#it’s just dredging up my thoughts and feelings all over again

[azurexsnake]

And can we PLEASE talk about how miserable Toji is? All his life has been hell because he dared to be born other. He was never seen as worth anything despite his skill and tenacity. He was never given a chance, cast aside to sink or swim, and no one even cared either way which he did regardless.

But, for how shitty he is and how little right he had to- to the kid he tried to kill and whose life he turned upside-down- he still begged in his own roundabout way for his son to be given a better life than the one he had. Through the apathy and the denied actualization of the self he wanted, that was his dying wish. He wanted better for Megumi than to become him. That was his final act of defiance.

[heytheredelulu]

Unbreakable

Unbreakable Part 2 can be found here!

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count: 4.7k

ALL OF MY WORK IS 18+

C/W: Oral sex (f receiving), fingering, unprotected sex, cream pie, language

Summary: You’ve always wanted to be a mother but your husband is too tormented by his past to believe he could ever be a good father. For so long you’ve accepted that it will never be in the cards for you- after all, it’s only a small price to pay to continue to live the life you’ve built with the man you love. But what happens when you finally admit that you want what he refuses to give you? Will you push him away with your confession or will you finally make him realize that he’s not the man he believes himself to be?

A/N: Look, I’ve been hormonal as hell for the last two weeks and it’s got me craving some angsty, soft, needy Bucky-

And some passionate, sensual baby makin’ sex.

So without further ado, please enjoy the longest fic I’ve ever written.

“Doll?” Bucky asked softly, kneeling down in front of you and lowering his head to your level in an attempt to draw your attention up from the book sprawled open in your lap.

You’d been much more reserved as of late and it was beginning to worry him. Your smile seemed a little weaker, a little more forced, and your overall demeanor had reversed; as if the bright light that you always exuded had been extinguished and you were now floating along on the furls of smoke that were left behind- here physically, but mentally you were always elsewhere.

“Hmm?”

You turn the page gently without looking up and Bucky sighs, reaching to carefully slide the book off your lap, snapping it shut and placing it on the coffee table.

“Look at me, angel.”

You let out a slow breath, lifting your head to meet your husband’s troubled gaze, his brows furrowed in concern.

“You wanna tell me what’s wrong, or are you gonna keep hiding out with your nose in a book all day?” He asks quietly, hoping that this time you’d open up, pull back the curtains you’d drawn so tightly and let him into those veiled thoughts of yours.

You shrug, trying to avert your eyes but his hand gently grasps your chin, tilting your face back towards him.

“Angel, please.”

You shake your head, afraid to share with him what’s been troubling you for weeks, afraid to dredge up long washed away agreements.

“It’s stupid.”

He raises an eyebrow, pinning you under his cerulean stare.

“Nah, it’s not stupid if it’s got you this worked up. C’mon.”

He affectionately tucks a piece of hair that had fallen loose when you’d shook your head back behind your ear before offering you a small smile that breaks your resolve and you feel the tears beginning to form on your lower lash line, the translucent beads of heartache obscuring your vision.

“I want a baby.” You whisper, immediately wishing you’d never uttered those four words once you see the corners of his lips begin to pull downwards.

When he slowly stands and takes a hesitant step backwards, that mask of stoicism you’ve worked for so long to peel away slipping back into place, your heart seizes in your chest.

“Bucky..” You plead, a tear slipping down your cheek as you rise from your seat and reach out for him, afraid you’ve pushed him too far with your admittance. “James.. Baby.”

He shakes his head, holding his palm out towards you in a feeble attempt to maintain his distance while he mulls over your confession but you press forward, placing your hand gently on his forearm.

“I need some air.” He mumbles, shrugging off your hand and moving quickly towards the door.

Before you can muster the voice to call out for him again, the door is closing behind him with a soft click and he’s gone, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

Why couldn’t you have just kept your mouth shut?

You scold yourself, your mind reeling with the possibility that you may have said too much despite only saying so little when you hear his motorcycle roar to life out in the garage.

He was running again.

You’d known the idea of children was a difficult subject for Bucky. It had only come up in discussion a handful of times before and when it had, he was always quick to dismiss it, stating he’d be a terrible father before descending into a rabbit hole of self-deprecating comments you’d have to reach down and pull him out of with a steady hand of reassurance.

As time went on you’d pretty much conceded to the idea that you’d never have the chance to be a mother if you wanted to continue to live the life you’d built with the man that you loved and you’d grown to accept that fact. At the time it felt like a small price to pay for the joy and love that Bucky brought you but as the years went on and your friends and coworkers grew their families, welcoming new, bright eyed babies, you began to feel a sense of longing for what you had always thought you’d never want.

His behavior was so much different this time, the way he’d clammed up, shut you out and needed to completely remove himself from your presence. His reaction had never been so extreme before and you couldn’t help but wonder if it was how desperate you’d seemed- the tears in your eyes, the pleading in your tone.

Those thoughts and unanswered questions weighed heavily in your mind while you escaped the afternoon inside the pages of your book until the sun began to set through the bay window and you finally dragged yourself up to bed, your restless mind carrying you into a dreamless sleep.

It was nearly 2 in the morning when Bucky crept barefoot into your bedroom, the hall light bathing your sleeping figure in a corridor of fluorescent light as he quietly opened the door. His breath caught in his chest as he lingered in the doorway, this vision of you reminding him just why he always affectionately referred to you as his angel.

He shut the door softly behind him, shedding his t-shirt and jeans before gently pulling back the sheets, his heart and his cock simultaneously swelling when his gaze settled on the image of you in your silk night gown as it rode innocently up your supple thighs.

He crawled silently up the foot of the large bed, lowering himself onto his stomach and settling between your legs, his hands gently kneading the tender flesh of your thighs as a low and shuddered breath blew from his lips.

He carefully pushed the hem of the silk garment higher, exposing your cotton briefs and the soft flesh of your belly, moving to rest his head against the bare skin. His hand hesitantly caressed your abdomen.

All afternoon his head had been plagued with the fear of losing you, the feeling of inadequacy resulting from the pain in your tone when you confessed the desire for something he felt he could never provide.

But once alone with his thoughts as he tore down the interstate on his motorcycle, physically trying to outrun the deep rooted trauma of his past, the pieces began to fall into place for him.

You’d loved him unconditionally through his trauma, offered him unwavering support and shined light to the darkest depths of his soul, always seeing something inside him that he could never see in himself.

But you were fading. Becoming physically and emotionally withdrawn under the weight of sacrificing such a fundamental need that you craved- all for him.

Maybe he’d never overcome his past. Maybe there would always be a darkness beyond the surface that kept its claws dug deep into the innermost reaches of his subconscious.

Or maybe he had already overcome it and had just been so blinded by his own self loathing that he hadn’t realized. Surely if he was as cold and broken as he believed himself to be, he never would have been capable of loving you in the all encompassing way that he did.

You, the one person in his life that could melt the ice encapsulating his heart with only a flash of your warm smile.

He’d never wanted children. He always believed he’d be a terrible father but the desperation in your eyes when you confessed that you wanted a baby with him brought him to consider that maybe it had always been his own insecurities rearing their ugly head as they always did when he tried to imagine himself as anything more than the man he used to be.

His hand stroked idly across your bare abdomen in slow, languid movements as he tried to picture the soft flesh stretched and swollen with his child.

His child.

A life created from the love and the passion that the two of you shared, to raise in the home you’d built together, to nurture with the kindness that you exhumed and to mold into a better person than he could’ve ever hoped to have been with the guidance only someone as patient as you could provide.

He’d never wanted to be a father, never thought he was capable of being a father.

But you, you made him feel as if he were capable of anything and as he had pulled his motorcycle over onto the side of the highway and wept that evening, he knew now without question that he wanted- no, needed you to bring his child into this world.

“Baby?”

Your sleepy voice penetrated his thoughts as you spoke into the dark room and reached your hands down to tenderly run your fingers through his brunette locks.

“You came home.” You mumbled, trying to rouse from your slumber enough to properly talk to him.

Bucky raised his head off of your belly, sliding his hand up your torso, through the valley of your breasts to settle at your nape. He gently cupped your jaw and tilted your head to look at him as he hovered above you.

“Of course I came home.” He says, the hurt evident in his tone. “Why wouldn’t I?”

You catch your bottom lip between your teeth to prevent it from quivering as your emotions begin to rise to the surface again.

“I don’t know. I just-“ You hesitate, worried that you’re toeing a fine line of sending him running again if you don’t choose your words carefully.

“Angel..”

He settles his thumb over your mouth, effectively silencing you as he gently strokes the pad of his calloused thumb across your bottom lip.

“I always come home.” He whispered, leaning down and tracing the tip of his nose across your jawline. “I will always come home to you.”

“I thought I’d scared you off.” You admit softlyly, reaching your hand down to caress his cheek, the light stubble rough against your skin.

He leans into your touch, his eyes slipping closed as he draws in a shaky breath.

“You could never scare me off.”

His jaw clenches and he opens his eyes, looking at you with a haunted gaze.

“If anything I’m scared of myself, doll.”

You move to sit up, wanting nothing more than to take him in your arms, chase the demons from behind his eyes with the comfort of your loving embrace but he’s quick to place a large hand between your breasts, firmly pressing you back down onto the mattress.

“No.”

He repositions himself above you, dipping his head and bracing his weight on his muscular forearms as he trails a line of open mouthed kisses down your bare abdomen.

His breath fans against the soft cotton of your panties as he hooks his fingers under the waistband and removes them at a torturously slow pace.

“I don’t wanna talk about me and my bullshit.” He says in a low voice, pressing a kiss to your inner thigh and sending a shiver up your spine.

“Actually, I don’t wanna talk at all.” He adds, lifting your legs to rest over his shoulders.

“Bucky.” You warn softly, reaching your hand down to push his hair off his forehead. “We really should talk about this. We can’t avoi-”

He steals the words from you when he gently spreads your folds with his fingers, his breathy chuckle warm against your sex.

“I’ve got a much better way to make use of my mouth.” He murmurs, bowing his head and glancing up at you with lustful eyes. The image of him between your thighs, looking at you with such intensity was enough to silence you entirely.

“Let me show my angel what heaven feels like.”

A desperate moan rises from your throat as Bucky laps at your weeping cunt in long, slow strokes with his flattened tongue. He laves upward, tracing gentle circles around your clit, catching the swollen bud between his lips and suckling, your back arching off the mattress in response.

“Fuck.” You whimper, carding your hands in his hair to hold him in place.

He hums, flitting the tip of his tongue downwards and dipping into your fluttering hole, drawing a gasp from your throat as he fucks you with it, euphoria building at the base of your spine.

“For an angel-“ He mumbles and raises his head up, his unshaven chin slick with your arousal, pinning you under his gaze as he sinks two fingers inside you and begins pumping them slowly.

“You sure do taste like sin.” He muses.

He latches back onto your clit, flicking his tongue in quick movements while simultaneously curling his fingers inside you, stroking you closer towards climax with every ministration.

“Baby, I- fuck!”

Fire erupts through your core and you clench around his fingers, tightening your grip on his hair and jerking your hips upward to grind your cunt against his face as you cry out in ecstasy.

He chuckles against your tender flesh as he withdraws his digits, the warmth of his breath causing you to writhe against the sheets as you ride through the aftershocks of your orgasm.

“You’re so goddamned beautiful when you come.” He whispers, wiping his mouth on his forearm and shifting his weight against the bed as he rises momentarily up to discard his boxers.

He positions himself above you, bracing himself on his palms, his biceps flexing as he dips down to press a kiss to your pulse point.

Dazed and breathless, you reach down to guide him to your entrance, pausing when your hand curls around the warmth of his bare cock.

“Shit, condom.” You mumble, working to maneuver yourself out from under him in order to reach towards the bedside table.

He stops you with a loose grasp around your throat, gently pushing you back into the pillows.

“Don’t need one.” He breathes out, settling himself between your slick thighs.

Your brows furrow in confusion and your mouth falls open in question but he carefully slides his hand up your neck to grip your jaw, pulling you into a deep and sensual kiss.

You slide your hands across the expanse of his toned back, returning the kiss with equal intensity before he breaks it, resting his forehead against yours.

He silently guides your hand to his hard and aching cock, closing your fist around it as he releases a shuddered breath against cheek.

“You’re gonna take my cock.” He grunts, peppering kisses across your jawline. “You’re gonna take my cum.”

He bucks his hips against your grip, urging you to bring him against your weeping hole.

“And you’re going to have my baby.”

Your eyes widen at his words, the quiver in his voice telling you this isn’t just some form of dirty talk but that he’s sincere and desperate.

“Bucky, are you sure?” You ask in a broken whisper, clarifying for good measure.

“You are going to have my baby.” He repeats, his voice carrying demand.

You let out a whimper, lining him up with your entrance and withdrawing your hand once he presses the leaking tip of his cockhead into your cunt, quickly burying himself inside you with a purposeful thrust of his hips.

You gasp at the stretch and he stills, his pelvis flush against you, sucking in a sharp breath at the way your inner walls are gripping him, free of the confines of a condom for the very first time.

“Goddamnit, angel. I don’t think I’m going to last very long.” He chokes out, the feeling of your tight, wet cunt engulfing his cock leaving him nearly breathless.

God, what he would do to stay inside you like this forever.

He draws his hips back, retreating almost completely before thrusting back into you. His lips part and his brows knit, breathy moans rising from his throat as he picks up a rhythm, his very soul craving to feel you around every inch of his length.

His hunger for you is apparent with every deep and merciless thrust and that sense of needful longing sets your every nerve ablaze.

He crashes his mouth against yours, kissing you frantically as reaches for your hands, lacing your fingers together in a fervent grip.

Pleasure pools low in your abdomen and you bring your trembling legs up to wrap around his waist, rolling your hips up in sync with his strokes as you chase your climax.

He groans in response and increases his pace, his heavy sack slapping against your ass with every frenzied rut into you.

“Oh fuck, please, baby. Please come on my cock. God, I need to feel you. Fuck, fuck!” He pleads with a shuddering breath that betrays how desperately he’s fighting to maintain his tempo as he climbs closer towards the edge with every passing second.

The sight of this beautiful man barely able to refrain from falling apart for you, begging for you to come on his cock, is enough to break you. White hot pleasure spreads through your core, flooding your body in a wave of euphoria as you cry out for him in choked sobs.

“Bucky! James, baby!”

He pounds into you at a brutal pace, incapable of holding himself back any longer, drawing strangled noises from you as he fucks you through the waves of the orgasm gripping your body.

“I love you, I love you, I-“ You whimper over and over in a cock-drunk stupor, rocking your pelvis sloppily against his movements.

He grunts, his hips stuttering as he stammers out your name in a breathless plea before giving one final deep thrust and he stills, emptying himself inside you with a throaty moan.

Bucky slumps forward burying his face into your neck, words of praise falling from his lips in a whisper against your skin as you remain in each other's embrace, hearts racing and chests heaving in the afterglow.

The steady thumping of his heartbeat begins to lul you towards a state of peaceful sleep and as your eyes slip closed, you feel the bitter emptiness of him withdrawing from inside you only to jerk back to full consciousness at the sensation of his fingertips against the tender flesh of your swollen cunt.

As you start to rise up on your elbows in order to better observe what it is he’s doing, he softly shushes you, smirking as he trails his fingers along your slit, gathering up any of his seed that had managed to escape your aching hole and gently pump it back in with his fingers.

“Not letting you waste a drop.” He murmurs, collapsing onto the bed beside you and reaching an arm around your waist to pull your back against his broad chest.

He envelops you in his warmth, his strong arms wrapped lovingly around you as he rests his nose against the crown of your head, slowly and deeply inhaling your scent.

“What made you change your mind?” You ask softly, snuggling your cheek against the bicep of his flesh arm.

His vibranium arm drapes across your abdomen and he splays his palm above your pelvic bone, gently brushing the cool metal of his thumb back and forth in affectionate strokes along your bare skin.

“You.” He replies, pressing a kiss to your temple.

“Me?” You ask incredulously. “How the hell did I manage to change your mind about something you were so adamant about? We didn’t even talk about it, Buck. I just told you what I wanted.”

He sighs, settling his chin atop your head. “You’re right, we didn’t.” He admits in a low voice. “But you know I’m a man of few words, angel.”

“But that doesn’t mean we just avoid the subject completely and then jump headfirst into this. Not that I’m complaining, it’s just that I need to understand how you managed to get here. That was- this was unexpected.” You respond, placing a gentle hand over his forearm and stroking your fingertips lazily across the spray of soft, dark curls adorning it. “You say you’re a man of few words but I know damn well you have a lot to say, you just don’t like saying it. You don’t like grappling with your emotions, Bucky. I think maybe its because you spent so long having them repressed against your will.”

He’s silent for a beat before drawing in a slow breath and in those several moments of quiet you feel a rising sense of dread that maybe you had overstepped with your assessment.

“Do you know why I call you ‘angel’?” He asks quietly, his thumb stilling against your lower belly.

You tilt your head in confusion. “What?” You question, your own fingers slowing their leisurely circles along his arm. “Baby, you’re deflecting.”

“I’m not.” He explains, raising his head, his thumb resuming its languid strokes across your skin. “Just answer my question.”

You huff, resisting the urge to roll your eyes by instead moving them back and forth to follow the movements of his thumb. “It’s a pet name, like baby or doll.”

He shakes his head and lets out a soft chuckle, his breath tickling the back of your neck.

“It’s a pet name, yeah. But do you know why I call you that?” He asks.

You shrug. “No, I guess I don’t.” You reply, tilting your head back to look up at him. “Are you gonna tell me?”

His lips curve into a smile as he looks down at you and in the dim light of the bedroom you notice how glassy his eyes appear, as if he’s just a blink away from a tear escaping his blue eyes.

“Because you saved me.” He whispers with a small crack in his voice that makes your heart ache. You want to ask him how- how he could possibly say something as bold as that you saved him, but your breath is caught in your chest at the vulnerability Bucky is showing you in this moment.

“Baby, when you met me I was so broken. I think maybe I still am.” He continues, resting his cheek against your shoulder in a clear attempt to hide his expression from you because he was stubborn and you were right. Emotion was not something Bucky expressed freely because he spent nearly his entire life with them suppressed so if he had any hope of baring his soul to you now, he couldn’t possibly let you see his face as he did it.

“No one dared to get close to me because they were too afraid of getting cut on the shattered pieces of who I was. But not you. Never you.” He explains, pausing as he draws in a slow and shaky breath while he considers how to express how much you mean to him when he wasn’t entirely sure there were even words capable of doing so.

In his brief pause you shift your weight, rolling over to face him properly before he continues.

“You didn’t care if you got cut because you saw something in me worth believing in and you weren’t afraid to bleed to get to it. You rebuilt me. You saved me.” His voice is hoarse as he struggles to hold his composure and keep from breaking down completely. “Your faith in me gave me hope- it gives me hope that maybe I’m capable of more than I think I am.”

A single tear finally breaks free, slipping free of his lashes and sliding slowly down his cheek in the wake of his heart lay bare to you.

“You give me too much credit.” You whisper, reaching up to brush away his tear with a trembling thumb. Your touch lingers on his skin and he places his hand overtop yours, pressing your palm to his cheek as he pins you under his tender gaze.

“You don’t give yourself enough credit.” He counters.

“Neither do you.”

He opens his mouth to argue but closes it and sighs when he realizes you’re right. You’re always right.

“I love you. I love all of you- every single piece, including ones you say are broken.” You whisper, offering him a soft smile as you gently push the hair back from his sweat-slicked forehead.

“They are broken.” He breathes out.

“I don’t think that’s true. If it were, could you really love me the way that you do? Think about it, Bucky. After everything you’ve suffered? You’re not broken, you’re unbreakable.”

He hesitates, running his hand down his face to mask the way it crumples at your words and wipe away the tears now falling steadily down his cheeks.

“I don’t deserve you.” He whispers.

You sit upright, leaning forward and cupping his face in your hands, forcing him to meet your eyes.

“You deserve everything, Bucky. Life owes you love. It owes you kindness for fucks sake.”

“Not after what I’ve done.” He mutters, the ghosts of his past flickering behind his eyes as he begins to retreat down that godforsaken rabbit hole inside his head again but you won’t allow it. Not this time.

“Especially after what you’ve done. Because you weren’t given a choice.”

He shakes his head, his eyes squeezing shut as if he can’t bear to let you see him this way.

“And what happens when they find out who- what I used to be?” He asks in a pained tone, nodding towards your belly as if he somehow believes his seed has already taken root in your womb. “They’ll find out. We won’t be able to shelter them from the truth.”

“Baby, look at me.” You demand, your expression stern as you rise up and lean forward on your knees. “Will it matter when they only know you as the you that you truly are? How can I make you see yourself the way that I see you?”

Bucky sighs, his shoulders slouching. “What would I do without you?” He asks quietly, resting his hand against your thigh and kneading the flesh beneath his fingers.

“Never have clean laundry or dishes.” You tease in an attempt to lighten the sullen mood. He stares up at you in disbelief for several long moments before unexpectedly delivering a swift smack to your bare ass, drawing a yelp from you that is immediately followed by a string of lighthearted giggles.

“Damnit, doll- I’m being serious!”

“So am I!” You argue, stifling a laugh. “I found a cereal bowl under the bed!”

He groans, covering his face with his hands. “It was one time.”

You smirk, your eyebrow quirking up in skepticism.

“That’s one time too many.”

“You’re ridiculous.” He grumbles.

“But you love me.”

He hooks an arm around your waist, pulling you into his embrace with a dramatic groan and you rest your head against his chest, draping your arms around his neck.

“I do.” He whispers, tracing his fingertips along your spine. “More than I could ever begin to explain.”

“A broken man couldn’t love me. A broken man wouldn’t know how to love me.” You point out. “And God, baby- you make me feel loved every moment of every single day.”

His breath catches and you can hear his heartbeat begin to quicken in his chest against your ear before he rolls over abruptly, pinning you underneath him as he looks down at you with an expression of adoration and that familiar fire in his gaze.

You tilt your chin up, a grin stretching across your face as you place your palm against his chest and state proudly, “You are James Buchanan Barnes and you are-“

He devours the words from your mouth before you can finish speaking them as he kisses you with urgency, stealing the breath from your lungs with the way his mouth moves desperately against yours.

Your hands explore his toned back, the feeling of his muscles flexing under your touch driving you to greedily draw his body closer to yours until he settles his weight onto you.

He breaks the kiss with a smirk on his lips as your head falls back, sucking in a sharp inhale at the warmth of his cock pressing into the soft flesh of your bare thigh, already hard and weeping for you again.

He lowers his head, nuzzling his forehead against your temple as he completes your stolen sentence in a whisper against the shell of your ear:

“Unbreakable.”

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[paperbodiesamongthestars]

How can you say that you love someone you can't tell is dying?

I am having feelings about that episode, so please enjoy 3k words of fic about it. I told myself yesterday I wasn't going to write anything about it because I didn't think I had much to say, and then this hit me like a truck at like midnight. Exceptional timing, brain, no notes.

Title is from You're Losing Me by Taylor Swift. (The other line I considered was "I know my pain is such an imposition," for obvious reasons, but I made a different call. Hopefully this one is pointed enough. 😂)

Tommy thinks about reaching out. Tommy thinks about reaching out a lot, but he doesn’t do it. The footage from the cameras in the tunnel plays on a loop in his mind, but Evan had been red-eyed but composed by the time he and Athena came out of there, and the last thing Tommy was going to do was blurt it out in front of everyone. That he’d seen something no one else had. That he knew, and the knowledge was lodged in his chest like a knife. 

Evan kept it together that night, but Tommy can’t imagine that persisted for long. He was subdued at the funeral—and Tommy was focused on doing his own part as respectfully as possible—but there were times when Evan had seemed…lost. Unmoored somehow. It was understandable given where they were, but it had made Tommy wonder, a little bit, who Evan was leaning on to get through this. He had banished the thought as soon as it had surfaced. The 118 was Evan’s family; of course they were seeing what was going on with him, probably more clearly than Tommy could. No doubt they had it under control. They would never let Evan suffer through a loss like this alone.

So Tommy doesn’t call after the funeral.  

He doesn’t call, and he doesn’t call, and he doesn’t call, and he falls asleep almost every night to a vivid memory of the way Evan’s legs had just given out under him. He doesn’t call and the impulse to hold Evan—just briefly, just because he couldn’t then—is almost overwhelming. But that’s not what they are anymore. He’s not sure if they're anything, honestly, and he’s not going to ask. Evan has more important things to worry about right now, and Tommy’s not going to barge in demanding anything at all. 

And then a building goes down, of course with half the 118 inside, and Tommy’s still on ground ops until Melton forgives him. Evan and Ravi are finally pulled out—dusty and scraped up, but whole—and Tommy sees them making their slow way toward the 118 engine and Gerrard.

Evan brightens a little and waves when he looks up and sees Tommy, and Tommy really hopes he’s got a handle on his expression, because Evan looks awful. His smile is brittle and the hollowness in his eyes is concerning. Tommy almost looks around for the rest of the 118 because what the fuck are they thinking? They wouldn’t let Evan walk around like this, looking like an open wound. Right? They would do something about it.

For the first time, Tommy considers the possibility that he’s made a few too many assumptions about what the 118 would and wouldn’t do. 

He jogs over to where Evan and Ravi have stopped. Ravi is chatting with a firefighter from the 133, but Evan is just…standing. His eyes are blank and unfocused, and Tommy is starting to get a little pissed at all the people who are supposed to have Evan’s back because what are they doing?

“Hey,” he says quietly, but Evan startles anyway.

“Oh! Uh, hey Tommy.” He dredges up a smile that goes nowhere near his eyes. “Ground ops, huh?”

“Yeah, Melton’s still pissed, so…”

Evan frowns. “I’m so—Tommy I’m so sorry.”

Tommy frowns back at him. “For what?”

“I shouldn’t have asked…I didn’t think,” Evan says, his shoulders slumping, and Tommy doesn’t like that reaction at all. 

“Sure you did. You thought ‘The team is in trouble; I wonder if Tommy can help,’ and the answer was yes.” 

Evan gives him a wan smile. “But you love flying.”

“I do,” Tommy says slowly, “and I’ll be doing it again in no time. It’s really not a big deal.” He catches Evan’s eye and says firmly, “Hey, I’m a grown-up. I have a mortgage and everything—I can absolutely deal with the consequences of my own actions.” 

Evan stares for a second and then starts blinking faster. His hand starts to come up, like he’s going to wipe his eyes, but stops halfway. He looks around at the clusters of firefighters around them. 

“I have to—” he says, and gestures vaguely in a direction, and then he’s gone. Tommy frowns after him, wondering where exactly he went wrong. 

He thinks maybe he should call this time. 

He doesn’t get the chance. 

The day after the building collapse, Tommy drives home from his 48—which was a bitch and a half, and not just because a building came down—and finds a very familiar jeep parked in his driveway. He stares at it for a while, failing to make sense of its presence, and then realizes he’s been sitting there for too long. He gets out of his truck and lets himself into his house. He can hear water running in the kitchen, and the house smells like red sauce, similar to the one his mom used to simmer on the stove on Sunday afternoons. It smells like home, and he buries that thought as soon as it surfaces.

Tommy drifts into the kitchen, uncertain what he’ll find there. Evan has his back to the door, rinsing a cutting board in the sink. He looks over his shoulder as Tommy comes in. 

“One sec,” he says, and Tommy nods. He takes the time to go set his bag down in his bedroom, kicking off his shoes and changing into sweatpants. When he makes it back to the kitchen, the board is in the drying rack and Evan is standing at the kitchen island, staring down at his hands on the countertop. 

“Hi,” Tommy says as he comes back in. He skirts carefully around Evan to grab a beer from the fridge and opens it, and then he goes back to the other side of the island. Whatever Evan is doing here, Tommy has no desire to spook him. His kitchen is Evan’s kitchen. Hell, if he’s being really honest with himself, his everything is Evan’s everything, to a probably concerning degree. 

Whatever. Not the point right now. 

“Hey,” Evan says, and takes a swig from the bottle of water in front of him. “Your spare key is still in the same spot.”

“Sure is,” Tommy agrees. There’s a brief silence. “What are you making?” Tommy asks. 

“Meat sauce,” Evan says. “I was going to make fresh pasta, but I wasn’t sure when you’d be home and I didn’t know if I’d have time.” 

Tommy nods. “It smells great,” he says. 

Evan glances at him, and then away. “Sorry for invading your kitchen,” he says, but it sounds likes something he thinks he should say rather than something he really means. Tommy can work with that. 

“Don’t be,” Tommy says. “You’re always welcome here.” His tone is warm and probably too fond, but there’s not much he can do about it. He’s just really happy Evan is in his kitchen, looking tentative, but maybe a little less hollow than he looked yesterday. 

Evan looks up at that, faint surprise and…something else flitting over his face before he smiles. “Yeah?” he asks, like that’s a real question. 

“Of course,” Tommy says, and he’s probably giving himself all the way away, but he’s finding it hard to care. He’s tired. Tired of pretending he didn’t see what he saw, tired of pretending he doesn’t desperately want to hug Evan, just to do it. Because he couldn’t then, but maybe he can now. 

As soon as he has the thought, the words come out without him ever deciding to say them. “Could I—do you mind if I hug you?”

Evan glances over his shoulder at the sauce, and then the kitchen timer. There’s a lot of time left on it, and Tommy briefly wonders what it means that Evan came over and let himself into his house to make a dish that has to simmer for hours. 

Evan turns back to Tommy, his expression a little rueful. He’s twisting his hands together in front of him. “I think, uh. There—there’s a solid chance I’m going to cry all over you if that happens,” he says, eyes downcast. 

“I can live with that,” Tommy says immediately.   

Evan’s head comes up, eyes huge in his face, and he drinks in Tommy’s expression. Tommy doesn’t know what he’s looking for, but he seems to find it. He moves, and then Tommy moves, and they crash into each other halfway around the island. Tommy clings because Jesus Christ, he’s been desperate to ever since he watched Evan sink to the ground, face twisted in anguish. He’s so focused on Evan, solid and real in his arms, that it takes a second for him to realize that Evan is clinging just as tightly, his face buried in Tommy’s shoulder. And—yep, there are the tears. 

Tommy feels himself tearing up too, for Bobby, for Evan, for Athena--for all of them. For this awful, overwhelming loss, and the horror of how it happened. 

Evan’s breaths start to hitch, and he slumps further into Tommy’s hold. Suddenly he’s choking out deep, gasping sobs, sorrow pulled up from so deep it sound like it it’s physically painful. Tommy just tightens his grip, trying to ignore the part of his brain that is loudly demanding to know why, exactly, Evan seems to need this so badly. He can pull on that thread later. For now, he can do this. He can stand here and be as solid as possible so Evan has something to hang onto while he falls apart.

Later, they end up on the couch. They each have a glass of that stupid passion-orange-guava juice Tommy just keeps adding to his cart at the grocery store, even though Evan hasn’t been around to drink it for a while now. Tommy keeps nudging the plate of cookies toward Evan. 

“Eddie’s crashing at my—at his—on the couch at the house,” Evan says, and his tone is all wrong. It’s stilted and a little wobbly, and Evan’s eyes stay fixed on his hands. He sighs. “He’s probably wondering where I am.” 

Tommy tries to keep the surprise off his face, but something must get through. 

Evan grimaces. “We had a disagreement the other night. I know he’s trying to make up for it, in his own way, but…I. I just wanted to be somewhere else for a while.”

Tommy’s not sure what to say to that. “Well,” he finally gets out, “like I said, you’re always welcome here.”

Evan nods a little, but it’s clear his mind is elsewhere. “Do you—” he starts, and then stops. Tommy cocks an encouraging eyebrow. “Do you think…that is…”

Tommy waits. Evan will decide how he wants to say whatever it is—or decide not to—in his own time. 

Evan looks back down at his hands. “We did everything we could to save Bobby,” he says. It’s a statement, kind of. He looks up at Tommy. “Right?” he asks, eyebrows furrowed, and his expression is full of such naked vulnerability that Tommy is tempted to look away. He doesn’t, because Evan Buckley deserves all the courage Tommy can muster, even if he’s never had quite enough. 

Tommy takes a slow breath in, and lets it out, and reminds himself that giving in to the rage igniting in his chest would be neither helpful nor productive. But what the fuck, Eddie?

“Evan,” he says firmly, “of course you did. You all did.”

Evan looks up at that. “We did,”he corrects, and shoots Tommy a tentative little smile. 

“Of course we did,” Tommy agrees, unwilling to quibble about his own minor role when there are much more important things he needs to say. “It was an impossible situation, and everyone did their absolute best.” He starts to reach out for Evan’s hand, and then stops himself, and then Evan reaches out and takes his hand anyway. “Unless there was a secret second vial we didn’t account for—which there wasn’t—there was nothing more anyone could have done.” He pauses and thinks about how he wants to say this. “It was horrible, and tragic, and I know that every single person there would have done absolutely anything to prevent it. Which is how I know no one could have.” He smiles, but it’s small and sad. “If the folks who were there that day couldn’t find a way, then there just wasn’t a way to find,” he finishes. 

Evan slumps a little in his seat. “Yeah, that’s—” he stops and swallows. “That’s what I thought too, but then Eddie said—” He cuts himself off and shakes his head. His shoulders are curled in, making him look small. Tommy hates it.

“Hey,” Tommy says, squeezing Evan’s hand, and Evan looks up at him. “I know everyone is hurting”—he was going to be diplomatic about this if it killed him—“but that is some Grade A bullshit.” Evan blinks at him. “That’s a fucked up thing to say, sweetheart, and I’m so sorry someone said it to you.” The endearment just slips out, and he doesn’t overthink it. He kept himself from saying What the fuck is wrong with your best friend? and I don’t think grief is a good enough explanation for that level of cruelty, so he gives himself a little mental high-five for his restraint.  

Evan blinks a little faster and lets go of Tommy’s hand to wipe at his eyes. He laughs a little. “God, I don’t know why I can’t stop crying.”

Tommy’s got a few hunches, but he doesn’t voice any of them. He shrugs. “Grief is a bitch like that.” He smiles at Evan and gestures at the box of Kleenex on the end table. “I buy tissues at Costco, so, you know—cry as much as you need to.” 

Evan laughs again, and relaxes back into the couch. Tears continue to slip down his face, and he periodically wipes them away. They sit there for a while, and the silence is comfortable. Tommy doesn’t take his hand back, and Evan makes no move to let it go.  

After a while, Tommy gets up to take a real shower, and Evan gets up to stir the sauce. He’s asleep on the couch when Tommy comes back, and Tommy pulls the afghan down from the back of the couch and carefully pulls it over him. He checks on the sauce and then settles into the armchair with his book. The house is quiet, and it smells amazing, and something in Tommy’s chest is settled for the first time in weeks. 

Evan wakes up when the kitchen timer goes off. He blinks a few times, and smiles a little when he sees Tommy in the armchair. Tommy smiles back.  

They eat pasta—the meat sauce is fantastic—and then Tommy serves them bowls of ice cream drizzled with caramel sauce. They eat it on the couch while while they watch some nature documentary, and Tommy follows almost none of it because he keeps glancing over at Evan’s profile. He looks soft and relaxed, and that terrible brittleness seems to be gone. He’s still marked by sorrow—he always will be, to some extent—but he doesn’t look empty anymore. 

Eventually the ice cream is gone, and the documentary is over. Evan shifts on the couch and glances at the clock in the kitchen. 

“I should get back,” he says, with visible reluctance, and Tommy doesn’t hesitate. 

“You could stay,” he says. 

“You mean for the night?” Evan asks, tentative again the way he was when Tommy first walked in to find him in his kitchen. 

“Sure,” Tommy says, “that.” He does not sell it, at all, and a slow smile starts to spread on Evan’s face. 

“Yeah?” he asks, and they both know what he’s asking. 

“Of course,” Tommy says, soft and sincere. He straightens a little. “I have a guest room,” he says, and Evan’s smile dims. “Not like that,” he says quickly. “Just—you’ve been through a lot, and if you just need a safe place to be for a while…”

Evan’s nodding as he talks, and he shifts closer to Tommy on the couch, meeting Tommy’s eyes. “I do need that,” he says. “I do need a safe place to be right now. And that’s you, Tommy.”

It sits there for a second because Tommy doesn’t know what to say, and Evan’s smile falters. Tommy reaches out for his hand. 

“Oh,” he says, and it’s soft and a little awed. “I didn’t”—he clears his throat—“I didn’t know that.”

Evan nods gravely. “I’ll do better this time. At making sure you know.”

Tommy grips his hand tighter. “I—me too. I’ll do better.”

Evan smiles at him, sweet and pleased. “We both will. We’ll do it right this time.”

Tommy can’t argue with that. God knows they have a laundry list of stuff to talk about, to figure out, but…

“We will,” he agrees, and for the first time, he lets himself truly believe it. 

[lostintheuniverseslies]

I've been reading a lot of whump!Buck fics and it's been raining here so this came to mind. Hope you enjoy!

Buck is lying on the ground in the rain, staring up at a sky that’s somehow too bright for such a gloomy day. His mind scrambles to catch up. Why is he on the ground? Why does his body feel like it doesn’t belong to him? His breath rattles in his chest, uneven and wet, and though he knows something bad happened, he can’t quite piece it together. 

Then, pain crashes into him like fire. It floods every inch of his body, crushing, suffocating. His chest screams with every shallow breath, his ribs aching as if they’re caving in. 

Somewhere close, someone is talking—frantic, desperate—but not to him. No, they’re talking to someone else. A dispatcher, probably. 9-1-1. 

He’s been here before. Close to death too many times to count. But this time? This time feels different. Final. 

He’s accomplished almost everything he wanted to in life. His sister is happy, married to an amazing man, and building the family she always dreamed of. And Buck? He found the love of his life. He just wishes he could have spent forever with them. 

But that’s life, he supposes. 

He has no regrets.

That thought should scare him. It doesn’t. 

A strange, eerie peace settles over him, maybe because the pain is fading. Or maybe because everything—the rain, the voices, the world—feels like it’s happening miles away.

His breaths come slower, weaker. Keeping his eyes open is a battle he’s losing. And deep down, he knows. This is it. He’s lived a good life. He can let go, knowing the people he loves will be okay. They’ll grieve, they’ll hurt, but they’ll get through it. 

All except maybe one.

Even though they broke up, Buck knows the news of his death will tear Tommy apart. And the thought of him grieving alone is the one thing that makes this unbearable. 

With the last dredges of his strength, he fumbles for his phone. His fingers feel sluggish, barely responsive, but muscle memory guides him. 

One number. 

The one he’s resisted calling, the one he swore he’d never dial again. 

It rings.

And rings.

And rings—until the voicemail picks up. 

“Tommy,” Buck rasps.

His voice is hoarse, strained, barely more than a whisper. The wheeze in his breath is unmistakable. Tommy will hear it. He’ll know. 

“Don’t shut them out again, okay?”

Buck swallows against the burn in his throat. His chest is so tight. He blinks, and suddenly there are tears in his eyes. Not for himself. For Tommy. For the image of him pushing everyone away, hurting alone. 

“You’re allowed to let them be there for you. Please–Please let them be there for you.” 

The wheezing worsens. Buck isn’t sure how much longer he has. He forces out the words that matter most. 

“I love you.” A shaky breath. “I hope you know that. I love you more than I’ve ever loved anyone.”

His lips twitch, not quite a smile, as his mind supplies an image of Tommy: kind, gentle, sharp-tongued, funny, sassy. So damn easy to love. 

“You deserve to be loved.” His voice cracks. “I really hope you find the person you’re meant to spend your life with. No matter what you think, I’m grateful. So grateful. That you were my first, and my last.”

He wants to say more. One more ‘I love you.’ One more goodbye. 

But his fingers are numb. His grip slackens. He’s pretty sure the phone slips from his hand, but he doesn’t hear it hit the ground.

He doesn’t fight it anymore.

He said everything he needed to say.

So Buck, feeling the most peace he’s ever known, closes his eyes—hoping Tommy and his family will be okay. 

he's not dead I PROMISE. I'm considering writing a Tommy POV of when he checks his voicemail 🤷‍♀️

Part 2 is here!

[revelboo]

Do you have any crumbs for my big boi Fort Max or Nightbeat? 🥹🥹

Fort Max definitely needs some love- what Overlord did to him hurt me. Kup and Percy are next. 18+ 🌶️

Move

Fort Max x Reader

• “Anything new, Red?” He asks, reaching up to toggle a switch before gripping the steering yokes of his ship. ‘Since the last update a breem ago? No,’ Red Alert’s voice crackles over the comm, almost sounding amused. ‘If you’re that bored, I’ll see what I can dig up.’ It’s not boredom, though. Sometimes the quiet and solitude gets to him. Knew it was part of the job when he took it, but there are times when he’s staring out at the stars that he can swear space is closing in on him. His ship. Loneliness and too much time talking to Red, his friend’s paranoia starting to infect him. “Find me some trouble.”

• Anything but staring out the viewport at that emptiness. At nothing until he feels so small. Can hear Red on the other side moving around, and honestly, he just needed to hear another voice. To know he’s not alone. ‘Will do,’ Red says, cutting off the transmission and his servos flex on the controls. Alone with the silence again. With his own thoughts. His processor immediately dredging up Garrus-9 against his will until his servos tighten to suppress the faint tremor. Not this. Not again. Doesn’t want to remember what happened. The aches and phantom pains that still haunt him despite the medics’ best efforts. “Not again,” he whispers, not sure if he’s pleading or praying as he clasps his hands and presses them to his helm, leaning on his console. Willing that awfulness back into the depths of his processor.

• Smile firmly in place as you count out bills and tuck them into an envelope with the customer’s receipt and slide it to the guy, you’re mostly on autopilot. Hi, how are you? How can I help you today? May I see your ID. It’s rote at this point. Jot down a shorthand note of the request, process it, and thank them. Over and over. And over until the faces become a blur. Turning toward the next person in line with that fake smile, there’s a moment of disorientation. Of wrongness like a hook sinking deep into your gut, there’s pain crippling you as you catch at the counter, legs folding under you. Pain lighting you up until you can’t breathe and then you’re simply nowhere. Just an unending point of agony.

• Head lifting as something prickles across his biofield, his lips part as a little organic creature just appears midair and falls to land in an inelegant sprawl on his console. And then shudders, sucking in a sharp gasp. Little eyes opening while it makes a pitiful noise of pain. Trying to push itself up and then falling flat again with another whimpering cry. “Red,” he whispers, activating the comm again and your head turns toward him. Staring with wide eyes before you’re scrambling away, chirping frantically at him in alarm. “Red, answer me.” Leaning forward as you squirm away until you’re wedged against the viewport, trembling and making those awful frightened sounds. “I’m patching in visuals. What am I looking at?” Hears a crackle before Red makes a noise. ‘Where’d you find a human?’

• Everything hurts and the big monster is leaning closer, frowning at you. Whimpering as it growl-revs in a language that sounds guttural and angry, all inhuman noises. And you scream and cover your face with your arms when it reaches for you as if to grab you. But those big servos don’t touch you. Risking a peek, it’s just frowning at you, hand slowly pulling away as it grumbles nonsense. Those red optics narrowing at you. Where are you? What happened? Head turning, you stare at nothingness. Empty and dark, studded with stars. Outer space? You’re in outer space? And wheezing, you throw up.

Next

[shirefantasies]

What are the LoTR Characters' Love Languages?

The Five Love Languages are: Gifts, Physical Touch, Quality Time, Words of Affirmation, and Acts of Service! Everyone has a primary two and this is my headcanon for LoTR 🫶🏻

Aragorn

Words of Affirmation- Aragorn is beyond happy to compliment you in both languages he knows, Elvish dripping from his tongue sweetly onto you as smoothly as your virtues are extolled in the common tongue. As if by magic, your beloved ranger seems to be able to conjure the perfect words at a moment's notice, his words a soft blade cutting through your anxiety with reminders of your strength. All the things which he sees in you that are sometimes lost, all of them dredged up again from the murky waters of your emotion.

Acts of Service- It is not even a conscious effort or choice the way Aragorn moves to protect you. The way he seems to materialize near even an inconvenience to you, his hands at the ready for even the smallest task. A thing as little as unlacing your boots at the end of the day is a joy as simple as breathing. Aragorn provides for you practically without thinking, just as he does for all those who hold a place in his heart. He is a man of service, a man whose heart is betrayed by his every action.

Legolas

Acts of Service- He is quiet with his love, at least at first. You may not hear it directly from his lips every day, but his actions reflect a deep commitment to you. How hard he fights for you and the way he rushes into absolutely any fray to rescue you. Aiding in any passion of yours comes naturally to Legolas, who displays nothing but willingness to learn about the things most beloved to you. After all, you are the most beloved to him.

Quality Time- Respite is earned simply by existing in your presence, that feeling of solace that comes with total comfort. Silence comes naturally to Legolas and as such it can be comfortable alone or with you. He loves to observe and admire the world around him by your side, seeing beauty through your lovely eyes and discussing the unity of it all.

Boromir

Quality Time- Many people see Boromir without truly seeing him, focusing on the stories of his father or the position he has. The victories over the man. To have one person in his life beside his brother who values his presence, his thoughts and conversation and laughter over the show, almost feels unattainable. His favorite memories, though, are the ones of time intentionally spent. Of shaking off the pressure and relaxing or even playing with you, smiles genuine, not forced.

Physical Touch- In the same vein, he wants to feel your presence almost as a reassurance that you are real, you are something which will not disappear from his life easily. He also loves to tease you with touches and watch the way your face changes with every new point of contact, giving a grin or smirk of his own. Contrasting facets that come together into the fantastic, wildly glittering jewel that is your relationship. Every line of them connecting like spokes, you and Boromir at the heart of every crossroads of your shared, beautiful touches, the interlocking of your fingers and joining of your pulse points against each other.

Gimli

Gifts- Gimli would hand you all of Arda on a silver platter if such was possible. You are just about all the world, a realization of every pursuit of beauty, a gift in and of itself he would repay with any amount of his people’s wealth. Even the most modest gift from you is treasure in his eyes, something that tethers your thoughts as it made him rise to the forefront of your mind- what a blessing!

Words of Affirmation- Love of nature’s many virtues, many displays of greatness and beauty, keeps Gimli’s eyes fixed upon the world around him. Or it did until you came along, and suddenly his eyes are only upon you. Every statement made about those fairest things which he has seen are only to speak of how they pale in comparison to you. That every hint of the earth's beauty he strives to preserve and show to all who would admire it radiates from your very smile. You, this most beautiful thing, are his. Your own person wholly, but one gift he need not fully share. All Gimli's words upon this subject are either reverent praises or statements of your virtues and personal strengths as facts.

Frodo

Words of Affirmation- Being a very emotional person, Frodo understands and feels the ebbs and flows of the mind’s waves. So much does he endure that sometimes all that can reach him is a comforting word, a reminder that he is not alone. That what he does is worthwhile. Eloquent as his uncle raised him to be, he uses his words to reassure you too. To express all the beauty of the world around you and compare your comfort to that of warm sunshine and grassy fields. To share every reason you were put upon the earth.

Physical Touch- This one tends to surprise people, but touch makes Frodo feel loved. He expresses his care with forehead kisses and holding hands, whether this is with friends or romantically. Touch can connect you literally and figuratively- the act of holding each other up and supporting each other’s hearts is only strengthened by joined hands or held and helped bodies.

Sam

Physical Touch- The feeling of closeness and connection brings a flush of joy up through Sam’s heart unlike anything else. The comfort of a touch is unmatched in his mind, even if it reddens his face and speeds his heartbeat. It’s worth it if it’s you. It’s not all about that, either- offering his hand to help you up, opening his arms when you are feeling sad or broken, even simply falling asleep at your side. The feeling of your weight upon his or your joined skin is intimate, warm. Never gets old.

Quality Time- The reason he loves you? Quite simply it is you. Sam doesn’t need a fancy present or a trip to the grandest city in Middle Earth to love you, he just needs you by his side making his heart race with your smile and every time you take his hand. When he’s nervous your presence eases him. When you’re in danger, you give him courage because he knows he’s standing up for the most important thing in the world: the gift that is you.

Merry

Words of Affirmation- At the end of the day, Merry values concrete communication and reminders. He will tell you he loves and values you because, simple as day, it’s true. The words pour from his lips without a second thought, rushing with the natural power and flow of a waterfall tumbling off rocks. His reassurances are spoken easy as breaths, phrased as truths unquestionable because he truly cannot fathom anything beyond his reality that you are beautiful, capable, his partner in crime, a gift to him.

Acts of Service- Just as words are concrete in Merry’s mind, actions are the mirror, the reflection to his anchoring statements. Following through on showing you he cares. He fights for you, be it with actions or stepping forth with words in your defense, righteous anger at any insult directed your way. The moment any pain or ill health takes you, Merry is there happily making a nest and preparing every possible care he can provide you, even if it is simply to stay by your side and remind you how strong you are.

Pippin

Physical Touch- Closeness is what makes him feel most loved. The reassurance that you want to be with him, you want the feeling of him against you in some way. Many people have pushed him away, kept their distance from him, so those that choose to be by his side? They set his heart soaring with fullness. His love for you is deep and big and boundless and it manifests in wanting to feel you, to maintain this closeness. Magnetic pulls, simply put, anchor him physically to the love he thought was unattainable for so long.

Quality Time- In conjunction with his desire for physical tethers to you, Pippin thrives on reminders of your choice. He genuinely loves to be around you, too; you make him so happy! Around you, Pippin can be himself and also look at and listen to you, and what a wonderful bonus that is! He doesn't need anything fancy, even just a pair of chairs, simply to hear your words and do his best to make you smile. He'll do just about anything with you, talking and dancing and picnicking and berry picking and napping and reading and painting and bathing and laughing and even crying if you can support and enjoy each other's presence in the process.

Faramir

Words of Affirmation- Faramir works tirelessly to give what he did not receive. Having never been affirmed growing up, he makes a concerted effort to express what he loves and respects about you. All the good you do in his life and in the world around you- reminders that you have a place amidst it all. He crumples at your many words of comfort, the utter love and reassurance that pours from you easily. Answering back to Faramir's every doubt whispering from years deep in the corners of his mind. Your speech brings a special, tearful smile to Faramir's face, which leans into your hand as you caress his cheek and appreciate him more and more.

Quality Time- Conspicuity fails upon Faramir. He needs no grand gift or sacrifice when he can simply have you. Your hand in his, your laugh as he tells an old story from his childhood, descriptions of your every dream shared to him in a moment of beautiful vulnerability. Talking to you, laughing and crying with you, that feeling of an amazing person giving him full focus, will never age in his mind and his heart.

Eomer

Gifts- Eomer prefers physical representations of his caring- things that can be held, felt, used. Of course, things that lead their recipients to think of the other every time they lay a hand upon it. His gifts tend to be practical, things that will be used often, but as you draw closer his natural sense of provision takes over, lending him to spoil you with more beautiful things.

Quality Time- At the end of the day, what matters most to Eomer is to have someone to come home to. A presence which is consistent. Warm. A shoulder to lean on and a neck to bury himself in as he mutters about his day and asks you about yours as well. Beyond anything he wants to know that you want to be around him as much as he would like the same.

Eowyn

Words of Affirmation- Most of all she loves to hear and share love audibly, a reassurance that you care. Words to attempt expressing even the beginning of her feelings’ depth and breadth. In all of Eowyn’s life there has been doubt, uncertainty, a feeling of wrongness. You are right. You see her right, speak it as if into existence.

Acts of Service- Beyond defending you with her life upon the battlefield, Eowyn naturally finds herself servicing and providing. Years of work in service have attuned her to the needs of others, your own included. She attempts to cook for you, insists on sitting you down to bandage your wounds, and dotes on you if you have periods especially if they are painful or nauseating to you.

Haldir

Acts of Service- Expressing himself in words is difficult. Leaving things you need in accessible locations? Cleaning your weapons or tools? Coming to your rescue if you find yourself staring into the face of danger, Valar forbid, and holding and caring for you pours every ounce of Haldir's love into you- can you feel it? Your responses show that love need not always be spoken.

Quality Time- In a similar vein, Haldir feels the honor of your presence and wishes to honor you. Being more of a listener than a speaker, it gives him great joy to sit at your side and hear your thoughts, your musings, even your comings and goings of the day. It takes him out of his battle formations or the pressure of maintaining the purity and safety of his beloved Lothlórien.

Galadriel

Words of Affirmation- Galadriel's gifts give her unique sight into your heart, though she tries not to pry and look too deeply. However, bearing witness to the waves in your mind and, of course, seeing them upon your face, moves her beyond the stillness of her sight. Deep vision grants her access to just the right words to pull a smile back from the clouds rolling across your countenance. In turn, your words center Galadriel, anchor her to a world she sometimes feels out of place in. Pull her back from the longing she feels and loneliness unlearned.

Gifts- In a way, she likes to show her innate sense for you. A gift that is exactly what you want or need proves Galadriel’s place in your life in a way she never realized how strongly she desired or needed. Always did she have a place, but it was lonely. Until you showed up and made eternity more bearable. She cannot help decking you out in pretty things, though many of her gifts are practical, functional. She has to keep you safe, after all.

Elrond

Quality Time- What could be more important to one who has lived so many lives of men over? Beauty can fade and things can break, but there is no replacing you. You who is there to listen, to take the burden off of those years, you who share a perspective unlike any Elrond has seen before, who honor him with the gift of your presence and the choice to be by his side every single day. What could make him feel more loved?

Words of Affirmation- Being together means seeing the darker side of each other. Shedding tears otherwise unseen, lamenting that which might never have been shared. The one boon of seeing so much darkness in his lifetime is that Elrond knows what will pass, possesses wisdom beyond his perceived years that he can whisper as he holds you.

Arwen

Words of Affirmation- Playful as she can be with you, Arwen peppers you with genuine descriptions of your virtues, lacing her words with the love she has for you. Her perception is deep, accurate, precise in the way she understands and speaks praises and observations. Her words show how she listens and is willing to bear your burdens despite the years of her own she has endured. That she knows you will do the same for her and has the utmost confidence in the love you have both chosen.

Physical Touch- Arwen's touches are ephemeral, feather-light, but sensual and meaningful beyond nothing else. The simply slide of her fingers over the skin of your arm or chest, resting over your heart, speaks volumes of her feelings before she leans in to connect your lips. The tingles that burst beneath your skin bring smiles to your lips and awe to your heart that such an amazing elf sees you like a mirror, the same love and beauty you proclaim staring back at her for her to ravish.

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[ephemii]

𝐂𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡 𝐌𝐞! 🦇☁️🌙

⭑genre: fluff, romantic or platonic

⭑pairing: lilia/yuu

⭑cw: none!

✶notes: haven't posted in a hot second! got very busy with college, but i decided to write this as a treat! enjoy~

A long day had passed once again, leaving a relieving calm to wash over the campus. Golden afternoon glow gave way to lavender haze, a watercolor meld of dwindling daylight and the bleeding eve of night. It was on the last dredges of days like these that Yuu would be shedding their stress and aiming to unwind by themselves, weary after dealing with the troubles of their ever considerate headmage and two loveably idiotic best friends.

.... Well, that's what they would have loved to be doing, anyways. Intead, they were several dozen feet off the ground.

Their hands grip onto those of their fae friend like a lifeline, muscles pulled taut and straining as they fight to maintain a secure hold while they dangle precariously, reeling from the contrast of their fear for their life and Lilia's boisterous laughter ringing across the quiet horizon. If it were any other situation, Yuu could have mustered the praises that compiled at the tip of their tongue, admiring the way the deep magenta of his irises glinted like precious stones and the demure sunlight reflecting from beneath his flowing onyx locks of hair— alas, they were left to reserve their strength for the periodic yelps and shouts they emitted any moment they looked beneath them and the impressive height Lilia had managed to guide them through. They had never once thought that they would have such an epiphany— to realize that they had taken gravity itself for granted, they had to truly commend Lilia for making that a possibility to begin with.

"A youthful smile does you more justice, my little bat," Lilia giggled cheekily, his fangs glinting brilliantly, "why, you're on top of the world!"

"Set me DOWN, Lilia!!" Yuu ignored his spirited jargon, pleading vehemently.

Lilia’s laughter echoed like music in the crisp air, each note teasing and light. “But why would I do that when the view is simply exquisite?” He gestured expansively, as if presenting his life's work in an art gallery. Yuu screamed, scrambling to latch their now empty hand onto his sleeve, feeling like their heart had caught in their throat. Below them, the sprawling campus looked like a patchwork quilt stitched together with fading hues of the day, and once again they inwardly cursed the fae for not giving them an opportunity to admire it peacefully.

"Lilia, for Sevens' sake!!" Yuu clenched their teeth, the world swirling beneath them. “This isn’t exactly my idea of a good time!” they protested, their heart racing as they nearly whined in fear.

“Oh, come now! A little thrill never hurt anyone.” Lilia’s hair fluttered against a pleasant gust of wind, a flurry of iridescent colors that glinted in the twilight. He reveled in the sensation of weightlessness, the sheer excitement invigorating him. “You’ve been cooped up for far too long. A bit of adventure is good for the soul!”

Yuu squinted at the horizon, trying to focus on anything other than the dizzying height. “I thought you were supposed to be helping me relax, not give me a heart attack!”

With a mischievous glint in his eyes, Lilia leaned in closer. Yuu looked up at him, eyes boring into his pleadingly— yet all their hopes were quickly shattered the moment his smile widened.

“How about this for a little fun?” Before Yuu could process what he meant, Lilia tossed them upward with a swift, strong heave.

Stars damn it all, they forgot he was that strong.

Yuu’s scream cut through the air as they soared for a split second, staring down at Lilia with wide, bewildered eyes. They didn't know whether to feel warmth or sheer anger at the way he laughed so exuberantly, looking like the very inspiration of joy, painted onto the backdrop of a calm autumn. Just as panic set in, and they were ready to pray to whatever gods safeguarded Twisted Wonderland, Lilia caught them with readily open arms, wrapping them up securely with his legs around them. Yuu grunted at the impact, gasping at the immediate relief rushing through them in dizzying waves.

“Surprise!” he giggled, clearly delighted by their shocked expression. “What did I tell you about living a little? How was that for a ride?”

Heart pounding, Yuu buried their face in his shoulder as they clung to him like a lifeline, mortified but unable to suppress a small, breathless laugh.

“You’re insane!” they lamented.

“Oh, but what is life without a healthy dose of heedlessness?” Lilia grinned onto their cheek, holding them tightly as they swayed gently in the air, “Look at you, all flustered. Isn’t it just the most exhilarating feeling?” he said with a reverence that made them wonder if he truly worshiped the thrill of the chase. The contrast of his deft fingers brushing through their hair caused a small shudder to wrack their limbs.

Yuu could feel their cheeks heat up as they took a deep breath, their initial fear giving way to a strange titillation. “I mean, maybe...." they admitted, peering out from their hiding spot. “...as long as you always catch me.”

Lilia processed their words for one quiet moment... Then he grinned, something more warm and tender as he looked down at them. Yuu averted their gaze, to which he chuckled quietly, that deep, melodious and quick staccato, his eyes crinkling with mirth.

“Then what say you to another round? I promise to catch you again, but you have to let go of that fear!”

With a mix of trepidation and enthralment, Yuu nodded, their heart racing in anticipation. Even then, they smiled delicately— No matter how hard they tried, they could never say no to him.

while i'm not inexperienced in writing, it's still a bit exciting finally writing for twst! i have a lot more in store, and hopefully i can finish them up and post them soon if time allows :] thank you for reading! 🤍🩷🤍

[bbydoll18xx]

This Is Me Trying

'I just wanted you to know that this is me trying.'

Azzi Fudd x Reader

Based on this request (sorry it took forever lol)

Masterlist

Word Count: 1.1k

Themes: depression, mild alcohol abuse, hurt/comfort

A/N: hiii so here i am trying out writing for someone other than Paige, and I really hope you like it! If this is a decent success I may write for other people as well :) And of course it was time to write a fic to go along with my most favorite song of all time (folklore stans rise up)

Lets do thisss

also sorry this is lowkey kinda depressing i am a sad girly

~

Your lack of sleep was showing in deep purple bruises under your eyes that no amount of even the heaviest concealer could adequately cover. You haven't slept well in days, and today’s shift had not helped your exhaustion. The day was filled with incessant neediness, people cussing you out, and an endless amount of shit.

Literally and figuratively. 

You walk into your apartment, just wanting nothing but to fall into Azzi’s warm and loving arms, but you’re met with the still darkness of an empty home. Your girlfriend was in Las Vegas playing against the Aces, and she would not be home until tomorrow afternoon. 

She had promised to call you after the game, but you weren’t sure if you would even make it through your shower, much less wait up for her by the phone for another three hours. 

Your eyes fill with tears, the feeling of overwhelming loneliness mixing with your exhaustion, and as you throw your stuff on the floor, dredging your body into your bathroom, letting the downpour of water drown out your own tears. 

You had become quite accustomed to hiding your feelings behind bright smiles and fake laughs, desperate to clutch onto the need to prove to everyone that you were okay.

Even if you really weren't.

Your girlfriend had enough stress on her, and the idea of her needing to worry about you, too, was enough to send guilt shooting through your entire body. 

You had kept up your facade all throughout college, choosing to take long, solo car rides until you had to pull over, the tears swimming in your eyes nearly blinding you. And when you were strung along to the bars with Azzi and the rest of her teammates, you drowned your sorrows and fears with liquor, numbing your thoughts and your body until you were delirious. 

You were the golden girl. 

You knew what jokes to crack for which group of people you were around at the time. Your grades were stellar. And you had bagged the prettiest, sweetest girl in probably the entire universe. 

So, you resented yourself for feeling anything other than being on top of the world, because it was actually quite the opposite.

It got worse once you graduated. 

Azzi was often gone, traveling for away games, and that left you alone to process the unimaginable emotions that came with your budding nursing career. Feelings of loss and incompetence clouded your brain constantly.

Today was no different. 

You had lost a patient, a kind, gentle woman who finally let go, taking her last breath while gripping your hand, completely alone. 

It broke you, and the devastating reality had sunk into your chest, crushing all of the air out of your fragile lungs. And you were now gasping for air, leaving you feeling bereft and vulnerable, like an open wound. 

Maybe that’s all you’d ever really be, and you could not help but think that you were the festering wound in yours and Azzi’s relationship, threatening to slowly tear it apart until the two of you were left standing in the tattered shreds of what used to be. 

You wanted things to be okay so, so badly, but the overwhelming feelings of loneliness and longing had set in, chilling you down to the bone. And you were scared. 

So you would just continue on pretending. 

Azzi comes home the next day, and you put the mask back on the second she walks through the door. You’d be lying, though, if her presence didn’t make you feel the tiniest bit whole again. You melt into her arms, drinking in her presence, as she rubs your back soothingly, her face pressed into the crook of your neck. 

Maybe everything would be okay, if only you could be honest with her.

~

Azzi lays in bed next to you, and you indulge in the way her smell has permeated the soft bedsheets again, after days of the scent slowly becoming less and less potent. She smells warm and comforting, and you nuzzle into her, desperate for her to fix every little part of you that was screaming out in insecurity and despondancy.

A low sigh escapes your throat, secretly wanting your girlfriend to pick up on your mood, and because she knows you better than anyone else, she does. 

“What’s wrong, baby?” She questions, her tone filled with concern and worry. She places a hand on your cheek, coaxing you to look into her eyes, and the glow of the lamp on the bedside table illuminates the kindness emitting from her deep brown irises. 

“I–” You begin, taking a deep breath and then stopping. Trying to put all your emotions into coherent words was quite the task. And honestly, you were terrified of how Azzi would react. 

Her thumb strokes your cheek, as she sits up fully next to you in the bed, eyes still peering into yours. 

“It’s okay, it’s just me,” she murmurs gently, and something clicks inside of you.

It was Azzi. You could tell her anything, and it would never even come close to dimming any of the love she felt for you. 

In that moment, all the anxiety you felt about coming clean seemed silly, like it had been built up in your head to great heights, and here it was now, crashing down all around you.

“I’ve been really depressed,” you mumble, your cheeks feeling warm from her touch and the prickling of shame. “For a long time, actually. And I really fucking miss you. I hate feeling like a needy girlfriend, but I don’t know how much longer I can keep doing this.”

The confession pours out of you, and as the air stills between you, your heart races as you watch Azzi’s face contort into a look of hurt and confusion.

“Oh, baby,” she breathes, scooping you up and setting you into her lap, legs draped over hers as she interlaces your fingers with hers. 

“I’ve been missing you, too. And I didn’t want you to feel like you had to sacrifice your career for mine,” she murmurs, pressing a kiss onto your temple. 

Your shoulders sag in relief, and you connect your lips in a kiss. There were numerous unspoken words shared as your lips entwined in a sheer display of passion.

As you break apart, you gaze back into those dark brown eyes, pupils now blown wide. “Guess this means we’ll have a lot more time to be doing this,” you giggle, wagging your eyebrows at Azzi.

She shakes her head fondly. “Just want my sweet, happy girl back,” she whispers in your ear.

Little did she know, you already were.

~

I really hope everyone enjoyed this. I have been toying around with a lil Pazzi fic, so let me know if you'd be interested :)

xoxo katy

Taglist:

@fullladypanda-blog, @omg-imtumbling, @tenaciousglitternerd, @oldcrdigan, @paigebuxkets, @the-other-half , @patscorner , @dietcokesmom , @tndaqltoifwy

Want to be added to my taglist? Comment or send me a message!

[becauseicantthinkwritings]

Till Death Do Us Part II

Part 15 of my Accidentally on Purpose Series!

Billy Russo x Female Reader

Warnings: Alcohol consumption and inebriation.

NOW

You wake up with a slow sigh, still unaccustomed to this cold feeling despite how long it’s been. You really hadn’t gotten used to sleeping alone in the weeks since your departure from Billy.

The technical term for what you were on was a break. The very sound of the word in your head caused an ache in your chest.

Funny enough, your memory of that night had come back to you a week ago, your brain dredging up every forgotten memory of him in his absence. 

It haunts your dreams now, the way he looked at you as you walked down that aisle, the veil covering your face, appearing pure as though he hadn’t pressed his face between your thighs and made you cum on his tongue repeatedly from the moment you’d left the shop, all the way to the chapel. Beneath the veil your hair had been quite askew, only quickly smoothed over a few minutes before.

The memory makes you smile, his eyes, following your every movement, the dress swishing around your thighs, a bouquet he’d bought for you just moments before- a small collection of succulents- because the roses had looked on the brink of wilting and everything else had been sold at that late hour.

The marriage had been ordained by an Elvis Presley impersonator, cracking jokes more than anything else so of course you’d never have thought that any of this was real.

Absentmindedly, you realise you never had a first dance, and you wonder if that even mattered to Billy at all.

You shake your head, sitting up, you really needed to stop thinking about him. The entire point of this break had been to see if feelings lingered if you were apart, but the very thought of it had seemed stupid right now.

How could you forget him? After all the things he’d done to you, and the ways he’d made up for it. He wasn’t the same man you’d first met, and definitely not the one you initially married. He was something in between, and in some ways, he’d become even more than that.

There was no denying that there was something seriously wrong with you. The reminder of all the ways he’d violated your privacy had given you some sort of comfort, instead of the fear it was supposed to elicit. You wonder if he was monitoring you, even now. Maybe you should have demanded he respect your boundaries. 

What if there was a part of you that wanted him to do it? What was really so wrong with what he'd done?

A laugh punches out of you. Here you were again trying to excuse his actions. He was an obsessive, dangerous manipulator who didn't like taking ‘no’ for an answer.

Your stomach grumbles, and you groan, sliding out of bed to begin your day.

He'd been so kind about the separation too, offering to pay for you to stay at a nearby hotel until you'd made your decision, but it was still too close to him, you'd walk out of your building and find yourself in front of Anvil, aching to go in.

So you'd taken his jet all the way to Singapore, where you'd hoped to find a way to sort through your emotions.

He'd even signed the divorce papers, relinquishing them to you to be filed whenever you made your decision. They were sitting in your carry-on suitcase still, burning a hole into your luggage.

And the ring- you feel your heart squeeze as you look down at your left hand during breakfast at the hotel restaurant and find your finger bare- you'd given him back the ring. The look on his face had almost destroyed you. How could you hurt him so badly?

You could barely eat, and you’d forced yourself to go out and explore the city. Singapore, after all, was one of the best cities to be sad in. There were so many dazzling displays, but you could only tolerate them for as long as you didn’t think about him- because the moment you wondered how his eyes would look, glittering in the city lights, or the way he’d kiss the back of your hand and tug you closer to him- it made you achingly depressed all over again, turning away from the beautiful sights to crawl into your cocoon of a bed, in hopes of a better day tomorrow.

Occasionally, to your dismay, you held onto your pillow and cried. You didn’t know why you were crying, if it was just all the pent up emotions, or maybe something else like a deep hatred for yourself, but you’d fall asleep after a fitful cry, and get up in the morning to do it again.

Your marriage wasn’t over yet, and that was all you had to hold on to, laying in your bathtub after a long day, sipping wine, a calm haze sinking over you after your latest sob fest.

After a while, you stand, grabbing your robe and wrapping it around you, moving on autopilot, the bottle of wine in one hand and the glass in the other. 

When the bottle is halfway finished, you feel your usual craving for some burning hot fries,  your stomach grumbling in agreement at the very thought of it. You sway to the phone on the nearby table, picking it up for a second before hesitating. The low humming on the phone makes you nervous, that you were going to have to speak words to another person while you were in a state like this. You could only imagine the judgement that the person on the other line would pass upon you when you stumbled over your words.

Ugh, you put the phone down, only to pick it up a moment later, calling down for an order of fries before you could overthink it. As you put the phone down, you find yourself studying it hopelessly, remembering the last time you’d handled a landline- when you’d been pretending to call for help with your predator of a husband.

The memory brings a smile to your face, and you flop back into bed, pulling the pillow over your head as the memory makes you warm.

You still had that video on your phone- of your wedding night- would it be so bad to watch it again?

There’s a soft knock on your door. You sit up curiously, tugging the robe tighter around your body to make sure you’re presentable before tugging the door open.

Shit, you totally should have checked the peephole first.

Your mouth falls open at the sight of a hotel attendant, holding out a covered tray with a little paper marker with your room number printed on. You accept the tray gratefully, smiling at the woman in thanks, before stepping back to close the door.

Had your food really been made that fast? You hum eagerly when you tug the lid off to find steaming hot fries, curling up with your bottle of wine and eating them happily.

You wiggle your toes, enjoying your delicious snack, scrolling through social media on the new phone you'd gotten, when you happen across a thirst trap video of Billy.

It makes you laugh at first… the footage of him walking into several events, even before you were with him, stopping, a clear hint of irritation in his eyes that only you could recognize. To everyone else it probably just seemed like he was unbothered, but you could see the barest indication that he hated stopping for photos.

And then you see the shot of you and him standing together, and your stomach tingles. The video zooms in on his facial expression when he turns to look at you, completely cropping out your face but it doesn't abate the delight that you feel, because you know he's looking at you.

It seems that the internet had discovered how hot your husband was, and in a way you were both glad, and a tiny bit miffed that he was being admired.

It doesn't stop you from searching his name up and looking through similar videos, frowning when you catch sight of a few news articles about that night you were abducted… the story slowly going cold as time moved on. Billy had been right, the story would die down when people found other things to talk about. The world, to your amazement, just kept on turning.

You almost broke your no contact rule to send Billy these videos of himself, curious to see his reaction to Britney Spears’ Toxic being played while he walks down a red carpet in slow motion, another shot of him inside the party, having a sip of whiskey, the top button of his black shirt open, that dastardly strand of hair in his face.

Were you wet from this? You shift your body slightly to find that the answer is yes, groaning as you drop into the couch pillows.

Extracting yourself from him was harder than you thought.

.

In the morning, you're doing a little cleaning up when your eyes fall on the empty food tray.

You tilt your head, trying to recall the exact time it took between you calling the hotel restaurant and your food arriving. It must have been five minutes at most. You don't even get food at that speed when you're inside the restaurant, let alone the distance they'd have to travel to get it to you. It implied that someone had to have anticipated your order- and what better suspect was there than the man that had stalked you for years without you knowing.

Was Billy watching you? Like actually watching you? And he'd ordered you warm fries because he knew it was your favorite thing to eat while inebriated-

You groan in delight, dropping onto your bed.

Yeah, definitely something wrong with you. But that was so thoughtful… right?

For the first time since you've been apart, you start to feel a little bit better, and you take your time to explore the city again, thinking about him, and whether he was actually watching you or not.

What if he was following you? It wasn't like him to trail behind you like that- at least, not that you knew of- but maybe absence had made his heart grow more obsessed?

My poor husband, you think with delight as you duck into back alleys and through malls to see if your thoughts were right. When you see no sign of him, you wonder if you'd fabricated the entire scenario because maybe it was your heart that had grown more obsessed.

You're looking for a place to duck into and hide to see if anyone would show up, when the neon snake catches your eye.

It's a sign for a tattoo shop, and the wheels turn in your head as you walk toward it, feeling impulsive.

Maybe it's the reminder of being chased by him, that inspires you, or the way you feel right now, like you're playing a game of cat and mouse, and at any moment he might step out of the shadows and pull you into him.

Which… might actually be where you want to be?

You leave the tattoo place hours later, looking around as you leave the mall.

It takes you a second to notice, on the bustling streets of Singapore, but you would know the stance of a bodyguard anywhere.

Even in street clothes, they stick out to you, having seen enough in the past few months to identify the squaring of the shoulders, the slow, precise movement of each step. 

You were in fact, being followed, but not by Billy himself, but by his hidden security detail.

Boring, you think, offended.

You were supposed to be on break, but why did that make you want to torment him so much?

How much mischief would it take to provoke him into showing up? 

You were curious to see what he would do, when confronted with your many misdemeanors, fully prepared to have your heart ripped out if he didn't show up.

But he would, wouldn't he?

Even if you never wanted to see him again, he would show up at the first sign of your distress, that was just the kind of obsessed man he was.

It starts with a shopping spree, that doesn't go well at all. There are fits that don't flatter and sizes much too small and at one point you look into your lumpy reflection in a changing room mirror and swear you're never trying on another dress again.

You crash into bed feeling like absolute shit about yourself and trying your hardest not to cry because you've cried a lot already.

You needed help, you couldn't navigate the vastness of Singapore's fashion district all by yourself and you wonder if reaching out to someone would be a good idea.

You sniffle, reaching for your phone to pull up Sam's contact, typing out a quick text asking her if she had any free time to offer some advice.

Her response is quick, and makes you tilt your head in confusion.

Hello Mrs, Russo, I'm on my way! I'll see you in the morning.

You hadn’t even told her where you were. Not to mention, it was almost an entire day of flying to get here from where she was.

I'm not in New York. You text back.

I know ;) Is her suspicious response.

Was she already on a plane? How would she-

You grin, pressing your palm over your eyes. Your husband was paying very close attention to you.

How dare he? You were supposed to be on break. He should be trying to live his life normally, not watching over you like some stalker.

Yet you giggle, kicking your feet as you pull up Maria's contact.

She answers with a soft excited greeting of your name, followed by the usual pleasantries of ‘How are you?’ and ‘I'm great, thanks for asking.’

“I'm just calling to make sure someone's checked in on Billy.” You say, trying to be vague about the details, because Billy had told them you were away visiting your family.

“I saw him on Monday, he was alive, just a little grey you know?”

Over the phone you can hear a whistle blow, followed by soft chatter and you figure she's at one of her son's football practices.

“Grey?” You ask.

Maria hums in agreement, distracted by whatever she's looking at.

“Scruffy, a little pale. I think he just misses you.”

It hurts to hear in a way you weren't familiar with.

“Oh.” Is all you can find yourself to say.

“If you can, would it be possible to check in on him soon? He tells me he's fine, but…”

“I get it, I will, don't worry. I'll see if I can take him a pie or something tomorrow.”

You let out a soft sigh.

“Thank you for everything, Maria.”

I hope we can still be friends when Billy and I separate, you think sadly.

You bid each other goodbye, before hanging up.

Tomorrow you would know for sure where he was, which would tell you the extent of his stalking.

For tonight, you slide into yet another bath, and try not to let your inadequacies swallow you whole.

.

Coming to the nightclub all by yourself was definitely not the best idea you’ve ever come up with.

But still, it was something to do in an attempt to provoke him.

Maria had confirmed just two days ago that Billy was, in fact, still in New York, throwing himself into work with no attempt to take care of himself.

Again, the thought of him like that had really eaten at you, the urge to care for him lingering even though you hadn’t seen or spoken to him in a month.

Sam had been sketchy on the details when you’d met her for breakfast that same morning, stating that photos of you spotted in Singapore had come up on some gossip sites, which was how she knew where you were. She’d made it seem like she’d know you’d need her, making plans preemptively just in case you called, and taking a nice vacation if you decided not to reach out to her. 

Which was definitely suspicious, but she was indeed a godsend, navigating through designer boutiques, knowing exactly where to look so that you didn’t try on anything that she wasn’t sure you’d love, even going as far as to advocate for you when a saleswoman told her that there was nothing in your size when they’d thought they’d been out of earshot.

She was amazing, and you think by the end of this, if you decided to stay with Billy, you’d ask her to be your official stylist.

However cool you thought clubs were in New York, could never possibly hope to outdo the magnificence that the nightlife in Singapore could hold. All out was an understatement, with laser strobes and dangling crystal chandeliers, there was a mix of old and new that always managed to amaze you.

You’re seated at the balcony bar, overlooking the revelry going on below, the club is filled with pulsing bodies, the music thrumming in your ears, an enjoyable mix that encourages you to sway your shoulders with each drink you have.

You’re in a short black dress, topped with a fancy designer jacket statement piece on top, to show off your legs while shielding you from feeling too exposed. Your heels were black suede with little buckles around your ankles, a little too high for your liking, but you didn’t mind much because you weren’t doing that much walking.

It was nice, albeit lonely, no one to enjoy it with, all by your lonesome as the bartender stared at you with curious eyes as he slid you another glass of wine.

You must have looked pathetic by yourself, but you really didn’t mind all that much, only here to see if you could draw him out.

You hadn’t considered that sitting by yourself at the bar was something else entirely, until a man slides into the space between you and the other person sitting beside you.

“You look like you’re waiting for someone.” The man says, smiling down at you.

He’s quite handsome, as almost everyone in a place like this is, with a tightly fitted shirt, and his hair styles to perfection, you watch him signal the bartender for a drink while you study him and decide on a response.

“And if I am?” You ask curiously.

He smiles, looking unbelievably boyish, and yet still stunning.

“Then it’s their loss because I found you first.”

You make a sound of amusement, smiling up, and when you can’t resist, you let out a little laugh.

“Does that line really work?” You can’t seem to stop laughing.

He takes a sip of the whiskey that’s been slid towards him, but it seems forced, as if his order was to impress you more than his desire to enjoy it.

“You tell me. I got to see your pretty smile after all.”

Your eyebrows raise in surprise, a slither of delight going down your spine at being noticed. Maybe this wasn’t a bad thing.

“I hate to break it to you- um-”

“- Simon,” He offers, taking hold of your free hand to place a soft kiss on the back of it.”

Your brain sort of malfunctions, but not in an excited way, but more in a ‘what-on-earth-is-this-maniac-doing?’ type of way.

“-Simon…” You repeat, “but I’m married.”

His thumb gently circles the back of your hand.

“Are you now? I don’t see a ring.”

Good point.

“W-we’re on a break.” You explain, though you’re not sure why you feel the need to divest this to a stranger.

“He must be an idiot to agree to that. If I had you, I’d fight for you like no tomorrow.”

Which makes you groan internally in disgust. He had no idea the circumstances of your break, and here he was doling out his thoughts that nobody asked for.

“Maybe I’m the wrong one.” You offer, reaching for your glass of wine.

Why is his hand still holding yours? He was trying to be slow and seductive and yet all you were starting to feel was disgust.

His hand trails slowly up to your elbow, dragging the tips of his fingers slowly down your arm again. It felt nice in your buzzed state, but it wasn’t the man you wanted.

“If you’re wrong then I can make you right.”

You laugh into your wine.

“I’m sorry, I think you’ll have to find another girl to charm, I’m not the one for you.”

“So you find me charming?”

Was he even listening to what you were saying? Or was he just trying to say something in hopes that you went home with him?

“Maybe a little,” You answer honestly, “but I meant what I said.”

Your stomach twists as his fingers trail up to your elbow again, this time, he raises his hand to push your hair back, away from your face. You blink, trying not to stiffen in discomfort at the liberties he’s taking.

“You sure? We could-” He doesn’t get to finish his sentence before he’s being grabbed by his shirt and hauled away. 

You watch the back of one of the burly Anvil guys retreat into the crowd, gripping Simon by his shoulder tightly as they move.

You make a small sound of amusement, watching as their heads disappear, and refocusing as someone else fills the space beside you.

At first you think that it’s Billy, your heart picking up speed as the guy with a similar build and height as your husband steps into view. He’s wearing a black hoodie, pulled up over his head, and a black face mask that you see people sometimes wearing when they ride the buses. He’s facing away from the bar, with that classic Anvil bodyguard stance, and when he sees you looking in his peripherals, he turns his head to look at you, and nods.

Blue eyes. 

Your shoulders drop in disappointment, turning back to face the bar, finishing your wine and raising the glass for another.

“Who are you supposed to be?” You ask, staring at him suspiciously. The Anvil guys don’t usually wear masks.

He turns his head to you, distracted from giving a death glare out at the crowd behind you, reaching into his pocket, he pulls out two cards and extends them toward you.

One is his ID, and the other is an Anvil identification, with his face on it, a scar on the lower half of his face that you figure would draw attention if it was visible.

“Dave?” You say, reading the name aloud, passing the cards back to him.

He nods, his hands are gloved, and you wonder why as he places the cards back into his pocket. 

You exhale loudly, raising your glass to take another sip.

.

When you stand to leave, a little after midnight, you wobble on your feet. Dave reaches out to grip your elbow- you’d shed your jacket after the alcohol had made your skin too warm to bear wearing it.

You make a small laugh, playfully tugging your arm out of his grasp, walking slowly toward the steps, your deathgrip on the railing is necessary, because your vision isn’t the straightest, and when you almost stumble, you find Dave once again in your personal space trying to give you support.

You shove him when you get your balance, but it does nothing more than move him a step back.

“You must not value your hands very much.” You grumble, taking another step down.

Dave is sort of annoying really, with the way he hovers, unlike the Anvil guys before. He seems hellbent on staying two steps behind you at all times, but you find this making you even angrier. Billy had really sent you a babysitter instead of coming himself. 

As the door opens, the flashing of cameras catches your eye, causing you to gasp, stepping back and knocking right into Dave.

His hands grip your hips securely, and you turn to look back at him with wide eyes.

“Is there another exit?” You ask, not wanting to be photographed in this state to be seen by many people, even accidentally.

Dave has another idea, pointing at your jacket so that you pass it to him, he tosses the open garment over your head and shoulders, linking his elbow in yours so that he can guide you.

Your arm wraps around his, inching in close so that you can raise your hand to grip his bicep for support, feeling the muscle below his clothes, making you yearn for the attention of the man that wasn’t here.

He guides you into the car, supporting your hips when your legs wobble, and then you wait for the door to close before you tug your jacket off your head.

The car’s tint is dark, but the minute you’re out of sight, the photographers go back to the entrance of the club, taking pictures of people coming and going.

You sigh, relaxing, and then you straighten when the door opposite to yours opens, and Dave slides in.

It was… very odd. You don’t think Billy would ever allow a bodyguard to sit in the back with you. He’s the kind of man who would fire someone if they looked at you for too long.

Was this a sign? Was he pulling away from you?

You shudder out a breath, staring angrily at Dave, who at least has the decency to pretend he doesn’t notice.

Would Billy really give up so easily? After possibly sending you Sam, and the food from the other night? Had you imagined these things in hopes that he was paying attention to you?

You swallow, trying to hold back tears and wanting to take your anger and despair out on this new bodyguard.

Surely, Billy would remove him from your detail if you flirted with him a little.

“Dave,” You call sweetly, and you watch as he tilts his head slightly in acknowledgement.

You raise one precarious foot, extending on the seat till your heel is almost touching him.

“Will you unbuckle my shoes for me?” 

He seems to hesitate, before nodding, reaching for your ankle with gloved hands, sliding closer till your foot is on his lap. He tries to undo the delicate buckle, but the gloves are too thick to get any sort of dexterity.

You watch with half open eyes as he tugs his gloves off, and then you blink in awareness when you finally see his hands.

The exact same hands that have explored every inch of your body.

How could you not know these hands? That have touched you and held you, the perfect combination of coarse and well-kept, a freckle on the back of his right hand, carefully moving to undo your shoe with such careless precision that your body aches at just the sight of his hands.

But you saw his ID card, comes the voice of logic in your head.

Something that would be easy enough to fake, if this was Billy Russo after all. And the blue eyes? Contacts obviously, and maybe he’d swapped his usual cologne for something generic just to throw you off his scent… literally.

He gets your shoe off, and you tug your foot away, bending the knee to get more comfortable as you place your other leg on his lap.

Even this could be a fabrication in your mind. Did you really know his hands so well? Could you honestly guarantee to yourself that you could pick them out in a lineup?

Maybe you could, maybe you would know him by the touch of his hands alone if you couldn’t see. So distinct it was to you, smooth, with an underlying hint of a rough life, mixed with the careful way he always seemed to handle you, all of it, so alike to him.

When ‘Dave’ gets both your heels off, you smile in thanks, bending your other knee, flashing him your panties as you turn to place your feet back on the floor. 

You hear him inhale sharply, and you smile to yourself, pressing your head against the window, closing your eyes, pretending to be tipsier than you really were so that you could come up with a game plan.

You actually don’t come up with any plan, falling asleep easily, the alcohol in your system pairing with the knowledge that he was here and you could barely keep your eyes open for another second.

You only wake slightly when he’s lifting you out of the SUV.

You hum, wrapping your arms around his neck, running your hands over the expanse of his shoulders, committing the sensation of him to memory. 

You needed to know for sure, a foolproof piece of evidence that would solidify him as Billy, and not the Dave he claimed to be.

You know his tattoo would be a dead giveaway, but you didn’t want him to figure out you were on to him either. The discovery had to be subtle, distracting him from what you were doing before he realised.

You decide to fake waking up when he steps into the elevator, groaning, you flail angrily in his arms.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?!” You ask, pushing at him.

He struggles not to drop you as you fight him angrily, tugging at his hoodie, clawing your nails into his collarbone to make a point.

You catch the faintest line of ink on his chest just as he places you down.

You stare at him angrily, wobbling on your feet.

This had to be Billy.

“You’ve got some balls, Dave. It’s a shame Billy’s going to detach them from your body when I ask him to.”

He straightens, a brief hint of amusement before he looks down in apology.

You huff, turning away from him, a combination of inebriation and drowsiness making it really hard to stay standing.

You lean against the wall of the elevator, bare feet on the cold floor, trying to decide what your next move is going to be and frowning when you draw a blank.

You were mad at him, that much you were sure of, and you definitely didn’t want to give away that you knew who he really was.

In the reflection of the elevator doors, you notice your heels dangling from his fingers, the very concept of it making something light up in your brain.

Maybe punishment was in order, for what- you had no idea at the moment- but you wanted to make him squirm.

It’s really fucking hard to make it to your door, and everytime he tries to help you, you smack him away, threatening to have him fired if he put his hands on you again. He never listens, his hands reaching out to grip your hips when you lean too far in one direction.

By sheer willpower you make it to your door, and you huff angrily when the key card refuses to work.

Billy waits patiently this time for you to ask for help, and when you finally turn to him, he’s leaning against the doorframe, staring at you, still wearing that dumb mask and hood.

You grit your teeth, tossing the key card at him, watching as he catches it mid air, which is definitely not what you intended to happen.

He drags it slowly over the sensor once, and the light turns green, you reach for the door handle, pushing it down and stumbling into your room.

You drop your mini clutch onto the marble countertop, bracing against it while you get your bearings.

He’s standing at the door, studying you, and you can hardly bear the sight of his disguise and you don’t understand why.

“Are you a vampire? Do you need to be invited in?” You say snarkily.

He stiffens, taking one step in and letting the door swing shut. He doesn’t move, hands clasped in front of him, waiting for orders.

“Bath.” You rasp, “Please.”

It’s really disrespectful, and you know that, but there’s something about ordering him around that makes you feel good, that maybe he will do anything you say, or maybe he will snap and show you who’s really in charge.

Or the scariest outcome- that he’d leave for good.

He nods, walking to the bathroom and after a few moments, you hear the bath filling with water.

You amble in on jelly legs, sitting on the closed toilet seat to watch him work, holding up bath accoutrements that you’d bought in your time here, silently asking which ones were okay.

When he gets it right, and all that’s left is to get the water filled, you point at the makeup remover and cotton rounds on the sink counter.

“Bring that here.” You say simply.

He picks it up, his hands ungloved, turning to approach you.

You don’t say anything, watching as he extends the products to you, and when you give him a disappointed look, he pulls out a cotton round, putting a liberal amount of makeup remover on it, before he presses two fingers under your chin to tilt your head up.

You close your eyes, unable to look at him, feeling him gently swipe the cotton over your face, pulling your makeup off gently.

“Thank you, Dave.” You say finally, head lolling into his hand, your face feverish against his palm.

He doesn’t respond, his only answer is slight, barely there caress of his fingers on your cheek before he draws away, heading to the door.

“Wait.” You whisper, watching as he stops in his tracks, hesitating before he turns back to you.

“Dress.” You say simply, standing to give him your back.

Your stomach flutters as you feel him drag the zipper down, the fact that this was really him was messing with you. What would he do if you tried to kiss him?

Would he give in? Or would he uphold the pretense of this ‘Dave’ persona?

When he gets the dress undone, you simply utter the words ‘Get out’ before you’re shedding your clothes and sliding into the bath. 

You almost fall asleep there, but when the water gets too cold, you find the strength to get yourself out, grabbing your robe.

He’s left water and Advil on your nightstand, and you huff, crawling into bed, feeling different than you were before.

.

.

.

[with-my-murder-flute]

Re: The Tomb of Dragons ship situation/ending, spoilers for A Companion to Wolves and Angel of the Crows

Like I respect Addison's right to write the stories that feel meaningful to her, she doesn't have to just feed us fanbait, not every author has to do that

but I was white-knuckling up to the very last sentence of the book

I have trust issues ever since A Companion to Wolves, where the first book ends and you're like. I guess they have somehow found a way to survive and be happy in their unusual approach to society's sexual mores! And then the next book begins and it's like "Oh actually the main character is just resigned to permanent unhappiness with this, maybe he will dredge up a thin trickle of joy in life focusing on something totally different." And I'll be honest, I put that book down and never picked it up again, because I did the good girl Catholic thing and thought "Oh well I'll never experience sexual joy or deep enduring love but maybe I'll have like idk a career or some shit" long enough for one lifetime. NO MORE. I just gave up and went back to Every Marine a Wolfbrother.

And then Angel of the Crows was like, "I got shot down every single time I reached for queer joy or relationships and the one relationship that does remain is not really what I want or need and maybe I am a bit fundamentally unlovable, but I'll survive, we get by," and I was, again... I recognize this is not a story for me. It's not what I want from a story. But also, I am so disappointed and tired here.

So with this series I was just so much like... she does not owe us fanbait, I have trained myself to think it's tacky and bad to get upset that an author has not provided the exact kind of representation we want exactly how we want it. I watched the Good Omens fandom explosions and don't want to do that.

But at the same time. We have been hearing about the extreme gay agony of this beautiful muppet for FOUR BOOKS STRAIGHT. He is the world's most sopping wet little meow meow, and quite respectfully, if you do not want your fans to form a frenzy and start burning down uninhabited buildings due to an overload of unrequited textual sexual tension, MAYBE DON'T FOCUS ON IT QUITE SO MUCH.

So I'm here at the end of Tomb of Dragons going, "I guess I'm okay with this? I guess I can live? It's not exactly what I wanted and it's not delivered to the degree I wanted, but I guess we can get by here."

Is this what Stockholm Syndrome feels like? I literally don't believe Stockholm Syndrome is a real thing, I think it's been bunk since the day it was created, but also, this feels like what Stockholm Syndrome would feel like.

I will probably be able to like the new love interest! I can see myself in the future being happy with the way the story ended up going in, once I get over the fact that it went there! This makes sense and I can see it and reconciling all those feelings is what fanfiction's for!

I just also... am not so excited to see what else Addison's working on now. Because this overarching theme or emotional focus on the yearning for warmth and closeness and empathy and touch and desire, and the realization that you will just have to make do with slightly unsatisfying substitutes instead, is just way too similar to the defeatist ways I learned to approach life with when I was a child. It's exactly the mindset I wanted to get away from then and am still learning to let go of now.

I don't want to squash the fandom with my disappointment and negativity, and if fandom does just turn into everyone being angry and bitter that the author personally flipped them the bird and actually everything about these books is proof that they've always been shit, no thanks, not hanging out with that again. If I stick around, it's for Thara getting railed in exactly the way he wants in some happier future, and figuring out what that would look like.

[messyhairedhazeleyeddude]

╔═════ •┈• “I Hear You.” •┈• ═════╗

A Toge Inumaki x Fem!Deaf!Reader || Fluff + SMUT || ˚. ୭ ˚◦˚.

Contents ; Mind reading (reader has cursed hearing), Toge has PTSD, soft touches, hesitant fingering, face-riding, mind control (Toge uses his speech curse), squirting, soft dom Toge, public sex, cock-warming, and a cumshot in reader’s panties.

A/N ; Hi, so I just wanted to explain a little bit of background on this since reader’s curse might be hard to understand for some right away. But, basically, reader is partially deaf from a horrible accident involving a curse that had consumed one of Sukuna’s fingers. It left her with a cursed ability to where she can listen into someone’s thoughts for a limited amount of time at random. However, it has its drawbacks which you will see in the story. Now, that’s all! Hopefully that clarifies some confusion if there is any.

Dynamic ; Best Friends to Lovers

Sexual Dynamic ; Soft Dom!Toge | Bottom!Fem!Reader

P.O.V ; First

Age range ; 18+

Music Suggestion ;

{Y/N’s P.O.V :}

I sat on an oak polished bench with a heavy sigh, facing toward the buildings of Jujutsu High, hundreds of Ginkgo trees shrouding certain parts of their rooftops in a pretty spiral. The same ones lining the path that I walked on to get to our usual hang-out spot.

Their orange leaves danced around my head and landed at my black Mary Jane’s, my glossy lips quirking up into a smile at the perfect shape of the leaf before lifting my Canon camera to take a picture. As soon as my finger hovered over the snap button, it flew away.

Wind being the culprit. A shudder ran down my spine when the gust blew through my {H/C} hair and ruined another shot, making me huff in frustration.

I’ve been dealing with this annoying weather all day. Finally, the day I’m off of studying and training. Left alone to fulfill any hobbies I want for as long as I want with no one calling me on a mission to exorcise curses. And it just had to be windy.

However, I couldn’t complain. Being able to get dressed for the day, something I hadn’t been able to do in a long time— was more than exciting. There was even time for myself to do my makeup and having hours like that as a Jujutsu student would be considered lucky.

Reminding myself of him, I smiled. The memories of his horrible attempts at being on time flashed in my mind and brought a small giggle out of me. Oh, that’s right. How could I forget the example himself? For the boy I was waiting on, getting out of work was non-existent.

The feeling of a warm hand placing itself on my shoulder made me jump out of my seat, twisting around to stand in a fighting position with a little scream. When I saw the recognizable white parted hair and tired, doe eyes of Toge, I clasped both of my hands together and puckered my lips out of embarrassment.

He was quick to be apologetic, repeating the same weird ingredients he usually said over and over again, “Sujiko… Takana..?” But, by now, I somewhat understood what he meant. Takana was used as a form of asking if I was okay. Sujiko… That, I could only guess meant an expression like, ‘Oh gosh.’ Or I liked to imagine it was.

Hanging out with the cursed speech user outside of missions had benefits when it came to understanding his way of talking. Although, that was funny to mention because the way we had come about to regularly seeing each other was far from willing. Or maybe it wasn’t on my end. But, if I could take those doubts back, I would.

Thinking of that dredged up a flashback of how it all started.

•···· ‘ First Meeting Him . . . ’ ····•

My feet slipped while trying to hop onto the next stone in the middle of a river I was crossing, almost taking a tumble into the cold water before I saved myself by stretching out my arms. I regained my balance and breathed heavily, cursing underneath a couple of them.

Then I went for the fifth one, regaining momentum and skipping across each of them until I landed on my toes into the bed of pebbles near the water. Surprisingly, I had yet to cut them on a sharp object sticking through the dirt.

I turned my head from staring down at my legs and white skirt to looking at my reflection in the clear stream.

{E/C} eyes peered back at me, filled with happiness from the moment of quiet, and appreciation for the fact I didn’t have to stress my attention span on anyone. Or that’s what I thought.

Before I could get further with that thought, a headache began to form on the right side of my temple and I placed a hand up to it; worry rising as I knew what was happening when I heard ringing after the throbbing. My curse. It was coming.

I couldn’t understand how it was. A person had to be beside me in order for me to connect to their inner consciousness and they’d have to be in an extremely weak mindset which would take hours for me to perfect in battle.

So, what this was and what this meant was far beyond anything I’ve experienced with my curse. Right up until this very point.

Crouching down to my knees, I started to hold both sides of my head now. The pain and ringing worsening by the minute. I rocked back and forth to try to ease myself. Why was it so hard to connect to them? It was like they were poisoning my brain the more I tried to.

Whoever it was took me forever to process before I could hear the faint sound of mumbling, such a soft and sweet voice.

“What do I do? What do I do? I can’t have her knowing that I stopped to watch her… Even worse, she could think I followed,” I managed to make out what they were saying, the masculine tone rambling on and on, as if the boy had some form of hyperactivity disorder.

Thankfully, the migraine stopped once I was successful in linking. So I was able to stand up straight again. Looking around for the responsible one of my misery.

I figured I’d tell them I knew they were here to lure them out of their hiding, shouting with a lag on any words I couldn’t hear I was pronouncing right, “Who’s out there?! You can show yourself! I won’t be upset with you!” Hope I said that correctly.

The voice paused and no longer spoke a word, a silence enveloping the atmosphere and leaving me to barely confirm that they were still present by checking if my cursed energy was still being used. When I did, I called out a second time, “I promise! I won’t think anything bad of you! I can hear your thoughts! My curse is working with you as of now!”

My attempts at getting them to come out seemed futile and I was about to give up before I heard rustling in the bushes to my left. I turned my head to see who it was and to my surprise, it was that cursed first grade sorcerer. What was his name? Inumaki?

His chin was lowered but his eyes were wide and fixated on mine, like he was in shock. He was nervous from what I could tell in his body language: hesitant in his footsteps, jagged breathing, and small pupils. I could see a shake in how he walked too. Whatever it was that was scaring him about me, it was definitely due to underlying trauma.

And once I heard what he started to think about, I pieced together why, “Okaka, okaka, okaka, okaka.” He continuously repeated the Japanese word for ‘Fish Flakes’ in a panicked tone, his hand moving up to his forehead to press against it. Toge was forcing himself to not think anything because he was worried his curse would affect me.

The poor boy proceeded to break down in front of me, landing onto his knees in the grass while pulling at his hair as slips of actual words were coming into his sentences, “Okaka, I can’t, no! Stop thinking, Ikura, just Ikura! No, no, no, OKAKA!”

I could feel his torment. Having access to someone’s mind wasn’t a gift like people assume it is, this was why. You get to see what they see, feel how they feel, and physically align yourself to the point where it could be labeled as scientifically combining one’s spirit with another. That means I can see all of his past and present. I can understand every single thing Inumaki was trying to do for me in that moment. And it was to save. Save me from him. Only save me from him. That was what he was really trying to say.

There wasn’t enough time left of my ability for me to convince him to calm down and see that nothing was wrong. I was cut off before I could say a word of affirmation and from the look of dull surprise on Toge’s face, he sensed that it was over.

I don’t think I’ll be able to forget that look of sadness in his purple eyes when he came to the realization that everything was fine. That none of his words had hurt or done the things he had saw in his head. It’s what led me to tug his sleeve as he tried to leave.

Inumaki didn’t look at me, but he stopped. Like he was waiting for me to say what I had to say. So, I hurriedly proposed an idea I wouldn’t have blurted out had I not felt rushed, “Can I see you again?”

Admitting this now, I adored seeing that smile curving up his cheeks, as melancholy as it was. It’s what made me start to crush on the boy. He nodded his head and gave me a thumbs up, his eyes squinting into crescent-shaped moons while he remarked, “Shake.”

That was the beginning of our unspoken friendship.

•···· ‘ End of Flashback. . . ’ ····•

I blinked rapidly when coming back from the small memory trip, realizing that I had been staring at Toge the entire time I was lost in it. A blush creeped onto my face, I could feel the warmth scattering my cheeks and I lifted my hands to cover it; leaving my eyes open to keep eye contact with him.

That wasn’t a smart idea. He was bound to know that I was flustered. Inumaki had such an odd increased sense of observation because of his inability to have conversations. I could see it from how he looked at me. It always felt like he was reading into my soul, gently peeping behind the curtains of my brain, and looking at the scripture of my bones whenever he held his gaze on me like he was currently.

A hum left me and I laughed it off, brushing the sleeves of my brown cardigan on my cheeks, stepping toward him, “Pardon that, it’s so cold… Do you think we could go somewhere warmer?”

Toge lingered the stare for a minute before he gave me a break and answered, “Tsuna Tsuna.” I distinctly recall that to mean, ‘Look’ in his vocabulary. Confirming it when he grabbed me by my wrist and pulled me closer, bringing me into a hug.

At first, I thought he was trying to warm me up with his own body temperature but then I felt him taking off his jacket and that made me pull away. The stupid blush on my face wouldn’t ever go if he kept this up. I apologized and waved a hand at the action, “No, no! Thank you for the kindness.. But, you need that too.”

He continued to take it off and walked back to where he was in front of me, throwing the jacket over my shoulders and holding it there with the arm holes wide open.

I stared up at him, his face closer than before, and the details in it enough to make my face burn brighter; like a tomato. Then I slowly slid my arms through the warm piece of clothing, letting it mold into my body, giving him a small smile of comfort and gratitude.

Toge looked me up and down, holding two thumbs up with an exclamation of the word he uses for praise, “Mentaiko!” His eyes smiling at me once again.

Why did he have to be so sweet? I was lost in thought about my crush on the boy for what felt like the millionth time. Tired of stressing my feelings on it but I wasn’t able to say a word about it to him. I didn’t want to ruin a friendship that seemed so fragile by acting on something that’d be so selfish. He wasn’t looking for a girlfriend, he was looking for a friend. Someone he could finally have a connection with outside of his stressors. Not another load to bear.

Shunning myself from having anymore thoughts on the matter, I went to sitting on the bench from earlier again, Inumaki following behind and plopping down next to me.

We sat in silence and watched the scenery like I had been before, helping me calm myself so no more unnecessary romance made me avoid the white-haired boy. I closed my eyes and burrowed most of myself into the jacket to keep some heat maintained, the smell of rice and red mungbean paste wafting from it.

Glancing at Toge, I noticed that he was leaned and fixated on scribbling something on a paper resting in his lap. Seemingly to have got it from the backpack he carried here.

I watched as he jotted down the last of what he needed to write. He shoved the pencil back into one of the pockets of his bag and folded the paper up into a square; handing it to me the moment he was finished. My expression changed into a surprised stare, digging my fingers into the corners of it until I undid the folds one by one.

There was no way I would expect to see what I read on that paper, but I did. Stumbling over the words he wrote with shock.

‘Please, try to connect to me again?’

Looking over at him, my wide eyes met with his purple, calm orbs. Like he was trying to tell me it was okay. Inumaki outstretched his hand and placed it facing up on my thigh for me to hold it, peacefully smirking at me as if he was letting me know that he was ready to talk.

My breathing increased and my eyelashes fluttered, trying to process everything without getting too overjoyed, but that was really hard. He wanted to speak to me. Would I be the first person he’s talked to? Would I be the first to experience a conversation with a cursed speech user?

None of this mattered. The only thing that mattered was getting to experience the connection again and after having so much time to regain control over this cursed energy I had, I was more than prepared to pull it together.

My eyelids shut and I focused every single bit of my attention on Toge’s presence, pinpointing the exact spots of his soul and reaching out a hand to place it on his forehead. Sweeping hair out of the way for my palm.

A buzz of power vibrated through my entire arm and I could hear the sounds of almost thousands of student’s thoughts for a fraction of a second, my head spinning until a snap was heard. And then quiet. I could picture a thin white line in my head, the sound of soft, running water making me giggle. His soul was so gentle and pretty. It was exactly what I thought it would be like.

I opened my eyes to look at his handsome face once more, giving him a nod to let him know that I succeeded in the connection. My heart picking up pace and thumping against my chest as I waited to hear that voice of his.

Quiet but kind, he murmured to me, “Can you… hear this?” I eagerly nodded, a wide grin accidentally peeping from my lips as I said, “Yes! Yes, I can!” His eyebrows raised and he appeared starstruck, choking out in his mind, “You can… And nothing is happening to you? You can talk to me?”

Tears formed in the corners of his ducts out of being overwhelmed, threatening to spill while I continued to shake my head up and down, confirming the one thing he had been wanting almost his whole life.

He scoffed, thinking out loud with more confidence, “I didn’t think something like this was possible for me…” I had never heard him speak so clearly before. Last time he was so hard to hear that I had to listen to each syllable for a clue on what he was saying. Now, he spoke directly into his head.

But, pushing everything to the side, I was curious about his reasoning. Why was he suddenly okay with this? So, I asked him, “What made you want to connect?”

Toge bit his lip at the question and a random look of nervousness crossed his face, his directness failing him as he gave himself away instantly, “I was trying to ask if you would be willing to cross the boundaries of friends and into something more…?” My jaw dropped at what he just said, looking at him like he was insane before coughing a reply, “Wow! I wouldn’t have thought this was what you were going to say! Um…!”

Tilting my head to the ground, I tucked my knees together and sheepishly took the hand that he kept there from earlier. Interlocking my fingers with his and squeaking out, “I think I would really enjoy that…”

This was happening. He was confessing feelings for me I believed didn’t exist a moment ago and telling me he wanted me to be his girlfriend. Holy, shit. Mind my language, but seriously! HOLY, SHIT!

Inumaki squeezed my hand and reached over to grab my chin with his other one, turning me to face him so he could get closer. Observing how I was responding to the situation with a tiny smirk. Was he being cocky? The Toge Inumaki?

He touched noses with me, asking as he barely hovered his lips on mine, “I don’t know why… but I really want to…Is it okay if I kiss you, {Y/N}?” My breath caught in my throat and I froze, responding through my own thought, “Yes.”

There was no hesitation after, our lips locking in a tight hold as he brushed his hand to the back of my neck, tugging me into him to where we were smushed against one other. A small bit of desperation in the pull, causing the both of us to stay in the kiss until we needed a break for oxygen.

I panted once apart, Toge moving his arm from holding my hand to pushing his fingers to my lower stomach, hesitating right around there. He murmured, “Can I go all the way?” Struggling from holding back by the way he was dragging down. I dug my teeth into my tongue and contemplated over the ask, secretly accepting it as soon as he mentioned it. Fuck, I felt like such a bad influence.

“Do it,” I quickly whispered into his ear, nuzzling down into the crook of his neck to hide there afterward. What were we doing? What if someone saw?

Me and Toge were exchanging kisses on an outside bench. We were cuddled up until the white-haired boy laid me down on the wooden planks, his lips dipping for my neck and sucking on parts that were exposed. I gasped, wrapping my arms around him to plant my nails deep into his back. I didn’t mean to hurt him, I was just overstimulated by the rushes of dopamine from every single touch he gave.

It was so soft. Even as he pushed his fingers underneath my skirt and in between my thighs, it tickled me from how delicate he was. This was weird. Who knew I would like someone touching me like this?

Inumaki hovered above my underwear once he got around to them, swallowing nervously while he confirmed with me for a second time, “I can go ahead? You want this?” He was so adorable in the way he quirked his head like a puppy as he asked, his messy hair making me want to squeal. But I refrained.

I decided to vocally express it now, “Yes, I want you to.” Hopefully that would get it through to him. His face almost innocent for that brief moment he asked right until he got the message. A darkness shading over his face before he hooked his fingers on the fabric that covered me. Pushing them to the side and making me hold my breath.

He was doing this to me. He was really going to do this with me. Out in public. My head turned to stare out at the falling leaves with a churning anxiety in my stomach now. Letting the boy above me feel the wetness between my legs with his fingertips, pushing down to my entrance and slowly sliding one third of it in.

If my grip was bad then, I couldn’t imagine how it was once he started. It felt like he was trying to tease me for the first half of it, constantly taking his fingers out, pushing an entire digit inside, then half of another, and proceed to completely abandon the whole thing. Like he was experimenting with me and figuring out which made me feel the best. Eventually, I had to plead, “Toge, Toge…! Can you please… just keep them in?” That was awfully embarrassing.

The purple-eyed boy raised his brows, gushing out an apology and pulling completely away instead, “Oh..! Sorry… You feel really.. nice. I hope this is okay…” Before he went to kiss from my neck down to my chest, all the way to my hips. Looking up at me through those white eyelashes of his as he went for it, wrapping his mouth on my sensitive bud and dipping his tongue to my entrance.

He lapped in and out of me, my legs tensing and squeezing around him on accident while he dragged me into sitting on top of his face. Peering at his eyes that stared straight up at me, the other half of him covered by my thighs and lower half. I humped a tiny bit from how good I was feeling. Unable to stop myself from getting out of hand because he was driving me nuts with his pace.

I couldn’t keep it in for longer if he kept pressing the tip of his tongue on those sweet spots inside. Or if he kept sucking on the right places. Anything. I would unwind. And I didn’t want to make a mess on him.

Without me saying a word about it, it was like he knew I was close because of how fast he got all of a sudden. Thrusting his tongue until my legs were shaking. I cried out, reaching for and tugging on his hair. Toge groaned on me, sounding like he was annoyed, “Cum already.”

Those were real. He actually said that. And I couldn’t respond to it because my first instant reaction was to scream, collapsing forward onto the arm of the bench to hold tight as I rocked my hips.

All of my juices fell out of me and anything that couldn’t be caught by him dripped down the sides of his cheeks onto the floor. I twitched and lifted myself off, my shoes thudding on the concrete as I tried to regain my balance. Jesus, fuck, I can’t believe he did that. I can’t believe WE did that. I was so dizzy from it, I didn’t know how I was awake. My hand reached up to rub my forehead.

Although, I had no idea that Inumaki had different plans. The sound of another command from him frightening me to my core, “Take them off.” I didn’t even know what he was telling me to take off but I went for his pants anyway, guessing that he could mean something and I would still do it despite not knowing. His ability was something else. And to say that I’m not freaked out about what he was telling me to do was an understatement.

Toge was making me hook up with him. Not like I wasn’t going to in the first place, I’m only confirming this because he was going down this route and I shamefully liked it. Well, loved it…

After taking his cargo pants off of him and resting them at his knees, he helped take off his boxers next, making me cover my eyes out of sheer inexperience. I’ve never seen one in real life. And here I was about to see Toge’s. This was my first time. He seemed to get how I was feeling because he patted my head for reassurance, cooing at me in thought, “Take your time… Sorry that I’m so eager. I hope you aren’t minding, {Y/N}..”

Oh no, I was far from minding. I snickered at myself and dropped my hands from my face, excusing my behavior, “Crap…! I don’t mean to act like a kid! I haven’t done this and it’s so nerve-wracking!” Red was covering my cheeks once again as I glanced over to see his exposed erection, becoming a flustered heaping pile of mush.

Toge huffed, “That’s why I was saying uh… those commands.. If I keep doing it, will that help?” Sounding so sexually frustrated that I was starting to feel bad for holding out. But, he was suggesting an actual solution that had been working. It made sense.

So, I agreed, “Yeah… actually.” And he cleared his throat with a squint to his eyes, quickly adjusting himself. It was crazy seeing the words really leaving his mouth, “Ride me.” That could go for what he was telling me to do as well.

Feeling my body go on autopilot, both of my legs straddled the sides of Inumaki’s hips, and I began lowering myself until his tip was prodding around my inner thigh. My hand grabbed the base once I struggled for a minute, aligning it against my entrance to ease his shaft into me.

A gasp escaped my lungs, moans cascading afterward while I shakily grabbed onto both of his shoulders, his arms wrapping around my waist to hold and guide me on him. Fucking into me as I bounced lightly. I could feel how small I was for him from his dick refusing to slide out at some points. Like my body was trying to keep him inside.

We groaned in unison, syncing with each other’s movements, my voice pitching when he brushed into a spot that he abused earlier. He memorized where it was and aimed directly for it, his eyebrows knitting together as sweat dripped down from his forehead. It was so good. He felt so good. And he had a look to his face that I would never forget.

After fifteen minutes of doing it out in the open, someone was finally about to walk past and I sensed them barely seconds before they could see us. Pretending to have fell asleep on Toge once the person arrived. His jacket placed over our lower halves.

“What’s up Inumaki? Aaaaannnnd… {Y/N}…” the sound of Maki’s voice made me internally cringe as she seemed like she was getting closer. Making me pray that she wouldn’t get any ideas about what was going on. If she found out, we wouldn’t hear the end of it.

He gave his usual greeting, “Konbu..” Playing it off surprisingly well with the tone of his speech, no stutters whatsoever. Even though I could feel his dick throbbing inside of me and that was not helping my case in fighting against the demand he gave.

I tried to steady my breathing into the soft breaths like I do when I’m about to fall asleep, panicking in my mind, forgetting that Toge can hear, “I want to so badly.! I need to! I need to!” In my defense, I really couldn’t help it. He told me to do it in cursed speech. Every part of my body was screaming at me to, pain coursing through my skin when I denied the action.

Maki’s voice lowered, sounding like she was getting suspicious which terrified me, “What is she doing lying on you like that, Inumaki?” But, I couldn’t think of anything from the burn of the speech curse and it seemed like he knew that. Because even as she was right there and asking him, he began to subtly roll his hips into me, helping relieve it.

The way he said the ingredients in response were getting a bit butchered, “Nntsuna m-mayo..” And his swear word kept slipping when he pushed himself deeper into me, “Ikura…” I held my breath as I tried not to make a single noise. Too hard. Way too hard. This was such a dangerous game to play. But, why did I love it so much?

It seemed like Maki knew something was up from the way she responded, although she didn’t know what, “Ooookay… Well, I’m not going to get any information out of you any time soon.” Keeping it at that, I could make out her energy walking away from us to the other side. A huge wave of relief washed over me as I arched back into a sitting position on him, spreading my legs so he could move more freely. We were right back into it with our lust at an all time high.

Toge did most of the work when it came to it, but he didn’t seem to care. His dedication in making me feel amazing nothing short. Fingers slipping down to play with my bud after I became labored in my moans, edging me closer and closer into cumming again. My walls tightened around him before more of my liquids rushed out onto his lap, becoming a huge mess.

I wanted to apologize for ruining the bottom half of his shirt, but I couldn’t. He wouldn’t let me, continuously ramming into me until he was approaching his own end. There were several actual curses from him inside of his head as he neared it, no longer those innocent food items he loved, “Fuck.. How does it feel so.. tight? Fuck, that feels too good..! Y/N}… I think I’m going to… I need to..!”

Then he pulled out at the very last moment to cum around my lower back, most of it landing on my underwear and sabotaging them like I had with his clothing.

I was exhausted, both of us panting and taking a break by resting on the bench. Pulling up my panties as dirty as that was. I liked to think it was like a finishing touch. I gave him a small peck on the cheek, muttering weakly, “I like you… Toge…” Too shy to say the word ‘Love’ despite what we did just now.

Using the last of my strength, I kept up the connection of our brains to hear him reply back, not hearing a hesitation to his voice in the slightest, “I love you, {Y/N}.” Then I passed out on him quickly after, ironically fulfilling what we feigned earlier.

[bellaxgiornata]

All the Good That's Left |1: Been Here Before|

Pairing: Jax Teller x Fem!Reader Word Count: 3.9k [Series Masterlist] [Jax Teller Masterlist]

Warnings/tags: 18+; ex's to lovers , fluff, angst, emotional hurt/comfort, sexual tension, smut, an Alaskan road trip on Jax's bike (more tags to possibly come)

Summary: After the past year of helping your childhood best friend with planning her wedding, that feeling of having lost yourself since leaving Charming had only grown. Eight years later, her wedding finally pulls you back to the small town for a single weekend, but in the hopes of clearing your head, you plan to disappear on a solo road trip to Alaska the day after. Though when you unexpectedly run into your ex, old emotions rise straight to the surface, and when Jax refuses to let you disappear again, he invites himself on your weeks-long trip–but is there anything left to salvage between you both after all this time?

a/n: Planning this to be a miniseries, but I love Alaska and I couldn't resist the idea of riding around on the back of Jax's bike for a road trip while also dealing with the forced proximity between two ex's (and repeated one bed trope??). As usual, my Readers lack a name and physical description, but they are portrayed as a character for the sake of telling a story. Feedback and reblogs are always appreciated!

tag list: @mariamadison6-blog @kmc1989 @inlovewithcharliehunnam

It still felt surreal to be back in your hometown. Everything looked almost exactly the same as it had since the last time you’d walked through downtown Charming, even if there were a few new businesses. Granted, a handful of them appeared as if they'd gone under and were sitting vacant as you scanned the shops along the street.

The summer sun overhead warmed you to an almost unbearable degree this afternoon, the heat only adding to your current exhaustion. You’d had an early flight in this morning and would have preferred a nap at your hotel instead of running an errand for your best friend, but you couldn’t deny a stressed out bride the day before her wedding. Especially considering you were the maid of honor. Admittedly, you’d been hoping to stay on the outskirts of Charming for the entirety of this weekend, hoping not to step foot into the actual town. Because being in Charming increased your risk of a run-in you weren’t quite certain you would ever be prepared for.

Keeping your attention fixed near the end of the street as you walked, you spotted Sweet Tooth Bakery exactly where you remembered it. The bakery had been in Charming ever since you were a kid, and it was somewhere you’d frequented often over the years when you’d lived here. Besides appearing more worn and rundown, the dated little shop looked just as it had in your memories from all of the times you’d visited in the past. Especially all of those times you had come here with Jax after–

No. You had promised yourself that you’d keep your thoughts off of him for the duration of this weekend. You didn’t need to go reminiscing about things from eight years ago, dredging up old memories you’d spent a long time trying to shove far from your mind.

Pushing open the door of the bakery, the bell above it chimed lightly. The elderly Mrs. Walker glanced up from her place behind the register as you stepped inside, a polite and friendly smile on her face.

“Hey, Mrs. Walker, I’m just here to drop off the final deposit for Allison Nelson’s wedding cake,” you explained, holding up the check in your hand. “Bride was a bit busy today so she delegated the task to me.”

There was a brief moment as you made your way over to the counter where Mrs. Walker’s brows drew together, a contemplative expression crossing her face as she examined you closely. And then, almost as if it had just dawned on her, she exclaimed your name loudly through the empty shop.

“Yes,” you said with a smile, sliding the check towards her along the counter, “it's me.”

“Oh, dear, I haven’t seen you in here in such a long time. You know, I remember when you and Allison used to come in here every Sunday morning after your sleepovers,” Mrs. Walker gushed, pointing a fond finger at you. “I remember you girls would still be in your pajamas looking like you hadn’t slept a wink, always picking out cupcakes for breakfast.” Her smile faltered a little as she added on, “Granted, that was back before you used to come in here with that unruly young man who is still quite the–”

“You know, I actually have to get back to the hotel soon,” you cut her off quickly, not wanting to delve into a conversation about your ex. “Rehearsal dinner is in a few hours and I’m obviously not going dressed like this.”

With a tight smile on your face, you gestured to the casual attire you currently were wearing. Mrs. Walker gave you a once over before she nodded in understanding, the smile returning to her face. She grabbed the check you’d set on the countertop before turning, speaking over her shoulder as she headed towards the backroom.

“I’ll be right back with a receipt for Allison, you just wait here,” she said.

With a sharp exhale, you crossed your arms over your chest and glanced down at the display case before you. There was an array of baked goods inside that also looked just as you remembered–everything from cupcakes to cookies to brownies. A small smile tugged at your lips when you spotted the lemon crinkle cookies. Mrs. Walker only ever made them during the warmer months and they had always been Jax’s favorite. Back in high school when you were a senior and Jax was a recently patched Son who’d long since dropped out of school, he’d often convinced you to cut class and disappear with him on his bike for a little adventure. Afterwards, the pair of you always ended up here for something sweet to end your little outing, and every time Jax picked out those cookies. He’d always end up with a bit of powdered sugar on his mouth and in his scruff that you would always have to clean off of him, running your fingers through the blonde hairs around his lips and–

“Here you are, dear.”

The sound of Mrs. Walker’s voice broke straight through your thoughts, your head darting up as the smile vanished from your face. Reaching across the counter, you grabbed the receipt for Allison from her hand and shoved the thoughts of Jax right out of your head. You weren’t supposed to be thinking about him.

“Thank you,” you replied. “I’ll make sure I get this to the bride.”

Turning around, you’d gone to exit the shop, but Mrs. Walker called your name again. The sound of it caused you to pause just in front of the door. Glancing back behind you, you saw her smiling again at you.

“Come back in again sometime, dear,” she told you. “It’s been too long.”

A small, sheepish smile broke out across your face. “Oh, well, I’m actually only here for Allison’s wedding this weekend,” you explained to her. “I’m not back in Charming. I leave in a couple of days.”

Mrs. Walker’s smile faltered before she nodded. “Shame,” she replied softly.

With a final smile at her, you slipped your phone out of your pocket as you pushed the bakery door open and stepped back out into the uncomfortable heat of the day. As you scrolled for Allison’s number in your recent contacts, the loud and familiar rumble of motorcycles in the distance caught your attention. Heart hammering in your chest at that particular sound, you tried your hardest not to let it affect you as you pushed the call button to dial Allison. Holding the phone up to your ear, you felt a nervous twist of your stomach at the thundering noise of bikes growing louder as they drew closer.

“Please, please tell me you took care of the check,” Allison’s voice answered after one ring.

“Wow, hello to you too, future Mrs. Blake,” you teased. 

Allison huffed over the line at your tone, clearly unamused with your sass today. Though you supposed you couldn’t blame her considering how stressed she was about her wedding tomorrow. Just as you were about to respond to her question, a handful of bikes went speeding their way through the downtown street beside you. Almost instinctively you glanced over your shoulder at the noise, already aware of who you’d find–the Sons. With how they’d all been riding past so quickly with their helmets, sunglasses, and kuttes on, you weren’t exactly certain who’d been amongst the group. Not that you were looking for anyone in particular, of course.

Quickly diverting your gaze away from the back of the herd of bikers, you focused your attention on your phone call and reminded yourself that it didn’t matter anyway if you did happen to see him. You were only here for a weekend for your best friend’s wedding, and then you’d be disappearing for a few weeks to Alaska before heading back to your life in Michigan. It wasn’t like you could reconnect with him this weekend. Besides, considering the lifestyle he led with the club, you were certain Jax had long since forgotten about you. It wasn’t like there wouldn’t have been plenty of other women for him to move on from you with.

“Yeah, I just dropped the check off with Mrs. Walker,” you assured her as you continued down the sidewalk and away from the bakery. “She gave me some sort of receipt that I’m sure your anal ass wants for your records or whatever. I’ll drive your car back up to the hotel and drop it off before I get ready for the rehearsal.”

“Good, because I need you ready by four,” she told you. “Which is in a couple of hours. So you’ve got no time to waste.”

“Which means unfortunately no nap for me, so I hope you don't expect me to be the best conversationalist this evening,” you joked back. 

Turning, you stepped off of the sidewalk and through an empty parking spot as you held the phone to your ear, continuing to listen to Allison rattle off more information about the rehearsal and the dinner tonight. But just as you’d stopped to check for traffic before crossing the street, you stopped dead in your tracks. Because parked just a space away from where you stood was a man sitting and idling on a motorcycle just staring at you. And judging by the leather kutte and the blonde hair peaking out beneath his helmet, you had a feeling you knew exactly who it was.

Allison's voice in your ear faded away in that moment, your phone call completely forgotten as you stood there feeling like all the air in your lungs had been knocked straight out of you. It had been eight long years since you'd last stepped foot into Charming. Eight years since you'd last seen or spoken to Jax. Now there he was sitting on his bike just staring right at you.

“Al, I'll call you back,” you muttered quickly into the phone.

“It's him, isn't it?” Allison asked, her tone shifting at the change in yours. “I thought I heard bikes in the background. You know, I had a feeling–”

“I’ll talk to you later,” you replied more firmly. 

Lowering the phone from your ear, your gaze remained fixed on Jax sitting on his motorcycle about ten feet away as you ended the call. It felt like all you could do was stand there and stare back at him, not entirely sure you were actually seeing what you were seeing, as if he was some sort of figment of your imagination that your brain had conjured up just because of where you found yourself after all this time. But the sound of his idling bike seemed quite real.

How had he recognized you so easily when he’d ridden by so fast? Why had he even stopped? Didn’t he have better things he needed to be doing with the club right now? Hadn’t he forgotten all about you since you left all those years ago, just like you’d always told yourself? A myriad of questions were racing rapidly through your mind, but all you could do was stand there speechless with your stomach knotting inside of you and your heart thrumming in your throat.

A moment later, he cut the engine of his bike and a tense silence fell around the both of you. Nervously your tongue darted out, wetting your lips as you gripped your phone in your hand. You wondered how this encounter was about to play out. Despite the fact that the breakup between you both years ago had been mutual, it had still been plenty painful on both sides. And the years’ long silence that followed had certainly left you feeling hollow.

Knowing you couldn't just walk off and head back to the hotel without saying something to him, you hesitantly took one careful step towards him, but then you stopped. His expression was impossible to read with the sunglasses on, and that was only growing the sense of dread in the pit of your stomach.

“Jax?” you cautiously called over.

There was a brief moment after you said his name where he tensed on the bike before his hands came up, undoing the buckle on his helmet before he finally rose from the seat. Mouth going completely dry, you watched as he dismounted his bike and hung the helmet over his handlebars. Afterwards, he slowly sauntered his way over towards you while remaining silent. You noticed he still walked with that same swagger in his gait that you’d always remembered. Standing there nearly holding your breath in anticipation, you weren't sure whether you were about to be met with anger, indifference, or something else entirely from him. 

Jax came to a halt just a few feet away from you, staring at where you'd still remained standing in the empty parking space on the street. One of his hands reached up, pulling the sunglasses from off of his face and no longer obstructing his blue eyes from your view. 

In that moment, all you could do was take in the sight of him. He’d clearly grown up over the years, that much was obvious. His facial hair had grown in thicker, his hair now slicked back instead of hanging shaggy and loose around his face like you remembered. He looked more hardened than the young Jax you'd known, but if you looked closely enough, you swore you could still see the traces of the eighteen year old you’d once loved still there, especially in those eyes of his.

Eyes which were currently surveying you just as closely as you’d been taking stock of him. You felt your face heat just a bit under the weight of his roaming gaze. He wasn’t being remotely subtle about the way his eyes were running over you, and even after all of this time, you hated to admit that he still had an effect on you.

Eventually, his eyes made their way back up your body until they once more met yours. And then his lips pulled upwards into a small smile tinged with a trace of melancholy.

“It's been a long time, darlin’,” he greeted you, his familiar voice a soft, smooth rumble.

And just like that, everything felt like it was rushing back to you. All the times you’d cut class and disappeared from Charming clinging to him on the back of his bike, finding quiet trails outside of town and spending hours alone together. The times you’d spent forcing Jax to study for his GED after he’d dropped out of high school, even bribing him with some sexual incentives if he focused and studied. The times he’d sneak over to your house in the middle of the night, slipping through your bedroom window so no one would know that he’d spent the whole night curled up against you asleep in your bed. All the parties at the clubhouse Jax had brought you to, the guys never giving a shit that you were still only seventeen and drinking their beer. The whispered words, the lingering looks, the charming smiles flashed back at you as he drove his bike.

Everything. All of it hit you all at once.

“Yeah,” you agreed quietly. “A really long time.”

Another heavy silence hung in the air between you both, the weight of so much unspoken impossible to ignore. You didn't even know where to begin, or if you even should.

Jax jutted his chin at you, the first to break the palpable tension. “What’re you doing back here?”

Clearing your throat, you tried to ignore all of the memories still trying to rise to the surface. It was like the sight of him had opened a floodgate and now you were drowning in all of them.

“I’m here for a wedding,” you answered. “Allison Nelson's. You remember her?”

Jax’s eyes narrowed in contemplation, his gaze dropping down towards your hand still clutching your phone. After a brief pause, he finally nodded as something like recognition crossed his features. 

“Right, yeah,” he replied, the ghost of a smile on his lips. “I remember. You two were always together. She’s getting married?” 

“Tomorrow, yeah,” you answered. “I uh, I'm her maid of honor. Obviously.”

Jax bit his lip, fighting back a grin as he nodded his head again. “Obviously,” he repeated lightly.

Your grip tightened on your phone, wringing it nervously in your hands. What were you supposed to say in this situation? Especially considering you needed to get back to the hotel soon and get ready for the rehearsal and the dinner. There was far too much history to cram into a brief, few minute run-in.

“Didn’t think I’d ever see you again,” Jax admitted, breaking through your thoughts. “Been so long, I figured nothing would ever bring you back.”

Glancing down at the pavement, you couldn’t ignore the way his words sounded. As if, somehow, he’d never completely just forgotten you like you had always assumed. That maybe he'd been hoping you'd come back. But that was ridiculous, wasn't it?

“And I’m…guessing you’re just back for that wedding?” he continued hesitantly.

Throat tightening, you tried to swallow down the emotions welling up within you. You nodded as you looked back up at him. He still looked so goddamn good even after all of this time. It was unfair, really.

“Yeah,” you answered softly. “I leave Sunday morning. So I’m…really just here for a couple of days.”

There was a flicker of something that passed behind his blue eyes at your response. You weren’t entirely certain of what it was, though. But you didn't have long to think about it before Jax was speaking again.

“If the wedding is Saturday, does that mean you’re busy tonight?” he asked. “Do you just have plans for tomorrow?”

His question caught you off guard. Was he going to ask you to spend time with him? And had that actually sounded like hope in his voice, or were you just imagining that?

“Well, I have the wedding rehearsal before the rehearsal dinner tonight,” you answered slowly. Chewing your lip, you looked down at the phone in your hand, checking the time on the screen. Your heart sank to your stomach before you met his gaze again. “Which I actually need to get back to the hotel and get ready for soon.”

A muscle feathered in his cheek at your reply, his jaw tensing as he stood there watching you. Shifting on your feet in front of him, you weren’t sure if he was about to say something more or just tell you goodbye, but when you’d opened your mouth to speak, he cut you off before you could get a word out.

“When’s it all done tonight?” he asked. “All the rehearsal bullshit?”

You paused, eyeing him curiously at the question. “Probably around eight or so. Why?”

“Got nothin’ else you need to do after?” he asked instead of answering you.

Brows furrowing together, you shook your head slowly. “No, not for today.”

He fell silent again, his eyes once more flickering over you standing before him. You wondered what he saw when he looked at you after all that time.

“Would you say no to catching up?” he questioned after a pause, his eyes landing back on yours. “Maybe over drinks at an actual bar since we’re not eighteen year old little shits stealing booze from the clubhouse?”

His lips pulled up into a sly little smirk and you couldn’t stop the amused huff of air that passed between your lips before your teeth clamped down on the bottom one. You hesitated, considering the implication of meeting him for drinks.

You had promised yourself long ago when Allison had asked you to be the maid of honor at her wedding that you would not dwell on Jax during all of the planning. That you wouldn’t seek him out when the wedding weekend finally came and you were finally back in the area. That you wouldn’t let yourself think about him at all because he was your past and that was where he was supposed to stay. But the truth of it was, you’d promised yourself all of those things because you knew the moment you saw Jax that every old wound you’d hastily tried to heal and stitch together over the past eight years would be torn wide open.

And that’s exactly what was going to happen if you met him for drinks. But yet, that wasn’t going to change the answer you gave him.

“I suppose we could catch up,” you told him.

“Guessin’ you probably don’t have a car while you’re here?” he asked next, a blonde brow raising up onto his forehead. “You gonna need a ride?”

That was a loaded question. Because accepting a ride from Jax clearly meant riding on the back of his bike–and that had always felt like a form of intimacy in itself. At least, for you it had. Yet another thing to tear your heart in half.

“Yeah, I might,” you answered him. “Currently I’m borrowing Al’s car because I’m out here running her errand, but I don’t have a rental.”

Even though you planned to get one Sunday morning for your drive up to Seattle before getting onto that ferry, but he didn’t need to know that. No one actually knew about your plans for after the wedding.

Jax shook his head, clearly looking unbothered by the fact that you didn’t have a car. “Not a problem, darlin’,” he told you. “Where you want me to pick you up at tonight?”

“I’m staying at that Hilton about fifteen minutes away,” you replied. “You know the one off of Washington?”

A chuckle fell out of him as he nodded at you. “Yeah, I know where it’s at, baby,” he said with a grin. “Still only one goddamned Hilton around here.”

The slight slip up of ‘baby’ from his lips had you biting your tongue. You weren’t sure if he’d even noticed he’d just done it, but dammit, it had always done things to you when he’d called you that in the past. Something about that particular little name for you always got your heart racing for one reason or another.

“So I’ll meet you there out front at eight?” Jax asked, breaking through your thoughts. “That work?”

“Yeah,” you replied, ignoring the pounding of your heart. “Yeah, I’ll…see you later then.”

Jax nodded, his eyes lingering on you as if he wasn't quite ready to leave yet. But eventually he slipped his sunglasses back onto his face before he turned and strode over to his bike. Swinging a leg over it and settling onto the seat, Jax started the motorcycle, the engine rumbling to life. You realized you’d been standing there staring at him once he’d secured his helmet and shifted his focus back onto you. Knowing you needed to leave too, you gave him a small wave which he acknowledged with a final nod. Then he was pulling out of the parking spot and making his way out of Charming’s downtown. You stared at the reaper on the back of his kutte as he went, watching him ride down the street and away from you–the exact sight that had haunted you for years. 

So much for not thinking about Jax this weekend.

[smashing-teacups]

A Breath of Snow and Christmas: Chapter 3

A/N: As promised, the long-awaited third chapter of my wee Christmas fic - this time, taking a turn in Jamie's POV. Please note that the rating is increasing to Explicit for strong sexual content. 😏

------

If I had even a fraction more logic than lust coursing through me, I would have pulled away at once. But whatever good sense remained to me was obliterated by the first languid slick of Claire’s tongue.

She was a bold kisser, a woman who knew exactly what she wanted and had no qualms about taking it. So there was a moment, aye… a temporary lapse in judgment as she flattened herself against my chest; as her fists tugged at my jacket; as I groaned into her open mouth; as the tastes and textures of her filled my senses and sent all the blood in my body roaring south. 

But no matter how much I wanted to wish it away, the predominant flavor burning on every breath between us was whisky.

Claire chased my lips hungrily the first time I tried to pull back. With a sound dredged up from the aching depths of my lungs, I fisted the curls at her neck and tore my mouth away for a second time.

“Claire, wait. Wait. We shouldn’t.”

Her chest heaved, eyes still half-closed as she tried to lean in again. “Why not?”

I shook my head, as much to clear it as to refuse. “We’ve had too much to drink, the both of us.”

She let out a puff of a laugh, still trying to edge closer. “I’m not that far gone.”

“Maybe not,” I allowed, unrelenting in my grip on her nape just the same. With an apologetic smile, I smoothed a thumb over the round of her cheek. “But far enough that I dinna feel right about it.” 

The delay in her reaction was confirmation enough that I was making the right decision. It took a few seconds too long for her to recognize the rejection, for the flush of desire to pale and for her eyes to drop in embarrassment. I lifted her chin with a curved finger, waiting until she looked up at me again before continuing gently, “The last thing I want is for you to wake up in the morning wi’ regrets, Claire.”

Even though her reaction was sluggish again, I could see the precise moment a spark of gratitude began to glint through the shame of rejection. 

“Of all the dates in Boston,” she quipped on a feathery laugh, “I managed to go home with the gentleman.”

Now it was my turn to lower my lashes. “Ach. Just one who likes ye too much to risk makin’ a mess of things the first chance I get.” Slowly and deliberately, I allowed my hand to fall from her face, just barely ghosting over the curve of her elbow, her forearm, her wrist. “But make no mistake, lass: If ye’ll risk it again when we’ve our wits about us, I mean to make it worth yer wait.”

A sultry, half-lidded smile spread over her face again — one that made me curse every honorable inclination I’d ever held and question anew whether she might not be so drunk as I thought she was.

“Is that so?” she murmured, so tantalizingly close that the warmth of her breath steamed my lips. “Consider my interest piqued, Mr. Fraser.”

My mind was still working out a seductive bit of banter — a play on piqued and peaked, I very nearly had it — when Claire’s expression suddenly changed. Even with several drinks onboard, my nurse alarm bells went off as I watched her freeze, golden eyes glazing over with blank, introspective horror.

“Oh, bloody he—”

Keep reading...

[awkward-halfhug]

back to you | warren peace x reader

summary: it's been years since warren peace drove you out of his life. now you're back and he doesn't know how to handle it.

contains: estranged childhood friend!reader x warren peace, light angst

1.2k

(also on my ao3)

Of all the things in Warren's past that he thought might come back to haunt him, the one he didn't count on was you.

It's been years, nearly a decade, since Warren last saw you. Since his dad got locked up and his family fell apart. Since he started lashing out at everyone around him, pushing everyone away, pushing you away.

It's been so long he almost assumes he's mistaken. But no, that's you, introducing yourself at the front of the class. Your eyes. Your nose. Your fidgeting hands. The sight of you hits him like a physical force in the chest. Winds him. If he was standing, he'd have to sit down.

He sees your eyes sweep across the unfamiliar faces of your new classmates, dread forming in the pit of his stomach knowing your eyes will soon snag on him. He feels like a deer in the headlights when you finally see him but he can't bring himself to look away. He sees when the recognition lights your features. A smile starts to bloom on your face and Warren sucks in a breath. Then you tamp it down, hesitant, uncertain. He can still read you like a book.

You finish your introduction and then you're walking toward him. No, toward the open desk directly behind him. He should stop you. Say something.

He doesn't.

You sit behind him quietly and open the textbook the teacher tells you to. He hears page shift against page and it sounds like judgement.

——

At lunch you try to sit with him.

He sees it coming; has been keenly aware of your presence in every class you've shared since homeroom. He doesn't have to lift his head to know you're hovering over his table, hesitating despite every other seat being empty.

Just how he likes it. Right. Warren sighs.

You hear it. Misinterpret it, no doubt.

"Umm…" You laugh nervously. Shift the lunch tray in your hands. Seem to come to a decision and sit without asking.

"Do you… I mean, you probably don't remember me. Or…do you?" You look at Warren with hope in your eyes and his chest aches.

He clenches his jaw. Looks back down at his lunch. The Mac and cheese suddenly unappetizing as he pushes it around with his fork and waits for you to recognize his dismissal.

He doesn't know why he does it. Why he hears your quiet gasp and refuses to look up. All he knows is that you smell the same as you always did and something in him feels like a little boy again, with the neighbors whispering as the cops drag his dad away. Your little voice as you run up to him on his porch, asking him what's going on.

Shame licks at his neck and the tips of his ears and he can't look at you. Doesn't want to see you. He's back there and it hurts again.

You shudder in a breath and Warren stands, doesn't even take his lunch tray as he flees the room.

——

Warren wants to ignore you. Wants to shut out the memories you've dredged up, but he can't. Because it's not just memories of his dad he's remembering now. Or how brokenhearted his mom was over everything. He sneaks a glance at you as you sit a few seats down, and catches your eye. And the look he sees on your face is exactly the same one you wore years before. The very first time he ignored you as you called out to him. He'd been picking little fights with you for weeks, but he hadn't ever flat out ignored you. You'd looked just like this. Disbelief, betrayal, and raw hurt line your features as you stare at him from across the room. Not even pretending to pay attention to class, just trying to make sense of him.

He can't stand the feeling of shame and anger that comes with thinking about his past. But the shame that fills him knowing that he caused that expression, so many times before, and now he's done it again? That shame is so much worse.

He's done a lot of things he regrets while he was acting out. Hurt a lot of people with his words and actions, but most of all you and his mom. The difference is, he's made things right with his mom…

——

The sixth period bell rings and Warren waits for you just outside the classroom door.

You startle when he says your name, then linger, confused and wary, as you wait for him to speak. But he doesn't know what to say.

Warren sighs. Grits his teeth against the feeling and shoots his hand out just as you turn to leave.

Leave him. Alone. Like he's always wanted he thinks wryly. Mentally rolls his eyes at himself. Not from you though, he's come to realize. Over the years and all at once over the course of a day, it's become painfully clear. He's wanted to be left alone. Still wants to be left alone, mostly. But not by you. Never you.

…He's missed you.

His hand curls around your forearm, stopping you in your tracks.

"Wait" he says, louder than he'd intended. He clears his throat discreetly.

You look back at him. Stare into his eyes with your puppy dog ones, confusion and little bit of hope swirl in your expression.

Warren stalls, hand still gripping your arm. He doesn't know what to say to fix this. But you wait patiently for him. You were always so patient with him, even as children. He pictures little you, sitting on the steps of his porch, waiting for his mom to be done scolding him for whatever he'd done that day to earn an earful. It was a frequent occurrence—he was a stubborn kid. Time to stop being a stubborn almost-adult.

"I'm sorry" He tells you. And it's weird how easy it is to say. Easier than he thought it would be– he doesn't say a lot of apologies these days.

You take a minute to stare at him. As if judging if he's telling the truth. You must conclude he is because your eyes soften. Your mouth tentatively smiling.

"Yeah?" You ask him. As if encompassing your entire teenage years. Is he sorry for your lost friendship, all the little fights, how he's treated you, even today, all of it?

"Yeah" he says. Air rushing out of him like relief, because you're making it so easy on him and he knows he doesn't deserve it. "Yeah. I am."

You nod, and smile. Like all is forgiven, just like that.

He worries for a minute, as you stare at eachother, where you go from here. He's rusty with this whole 'friendship' thing. But he shouldn't have worried. You were always the leader between the two of you.

"So, where do you want to go to eat? I'm thinking this new pizza place I saw over by the–"

You take his arm and pull him toward the school doors and start to rattle like you used to, before everything.

He just listens, nodding where appropriate, as he feels something settle inside of him. It feels like coming home.

thanks for reading! if you enjoyed, please consider reblogging/commenting, it means a lot! ♡ and if you have requests or ideas, feel free to let me know in my ask box

[revelboo]

Since were sharing, these are my cool cats Sake (Tie) and Precious (Bowtie). Would love to see some more rung totally not trying to bribe with my cute fur babies. (〃'▽'〃) Anyways love all your work! Thanks♪(･ω･)ﾉ

🤣 stylish little guys

Friendly heads up- I have a class for work all day this Tuesday and I’ll be driving 7 1/2 hours next Sunday and again the Sunday after, so I won’t be as active as normal those day

Anything For You Pt 6

Rung x Reader

• “Not happening so back off,” you snarl as his current patient, a bot you don’t know crooks a servo like he’s trying to coax you closer. How’d he talk you into this again? That’s right. He’d just picked you up and carried you to his office without asking or giving you a choice. Deciding for you that you were going to help him.

• Tiredly clearing his vents as Bluestreak frowns and sinks back in his chair, Rung taps his stylus on the datapad. Deciding that bringing you to a session was a mistake, but he’d thought it might do you some good to interact with others. And Bluestreak is preoccupied with you, door wings flicking, but he’s not letting his guard down, not talking. “The dreams,” he prompts and the younger bot grimaces.

• Wandering to the far side of the desk, you’re aware of the strange bot watching you. What had Rung said his name was? Blue-something. And the guy looks uncomfortable, attention dropping to his hands. “I don’t know. I forget when I come online,” he mumbles, door wings flicking and you zero in on the way he can’t look at Rung, can’t seem to be still. Recognizing a liar. ‘A detail, then? One thing that stayed with you,’ Rung prompts, removing his weird glasses and pretending to polish them, attention off the bot.

• Obviously wants to talk about it or he wouldn’t keep coming to sessions, but then something always stops him. Optics sliding to you, he’s surprised you’re focused on Bluestreak, your expression carefully blank. “Sirens,” Bluestreak mumbles, glancing at you and away. “I remember sirens.” Remembers more than that, but it’s like the young bot is afraid of dredging up those memories. Knows they still hurt. They must. He’d read the bot’s file and already knows, but he needs Bluestreak to talk. To start healing.

• “How did they make you feel? Anxious?” Rung asks, tone surprisingly gentle. Coaxing. And the new bot’s jaw is working, servos trembling faintly as he just stares at them. It’s not a dream he’s remembering. Whatever this is, it happened and he doesn’t want to relive it, but he seems to realize it’ll keep poisoning him if he doesn’t get it out. Swallowing a groan as you watch the bot’s face and wonder if they can cry, because the guy looks like he’s about to cave and start ugly bawling any second. Gritting your teeth, you walk over and sit by his hand. Waiting and not at all surprised when he runs a shaking servo down your spine, because apparently you are going to play therapy doggie. ‘Angry. Terrified,’ Bluestreak says, the words bursting out of him. ‘There wasn’t any warning.’

Previous

[nameless-ken]

Bucky Barnes x Reader - Part Five

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

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

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

Masterlist

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Didn’t sleep great,” he mutters.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Y/N?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You give him a small nod. “I know.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Morning," he mutters.

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

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

You nod. "Yeah, it was perfect."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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