he fell in love with. You sat next to him and started listing ideas for what the two of you could do for your first date; “We could go to dinner, we could watch a movie, we could go to a museum, we could–” You ended up sitting your mug on your coffee table in front of the couch at some point during your ramble, Logan wasn’t sure when it happen but he is positive that it did happen because he’ll never forget the feeling of your head on his shoulder as you finally decided where the two of you would go this weekend for your first official date. 

Tagging:

@userchai

@mahi-tamashi

@100percentlazybonez

@lanassmarty

@western-pyro

@misscrissfemmefatale

@marit332

@navs-bhat

@fluffy-b33z

@chaimshelii

@aoi-targaryen

@eyes-ofhell

@sad0ni0n

@fries11

@squishyfruitloop

@negan-morningstar

@p3ryt0n

@ayamenimthiriel

[harmacytechnician]

Also putting myself out here as a resource; I've worked in pharmacy for almost a half decade and if you have any questions please don't hesitate to dm. I'm at work rn and can't add much that wasn't already said by op before my lunch ends, but I do have a few additional tips regarding injectable T specifically and I will share one here:

If you get a stickler who will only give you 1ml vials, make a big deal about how they are SINGLE USE VIALS (which the 1ml almost universally are) and that you need 1 vial PER INJECTION even if you only inject 0.5ml weekly and could theoretically get two doses from the vial. It is correct to the letter of the law to dispense a whole 1ml vial for every injection, nothing shady there because they assume you will discard the excess. And if they ask? Of course you just toss the extra. You always do. So you still need it filled every month, of course.

Make sure your script is written for weekly injections and not every other week to maximize the vials you get per fill, and I won't tell you what to do with the excess you get, because for legal reasons I will also assume you are simply going to discard it.

Again, don't hesitate to message either here or harmacytechnician on Discord about any medication questions and I will answer as soon as I am able.

I'm in your corner. I'm in our corner. We will make it through this.

Stockpile HRT now.

[swifty-fox]

coping with fluff and christmas fic

“Hey,” the clerk greets him, wiping chlorophyll-stained hands on his smock, “What can I do for you?”

“Is the owner around?” Gale asks.

That easygoing smile directed at every other customer so far slightly fades in wattage. 

“That would be me,” He says. His green apron has a nametag labeled ‘Bucky’ and his hand when he holds it out is still stained, smelling of dirt and sap and fresh cold water, “What problem can I fix?” 

He has a loose-limbed way of moving, leading with his extremities rather than the bulk of his body, like a dog not quite grown into its frame. Gale feels himself prickle, the faint spice of attraction, though it could just be irritation lost en route. Either way, it’s politeness that doesn’t have him rubbing the sticky cling of sap from his fingers and or from outright asking if he had any idea how to run a business. 

“Your phone,” is the compromise of temper, only a brief window for this conversation to happen, and a preservative interest in getting away from those eyes. 

Bucky's smile doesn’t falter, though it takes on a puzzled slant, “My phone.”

“Your phone is routing to our shop,” Gale explains, slowly, like one might to a child, “I’ve been fielding calls all day asking if you carry sunflowers.”

“We do,” Bucky informs him, reaching for the phone.

“That’s great,” Gale answers mildly. 

They can both hear the sound of the dial tone, and Bucky’s brow creases in a frown as he pulls his phone from his pocket. The screen is cracked, the phone case covered in stickers of different national parks, the lock screen is a picture of a sports stadium. It’s a far cry from the smooth black case of Gale’s own phone, his home screen a picture of Pilot asleep on his chest, hugging her own feet. 

“Been watching you guys paint, kept meaning to come over and introduce myself but holidays are killer,” Bucky explains, still fiddling around with his phone. Gale resists the urge to tap his foot, straightening his back the longer he waits. 

“It used to be a hair salon, and god those ladies would come over here all the time just to flirt. We could barely get any work done, broke their hearts when I had to shoot them down. I mean you boys are welcome to come over and do the same thing, cos’ I don’t discriminate, but I’ll ask you gotta at least buy some flowers when you do.” 

“I’ll be sure to let them know.”

Making a soft noise of triumph, Bucky holds out his phone, close enough to Gale’s face that he has to squint, reach for his glasses until he realizes he left them back in the studio. He squints, frowning. 

“Google’s got my number over your shop,” Bucky wiggles his phone, as if that would make it any easier for Gale to read. He pulls it away and Gale blinks his eyes back into focus, frowning harder.

“How do we fix it?”

“I dunno,” Bucky shrugs, “Usually you can go in and edit it yourself, but I can’t get into mine. I think it’s down.”

His own phone confirms much the same and Gale bites his tongue on a curse, wanting a cigarette with an ache that borders on nausea, “Fine. I gotta get back. Look– just. Keep trying will you? I don’t know what the hell an Azaelia is.”

Bucky points behind him with an uncapped blue pen, a scribbled-upon green sticky note clamped between his two fingers, “That one.” 

“Thanks,” Gale says, throat slightly strangled. 

“This is my number. Shoot me a text if you need help answering any floral questions.” 

He would not be doing that.

“Sure,” He pinches the piece of paper between two fingers, winding his way back to the front door. 

[qqueenofhades]

I'm sure you have enough politics asks in your inbox to last you a lifetime so I'm gonna ask something only tangentially related. What have you been doing to give yourself a break from *gestures wildly* all of this? Personally, I've been bouncing between watching all of Jenna Marbles' old videos while also channeling my inner King Tut Kid and watching back to back Ancient Egyptian documentaries.

Ahaha. Well. Something like the following:

Talked to friends and family and told them that I love them and will help them get through this if I can;

Forced myself to get out of bed and answer work emails, even while it's snowing like crazy so I haven't actually gone into work, and am stuck in my essentially unheated apartment while writing angry emails to the leasing office;

(They sent maintenance today; once again, this did not fix the problem but I have been theoretically promised they will at some point actually do so);

(To which I say Ha and also We'll See About That);

Sat in my bedroom with the door closed and the space heater on and trying to remember to eat;

Forced myself not to look at any news or headlines (I fail at this occasionally, but deactivated my Bird App account so I won't be tempted to doomscroll; also fuck Elon Musk);

Tried to provide some scraps of comfort to people on This Here Ye Olde Tumblr Website;

Ordered a new Lego set because what the hell, nothing matters;

Also took apart an old Lego set so I can rebuild it;

Ordered a tripod for my phone so I can take a proper photo and renew my passport online, as I also suggest you do just in case;

Made flu/Covid/hepatitis B/MMR booster/tetanus booster vaccine appointments for tomorrow (even if I have to trudge out in the snow, ugh) because fuck RFK Jr. and we need to protect ourselves and others before public health becomes a shitshow;

Spent today finishing the design, manuscript formatting, and uploading for The Empire of Bones, my Big Fat Queer Epic Historical Fantasy Novel About Which I am Excited;

So as soon as it is approved, hopefully by tomorrow, you and/or my other followers will be able to purchase a copy and get to readin'. Yeeeee. Productivity. Or something.

[toxicanonymity]

Literally any smut with Tommy Miller. I know you have fics with both Joel and Tommy and some imagines with gym trainer/perv tommy but I was hoping you could do something with game or movie canon tommy, I've searched the depths of this app but to no avail! Preferably some jealousy or something dirty and filthy. I hope you're taking care of yourself as well, we need each other more than anything right now and I fully appreciate every bit of serotonin your amazing writing brings me and the rest of us who love you💜

lunch mates

TOMMY MILLER X f!READER | WC: 1100

Warnings: 18+ jealous, unmarried patrol partner Tommy in Jackson, he's not exactly a gentleman, PIV, praise, pet names. You can't skip lunch. You just can't.

Notes: Tysm nonnie 💜 love you too. I also have a dark post-outbreak Tommy here: birds of prey. It's in the raider universe but Joel's not in it.

You had just sat down in the mess hall when a handsome stranger joined you. He was new in town and had dark blonde hair, lively brown eyes, and must have been In his thirties. In the corner of your eye, your patrol partner and friend Tommy puffed out his chest and walked toward the table without even getting his food first.

Tommy didn’t look at you. He placed his hands on the table, leaned forward, looked the man in the eye, and wore a subtle sneer.

“Not sure I caught your name, buddy. I’m Tommy.”

“Tate,” the man replied and stuck out his hand, which appeared to get crushed based on how Tommy's forearm and wrist veins bulged.

Tommy sat down across from him with a smile. Tate chuckled, then turned to you. “Don’t think I caught your name either, sweetheart.”

Your face heated up, and Tommy watched you like a hawk as you unconsciously bit your lip and looked down, suppressing a smile. As soon as you looked at Tate and opened your mouth to tell him, Tommy’s face darkened and he interrupted, “She’s with me.”

Tate looked at you. “Are ya?”

Your heart began to race, unsure what to say. “We normally eat together before patrol.”

“The more the merrier?” Tate asked defiantly, then held up his hands like he was joking after Tommy stared him down.

As Tate walked away, Tommy muttered “That’s a boy. You need a man.”

As you took in his words, your eyes fell on his swollen biceps, stretching his jeans shirt.

“Why do I need a man?” You asked. “You know I can handle myself.” As the words came out of your mouth, a montage moved through your head of all the times you’d seen Tommy hunt or shoot. The time he mowed down three raiders on their way up the ridge, and yelled, “Woo!” as the last one fell to the ground.

“Sure, ya can,” he winked, making your chest get all warm. “I know ya take care of yourself, sugar.”

He looked you up and down with his eyes sparkling.

“What?” You asked.

He chuckled with half a smile, then lowered his voice. “Sometimes….. ya look like ya could use a dick, is all.”

“Tommy” you scolded him I a whisper, face burning, loins tingling.

“No?” He asked.

You didn't answer.

"I'm observant," He shrugged. "That's why I'm the best patrol partner," he winked.

You squeezed your thighs together as he stood up to get some food. His back was so broad, and his jeans weren’t particularly tight but the way they skimmed his thighs–He glanced back and grinned to himself. Caught you looking. He didn't say anything, but he casually stretched like a slut, then took his time walking away.

“Oh my God,” you mumbled into your hands as you covered your burning face. When he returned to the table, it took all your effort not to look at his crotch. You'd seen the bulge in his pants before and weren’t immune to its effects.

You ate most of the meal in a silence thick with tension. Even the way his jaw moved when he chewed was making you wet.

“C’mon,” he said right after finishing his drink.

“It’s not time,” you protested.

“Gotta stop by my place,” he explained. “Somethin’ I gotta take care of.”

As you left the dining hall, you passed Tate’s table and he gave you a subtle smile and wave. Tommy put his arm around you.

Tommy’s place smelled like him, like the day after a pinetree campfire. You sat down on the sofa to wait for him to do what he had to do. A buzz in your gut told you what it was.

Moments after he locked the door, he was sitting next to you, his thigh against yours. He took your chin in his hand and leaned in right away. He kissed you hungrily, humming “Mmm,” into your mouth as he groped your thigh.

As soon as you kissed him back, he growled, “C’mere,”and pulled you into his lap, straddling him. He buried his head in your neck and murmured, “What’s a pretty girl like you doin’ starving herself of cock, hmm?” then pressed light kisses and nibbles into your neck that drove you crazy as he unbuttoned your shirt.

He slid his broad hand into your bra and thumbed your nipple as he kissed your neck. Then with both hands on your butt, he pulled you closer and you could feel all of him through his jeans. The warm throbbing of his stiff cock made you weak. He moved you against him for a couple of minutes, then slid his palm between your legs and whistled at your wetness soaking through the demin. “Ohh, I’m gonna stuff her full, sugar.” He urgently thumbed the button to your jeans, and helped you take them off in a hurry.

You hovered over him and his knuckles rubbed against your cunt as he palmed himself, then undid his belt and jeans. The next thing you felt was the hot thwack of his fat, stiff cock against your mound.

“Fuck,” you whispered.

He held his cock and shifted you onto it, and groaned as you sank down. With an upward thrust, he bottomed out, and the stretch felt so foreign and right. “Whew,” he looked at where your bodies were joined, then began to move you on him. “Knew you were a tight little thing,” he panted. His cheeks flushed under his freckles. “God Almighty,” he sighed, fucking you from the bottom.

He held you tight and his hips were powerful and smooth as he thrust up into you. The rhythm hypnotized you and you lost your sense of time. You lost yourself in the pleasure, and let yourself moan.

“Good girl,” he praised you. “Take it like ya need it, …’cause ya do.”

You rode him, savoring the stiff girth that was filling you to the brim. He encouraged you with a breathy, “attagirl.” He pulled down your bra and nosed our nipples and sucked your tits. He twitched inside you and cursed to himself, then abruptly lifted you off and came all over his shirt and yours.

“Felt too good,” he admitted. Your empty cunt spasmed faintly. "You gotta really let go next time if you wanna cum." He tucked himself away and fixed your hair. He gave you a long kiss, held you, and you put your head on his chest. He offered, “or, I could, uh���”

But the clock on the wall caught your eye, and you were startled by the time. Now y’all would be late if you weren’t careful.

“Maybe later,” you said.

He gave you a shirt of his to wear, and once both of you were cleaned up, you left for patrol.

------

-----+

Thank you for reading!

[thatsmzbitchtoyou]

Regrets & Apologies -Oneshot

Word count: 2338

“For fuck’s sake Bucky,” Y/N huffed, running her hands through her hair.  “I understand that you feel protective over me, and I love and appreciate that about you, but my god if you follow me to the grocery store again–”

“So sue me if I’m worried about you,” Bucky retorted angrily.  “If the wrong people were to find out you’re with me–”

“Don’t,” Y/N said.  “Stop it.  I don’t want to have this conversation again.  You are a free man, in both mind and body.  And in case you forgot, I can take care of myself,” she said, holding her hand up as a ball of fire emitted from her palm briefly before closing her fingers around it, making it disappear.

“I know you can,” Bucky groaned.  

“Then you obviously don’t trust me enough to do it,” Y/N said sadly.  “And I don’t know what’s worse: being tailed at all times because you don’t trust other people, or knowing you don’t trust me to be able to handle danger by myself.  You know what?  Never mind, the second one is worse,” she sniffled, her emotions getting the best of her.  “You’ve seen me in the field, and you still don’t believe in me?”

Bucky’s eyes widened.  “No, no that’s not it at all.”

Y/N shook her head and shut her eyes tight.  “I can’t do this.  I’m taking a walk.”  She turned and started heading for the elevator.

Bucky was angry, and now hurt, and reacted badly.  “Fine, go run away from handling our problems!”

“I don’t have a problem, Barnes,” Y/N shot back at him, punching the elevator button then walking inside, turning to look at him with near-literal fire in her eyes.  “It’s just you.”

Her glare haunted him as the elevator doors closed, leaving him alone on their shared floor.  Bucky tried to breathe evenly, the panic setting in at not being near her.  He knew he had a problem, he just wasn’t willing to admit it.  Ever since they had first started dating each other his protectiveness had kicked into overdrive, making him follow her while she was out running errands to make sure she was okay, constantly checking in, and even worse, getting in the way on missions because he wouldn’t leave her side.  She was well trained and had her powers to protect her, yet he for some reason was constantly on edge and afraid of losing her to something in his past.  God I need more therapy, he thought.  He paced back and forth in their apartment, trying to let her go on that walk alone.  They both needed space to cool off and think.  He had to let her be.  He had to show her he could trust her.  Bucky let out a loud yell in frustration and holed himself away in their room.

***

2 hours later

“Doll, I’m sorry, please come back home.  Let’s talk about this.”

***

4 hours later

“Okay, I’m trying not to freak out, but you need to text or call and let me know you’re okay.  Where are you?”

***

7 hours later

Bucky was rocking back and forth on their bed, holding himself as he held his phone tight in his flesh hand, waiting for it to ring or buzz.  It was almost 11:00 at night, and he hadn’t heard from her.  Something wasn’t right.  This wasn’t normal, even during a fight.  She would at least let him know where she was and that she was safe, even if she didn’t plan to come back that night.  He felt like he was in withdrawal, the unknown eating away at his heart by the second.

The phone rang and he nearly threw it from how bad it scared him, but he quickly answered it.  “Doll?  Where are you?  Are you okay?”

“Is this James Barnes?” A voice said.

Bucky froze.  “Yes.”

“This is Dr. Harris at Mount Sinai Hospital.  Miss Y/N Y/L/N is here.  She just went into surgery after being struck by a car in downtown Manhattan.”  Bucky gasped, a chill running down his spine.  “You’re listed as her emergency contact.  I would suggest coming down as soon as possible.”

“I’m coming now.  Doc, how bad is it?” he asked hesitantly.

“She was stable going into surgery.”

That wasn’t a good enough answer for him, but he choked back a sob in relief that she was at least still alive and fighting.  “I’ll be there soon,” he said quickly, then hung up.  Bucky ran through their floor, gathering things for himself and for Y/N, then had Friday inform the other Avengers about what was going on.  When he reached the parking garage he flung the duffle onto his back and hopped on his motorcycle, revving out like a bat out of hell.  He reached the hospital in record time, parking then running inside inhumanly fast.

Bucky dashed to the receptionist desk.  “Y/N Y/L/N, just got into surgery, what floor is that on?” he barked at the receptionist.

“Visiting hours are over, sir,” the receptionist said, barely glancing at him.

Bucky smacked his metal arm onto the counter, making it crack and she jumped and stared at him.  She seemed to recognize him and shrunk back when she saw the metal hand.  “Floor number.  Now,” he demanded.

“Four,” she whispered.

Bucky gave her a curt nod then ran over to the elevator.  He pushed the button and took the elevator up to the fourth floor, his entire body feeling jittery with anxiety.  When the doors opened he ran down the hall to the second reception area.  “Y/N Y/L/N, in surgery.  Dr. Harris called me?” he huffed at the nurse.

The nurse’s eyebrows raised in recognition then turned and picked up a phone, dialing a number.  “Dr. Harris?  Y/N Y/L/N’s emergency contact is here.”  He hung up the phone and turned to Bucky.  “He’ll be right out.”

Bucky nodded and stepped back towards the chairs in the waiting area in front of the reception desk.  A couple of minutes later a man came walking down the hall.  “Sergeant Barnes?” he asked Bucky.

“Dr. Harris?” Bucky replied.

Dr. Harris shook his hand.  “She’s still in surgery.  They’re fixing a major fracture in her tibia, along her shin.  Otherwise she was really lucky with a minorly fractured collarbone.  No other injuries.”

Bucky sighed, his jaw tightening.  “That’s…that’s good.  What happened?”

Dr. Harris minutely shrugged.  “From what the paramedics said, she was in a crosswalk and some idiot came barreling around the corner through the red light.”

“Were they caught?” Bucky nearly growled.

“Yes.  They had the good sense to not hit and run,” Dr. Harris said.

Bucky nodded.  “Okay, good.  So…what now?”

“She’ll be in a boot for six months, and she’ll need a wheelchair then crutches during that time until she heals enough to walk.  Her collarbone will be set with her arm in a sling, and that’ll take about 10-12 weeks.  It’ll be a lot of physical therapy and patience, and she’ll need a lot of help.”

“No problem.  She has plenty of help,” Bucky said quickly.  “When will she be out of surgery?”

“Should only be about another hour,” Dr. Harris said, glancing at his watch.  “The surgeon will come out when it’s over and give you an update, then when she’s put in a room for recovery you can see her.”

Bucky nodded again and thanked him before Dr. Harris walked back down the hall.  Bucky paced the waiting room for another few minutes, his phone pinging over and over again with texts and calls coming in.  He finally sat down then started answering the messages, giving the Avengers reaching out to him an update.  When he was done he leaned back in the chair, his head thudding against the wall.  He fought back tears, but a few fell through his tightly shut eyes.  He was feeling a million things at once, unsure of what emotion was going to win out in the end.  Was she distracted from their fight that she didn’t see or hear the car coming?  Or was the driver just an idiot, like Dr. Harris said?  He’d never forgive himself if he was to blame for this, even partially.  

***

An hour later Y/N was out of surgery.  Bucky was now surrounded by the rest of the Avengers, waiting to hear anything.  A different doctor came walking out of the double doors down the hallway and Bucky immediately stood and walked over to her.  “How is she?” he asked quietly.

“Y/N is doing great,” the surgeon said with a smile.  “Her leg was set beautifully, and the collarbone was a lot more minor than we thought.  She’s in recovery right now.  We’ll monitor her there for about half an hour then we’ll be moving her to a room.  The reception nurse will tell you which one soon.”

“Thank you,” Bucky said and shook her hand.  

Forty five minutes later the nurse directed him to her room.  Bucky jogged to the room number and walked in as another nurse was getting Y/N set up.  The nurse gave him a short, polite smile.  “The anesthesia will take a little longer to wear off.  She should wake up soon.”

Bucky thanked the nurse as they walked out, and he walked over to Y/N.  She was hooked up to multiple machines, tubes sticking out from her hands and one hooked into her nose.  She was sleeping soundly, and his heart broke as he looked over the bruising peeking out from her hospital gown near her collarbone, her left arm in a sling.  He slowly lifted the blanket covering her legs and saw the boot on her left leg, the skin looking badly bruised and scraped up by her knee.  He set the blanket down and pulled up a chair by the wall to her right side, sitting down and reaching for her hand, holding it firmly.  All the emotions came flooding back and he started crying as he looked up at her face.

“Babydoll,” Bucky sniffled.  “My babydoll.”  He lifted her hand and kissed her fingers, holding her palm up to his face.  “Please wake up.  We need to talk about all this, and get over it, just like we always do.  Please?  Please…”

“Buck.”

His head snapped up at the sound of his name, and he saw her eyes fluttering open.  “Y/N?” he whispered, standing up and looking at her.

Y/N’s head turned to look at him, making her wince.  “What happened?” she asked.

Bucky sighed heavily.  “Do you remember anything?” he asked.

Y/N frowned, blinking slowly.  “I was walking.  Then I heard tires screeching.  Then…pain,” she said.

Bucky nodded.  “You were hit by a car,” he said, his hand reaching up and tucking her hair back.  “Some idiot turned the corner too fast and was not paying attention.”  Y/N frowned deeper, then tried to sit up, gasping at the pain.  “Woah, babydoll, no no no.  You’ve got a minor fracture in your collarbone, and a broken leg.  You need to stay still.”

Y/N’s head leaned back as she hissed through her teeth.  “Well that sucks,” she groaned.

Bucky couldn’t help but laugh.  “I know.  But I’m gonna be here to help you every step of the way.”

Y/N relaxed against the bed and looked up at him sadly.  “I’m sorry.  About the fight earlier.  And that I didn’t answer your texts.”

Bucky shook his head quickly.  “I’m sorry.  You were right, I’ve been way too overprotective, and it made me not trust you to take care of yourself.  Though, in my defense, you did just get hit by a car while I wasn’t around to help you.”

Y/N grinned, biting back a laugh.  “True.  But you can’t always be my hero.  Life happens.  Shit like this happens, no matter what we do to try and stay safe.  You have to trust me enough to know that I’m going to do my best to come home to you.”

Bucky’s lips tightened as he fought back more tears.  “I know, I’ll work on it.  I promise.” They stared at each other for another moment before Bucky leaned forward and nuzzled her nose with his.  “For now, just kiss me once, then I’ll kiss you twice, then kiss me once again.”

Y/N hummed at his song reference.  “It’s been a long, long time,” she whispered before angling her head up and kissing him softly.

***

“This is so humiliating.  Every single time,” Y/N griped, holding onto Bucky’s arms as he helped lift her carefully into the bathtub, keeping her left leg that was wrapped in saran wrap above the water.

“You don’t need to feel embarrassed, Y/N,” Bucky said as he eased her down, making sure to prop the broken leg over the edge of the tub before grabbing the soap and lathering his hands.  He reached out and started at her legs first, making sure to get all the little nooks and crannies up her body as he washed her.

“Well, I’m embarrassed,” Y/N said with an annoyed tone.

“You’re healing really well, but it’s only been three months.  Tibia fractures take up to–” “Six months to heal, yes, thank you Dr. Barnes,” Y/N huffed, crossing her arms over her chest.  “Possibly longer.  I get it.”  Bucky sighed and gave her an arched eyebrow.  Y/N’s face softened.  “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“I know you’re frustrated, doll,” Bucky said, pulling her arms apart so he could wash her stomach and up her chest.  “But you know I don’t mind helping you.  None of us do.  And this, especially, is my favorite helpful thing to do,” he smirked as his hands washed over her breasts.

“You’re shameless,” Y/N laughed, swatting at his hands.

“But you love me,” Bucky said, leaning forward and kissing her.

Y/N kissed him back.  “Yes, I do.”

[sugdenlovesdingle]

can you write a story where Tommy hides a relatively minor injury from buck and when buck finds out he freaks out( angry) but everything turns out okay in the end

"You brought me here? You ratted me out?"

"Dude, look at the state of you. Don't you think your husband of six months would notice?" Eddie said, parking his car in front of Buck and Tommy's house. "I still don't know why you called me instead of him."

"You're a medic! I needed medical help. "

"Yeah, we have these great places called hospitals. You can go there if you need medical help and they give it to you. They can even give you painkillers or numb the area if you need stitches."

Tommy rolled his eyes.

"Enough with the sarcasm, Diaz. You could have brought me to your place. I would have been fine there for a couple of hours until Evan went on shift. I would have had 48 hours to patch myself up and he wouldn't have had to worry." he moved to try and open the passenger door without hurting himself more, but it was yanked open before he could do so.

"Tommy! What the hell happened?" Evan caught him just before he could faceplant onto the pavement.

"It's worse than it looks." Tommy said and then scrunched his face up. "Wait. No. It looks worse than it is." he corrected himself. "Rough landing. It's fine."

"It doesn't look fine. You look like you just went ten rounds with Mike Tyson." Buck said and turned to Eddie. "What happened?"

"I don't know. He just called me and asked if I could pick him up at Harbor." Eddie shrugged. "He wouldn't let me take him to the ER so I cleaned him up best I could with the med kit I keep in my car... but it's not ideal. That's why I texted you, maybe he'll listen to you."

"Traitor." Tommy said, annoyed. "You're supposed to be my friend."

"I am your friend. And I'm also his. And my ankle still hurts on rainy days so I'm not getting in between the two of you again."

"That was years ago!" Buck protested.

"Tell that to my ankle." Eddie replied. "You good with him on your own?"

"We're fine." Tommy said and tried to slam the car door shut while also keeping himself upright and not letting Evan know how much he was hurting.

"Yeah I can handle him. Can you tell Bobby I'm not coming in today? I'll call him later to explain."

"Evan you don't have to stay home to babysit me." Tommy said both both men ignored him.

"Sure. Let me know if you need anything. I can swing by if we have some downtime."

"Thanks." Evan shut the car door and took Tommy inside and deposited him on the sofa. He gently grabbed his chin and turned his head from left to right. "Did Eddie stitch up your eyebrow?"

"Yeah... I told him to just stick a bandage on it but he insisted. It's fine."

"You keep telling yourself that." Evan told him and sat down on the coffee table in front of him, looking him up and down, trying to figure out if he had any other injuries. "Want to tell me what happened? Without using the word fine?"

Tommy took a deep breath and tried to hide the wince when he did. Evan just raised an eyebrow at him.

"The new probie. I shouldn't have left him fly in this weather."

"He crashed?"

"No, no crash. Just a rough landing. We got knocked around a little. it's f- not so bad."

"You're going to be black and blue in a couple of hours. Have you taken anything for the pain?" Buck asked, accepting he wasn't going to get a more detailed answer right now.

"I was going to get something from the place near Eddie's house. Before he ratted me out and drove me here."

Buck rolled his eyes and got up.

"You're impossible, you know that? I'm getting you some ibuprofen." he gently kissed the top of Tommy's head. "You're lucky I love you."

----

send me prompts and I'll write you a ficlet!

[writingroom21]

For Give Me Father

Pairing: priest!rafe x nun!reader

Summary: During a confessional things take a turn. What was supposed to be you purging yourself for sin becomes a window to a new experience.

Warnings: 18+, implied smut, wet dreams, masturbation (m), mention of the use of a paddle, corruption kink?, the use of Father as his title in the church, (let me know if I missed any)

You pace the halls as you soothe the black fabric of your tunic and fix your veil. This is the fourth week in a row where you have woken up to impure thoughts. All of the other nuns walked around as if nothing was wrong. Leading you to believe that you are cursed. Or worse the devil has sunk his teeth into you and now you can not escape. Everynight you are plagued with the same dreams.

It starts off with a sermon from Father Cameron. He leads the church through their prayers, never taking his eyes off of you. In your dreams he always talks about temptation, reminding everyone that they have to avoid it at all costs. Which is ironic due to him pulling you into his office after the service. He forces you to recall his whole sermon and every wrong answer means a piece of clothing needs to be taken off. With your nerves, you always make mistakes leading to him stripping you down. 

As your punishment he forces you to read passages of the bible as he uses a paddle to swat your ass. When he realizes that the punishment fails and only makes you aroused he switches tactics. He’ll grab your tunic pushing the fabric until it rests on your waist. Gathering the moisture that collected between your thighs he has you suck his fingers as he pulls out his cock. Slowly he pulls your underwear to the side before sliding himself in. He’d make you keep reading, thrusting harder into you with every stutter you had. 

“Good morning Sister.” You’re snapped out of your daydream when Sister Mary greets you as she leaves her confession. “Good morning sister Mary.” She walks down the hall, her footsteps echo on the stone flooring as she leaves. Looking at the confessional you take a deep breath before entering. You smooth the fabric once again as you sit down, your hands resting on your lap. The rosary beads entangle your fingers as you try to calm your nerves. Just as you were about to get up and leave, the divider opens.

 From the corner of your eye you can see Father Cameron facing forward waiting for you to speak. “Forgive me Father for I have sinned. I’ve been plagued by impure thoughts and find myself yearning for temptation. I can’t seem to keep the thoughts at bay no matter how much I pray. I’m afraid that there is nothing that I can do to stop them.” From the otherside of the wooden wall you can hear him take a deep breath. Facing forward you stare at the stained wood trying to ignore the gnawing feeling building in your chest.

“It is easy for temptation to find us afterall it is a part of life. I’ve seen how devoted you are to your faith. God will guide you through as he always does, do not fret.” You glance to the left taking a peek of his features. “Father, it seems to find me at every moment. My dreams are infiltrated and when I’m awake it is all I can see or think about.” The rosary in your hand digs into your skin as you tighten them. Hoping that you will awake from this nightmare. “Sister if I may ask. What is plaguing you?”

There it is, the question you were hoping he would not ask. 

“I find myself having impure thoughts about someone I should not. My dreams are littered with the acts of intercourse. I wake up from the dreams yearning to experience what I witnessed.” Father Cameron clears his throat and moves around in his space. “Sister when you describe intercourse, is it safe to assume it is with you and another member in this church?” Looking down at your hands, you respond with a yes. Your skin feels like it is burning, the cold metal of your beads turns scolding. They fall to the ground as you drop them, feeling as if you are not worthy of their protection. 

“We have all experienced this form of temptation. We are human and it is natural to have these thoughts. It is just good to remember your vows and that our faith is stronger than the urge to do it.” Taking a deep breath you muster the courage to speak. “What if I want it to happen? As everyday goes I find myself unopposed to the idea.” There’s silence after your words. The both of you sitting there waiting for the other to say anything else. “Tell me sister, are your thoughts about me?” 

Ashamed of your answer you stay silent which tells him his thought process was correct. From the bench you sit on you can hear a ruffle of fabric. You glance back over to him but he looks composed. His blue eyes find you through the divider, a small smile threatening to peek through. “Describe them to me.” Your gasp in shock, turning your body towards where he is. “I’m sorry Father, what?” He clears his throat again with his eyes falling shut for a brief moment. “I believe that if you confess your desires you will be free from this torment.”

With a shaky breath you begin to tell him. “It starts with your sermons. I watch you as you lead everyone to be a better them. Then you warn them of temptation and how to not stray from their path.” You pause for a moment but he encourages you on with baited breath. “You stare at me as if you are ready to show them what it truly looks like. As if you would take me right there if you could.”

“If I did?” He questions. A small noise comes from his mouth. You move closer to the little window and try to see what he is doing. You can hear something but you don’t know what it is. “Father may I be honest?” He groans, his mouth gaping open. “You may.” Swallowing the saliva that gathered in your mouth you turn back to the door in front of you. “I would let you. But usually you pull me into your office. You always punish me for not remembering your sermon or messing up a bible verse.” 

Father Cameron lets out a loud moan. You look back at the window with a curious gaze. “Father are you alright?” His eyes gaze into yours with a hazy look in them. “I’m perfectly fine, sister. Please continue.” You lift yourself a bit to peer over to his side to be greeted with the sight of him pleasuring himself. Quickly you sit back down, crossing your legs as you picture his veiny hands wrapped around his cock. “You use the paddle on me sometimes, making me count them as you go. Other times you just take your time playing with me. It always ends with you taking me over your desk.”

There’s another moan as you finish. “Jesus CHrist.” He mutters under his breath. “How do you feel when you think about it?” Your thighs squeeze at his question. “Like I want to strip you of everything and let you have your way.” There’s a loud thud as Father Cameron’s nondominant hand slaps the wooden walls. “Oh god.” His eyes clam shut as his face contorts with pleasure. You watch him as his shoulders shake with each breath and how his mouth drops open. Against your better judgment you look down at his lap watching as ropes of his cum coat his hand. 

When your eyes move back to his face he’s already staring at you. A smile graces his face as he grabs a cloth from his pocket to clean himself up. “Sister, I think you have made great progress. Please do comes to me if you have any more of these dreams. Best we get ahead of them.” You nod standing to exit. “Sister.” You look back at him wondering what could possibly be the issue. “It is okay to fall into temptation. You should never be afraid to face it, I know you can take it.” 

His words don’t seem fitting to the man you are used to. But neither is the way he is looking at you at the moment. The only time you’ve seen this look was well in your dreams.

“Thank you Father.”

@rafedaddy01

[ltash]

The Bodyguard pt-2

Part 1 link in the end.

SimonGhostRileyxfemalereader

This chap contains a lot of slowburn

"You're not alone inside, are you?" Ghost asked, his voice low and steady. His eyes narrowed slightly as he took in the layout of the house, mentally calculating the risks.

"I'm here most of the time," you said, glancing at him. "But I've got a few trusted people in place."

He nodded, clearly assessing the situation. "Good. But trust is earned, not given. If Garcia gets past the outside, you'll need more than just a few guards. A team, at least."

You met his gaze, his expression unreadable. "I can handle myself, but I'll take your advice."

He gave a small nod. "You might be able to handle yourself, but you need the right backup. If you want to survive Garcia, you need to be prepared for anything."

A flicker of something, resolve, maybe passed through your eyes. "I've been preparing for this for a long time."

His eyes softened just slightly under the mask. "Good. Then we'll make sure it's enough."

"I was in my car when they were shot in front of my eyes," you whispered, your voice trembling as the memory came rushing back. "I-I had a panic attack... and I went into shock..."

The words hung heavy in the air, and for a moment, Ghost stood motionless, his mask impassive, but the surprise in his eyes softened, giving way to something deeper-something almost like understanding. He nodded slowly, his posture shifting slightly as if adjusting to the weight of your revelation. His voice, when he spoke, was lower, softer, a rare shift in tone. "A panic attack and shock," he echoed, his words slow and measured. "That's a normal response, considering what you went through."

You shook your head, your voice barely above a whisper. "I can't recall... it gives me PTSD."

The words seemed to hit him like a blow, and his eyes narrowed behind the mask. There was a brief flicker of something grim, something darker, before he spoke again. "PTSD," he repeated, his voice taking on an almost reverent tone, as if the weight of the term itself deserved respect. "That's understandable. Experiencing trauma like that... it's life-altering."

You flinched, instinctively rubbing your forehead as the memories surged forward. The tears came too quickly, but you wiped them away before they could fall, trying to regain your composure.

Ghost's eyes followed the movement, noting the subtle tremor in your hand, the way you fought against the raw emotion that threatened to break through. He noticed the brief flicker of pain in your expression, and it made something inside him tighten, something he rarely allowed to stir. The gruff, impassive persona he had carefully crafted seemed to slip, replaced by something far more human-more concerned. Without thinking, he took a small step closer, his voice softer now, tinged with a note of care. "You okay?" he asked, the question a low murmur, his eyes scanning your face with an intensity that seemed to demand more than just an answer.

You blinked rapidly, swallowing down the lump in your throat. "I am fine," you said quickly, though the words lacked conviction. "Your room is upstairs, make yourself at home, Lieutenant. I'll see you tomorrow."

With that, you turned and started to walk away, making your way towards the pool area, heading for your room downstairs. Ghost watched you, his eyes following the curve of your figure, the faintest frown pulling at the corners of his mouth beneath the mask. He wasn't used to seeing vulnerability in people like you-not billionaires, not those who lived in a world of opulence and luxury, where real danger felt like a distant, foreign concept. Most of them were pampered, untouched by the harshness of life's cruelties. But you... you were different.

He shook his head slightly, as if to rid himself of the thought, and forced his focus back on the mission. His footsteps were quiet as he made his way upstairs, each one deliberate, careful. The familiar routine of moving through a house on guard, silent as a shadow, was a comfort to him, and he allowed it to take over as he ascended the stairs, leaving the tension behind him.

Later, in the stillness of his room, Ghost sat on the edge of the king-sized bed, the room dark except for the soft, muted light filtering through the blinds. The bed was large, spacious, but it felt empty, and his mind was far from the comfort it should have offered. His fingers drummed absently against the duvet as his eyes narrowed, his thoughts consumed by your reaction. The image of you flinching, of your hand brushing away the tears that had threatened to fall, lingered in his mind, like a splinter lodged deep in his thoughts, impossible to ignore.

He wasn't used to this-not to concern, not to empathy. Emotions were weaknesses in his line of work, tools of distraction that could get you killed. But there was something about you, something about the way you wore your pain so openly, that unsettled him. He had dealt with the fallout of trauma countless times, but this... this was different.

His gaze darkened as he exhaled sharply, the weight of his thoughts pressing down on him. He had a job to do. That was his priority, his focus. Yet, as much as he tried to push it away, he found himself wondering how you were faring downstairs. Was the trauma still haunting you? Was it keeping you awake, even now, as he sat alone in his room?

The thought struck him almost with humor, though it was a humorless, bitter laugh. When had he started caring about the nightmares of a billionaire?

The soft glow of early morning light spilled through the kitchen windows, illuminating your figure as you stood in your black silk nightgown and robe. The fabric clung to your body in all the right places, the delicate lace tracing the outline of your curves as you reached for the creamer on the top shelf. The slight stretch of your arm accentuated the smooth arch of your back, the silk of your gown whispering against your skin. The scene felt almost too intimate, too personal, the kitchen now an unexpected stage for the quiet tension that simmered between you.

Ghost's footsteps were silent as always, his presence like a shadow, subtle yet undeniable. He stopped just inside the doorway, his eyes dark and unreadable behind the mask, watching you with an intensity that made the air feel charged. His gaze flicked over you with a trained precision, noting the way the silk robe clung to your frame, the soft curve of your neck as you tilted your head to reach the jar. It wasn't just your figure that caught his attention; it was the quiet grace with which you moved, a delicate vulnerability in a moment so simple yet so raw.

You didn't notice his presence until his voice cut through the stillness, deep and low. "Need some help?"

You startled slightly, a soft laugh escaping your lips as you tried to make light of the situation. "Ah! Yes. Seems like the creamer decided to run upstairs." The casual words did little to mask the way your pulse quickened as he moved closer, his body towering over you in a way that made the space between you feel charged with heat. The scent of his cologne mingled with the clean, floral fragrance of your perfume, and suddenly, the kitchen seemed too small, the silence too heavy.

Ghost didn't respond immediately. His gaze lingered on you, following the curve of your waist, the delicate movement of your shoulders as you shifted to reach the jar. Every second felt stretched thin, the quiet tension building between you, until finally, he took a step forward. His presence behind you was overwhelming, his body heat radiating against your back, the soft brush of his chest against yours enough to make your breath hitch. He reached up with ease, his hand brushing against your side as he took the jar from the shelf, his fingers grazing your skin in a way that sent a shiver down your spine.

For a moment, time seemed to freeze. The proximity between you both was almost suffocating, the gentle press of his body against yours sending an electric pulse through you. You could feel the muscles of his chest shifting under his shirt as he stood so close, his breath warm against the back of your neck. The subtle brush of his fingertips as he steadied you made your heart race faster, and you struggled to steady your breath, your senses heightened in a way that made every movement feel magnified.

Ghost held the jar in his hand, his fingers long and strong, wrapping around it with ease as he pulled it down from the shelf. The way his hands moved, so assured and commanding, made it clear how capable he was. But it was his proximity to you, the way his body loomed over yours, that made everything feel more intense. Every inch of space between you felt charged, alive with something that neither of you had yet acknowledged. The heat from his body radiated against you, and your breath hitched in your throat, a subtle flutter in your chest that you couldn't ignore.

He didn't speak immediately, his gaze still fixed on you. You could feel the weight of his stare, the intensity in his eyes even as he held the jar out to you. "Here," he muttered, his voice thick and a little rougher than usual, a low growl that seemed to vibrate in the air between you. The sound sent a shiver down your spine, and you found yourself instinctively biting your lip as you reached for the creamer jar.

As your fingers brushed against his, something passed between you, a spark of electricity that made the air around you crackle. You quickly took the jar from his hand, your fingers lingering just a moment too long on his skin, before you slipped past him to the counter. But even that small, fleeting contact was enough to make your heart race. His eyes followed you, unwavering, his body still poised and tense behind you as you walked away. It was almost as if he couldn't tear his gaze from the way the silk of your gown swayed with each step, the fabric hugging your body in a way that taunted him.

The brief moment of shared tension hung in the air, thick and unspoken. Ghost didn't move immediately, his eyes lingering on your retreating form as a quiet battle waged within him. His usual stoic demeanor wavered for just a second, as if the brief moment of proximity had unsettled something deep inside him. He took a slow breath, forcing himself to turn away, his footsteps light as he moved toward the kitchen door. Yet, the image of you, the soft sway of your body, the heat of your presence, the way you had reacted so instinctively to his touch, stayed with him long after you were out of sight.

He wasn't used to this kind of distraction, wasn't used to feeling anything but the mission, but with you, everything seemed more complicated, more dangerous. And that made it all the more irresistible.

You made coffee for yourself and for Ghost, the smell of the rich brew filling the kitchen as you prepared the cups. Soon, the chef and the rest of the staff arrived, and breakfast was served. Afterward, you excused yourself to change into your office attire.

Fifteen minutes later, you returned, your entrance commanding attention. The moment Ghost saw you, his breath hitched. You had traded your more casual clothes for a striking ensemble: a black, short skirt that hugged your hips perfectly, paired with a black lace corset top that accentuated your curves in a way that made his pulse quicken. The black blazer you wore only added to the professional yet seductive aura that surrounded you.

His heart nearly stopped. Ghost was no stranger to beautiful women, but there was something about the way you wore this outfit that made his thoughts falter. His eyes traced every inch of you, the hunger he tried so hard to suppress evident in his gaze. He forced himself to maintain his composure, clearing his throat before speaking.

"Quite the transformation," he remarked, his voice rougher than usual, a slight edge of something darker beneath the surface.

You didn't meet his eyes immediately. Instead, you simply nodded, a small, confident smile playing at your lips. "Let's go," you said, turning towards the elevator.

As you reached the underground parking garage, Ghost followed in silence. The click of your heels echoed against the smooth floors as you walked toward the Bugatti Veyron, the keys jingling in your hand. You climbed into the driver's seat effortlessly, looking every bit the part of someone who was both capable and dangerous.

Ghost lingered for a moment, watching you with a mix of admiration and something deeper. "You're drivin' yourself?" he asked, his voice betraying a touch of surprise. "And I thought you were all about chauffeurs and limos."

You glanced over your shoulder at him, a teasing glint in your eyes. "I like to drive myself sometimes."

Throughout the drive, Ghost stayed quiet, his eyes scanning the surroundings, but his mind was elsewhere, fixed on you. It was hard for him to concentrate with you so close, your scent lingering in the air, the quiet hum of the engine, and the soft movements of your body as you maneuvered the car. The rhythmic motion of your driving was almost hypnotic, and he could feel the tension in his body building, coiling tighter with each passing moment.

The office day was long but predictable. You moved with confidence, handling business matters with ease. Ghost watched you from the periphery, his eyes always alert, but they couldn't help but follow you as you moved, graceful, composed, every step calculated. There was something captivating about the way you carried yourself, even in the midst of all the work. The way the office attire clung to your figure... It was impossible to ignore.

By the time the workday ended and you returned home, the atmosphere had shifted. The silence between you and Ghost was thick with unspoken tension. You took a quick shower and had dinner, the food almost an afterthought. Ghost, meanwhile, did his security checks, ensuring everything was in order.

Later, he found you in the living room, watching a movie. He leaned casually against the kitchen counter, his eyes fixed on you. "Watching a movie, eh?" he asked, his voice rough, tinged with something more than just curiosity. "Anything interesting?"

You didn't look up at him, your focus still on the screen. "Yeah. It's a romantic movie," you replied.

As the movie progressed, the scene shifted, and Ghost found himself unable to look away. The screen displayed an intense, passionate kiss, hands grasping, bodies pressing together. The intimacy of the scene stirred something deep inside him, something primal and raw. He shifted uncomfortably, trying to ignore the surge of heat spreading through him.

Just as the scene became more intense, the remote slipped from your hand as you tried to turn it off. Your frustration was palpable, the soft sounds of the couple's passion filling the room. The girl's moans echoed, and your face turned bright red, your embarrassment unmistakable.

Ghost's eyes locked on the screen for a moment longer, his jaw tightening as the sounds filled the room. The scene played out with such intimacy, the kind of heat that had no place in his world, but it had a way of tugging at something buried deep within him. He turned to you, his gaze darkened with something fierce.

"Fucking hell," you muttered, trying again with the remote, but it wasn't working. Your cheeks burned with embarrassment, and Ghost couldn't stop himself from taking a step toward you.

"Turn it off," he ordered, his voice low, almost a growl.

"I'm trying," you stammered, the panic in your eyes clear as the scene escalated further.

Ghost stepped closer, his presence overwhelming, as if the air around you had thickened. He towered over you, his hands moving with purpose as he grabbed the remote from your trembling fingers. The brief contact between your skin sent a jolt of electricity straight to his core, igniting something he had been trying to suppress.

With one swift motion, he turned the TV off, and the room fell into an almost suffocating silence. His eyes locked on yours, watching you carefully, studying the way your body reacted to the close proximity.

"You shouldn't be watchin' stuff like that," he muttered, his voice hoarse with unspoken desires. He closed the distance between you even more, his body a solid presence, his warmth enveloping you.

You took a small step back, your chest rising and falling with quick breaths, but Ghost didn't give you any space to retreat. He moved in closer, his large frame nearly consuming yours. The air between you was thick with tension, and his voice was barely above a whisper when he asked, "Why are you breathin' like that? Are you scared?"

Without responding, you turned quickly and fled to your room, your heart racing in your chest.

Ghost stood in place for a moment, watching you leave, a mixture of frustration and something darker brewing inside him. He didn't move, his gaze fixed on your retreating form, unsure whether to follow or leave it be. The urge to chase after you gnawed at him, but he remained still, his body taut with restraint.

The door to your room clicked shut, and Ghost stood there, his mind in turmoil. He couldn't understand why he was feeling this way, this ache, this hunger that was building with every passing second.

The next morning It was your day off, a rare moment of respite, and you had decided to spend it quietly in your room. You sat in front of your dressing table, your movements slow and deliberate as you applied lipstick, the brush strokes careful as you enhanced your already striking features. You were dressed in little more than black lace lingerie, a delicate, lacy bra and matching panties, your skin almost glowing against the dark fabric. Absentmindedly, you had left your door unlocked, not expecting anyone to intrude.

Then, without warning, the standing mirror behind you tilted dangerously. It seemed to fall in slow motion before shattering loudly, the glass spraying across the floor in a cacophony of sound. The sudden crash made you jump, a sharp scream escaping your lips as you recoiled, heart hammering in your chest.

At the sound of your scream, Ghost's training kicked in without hesitation. His body went rigid, instincts sharp and primed for action. In an instant, he was on his feet, his senses alert. Without pausing to think, he rushed towards your room, his boots pounding against the floor, the door crashing open with a force that matched the urgency of his steps.

For a brief moment, he froze. The sight of you, standing there in nothing but skimpy lingerie, sent a jolt of heat straight through him. The shattered mirror reflected the image of your bare skin, the delicate lace of your undergarments clinging to your curves. His eyes darkened, and for a moment, he couldn't tear them away. His breath hitched, but he quickly forced himself to look away, a wave of frustration sweeping over him.

"Oh my god!" you squeaked, instinctively wrapping your arms around your body in a vain attempt to shield yourself.

"Cover yourself!" Ghost growled, his voice rough with something deep and primal as he turned away, his jaw clenched tightly. His hands fisted at his sides, the mix of anger and arousal burning through him like wildfire. "Fucking hell," he muttered under his breath, trying desperately to regain control over his emotions.

You grabbed the silk bedsheet from the bed and wrapped it around yourself, your body trembling as the cool fabric touched your heated skin. Ghost could feel his heart pounding, his pulse racing as he stood with his back to you, his body rigid with restraint. His thoughts were a tangled mess, torn between the urge to protect you, to be angry, and the darker, more dangerous part of him that reacted to the vulnerability you were now showing.

"I--I'm covered. You can look," you said, your voice small, your grip tightening around the sheet.

Ghost slowly exhaled, forcing himself to calm down. His mind screamed at him to walk away, to maintain his usual impassive demeanor, but he couldn't shake the image of you, of how you looked standing there, so exposed and vulnerable. It ignited something in him that had been buried for so long.

He turned around, his gaze cold and sharp, but he refused to let his eyes drop lower than your face. He could feel the tension building between them, thick and heavy, making it harder to concentrate.

"What the hell happened?" he demanded, his voice low and gravelly, the edge of frustration clear in his tone. "Why were you just standing there in nothing but...?" He trailed off, unwilling to say it outright, but his words hung in the air, a silent challenge.

"I don't know, I'm sorry. I was just going to dress up," you muttered, your face flushed with embarrassment as you grabbed your dress from the bed.

The unspoken tension simmered between the two of you, thickening the atmosphere in the room. Ghost's thoughts raced, his gaze flickering briefly to the bed sheet still clutched tightly around you, and an unfamiliar possessiveness washed over him. He didn't want anyone, anyone, to see you like this, so vulnerable, so exposed.

His next words came out in a low growl. "Put the dress on." His voice was firm, commanding, yet there was an undercurrent of something else, something more dangerous.

"I'm going to put it on," you replied, a sense of urgency in your voice as you darted towards the attached bathroom.

Ghost stood frozen for a moment, his mind still reeling from what had just happened. He was acutely aware of the ache in his chest, the simmering tension that refused to dissipate. Everything had changed between you, and he couldn't deny the heat building in him every time he thought about it.

Shaking his head, he tried to clear his mind, focusing on the task at hand. He stepped out of the room, his thoughts a maelstrom of conflicting emotions. He found one of the servants and calmly informed them about the broken mirror, his voice betraying nothing of the internal chaos he was experiencing. His body still thrummed with tension, but he had to maintain control, to keep the façade intact.

Even though his words were neutral, his mind couldn't help but replay the image of you in that lingerie, the way your body had looked in the soft lighting of the room, the way it had affected him. He could still feel the heat rising inside him, an ache he didn't know how to satisfy.

As he walked away, he felt the weight of the encounter hanging in the air, like an invisible thread connecting you both. Something had shifted between you, and he knew, deep down, that it would never be the same again.

Part 1

[overnightheartbeats]

Laurel shook her head before smiling at his question. "Are you disappointed the kiss wasn't my favorite part? Maybe I just need a reminder," she teased. Although, she quickly corrected the confusion. "Sorry, I did mean the Halloween dance being my favorite part of the night though. That time at the Saddle, the kiss took the prize that night." Her head tilted curiously when he spoke of his siblings, she remembered him sharing about his move to Texas. Laurel just wondered why leaving became the choice if it wasn't top of the list. "I get it. It must've been a difficult decision to leave. Would you move back, after school?" She nodded in confirmation, her smile remaining as they talked of her dad. "Yep. I mean, not near campus, but he lives in Austin. I get to see him some weekends, or if he's near campus, we grab lunch." Laurel's happiness couldn't be contained, even now that he mentioned stopping by the diner. "Wait, really? Not because of the special, but just so you can say hi. If you wanted." Her eyes were practically shining with anticipation, the thought of bribing him started as a joke, but now she was eager to put it in practice. "Wow, so free rein in the bribery space. I'll begin thinking of bribing options." A moment was spent trying to decipher if he was serious, and she leaned yes. "Good to know, because now I know I definitely won't keep them to myself."

His head tilt was enough to have her quickly provide more context to her words. He seemed genuinely lost, as if not liking each other wasn't an option. "No no, I didn't mean because of you." She was almost certain there was nothing he could say that would deter her. "I just meant like...you deem I'm too much after you get to know me. Hey, I have confidence in this. Just a smidge of realism." Getting her hopes up would be devastating, but she couldn't bring herself to fall into that rabbit hole. Instead, focusing on his dramatic gestures. Laurel grimaced for a second, wooed with food. "I'll need to learn how to cook more than a grilled cheese." She hoped he meant the different food places she could take him to. If cooking was in question, she had just been given a map to his heart that she couldn't use. Unless she took up cooking classes. Yep, that could be an option. Laurel couldn't help the burst of laughter while he fluttered his eyes. Was it wrong to say that it was hot and incredibly charming? How was she not supposed to fall? "Yup, those eyes. Hm," feigning to be thinking about whether he took the title or not. "Yes, definitely the prettiest I've seen."

"I can never contain my questions, as you've seen, so you won't need to worry about that. I'll ask each time." Her curiosity won each time, and even the awkward questions didn't keep her. His answer surprised her, evidenced by the amused grin that followed. "Really? The way you were dancing, I would've thought it was a main hobby." Being led in the dance floor was definitely a new one for her. "Suitable might be a stretch, but any time you need a dance partner, I'll happily sign up. Why's it boring? There's boring books, sure, but don't know about the whole activity." Not really her cup of tea, too much silence. "I knew you were full of surprises, skiing is an interesting one. Have you been recently? I mean, I know Texas is not really the spot for it." At the question of her own hobbies, Laurel's thoughts ran trying to think of something. Only distracted by his follow-up question, which made her laugh once more, covering her face momentarily. "It's working then? I knew that how-to guide would come in handy," she joked, gaze peeking through her fingertips covering her face, before her hands dropped back on the counter. "But nope, not on my hobby list. That'd mean flirting everywhere, and that's more of a one-person thing for me. I'm trying to find new things to be honest. I did cheerleading way back when, some tennis and that was fun. Lately, books are also making my list." Because of school, but still. "I really like stargazing, not super great at it, but it's nice. The good kind of silence."

"That was your favorite part?" he asked incredulously. "Here I figured the kiss would have made an impression." Eli teased half heartedly. "That makes sense but also I understand. If I could have stayed with my foster siblings I would have. Leaving them wasn't my first choice." But it was the only decision he had to make in order to keep their family from having to take on one more mouth to feed. "I'm assuming your dad lives here?" The manner in which her features lit up told him she was more than excited to see them. "When they come visit you come to the diner. I can swing a two for one special."

He shook his head making a show of it and grinned. "Nope. Not at all. The bigger the bribery the better." Now he was curious as to what she'd have up her sleeve though he kept that part quiet. "You don't have to keep your hands and feet to yourself."

"Why wouldn't we like each other after?" His head tilted like that of a lost puppy. "You have no confidence in this. I'm hurt." he feigned hurt as he dramatically placed his hand over his forehead. "I do like to be wooed. Food is pretty much one of the best ways to get to my heart. See, now you've learned a new fact." In an attempt to make her laugh he stared right at her and fluttered his eyes. "These eyes? You think are pretty?"

"Ask whatever you want. I'd rather be asked than be figured out like 'm a zoo animal." He let out a husky little laugh and nodded. "Consider me a very interested pupil then."

He took an open seat across the counter as he played with the water bottle and set it down. Answering Laurel's question from before had him half grin. "I wouldn't say dancing is a hobby. I do like it but I just don't do it as often. Never had a suitable partner to dance with until Halloween night." He thought to what he liked to do and hummed. "The boring answer is read." At least to others it'd seem boring. "Exciting answer is that I like to ski. One year our family took a trip to Aspen where I saw snow for the first time, I'd seen it before but not like that. I had seen my dad get on a board and swoosh down and thought that was the coolest thing ever. I liked it. What about you? Hobbies include having a strong flirting game?"

[greenheartart]

I'm not very good at this sort of thing. I wasn't sure I wanted to say anything at all, since this has always just been my silly little safe place for loving Undertale. Not a place for other things, especially political stuff. But then it felt weird not to say anything. To just continue on and pretend nothing has happened and everything's okay.

Because it's not.

The fact that Trump has managed to get reelected is horrific. I've spent the last two days oscillating between dread and disbelief and burying myself in games for hours on end, just to try to forget about the world for a while. Hasn't really helped, if I'm being honest. My body hurts from how tense I am and I can't seem to shake the stress headache at the base of my skull. It feels like there's no escape from it. It's everywhere online and when I leave my house, it's still everywhere I go, in campaign signs on lawns and in the conversations I overhear from strangers. All my friends are scared and anxious and angry and frustrated, and none of us know what to do about it.

And I imagine it's the same for many of you.

It's an exhausting thought that so many of us are struggling right now. I hate it, and I'm so sorry we're all going through this.

I guess what I want to say that I know I'm more of a background presence, even on my own blog at times, but if anyone needs someone to reach out to, I'm here. My inbox is open and so are my DMs. If you feel alone and need to talk to someone, or want a distraction from what's going on and want to talk about fandoms or pets or anything else, or hell, have even just wanted to say hi and have needed an excuse, please. Reach out, ask to chat, just say hi. I'll answer.

And I also want to say I'm not going anywhere. Maybe things will take longer for me to get to than I want for mental health reasons, or maybe I'll throw myself even harder into this to cope. Who knows. I just know that I love telling stories and I love making art, and I love getting to share that with all of you and getting to see you love it too. I'm horrified by the world right now, but that just makes me want to push back against the horrors harder in the only way I know how.

Community is important. Art is important. We have to find joy and connection wherever we can, especially when things are at their worst.

So... just take care, everyone. Do whatever you can to keep your head up and don't give into despair. I'll see you around soon. ♥

[hollowed-theory-hall]

He definitely approaches them differently, and this was a really good rundown of the differences and was interesting to read.

(Sidenote regarding the Horcruxes — he did hide them from Snape, since he never actually tells him about it, hiding why he stole the ring and put it on when Snape was healing it)

I would say that with Harry his intentions are different from Snape. he needs Snape as an obedient soldier, and he needs Harry to be able to understand Dumbledore's hints and way of thinking. In the aforementioned scene and throughout book 6, Dumbledore is constantly railroading Harry to figure out the answers on his own because that's what he needs from him. He's kinda been doing it for years by this point, it's part of how he consistently interacts with Harry. He asks questions to get Harry to figure things out for himself because, unlike Snape, Dumbledore needs Harry to think and feel confident in the plan Dumbledore puts forward, and he would be if he figured it out logically too. (Dumbledore is definitely softer with Harry than with most other characters, and as I said, I think he does care, just, less than it might seem since he doesn't seem to know Harry all that well. Like, he just knows certain aspects of him).

The situations and what he needs from these two are different, I just thought it's interesting how he uses guilt and grief to manipulate both Harry and Snape, even if the words he says to do so are a little different, it just surprised me how similar the scenes feel in a way.

Especially with this later scene with Hary from HBP:

“Sirius represented much to you that you had never known before,” said Dumbledore gently. “Naturally, the loss is devastating. . . .” “But while I was at the Dursleys’ . . .” interrupted Harry, his voice growing stronger, “I realized I can’t shut myself away or — or crack up. Sirius wouldn’t have wanted that, would he? And anyway, life’s too short. . . . Look at Madam Bones, look at Emmeline Vance. . . . It could be me next, couldn’t it? But if it is,” he said fiercely, now looking straight into Dumbledore’s blue eyes gleaming in the wandlight, “I’ll make sure I take as many Death Eaters with me as I can, and Voldemort too if I can manage it.” Spoken both like your mother and father’s son and Sirius’s true godson!” said Dumbledore, with an approving pat on Harry’s back.

Dumbledore's talk with Harry after Sirius died got him exactly what he needed — a Harry who is willing to die to take down Voldemort with him. So, yes, the words are warmer, and the results are different, Harry isn't an obedient soldier, but he is ready to become a martyr.

Dumbledore's Manipulations: Part 6(?)

I just reread the scene in Deathly Hallows of Dumbledore and Snape on Snape's memories after Lily died, and that entire scene reminded me of the scene at the end of book 5. After Sirius died and Harry was having his breakdown.

Snape breaking down in front of Dumbledore after Lily dies:

“Her son lives. He has her eyes, precisely her eyes. You remember the shape and color of Lily Evans’s eyes, I am sure?” “DON’T!” bellowed Snape. “Gone. . . dead. . . ” “Is this remorse, Severus?” “I wish. . . I wish I were dead. . . ” “And what use would that be to anyone?” said Dumbledore coldly. “If you loved Lily Evans, if you truly loved her, then your way forward is clear.” Snape seemed to peer through a haze of pain, and Dumbledore’s words appeared to take a long time to reach him. “What—what do you mean?” “You know how and why she died. Make sure it was not in vain. Help me protect Lily’s son.” “He does not need protection. The Dark Lord has gone—” “The Dark Lord will return, and Harry Potter will be in terrible danger when he does.” There was a long pause, and slowly Snape regained control of himself, mastered his own breathing. At last, he said, “Very well. Very well. But never—never tell, Dumbledore! This must be between us! Swear it! I cannot bear. . . especially Potter’s son. . . I want your word!” “My word, Severus, that I shall never reveal the best of you?” Dumbledore sighed, looking down into Snape’s ferocious, anguished face. “If you insist. . . ”

(DH, 573)

Harry breaking down in front of Dumbledore after Sirius dies:

“There is no shame in what you are feeling, Harry,” said Dumbledore’s voice. “On the contrary . . . the fact that you can feel pain like this is your greatest strength.” Harry felt the white-hot anger lick his insides, blazing in the terrible emptiness, filling him with the desire to hurt Dumbledore for his calmness and his empty words. “My greatest strength, is it?” said Harry, his voice shaking as he stared out at the Quidditch stadium, no longer seeing it. “You haven’t got a clue. . . . You don’t know . . .” “What don’t I know?” asked Dumbledore calmly. It was too much. Harry turned around, shaking with rage. “I don’t want to talk about how I feel, all right?” “Harry, suffering like this proves you are still a man! This pain is part of being human —” “THEN — I — DON’T — WANT — TO — BE — HUMAN!” [...] “Let me out,” Harry said yet again, in a voice that was cold and almost as calm as Dumbledore’s. “Not until I have had my say,” said Dumbledore. [...] “It meant,” said Dumbledore, “that the person who has the only chance of conquering Lord Voldemort for good was born at the end of July, nearly sixteen years ago. This boy would be born to parents who had already defied Voldemort three times.” Harry felt as though something was closing in upon him. His breathing seemed difficult again. ���It means — me?” [...] “I am afraid,” said Dumbledore slowly, looking as though every word cost him a great effort, “that there is no doubt that it is you.”

(OotP, 823)

I just, found these two scenes awfully similar in tone when reading the one in Deathly Hallows last night.

In both Snape/Harry are in emotional turmoil after the most important person to them dies. Both feel like dying (Snape: "I wish I were dead", Hary: "then I don't want to be human"). Both shout at Dumbledore when he speaks all too calmly of things they don't want/need to hear at that moment.

And Dumbledore speaks calmly and coldly to both of them, revealing information he hid from them both (to Snape he tells about Voldemort's immortality, to Harry he tells about the Prophecy) before guilting them through their grief into what he needs them to do.

Now, I'm not exactly blaming him, because, from his position, he needs Snape as a spy and he needs Harry to be willing to do anything to kill Voldemort — to take Voldemort as his responsibility. Dumbledore needs these things to happen to have the best chance of completing his plan to defeat Voldemort.

I just, can't help but note how cold it is. How cold and manipulative Dumbledore can be when he feels he needs to be. Even as he explains his care for Harry as a flaw in his plan, he speaks calmly and simply. And he is right caring about Harry is a flaw, because he always planned for Harry to die. He knew since he saw the scar on Harry's forehead:

“I guessed, fifteen years ago,” said Dumbledore, “when I saw the scar upon your forehead, what it might mean. I guessed that it might be the sign of a connection forged between you and Voldemort.”

(OotP, 826)

And even if I think Dumbledore is honest in that he'd rather Harry wouldn't die, I don't think he cares for him as much as he says he does. In the same way, he's very cold towards Snape even years later when he tells him Harry must die. (I don't think Snape and Dumbledore are actually friends)

Idk, I just read the scene in DH with Snape and it really reminded me of the scene with Harry at the end of OotP.

[qqueenofhades]

Just a quick note to everyone sending me political asks: believe me, I get the desire for reassurance, I am honored that many people have found my commentary helpful, and I will occasionally pick and choose a few of them to answer. But those asks that are essentially requesting long theory-heavy or policy-breakdown or in-depth historical or comparative analysis etc., are probably less likely to get answered. This is absolutely nothing against any asker and as I said, I am super flattered that you want to hear my take on This Shitshow. However, I too am in a place of needing to conserve myself and limit the time I spend in this headspace, and... yeah.

I am but an old and tired historian on the internet, this is a lot of voluntary extra work for me at a time when I'm already running low overall, and I will have to choose when and how I engage with the topic. It's going to be another long-ass and difficult four years and we need to all make choices about how to expose ourselves to that landscape and what we do with it. So yeah. I will still be around, of course, and I will do my best to reassure and explain as far as I am able, but if you sent something and don't get an answer, please don't take it personally. The spoons are low for everyone and that's just gonna be the way it is for a while.

Much love.

[sunglassesmish]

300 asks and counting. guys. i’m so drained i’ll try to answer some more but i’ve been in pain and haven’t eaten a proper meal besides 2 cookies in over a day. i’m gonna make myself some food and watch pll and try to get my head back in order. because bucktommy is done, i genuinely wish i could be hopeful that they’ll reconcile after the hiatus. but i’m just. not. i’m still gonna read fics and reblog stuff i guess. but i’m gonna need to try and find some other source of escapism because 911 isn’t doing it for me right now.

[fluroscenthibiscus]

Im overwhelmed😭 ep 6 debreif cause I fucking need one.

‼️Spoilers for 9-1-1 S8 e6‼️

Im feeling so many conflicting emotions because that was a fucking rainbow rollar coaster of an episode??

First things first, Eddie Diaz/Ryan doing risky business after shaving was not on my 2024 bingo card... And answering the door looking like that👀- SIR PLEASE!! JUST ONE CHANCE🧎‍♀️Buck is much stronger than me cause I woulda jumped his bones. (When they sat down on that couch I literally asked myself out loud if they were bouta hook up🤭)

Madney second child😭😭😭😭!!! Stop I am so so so happy for them🎉

The Hot Preist. That's it. That's all I have to say. The whole scene sequence is really just self explanatory.

"A failure." SIR, I WILL COME THROUGH THE SCREEN AND HIT YOU CAUSE WTF THAT HURT.

‼️TOMMY ACTUALLY BEING ABBY'S TOMMY?? I WAS JOKING WHENEVER I SAID THAT BUT DAMN‼️

Bummy breakup... I am devastated for Buck. I didn't hate their relationship I just didn't like the character. But if Buck was happy then then so was I. Watching Buck get dimmer and less enthusiastic throughout the whole conversation really tugged a heartstring.

"Did you just break up with me?"

"I guess I did." And, "I didn't see it coming either."

Ouch.

The way I questioned if the green shirt actually meant anything cause Buck was so happy. I was like, "Oh, he won't break up with Tommy he's to happy rn." Then, BOOM! He didn't break up with Tommy, Tommy broke up with him. 😧

The well. Not another one🙄 No cause I sat there the whole time having flashbacks to Buck trying to dig through 40ft of mud and scrap by hand.

I was feeling so many emotions of different calibers by the end of the episode that I was crying from just how emotionally overwhelmed I was. I have now decided to watch it a third time🫠