#on outside he hears buck say “this is like just when i died” when he gets an electric shock from the toaster and starts laughing

[epiphainie]

i was gonna share a tweet that went smth like 'boyfriend gets upset if i say i'm gonna kill myself so now i add "and then i come back to life"' with 'this is bucktommy' but i changed my mind. i think tommy would just join in on the lightning strike jokes as the others look at the two of them in horror

[diaznbuckley]

All time favorite Buddie fics

I have an insane amount of fics bookmarked on AO3 so this list is honestly mostly for my reference. I don't have them organized on there and trying to find them with key words has gotten exhausting.

These have a special place in my heart and I couldn't possibly rank them so they're in order from date published (oldest to newest).

the distance to the stars - cloudydaisies | 27k words

“Didn’t know you were seeing someone.”

Buck just laughs. Like, honest to god giggles. Eddie is stuck fighting off doubly massive waves of butterflies and confusion, all while Buck just gazes down at him.

“That’s cute,” he hears Buck mumble, just before climbing into the truck, calling Eddie after him.

-

or, everyone knows eddie is dating buck except for eddie, literally.

and longer by far - farfromthstars | 14k words

“Eddie’s been married once, and after Shannon asked him for a divorce and then died before they could do anything about it, he figured that was it for him. One marriage with all its ups and downs is enough for a lifetime. Granted, he didn’t think he’d fall in love with Buck and be lucky enough for that love to be returned.”

OR

Everyone seems to expect Eddie to propose to Buck any minute now, which is annoying because Eddie doesn’t want to get married again. He's sure of that. Or is he?

got me feeling like it’s all gonna be okay - wafflesofdoom | 8k words

eddie had always loved being hugged, as a child - his mom, his sisters, his abuela, they always said that eddie clung to them like a little monkey. he had never thought it was something to be embarrassed by until his father had looked at him and told him maybe he should consider growing up and not needing his family to hold his hand.

or - eddie struggles to voice his want for physical affection to buck as their relationship turns romantic, and buck helps him embrace his clinginess again.

a touch of someone else (to save me from myself) - allyasavedtheday | 19k words

Of course, all of that comes to a grinding halt when he stops outside the locker room to find arguably one of the hottest guys he’s ever seen getting changed right by his locker.

He stands there, gaping and trying desperately to get his mind out of the gutter – but Jesus, those abs – when someone bumps his shoulder and he turns to find Hen sidling up to him.

“Enjoying the view?” she asks with a knowing smirk.

Buck raises an eyebrow, feeling the corners of his mouth turn up in a smirk of his own. “He from B shift or something?”

Hen’s about to answer him when Bobby appears on his other side. “That’s Eddie Diaz, our new recruit.”

Buck’s brain does some approximation of a record scratch and he whirls around to face Bobby. “New recruit? Why?”

*

In which Eddie joins the 118 during season 1 instead of season 2 and Buck has a lot to say about it. AKA Eddie meets Buck 1.0.

Ever After - elvensorceress | 7k words

He’s so gorgeous. He’s the most perfect thing to wake up to. They woke up together. Tangled around each other. They slept naked. They’ve kissed many times now. They kissed and touched and made love for the first time and he’s never been loved like that ever. No one’s ever wanted him more than they wanted the sex with him. But it felt like Eddie did. Like Eddie does.

Buck curls his hands around Eddie’s arm and reaches up to touch his face, almost afraid he’ll touch nothing and this might disappear. But he hasn’t disappeared.

There’s stubble beneath his fingers. There’s warmth all around him because he’s being held. His heart is rushing, sprinting like it can’t arrive fast enough. “You’re really here,” he says, more to himself, in awe that Eddie’s curled against him. There’s an arm around him and he’s holding onto it. He held Eddie all night.

~~~

Sweet morning sex after their first night together because they are so in love and soft for each other.

everything (nothing) has changed - bizarrestars | 48k words

After Eddie gets shot, Buck confesses his love. From there, things get a little out of hand.

***

Buck breathes for a moment, then sets his shoulders. "Eddie, there's something I have to tell you."

"Do you?" Eddie asks flatly, still alarmed and doing his best to hide it. "I would've never guessed."

Buck swallows. "Eddie, I love you."

"Are you softening the blow, or buttering me up? Because, I've got to tell you, I'm still very worried regardless," Eddie tells him.

"No, you don't understand. I love you. I'm currently in love with you," Buck says as evenly as possible, and even then, his voice wobbles precariously there for a moment. He exhales. "You don't have to worry about it, though, because I've processed it and decided to—to find relief in telling you before moving on and moving forward."

Eddie stares at him. No response at all.

Well, at least he's not freaking out.

beneath my mother tongue - archerincombat | 31k words

He sits bolt upright in his seat. Jee-Yun squeals at the sudden movement. “Holy shit,” he says out loud, simultaneously praying that it doesn’t become one of those words his niece repeats until it loses its sparkle. “I told Eddie I loved him.”

Jee-Yun laughs. It feels a little like she’s mocking him. “Dee,” she agrees solemnly, placing a tiny hand on Buck’s cheek.

Or: Buck goes home to Pennsylvania. It's more familiar than he wants it to be.

i love you, ain’t that the worst thing you ever heard - rarakiplin (gmontys) | 9k words

Buck’s eyes fall shut, something pained and vulnerable sliding into the bend of his eyebrows. “I’m…I’m with Taylor now,” he says, barely a whisper.

And Eddie’s been doing a pretty good job at being brave about all of this, at not flinching away from Buck’s rejection, but that hits and burrows.

“Okay.”

-

or, in which eddie's will reveal is a love confession, and buck takes a second to catch up

let the words fall out - fallingthorns | 10k words

“Buck, listen to me,” Eddie says, grabbing Buck’s wrist and lifting it off of his thigh. “I think that I’m . . . Bad at being a dispatcher?” He phrases it like a question, because – well, because he knows it, but he’s not sure if anyone else has clocked that fact yet.

And Buck, much to Eddie’s confusion, blinks at him for approximately four seconds before breaking out into fits of loud, deep laughter. “I’ve been keeping a list,” Buck says. “Let’s start from the beginning.” -- Or, the one where Eddie absolutely cannot handle working a desk job.

maybe love won’t let you down- sibylsleaves | 15k words

Buck tells Eddie he’s in love with him. Eddie pines.

or, five times eddie watches buck leave, and the one time he goes after him

gravity holds me down - spaceprincessem | 14k words

“Eddie.”

Eddie jerks out of the moment, pain registering around his bicep where Hen is squeezing him too hard. There’s an edge to her voice, jaw clenched, and eyes narrowed as she looks across from where they are standing. Eddie follows her gaze and his entire body freezes.

“Whatever you do,” Hen’s voice is low, dark, “do not let him take Buck.”

Jonah can’t see them from where he’s standing, his back mostly turned as he flashes a light in one of the patient's eyes. Eddie shifts without thinking, blocking Buck and Christopher from view. Fuck the fire, Eddie thinks as he plants himself where he’s standing.

stranger sunlight, still - mmtion | 64k words

When the 118 find out about Buck’s secret thirst account on Instagram – to raise fire safety awareness, obviously – they make fun of him the appropriate amount and move on. Eddie, who has had some recent and birthmark-shaped revelations about his feelings, finds it a little harder to do the same.

Of course, Eddie would never invade Buck’s privacy by searching for and finding the anonymous account. Or looking at all the uploaded photos late at night. Or even directly messaging Buck’s secret account. That would be weird, because he’s certainly not planning on doing anything about his newfound attraction.

However, anonymous account @elbombero118 has no such limitations.

even when the night changes - fallingthorns | 54k words

Eddie’s a steady man who likes predictability. He buys the same beer all the time, the same shirts just in different colors, the same type of mulch for the garden every year.

But the thing is, Chris is starting high school in two weeks, and Bobby has been floating the idea of retirement around more and more. Chim and Maddie are expecting a second baby, and Pepa and Abuela have been talking of looking for a new home for Abuela soon.

And then there’s the promotion and the transfer, and it’s all just a bit much for Eddie to handle.

But he spins the silicone ring on his finger, smiling down at it while the heat of Buck’s thigh presses carefully into his own. At least that’s something that isn’t changing. -- Or, even when everything changes, some things stay the same.

blue skies - spaceprincessem | 36k words

“Most babies are born as accidents,” She says suddenly, like she’s decided that Buck has passed, that she can trust him with this.

Buck doesn’t really have an answer because that question hits way to fucking close to home. A year or so ago he would have said, yes, I was an accident, so I know how that goes, but Buck knows better now. Knows that he would almost give anything for that answer to still be yes. Evie’s finger works under the seal to rip it open, a stack of important looking papers dumping out onto the table in front of her.

“Not me,” she says without looking up as she organizes them into a neat stack, “I was engineered.”

And.

And Buck’s pretty fucking sure a giant, cataclysmic hole has ripped right open, dragging him down to the earth’s core where he vaporizes into dust.

{or Buck meets another savior baby and everything comes crashing down}

Tick Tick Boom - chasethewindtouchthesky | 30k words

“Did you know if you put a frog in water and slowly bring it to boiling, it won’t hop out?” Chris is chattering as Buck makes a quick dinner while Eddie argues with his gas company on the phone. He can hear the occasional swear word in Spanish as his voice raises. Eddie doesn’t like to raise his voice around Christopher – the very thought makes Buck want to kiss him full on the mouth – so he decided to take it to the living room while Chris sits with his homework in the kitchen and Buck cooks.

“Hmm?” Buck asks, unable to fully pull himself out of Bobby’s baked mac and cheese recipe. It took him years, but he finally convinced the man to write it down. Bobby’s handwriting was juvenile at best on a good day, but this was nearly unreadable. Buck wonders if he did that on purpose. “Frogs?”

“Yeah!” Chris states. “My teacher said that if you put a frog in a pot, you have to make sure it’s not immediately boiling. You put them in water and then slowly raise the temperature and they won’t realize what’s happening. Then once they realize, they have no place to go. They can’t jump out.”

*

S6 Spec: Buck decides he doesn’t need therapy, reverts to some bad habits, and explodes. Or, the Breakdown Fic.

i owe you a black eye and 2 kisses - colonscopys | 29k words

 Four weeks later, Buck completes his first mission.

The Shadows of Every Spark - devirnis | 22k words

Chimney clears his throat lightly. “Uh, Cap? We have a customer who wants to order the daily special.”

The daily special that doesn’t exist. Because no one comes into this place to eat because this restaurant isn’t real.

Or, the 118 run a front restaurant for money laundering, and accidentally adopt the Buckley siblings

if i said you could never touch me - marviless | 15k words

Eddie pulls back from him with a half-confused, half-concerned furrow in between his eyebrows. “Buck?”

Buck sags against the wall. “Sorry,” he says, wiping the back of his forearm against his forehead in a mixture of frustration and newfound exhaustion. “Sorry.”

A thumb swipes across his cheekbone, searching eyes boring into his. “Buck. What’s wrong?”

Buck closes his eyes, then blinks them open. “Nothing,” he says, because he doesn’t know how to tell the truth. He doesn’t know what the truth even is. “Everything’s, uh—everything’s fine. I just—” he chews on his lip. “I was just thinking that, uh, maybe we shouldn’t go any further tonight? You know, not with Christopher in the house.”

in which buck is avoiding having sex with eddie.

Came Out Of Nowhere, Didn’t Give No Warning - leslie_knope | 42k words

Eddie didn’t text back in the 20 seconds Buck spent staring at his phone, which was no surprise. There wasn’t any response while he drove to the station, either, but that made perfect sense. Eddie was working today, and he was probably rushing to get there just like Buck was.

Buck wasn’t in the mood to stare at his phone all day, jumping out of his skin at every notification, so he removed the temptation and, in a spurt of newfound maturity, left his phone in his locker for the duration of his shift.

But there was no text when he checked around lunchtime, or when they got a lull after dinner. Or in the morning when his shift was over.

All of that he could easily rationalize away, but after four tortuous days, Buck accepted the fact that he’d been ghosted.

Live and (Don’t) Let Die - xylodemon | 29k words

The guy gets straight to the point, asking, "What do you need?" in a dull, bored voice.

"My best friend is going to die. I want that to… not happen."

"No small feat, bringing back the dead. And it comes at a cost."

It's Eddie. Buck says, "Yes," without a second thought.

(Or: what happens when you're down so bad that you have your "best friend" brought back from the dead)

there’s another day to come - atlasblue85 | 57k words

Inevitable comes around four in the morning. He’d been tossing and turning since they’d gotten back from their last call a couple hours ago, and had finally decided to give up and look for a snack in the kitchen. He thought he left the bunk room quietly enough that no one would notice, but when he pulls his head out of the fridge with a jar of peanut butter, Eddie is standing across the island from him, that grim look still fixed on his face.

“Hey,” Buck says.

“Hey,” Eddie says back. “You’ve been avoiding me.”

Buck’s cornered and he knows it. He shrugs, twisting the jar in his hands. “It’s been a busy shift.”

Eddie doesn’t roll his eyes, but Buck still feels like he does. Instead he walks over to the big table, pulls out a chair and sits. “Just wanted to ask if you can stop by after our shift is over. Wanted to talk to you about something.”

[loulou-land]

8x10 coda

bucktommy fix-it (sort of), emotional hurt/comfort, hopeful ending | cw: angst, dissociation, mild descriptions of a panic attack | 1.5k words

(Buck’s face at the end of that episode got me in the feels and I had to get these words out of me. Thank you @fuselsstuff for making me feel better about my writing and my endings 😘❤️)

As Buck watches Eddie drive away, something inside him crumbles, another piece lost to the wreckage that has come to be his life. He stands frozen in front of what used to be Eddie’s house—his house now, technically—but the words don't sit right. 

His house.

They feel foreign, misplaced. Like a title handed to someone else by mistake. He knows he chose it, knows the reason why he did it, yet what seemed like a good idea at first now feels like a crushing weight around his shoulders. 

He doesn’t know how long he stands there. Staring at nothing. His head filled with static noise. All feeling draining out of him, until emptiness is all that surrounds him. Distantly he’s aware of his clothes progressively getting soaked as the gentle drizzle grows into a steady downpour. But he can’t seem to make himself move, staying rooted to the spot. 

Eventually, however, the cold seeps so deep into his bones that it forces him into movement. Buck turns, steps inside and shuts the door behind him. And is promptly at a loss. He feels like he took a wrong turn somewhere and forgot where home was. It’s a disconcerting feeling. 

Buck makes his way to the bathroom, peels his wet clothes off and steps into the shower, turning the heat up as high as it’ll go. It skalds his skin, but even then, he’s still cold. It’s like it’s burrowed deep inside and refuses to let go. He pulls on a hoodie, refusing to think about whose it is and why he picked that particular one. 

By the time he stumbles into bed, his limbs feel heavy, weighted down by something vast and shapeless. His mind is scarily blank. Whatever thoughts flicker into his mind are gone too fast to take hold of. Maddie almost died. Eddie’s gone. And, why won’t they listen to me? Why can’t they see I’m drowning? Everyone has something, someone. And what do I have? What am I left with? 

Nothing. It’s always nothing.

I am nothing. 

For once, the thought doesn’t hurt. It barely registers at all. It’s just a fact—objective and empty. He notes the detachment like he’s reading about someone else’s life. It should scare him, but he doesn’t feel much of anything right now. I don’t like this, Buck thinks distantly, I don’t like this at all. 

He sees his hands move as though from far away, outside his body. His fingers close around his phone. It takes a few seconds for his eyes to focus, to process the screen in front of him. He scrolls through his contacts, searching for Dr. Copeland. That’s who he meant to call. That was the hazy plan he’d formed in his head. 

But somehow, Tommy’s name is the one he presses. 

The phone rings. One. Two. Three times. 

The sound should make his heart pound with anxiety. Instead, he finds himself being soothed by the repetitive sound. His mind latches onto the rhythm, following it like a thread in the dark. The longer it rings, he starts to fill each pause with a thought. Of course. He won’t pick up. You don’t matter to anyone. He didn’t want you. 

And then—

“Evan?” 

A pause, a quiet breath. Then softer, “you okay?” 

It shatters something in Buck. The numbness that had settled in him disappears. The concern, the familiarity, the way Tommy has never been anything but honest with him—hearing it now, when everything else has started unraveling In him, it’s too much. 

His breath is knocked out of his chest. His throat closes up. He feels a tingling in his hands as his heart rate picks up. He wants to speak, to explain, to say something, but all that makes it out is a choked, heart-wrenching sob that feels like it’s been ripped right out of him. 

“Sweetheart,” Tommy says, instantly alert. “Evan. Talk to me. What’s wrong? Where are you?” 

Buck tries to breathe, tries to push the words out, but they’re trapped behind his lips. He can’t speak and that drags him deeper into desperation. He clutches his shirt, as though if he grips it tightly enough, he’ll be able to keep himself together and he’ll remember how to use his words again.

His whole body shakes with the force of it, and it’s humiliating, it’s embarrassing, it’s—

“Okay, okay. I’m on my way,” Tommy says, voice steady but urgent beneath it. Buck hears the sound of an engine turning on, the rush of movement on the other end. “Just breathe for me, baby.” 

“Eddie’s,” Buck finally manages to croak out. 

“What?” Tommy asks, slightly distracted. Buck hears car horns and the shift of gears. 

“I’m at Eddie’s.” 

“I’ll be there as soon as I can.” The words come quick, sure, no hesitation. 

And Buck appreciates that Tommy doesn’t ask any more questions. He just keeps talking, filling the silence with warmth. You’re okay. I’m here. Breathe for me, sweetheart. Just like that. You’re doing good. You’re so good. Just hold on, I’m almost there.  

Buck clings to every word like a lifeline, tucks them inside himself. He tries to believe them. After all, Tommy doesn’t lie to him. 

His sobbing has slowed, but now something worse is creeping in—the weight of reality pressing back down. He called Tommy. He’s on the phone with him right now. He’s crying like a fucking baby. 

“I’m sorry.” Buck rasps, voice raw. “I—I shouldn’t have called you. Shit. I’m sorry.” 

“Evan.” Tommy says his name like it’s a prayer, like it’s something precious. Like it means more than Buck ever let himself believe. Like it means love. 

Buck inhales sharply, stomach twisting in knots. He’d missed that. God, he’d missed hearing his name spilling from Tommy’s mouth. 

Tommy’s voice softens. “You don’t have to apologize for anything. It’s okay. Whatever it is…I’m here for you.” 

He can’t accept that. “No—no, I…you were probably busy.” Buck’s voice cracks. “I didn’t mean to pull you away from anything important.” 

“I wasn’t doing anything,” Tommy says, simple and reassuring. Then, quieter, “And, even if I was…I’d still come.” 

Buck should feel comforted. Instead, it makes something ugly rise in his chest. A sick, gnawing pit of self-hatred. Sharp and precise. 

Why does he always do this? Always need too much? He feels everything so loudly, and then drags people into the mess of him, makes them carry it when they shouldn’t have to. 

He lets out a dry, broken laugh. “There I go again,” he mutters, bitter. “Bucking it up. Making it all about me.”

Tommy exhales roughly through the line. And then, firm but gentle, “Evan. I don’t know what’s going on, but it's okay to feel things. And you’re more than allowed to be upset and want to talk about it. It’s okay to need people.”  

Buck closes his eyes. His whole body hurts. He wants to argue. He wants to tell Tommy he’s wrong. That everyone else thinks he’s too much. That Buck’s needs  are a burden. 

But before he can—

“I’m here. Can you open the door for me, sweetheart? 

Buck manages to drag himself out of bed and down the hall. His breath hitches once he reaches the front door, hands trembling slightly, his mind still caught between panic and exhaustion. 

He opens the door. 

And there’s Tommy. 

Standing on the other side, rain-damp and breathless. There’s concern written into every tense line of his body. His shoulders are squared, his jaw set, like he’s ready to take on every single one of Buck’s battles without hesitation. 

Buck swallows hard. “Tommy.” 

So much weight in a name, in a single word. 

Tommy doesn’t say anything. He just opens his arms. 

And Buck simply falls into them. No second-guessing or uncertainty. He clings to Tommy like he’s a safe haven, fists gripping at the fabric of his hoodie, pressing in close until there’s no space left between them. And still, Buck wishes he could crawl inside Tommy, just to be even closer. His mind quiets, the storm inside him calms into a single thought, repeated over and over again. 

Tommy. Tommy. Tommy. 

He breaths him in, the familiar scent anchoring him. Slowly, he matches his breathing to Tommy’s. And, in that moment Buck is entirely convinced their hearts are beating in sync. As one. 

Tommy holds him just as tightly, one hand cradling the back of his head, the other cradled protectively against his spine. He starts to run soothing circles up and down Buck’s back, murmuring lowly in his ear. 

“Shh, I got you. I’m here.” 

Then, gently, hesitantly, Tommy presses a kiss to the side of Buck’s head. Soft. Careful. Like he’s afraid he’s not allowed to touch Buck like that, but still feels compelled to, needs to do it. 

Buck lets out a shaky sigh, melting further into his arms. 

He knows eventually they’ll have to talk. About the break up, about them. About what had set Buck off.

He’ll have to untangle the mess inside him, sort through everything he’s buried deep. There will be therapy. There will be hard conversations. 

But not right now. 

Right now, he lets himself believe Tommy—that he’s here, that he means it—and decides to go from there. 

“Can I come in?” 

“Will you stay?” 

They speak at the same time. 

And then—

Yes. 

For the first time that day, Buck feels a genuine smile break across his face. 

It won’t be easy.

But he thinks that maybe—just maybe— things will be okay. 

[buddierealm]

ʚ MISTAKES NEVER LAST — e. diaz x reader

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 Wordcount: 4.1k Summary: Someone almost dies. You freak out. Alternatively, those accused of robbing banks together, stay together. Warnings: cheating, panic attacks, vomiting, yearning overload, idiot4idiot, they’re broken up but HR still hates them. A/N: anyone else feel like someone's gearing up to die and haunt the narrative?

13 times. Thirteen, thirteen, thirteen. You repeat the number so much in your head it doesn't even sound like a real word anymore. It's all you've done since you hung up on Bobby. It's all you can think about on the drive over. 13 times Chimney's been stabbed.

Howie Han can be annoying at times, but he's always been a loyal and kind friend. You don't understand why anyone would do such a thing.

And Maddie's been kidnapped, too.

They've seriously got to be the most cursed couple of all time.

You rush through the hospital doors, and tell the front desk your name. You're sure you look a mess. You had no time to even look in the mirror after getting that call. They ask for the patient's name and it takes you a long minute to come up with anything, cycling through Chim's endless list of nicknames in your mind.

“Howard Han. His name's Howard Han, he was...um,” you can't even bring yourself to say the words.

He was stabbed thirteen times.

The nurse at the desk's mouth drops open as she opens something up on the screen in front of her. You nod, you can tell she's just uncovered what's happened to him. Her eyes are full of pity as she directs you to the hallway adjacent to the ICU.

There, you find Athena and Bobby leaning against the wall, while Buck and Eddie sit in the corner. You walk up to Athena and she offers you a hug, before Bobby does the same.

“Anything new?” you ask Athena.

“No, he's stable for now. Last we heard they were getting him prepped for surgery,” she responds.

“Good, good,” you sigh, “What about the case? I mean, who the hell did all of this?”

“We don't know yet. There isn't much we can reveal. But before he fell unconscious, Howard mentioned a Jason Bailey. That name ring a bell?”

You think it does. You wrack your brain for a few minutes, trying to come up with anything from your conversations with Chim, but nothing comes up. As you're about to shake your head in response, though, you remember.

“Oh my god! Yes,” you yell, grabbing Eddie and Buck's attention, “This guy I met outside a bar we were all at. He asked for my number. I gave it to him.”

“He said his name was Jason Bailey.”

“Did he ever end up calling you?” Athena asks.

“Yeah, he called me a bunch after. I never responded, though,” you confess, as Buck and Eddie make their way over to the three of you.

“Would you mind giving me the number?”

You nod in agreement frantically, and pull your phone out. You read the digits out loud to her, and she logs them onto her phone. She explains that she'll try to track the phone attached to the number, and then leaves with Buck.

Shortly after, Bobby follows them. You're left standing there with Eddie, too stunned to speak. You can feel your throat closing up and a large pit forming in your stomach.

You move to sit down at the chair where Buck sat just minutes ago. You put your head between your knees and try to even out your breathing. Your mind is flooding with all of the different possible ways this could've gone. Repositioning your head fails miserably, when you start remembering all of the bad memories from the past month.

You've felt so lonely lately, the breakup with Eddie hitting you hard. You wonder, if it had been you, how long would it have taken anyone to find you?

You shoot out of your seat and make your way into the nearest storage closet you can find, slamming the door shut. If you're about to break down, it might as well be private. You can hear Eddie call after you, but you pay him no mind. You slide down the floor and sit in a crouched position, letting the cold floor cool you down.

Your face is running hot, you can barely hear your own heavy breathing with your mind running at 100 miles per hour, and it feels like someone's stabbed you in the stomach. You close your eyes tightly, trying to zero in on anything positive, but nothing comes up. And then Eddie walks in.

He closes the door behind him gently, and you're too busy wigging out to tell him to leave you the fuck alone, please. He grabs something off of a shelf above you and bends down to sit beside you.

“Hey,” he whispers, and your eyes turn to look at him. You're still freaking out but his voice is making this a little easier.

It could've been you. You instead of Chim. Maybe it should've been. You could've saved him. Maybe you would've been able to tell this guy was bad news. Why hadn't you responded to Jason's calls? If you had, it might've been you kidnapped right now. It might've been Eddie stabbed and left to die. Or you. You aren't too sure what this psycho's end goal is exactly.

“Take this, okay? Breathe into it for me,” he hands you a paper bag. You grab it desperately, and put it over your mouth.

You focus on filling the bag up with air, and breathing it back in. Eddie whispers praises into the dark, with a steady hand on your shoulder.

“You’re okay, cariño. You’re okay,” he tells you, “You’re doing so well.”

Your breathing's still irregular, though, and two breaths later you can feel the contents of your stomach come back up. You're immensely grateful for the bag, which Eddie grabs and throws into a trash can nearby. He makes his way back to your side immediately, placing his open palm on the middle of your back.

The worst of it is over, the endorphins from throwing up carrying you over. You feel a lot better almost instantly. Your breathing's gone back to normal, and you feel a little dizzy but it's a lot better than whatever the fuck that was. You rest your head against the shelf behind you as Eddie does the same. He sighs in relief, like he was the one who's just had a panic attack. Somehow, you can see it's affected him just as much as you.

“You okay, now?” he checks.

“Mhm. Much better,” you respond.

He rubs your back gently in circles. A few moments after you've both calmed down, you walk out of the storage closet. He leads you to a bathroom to get cleaned up, and waits outside.

Neither of you talks for the rest of the night. He takes care of you silently; he brings you food and coffee, holds your hand when Chimney goes into surgery, and consistently reassures you everything's going to be fine with just his eyes.

The morning after feels a little like dying inside. Chim's still in surgery, you haven't spoken to Eddie yet, and you're all going around sharing anecdotes about Howie like he's about to die.

When you feel like you're about to start panicking again, you put your head between your legs and claim it's just because you're tired. You can feel Eddie look for any signs of distress you might be exhibiting whenever you do this anyway.

The moment Michael and Harry turn up with drinks and baked goods, Eddie goes to grab you both a cup of the fancy coffee they brought by. You take the cup from his hand and thank him with a smile.

“We don't have to talk about last night if you don't want to,” he blurts out, as he takes a seat again.

You frown, “It's not that I don't want to. There's nothing to talk about. I freaked out. Chimney's my friend. I was worried.”

“It wasn't just that,” he accuses. “C'mon, we were both there. That wasn't just worry or sadness. It was guilt.”

You roll your eyes, “What the hell do I have to feel guilty for?”

He leans back, “You should ask yourself.”

He glances around to make sure no one's looking and puts a reassuring hand on your back, “None of this is your fault. It doesn't matter that this guy was trying to harass you first. It's not your fault, okay?”

His tone has a finality to it that almost makes you believe him. You nod anyway, and it's more of a promise that you'll try, than an affirmation. It's good enough for him.

You sip on your coffee slowly, and his hand never leaves your back.

There's still a smooth rhythm to your conversation. The quick-witted quips and jokes you shared during your time together still flow between you like you've never been apart. You're listening intently to Eddie talk about something that happened on a call the other week when his attention is pulled by something else.

“I happen to think...” he pauses, his eyes are now trained on someone behind you.

“Shannon?” he says, getting up.

You turn around to look. Yep, definitely Shannon.

He walks a few steps closer to lean down and hug Christopher. You smile at the sight, and get up to greet Shannon.

“Hey,” you say, introducing yourself.

She introduces herself as well, and you nod. Like you'd ever forget her. When Christopher hears your voice, he walks over to hug you. You pick him up into your arms, as Eddie grabs his walking sticks.

“Hey, buddy. How's it going?” you ask excitedly.

“Great,” he says, “Missed you.”

“Yeah?” you grin.

“Yeah,” Shannon responds, “He's mentioned you a lot.”

You nod at her, trying not to look visibly uncomfortable, and then ask Chris if he'd like to go see Chim. He's very enthusiastic for a kid that has to spend his Saturday at a hospital, but you entertain him anyway. You both walk further into the hospital, as his parents talk for a moment, before Eddie joins you and Shannon leaves.

It seems you have an insanely useless and incredibly inconvenient talent: it's crossing paths with Shannon Diaz. It's almost like the universe is punishing you by putting her in your life every time you have the gall to try forgetting about her.

And the curse doesn't stop at the hospital, it follows you all the way back to the station. Eddie's been out on a call for an hour and fifty-two minutes. Not just Eddie, everyone else too, but his shift had ended within those two hours, as had your own. You were just sticking behind in case anyone needed anything, definitely not to keep tabs on him.

Besides, no one ever said you couldn't keep tabs on your ex in your mind, even if he does have a wife. It's completely innocent. No one's getting hurt, and you find a little bit of solace in making sure he's fine after every call.

So, when you look over the railing to see if it's the team that's just stepped into the station and you catch sight of Shannon Diaz instead, you feel a little caught. It's almost like that woman has a sixth sense when it comes to you and Eddie.

She catches you staring at her from upstairs and waves her arm at you. She makes her way up with Christopher, and you greet them both, bending down to give Chris a hug.

“Hey, uh, Eddie's on his last call right now,” you inform Shannon.

She nods, and for some reason, you invite her to sit at the couch and decide take a seat with them. Christopher goes out of his way to sit next to you.

You entertain them with stories about rescuing people from the most inconvenient emergencies, but you keep out all of the graphic details for Chris' sake.

“Y'know, when I was with your dad, responding to an emergency once,” you narrate, looking at Christopher.

“There was a fire we had to put out. At the very last minute, I had to pull him away before he got caught in it. I practically saved his life. You should make sure he never forgets that,” you joke.

He laughs and nods like he’s actually going to remind his dad every 5 minutes. You can tell Shannon’s getting a little bored with all of the story-telling.

“Good thinking,” she comments, like she's praising a child for a cute drawing.

Chris almost immediately decides he wants a drink of water. He insists on going to the fridge for it alone. You watch him anyway, worried about the uneven flooring of the station. You finally look away when you realize one of your co-workers helping him out at the kitchenette.

“He's so independent for a kid. Wants to do everything himself,” you admire.

“Yeah, I know,” she responds, but she sounds like something else is on her mind.

“It is you, isn’t it?” she blurts out.

“Um,” you look around and repeat your own name back to her, nodding.

“You know what I mean,” she says, her voice heavy with accusation.

It’s clear she knows exactly what transpired between you and Eddie, before she decided to turn back up. If not, then she has a pretty damn good idea. You're too stunned to respond. You make sure to frown at her tone, though.

“What...” you begin, but you're thankfully interrupted by Eddie running up the stairs.

He hugs Shannon with one arm from behind the couch, and goes to say hi to Chris. When they both come back, Shannon looks positively furious. You feel like she might get up and kill you. Then, she does the most unexpected thing ever.

“Why don't you join us for dinner tonight? I'll make something nice.”

Is she seriously fucking inviting you to dinner?

Your eyes go so wide you might pop an eyeball. You turn to Eddie for a moment and then back to her.

“I kind of have plans. A date,” you lie.

That catches Eddie’s attention. You try your hardest to ignore his eyes boring into the side of your head, on account of his wife, who's literally sitting five feet away. There’s a palpable tension in the air. It makes you want to find the nearest sink and drown yourself in it.

“Maybe some other time,” you lie again.

You bid Christopher goodbye, and run to get dressed and leave.

A day later, it's Chimney's survived-a-brutal-stabbing party. Eddie and Buck hold up the party banner that reads, 'Chimney: 2, Death: 0.' Buck argues with Hen about respecting Chim's wishes, but she's having none of it. And, just on time, Athena brings the cake she picked up for the party being held at the station.

Hen announces that Chim's ten minutes away.

Perfect, you think, that's just enough time.

You walk up to Eddie as discreetly as possible and tell him to follow you into the bathroom. You go inside, and a few seconds later he's in there too.

“What?” he asks, a little concerned.

“Did you tell your wife about us?” you ask abruptly.

“Excuse me?” he whisper-shouts. “What I do and don’t tell my wife is none of your business,” he adds.

“Oh, don’t give me that. Just answer the damn question.”

He sighs in defeat, “Fine. Yes, I did. Of course I did. Happy now?”

“No, actually,” you respond, with snark.

“So what does she want now? For all of us to be friends?” you question, talking about how she so casually tried to invite you to dinner.

“I have no idea, okay?” he admits, "All I know is that I wouldn’t mind it.”

He waits for you to respond, expectantly. It's clear he's waiting for you to say the same.

You won't. You can't. The implications of it would be so fucked up. Especially after what happened at the hospital, which you're 100 percent sure Shannon doesn't know about.

“What do you want me to say? That I miss you? That it doesn’t kill me every time I see you with her and I remember what we had, and just how easily you let it all go?

“No. I won’t say any of that. Because it’s pathetic. And I’m not going to say anything to ease your guilty conscience. You should feel guilty.

“And I hate you for what you did.”

He's staring so intently into your eyes, you think he might be looking for any indication that what you're saying isn't true. Then, what you've just said dawns on you.

You've just admitted every single feeling you have for him in double negatives. And it's all true.

He grabs both sides of your face and pulls you into a hard kiss. He walks forward and pushes you into the tiled wall behind you.

It takes you a moment to slip your eyes shut, and delight in the feeling of his lips on yours. Just one word flashes through your brain, and it makes you pull back immediately like he's just burned you.

Wrong. This is all so, so wrong.

Looking into his eyes at this moment is the biggest mistake of your life. It instantly makes you forget everything. Your morals, your past, and his wife, it all fades away into the background.

You do remember the way he's made you feel, though. How sad, and dejected, and lonely he rendered you the day you realized he'd been lying to you. Your brows furrow at him, like looking into his eyes is causing you physical, palpable pain.

You slap him.

And before he can react, you pull him in for a kiss again.

His fingers are wrapped up in your hair in an instant. He pulls you impossibly closer, smushing your mouths together in desperation. You whine into his mouth at the feeling, but it reaches your ears as nothing more than a muffled, barely audible noise.

Your hands are cradling his face, but they just serve as leverage to keep him close. To make sure he receives everything you're pouring into this kiss.

You endlessly pour every single emotion he's made you feel since that night at the bar into the gesture. You hope he can feel the result, which just feels like a mess of love, and lust, and misery, and guilt.

So, so much guilt. So much guilt you're choking on it. When you almost can't breathe anymore, you pull back quickly. It makes you remember why you feel so guilty.

“No, no. Oh my god,” you exclaim, pulling his hands away and stepping back, all the way to the other side of the bathroom.

“You're married. Still married,” you think out loud, and it makes you feel a thousand times worse.

You shake your head firmly, “I'm not going to be some kind of mistress.”

You walk towards the bathroom door to leave, needing as much space between you and him as possible.

Since it's all out in the open now, so you feel the need to call him out on his bullshit once and for all.

“I won't tell you how to live your life. But if you keep playing house with someone you don't love, it'll do a lot more harm than good. To you and to Christopher.”

You had no idea a call could end so badly. You'd spent 12 hours locked up in a vault, unconscious and drugged. And now you're being interrogated. After having had to wait for everyone else in the 118 to be interrogated, naturally.

As you wait in an interrogation room in the LA police station ten minutes away from the 118, you tap your foot impatiently. You're so tired you could fall sleep right here on the metal table you're leaning against. You're also so angry you could annoy the idiots who brought you in here for hours. You probably will.

Two detectives step into the room, and take a seat in front of you. It's a man and a woman. They look familiar, and you already hope you never have to see them again after today.

The way they walk to their chairs, smiling at you, and look at each other plays out like a very badly written act they're trying to perform.

“Hello, firefighter…um,”

The woman checks your name and then says it out loud, tapping the piece of paper in front of her.

“I’m Detective Mercer,” she says, and then points at her partner, “And this is Detective Wash. We just have a few questions for you.”

You nod, because it’s the only reaction you can manage without completely freaking out at them. Your nerves are fried. Not only have you just gotten accused of being involved in a bank robbery, you had to wait four hours for these idiots to be done interrogating everyone else to bring you in.

“Look, we know you’re probably not involved in any of this,” Detective Mercer says.

You shoot her an expression you hope conveys, ‘Really? Then, why’d you bring me in here, idiot?’

“Yes,” she says with certainty at your disbelieving glare.

“I mean, you were already a Fire Cadet, who was qualified for Ride-Alongs by 17. Recognized by the Board of Fire Commission for your dedication. You graduated top of your class at the academy. The top graduate for three years after too, if I recall correctly,” Detective Wash notes, reading off of the file that rests in front of him. His partner just nods. 

“Your record’s completely clean. You’ve had no financial problems. Hell, your credit score’s better than either of us,” Mercer says, pointing at herself and her partner.

They both laugh, but you aren’t laughing with them. You know they don’t believe in all of the bullshit they’re spewing.

It’s all real, of course, but it doesn’t absolve you from looking guilty in their eyes. They’re just trying to pull you in by making you feel so holier-than-thou that you rat the 118 out, which you wouldn’t do in a million years. So, it seems there’s a few things they don’t know.

“So, where are the questions?” you ask, clearly too tired for this demeaning attempt at manipulation. 

Detective Wash sighs, and then looks at his partner like they’re gearing up to reveal a big secret to you. 

He then leans in, across the table, and almost whispers, “We heard, uh, somewhere, that there’s been some involvement between yourself and Probationary Firefighter Diaz. We also heard he hurt you pretty badly.”

Detective Mercer nods again, “Lord knows I wouldn't forgive an ex for lying to me that easily, either.”

You cock your head to the side.

What the actual hell...

You wish you could just run away. Or hide in the corner, or something. You were aware everyone in the station knew what was going on, but it being spoken back to you like this makes you want to pull your own hair out.

You haven't spoken to him since the kiss, but hearing his name still leaves you embarrassed and a little hurt.

“What are you trying to say?” you ask, annoyed.

Wash sits back like they've just caught you red-handed.

They haven't. It's why they're resorting to all of these cheap tactics, you tell yourself.

"What we're trying to say is..." Mercer sighs, feigning disappointment, “You don't have to go down for this with him.”

You roll your eyes, slamming your hands down on the table as gently as you can manage right now. They're bigger idiots than you previously thought if they genuinely think they can manipulate you into saying anything.

“Of course,” you laugh.

“Look, I didn't do anything. Diaz didn't do anything. The 118 didn't do anything. I was unconscious with my friend in a vault for almost 12 hours that day, but I can tell you with utmost certainty: you're barking up the wrong tree.”

You sit back in your seat. They look shocked at how plainly you speak. You hope they didn't realize the fury in your eyes when they suggested you might rat Eddie out. Of all people. He's the last person you'd betray.

They ask you a million other questions. They even try to insinuate you might've cooked this up to help Eddie out with his finances, which you had no idea he was even having problems with.

It's all irrelevant. Everything else sounds irrelevant to your ears after they've asked about your fight with Eddie. Your answers are clipped, enough to be cooperative, but not enough to give them any false hope that they might be right.

The investigation fizzles out, and you're all found innocent, obviously. But they've taken Captain Nash away from you. It tips the carefully curated balance you've all got going on when Chim assumes the role of Interim Captain Han.

It's the most entertaining thing to have happened at the station, since Buck got fired. You have no idea why everyone hates it so much. You loved having Bobby Nash as your captain, but you wouldn't mind if he stayed on the bench a little longer.

To be fair, Howard Han is pretty much completely afraid of you.

He wouldn't be able to boss you around if he tried. And he has, many times. When you first joined the 118 as a probie, he tried to act as a guiding hand. It seemed more like he was just trying to get you to do everything he tells you to do, constantly.

So, when you got tired of it, you put him in his place. Very loudly. For thirty minutes. And he hasn't tried to order you to do anything since.

It's just the dynamic you two have. Him becoming a temporary replacement for Captain Nash will never change that.

That being said, you still miss having Cap around, so you decide to visit him.

You're sure you might be the unluckiest person alive, though, because it isn't Bobby who opens the door for you. It's the very last person you want to see. And he looks as stunned to see you as you are.

As you walk into Bobby's apartment, and set down the cookies you've brought over, you realize he has the same stunned look on his face as you and Eddie.

“What? You guys look like I've just caught you sharing dirty secrets,” you joke.

“Oh,” you realize.

They were probably talking about Shannon, or Christopher. Or anything else you have no business butting into. Maybe Bobby even knows about the kiss. God, you hope he doesn't.

“Never mind,” you counter.

You sit down beside Bobby. The awkward silence becomes a little too much to bear, so you decide to ignore Eddie's presence completely.

“Bobby, I have to tell you, I'm so incredibly entertained by Chimney playing captain,” you gush.

“Really?” Bobby questions, “Everyone's been saying the exact opposite.”

“Yeah, well. Howie's too afraid of me to try any of his weird power-play stuff on me,” you explain, popping open the Tupperware you brought to grab a cookie. You urge them to do the same.

“I've got free passes out of all of the boring stuff he's having everyone else do."

“How'd you do that?” Eddie asks, smiling into a bite of a cookie.

You're a little disoriented for a moment. It's the first time he's directly spoken to you since the... well, the thing. And it was completely by accident. You can tell by the way his eyes went wide right after.

Now, you're stuck between a rock and a hard place. You could respond, and lose your credibility in this ongoing contest to see who's going to initiate friendship first. Or you could ignore him and make this entire visit a hundred times more awkward.

You respond, for Bobby's sake, “It's a long story. Maybe later.”

You start talking about all of the interesting calls you've had since Bobby left, and Eddie listens intently, despite having already been there for most of them. He laughs at every joke and grins at every other word.

Sooner rather than later, you check your phone and notice you're about to be late to brunch with Hen.

Eddie watches your every movement, like he's been doing for the past hour.

He must think he's subtle, but he really isn't.

“I have to leave in ten, Cap,” you announce, “I'm sorry.”

“It's alright,” he says, “I'm booked and busy.”

“Yeah, uh, me too,” Eddie seems to realize, “I'm already twenty minutes late to lunch with the family.”

The family? You're sure Christopher has a physical therapy session right now, like he does every week.

Maybe he means Shannon? Why not say her name? Is he trying to spare you all the feeling of awkwardness when he mentions her in your presence? Or does he remember the things you told him the last time you...spoke. If you can even call it that.

He gets up to grab his coat, and hugs Cap goodbye. He spares you a long glance, too.

Before he can leave, Bobby speaks up.

“Hey, Eddie,” Bobby calls out to him, “I think you'll find the answer to your question within. You need to figure out how you feel.”

It sounds so cryptic, you're sure the question's related to his marriage somehow. It's the only reason Bobby wouldn't speak plainly.

So, you do your best to busy yourself getting your stuff together. Eddie does no such thing, though. He lets his eyes drift to you for a long moment, before nodding at Bobby.

“Wow. That's some Yoda shit. Has staying at home already made you wise beyond your many years, Bobby?” you joke.

Eddie laughs out loud as he closes the front door behind him.

A/N: if u remember what eddie asked bobby in 2.17 u get 10 points!

[leashybebes]

things weren't hurting enough, so here's a buck take on this

as before, under a cut because of potential spoilers/based on mcd spec, i don't think this will happen but i love how messy they could make it.

Nothing feels real. Nothing except the loss. Voices sound wrong. The lights waver. His skin feels too tight. His phone feels wrong in his hands. 

"Evan?"

Everything stabilizes. Reality beyond the fact of Bobby's absence rushes back in.

"T-tommy?"

"Yeah. I - Evan, I'm so sorry."

Right. Because the last time he saw Tommy was when Bobby's lifeless body was being loaded into Tommy's chopper for a desperate last ditch attempt. Tommy's been crying, Buck realizes. His eyes are red-rimmed, the tip of his nose pink in a way that would be cute under any other circumstances. Because Bobby was important to him too, Buck remembers. They talked about it once, kinda, Tommy mentioning off-handedly that he owed his transfer to Harbor (and everything good in his life) to Bobby.

He looks devastated, but he's trying so hard to keep it together. He's trying so hard. For Buck.

He grabs it with both hands, stumbling up on numb legs and letting Tommy catch him. He's so solid, so warm and alive where he gets his arms around Buck's shaking shoulders.

"I've got you," he promises. "I'm here, I've got you, baby."

Buck lets himself cry, lets himself be held, lets himself believe something good can coexist with the worst thing that's ever happened.

It feels like that's all there is for the next week. Tommy holds him. Buck cries. The funeral passes in a blur of uncomfortable shoes and fleeting glimpses of Tommy's profile where he's marching with the rest of them. Because Buck wanted him there. Because Buck asked. Because Buck cried and said he didn't know if he could do it without him. 

The first time Tommy has to go into work after the funeral is awful. Buck spends the day with Maddie and Chim, and he's never known such a long, long twenty four hours before. His phone barely leaves his hand, and he feels like he only comes alive the handful of times Tommy's able to text him - hey, hi, halfway there, see you soon, I hope you got some sleep. The rest of the time it feels like the world's slipping again, like things are becoming less real, like everything but grief is fading into the background. 

When he hears the rumble of Tommy's truck pull up outside the house, it's like seeing him again for the first time (the very first time, but also the first time after they broke up and also the first time after Bobby died). Like something slams into place, like the world makes some kinda sense. 

He's off the couch and out of the front door before Tommy's even out of the truck, colliding into him when Tommy's only had the chance to turn sideways in his seat, arms out for Buck to fall into.

"Hey, hey, it's okay," Tommy says. And it's not. But it will be. Because Tommy's staying.

"I missed you," Buck says. "I missed you, I missed you, I missed you."

He trapped Taylor once, in a lie. And he knows he's trapping Tommy now, with his devastation and his brokenness. He just needs someone not to leave. He just needs Tommy not to leave. And while Tommy might not be brave for his own sake, he's brave for other people without batting an eye and Buck knows, with quiet, miserable pleasure, that he isn't going anywhere.

[adrinktostopyourthirst]

bucky’s “gimme a minute, baby” in that skin-on-skin drabble has me in such a chokehold i’m actually struggling to breath right now and oops i just died. building on that, how do you think bucky kind of balances that control while also being the absolute man of service he is? hard to imagine him struggling for dominance—that man is NOT a sub—but he’s definitely walking a line between calling the shots and being on his fucking knees.

Bucky wants skin on skin…

I blame it on Bucky’s tunnel vision and tenacity. He can’t help but go after what he wants. He can’t help but lose his pride over it. Can’t help but have you…

The breath that rushes from him is ragged and desperate. Your fingers curl in his slightly sweat-matted tresses, tugging his face up so his glistening chin tilts upward and his glossy eyes meet yours from between your legs. He wants to speak, but he’s struggling for words. It seems strange to be able to bring him to this state - not submission, but utter desperation.

“What is it, Bucky?” you ask him and his eyes flutter when you rake your nails over his scalp.

“Baby,” he rasps.

“Hm?”

“Come on,” he sighs. “Let me just- Just…”

You smile at him and slightly shift your hips, his eyes drifting down to watch the movement and his throat bobbing as he swallows. This is torture for him and you can’t fathom someone wanting you so badly. You’re almost scared of what he will do to you when you allow him to lower his mouth back onto you.

In truth, you needed him to stop for a second. Your orgasm came toward you way too quickly. It was too much and your thighs had been shaking like crazy.

“What do you want, Bucky?” you ask him before your disbelief overrules the euphoric feeling you get when this man wants you like this.

His fingers curl in the sheets, the metal whirring with the movement. This is the kind of restraint you’ve seen from him in battle, when he wants to attack, but is waiting for orders. This is a soldier. A soldier waiting for the order to attack. To kill.

“Wanna lick you,” he mutters and his cheek falls to your inner thigh, pupils growing as his eyes dart between your glistening cunt and your flushed face. “Want to see you come.”

You shake your head and tilt it at him. “You weren’t trying to make me come.”

His mouth curves up at the corner. Bastard. He has his own agenda.

His brow drops as he straightens his position. His hands slowly curl from the sheets and slide to your thighs, squeezing the outside and sliding to your inner thighs.

Your confidence falters. And his smirk fully comes out when he knows you’ve caught on, his hands pressing down to open your thighs as far as they go.

“Let me have what I want, sweetheart,” he mumbles and presses lazy kisses over your thighs, visibly depriving himself of what he really wants - taunting himself. His voice is soft, but you know better than to think you have the power. You’re talking to a man starving.

Something in your belly twists at the thought and Bucky snickers at your pussy convulsing. His finger darts out and traces over your folds.

“Buck…”

“We want the same thing, don’t we?” he asks.

You nod, words lost.

“Good girl,” he says, lips fluttering against your clit with the words. You shudder. “You know I’d beg for it.”

Fuck, you do. He would. He has.

In defeat, you drop your head back between your shoulders with a long breath. You hear him laugh softly, feel his grip steady on your thighs.

Then you feel his mouth.

Oh no…

[darlingdaisyfarm]

⸝⸝ american dream ˚.

he says he's a businessman, but his pockets are full of fake cash

author note: i actually started writing this as a one-shot fic and wanted to end it in filthy smut, but i got a little bit inspired during the process....... now honestly, i love the idea. it’s not that canon-compliant, but who cares?? also, i’m not from america, so sorry if anything here sounds dumb aghgh :( i dont really know if i should develop it into smth serious or just leave it like that, so idk if it's chapter one or just one shot but im anyways leaving tags for the whole idea i have in mind. i would be glad to see ur opinions on this

tags for the whole fic: Stan Pines x reader (Steve Pinington because he's hot), conman Stanley Pines, enemies to forced travel companions, enemies to lovers, comedy i guess?, supposed to be slow burn but im bad at writing it, gritty realism, homelessness and survival, lots of crime, sexual tension, eventual smut, dirty talk, mutual destruction, partners in crime, morally questionable characters, fake identities and passports, au i guess? because Stan’s stanmobile is broken

All that was left in his palms was next to nothing, a couple of crumpled bills and loose change rattling with every movement. His hands were dirty, rough, calloused from heavy bags, cracked from the cold, knuckles rubbed raw from arguments he lost. And that damn bruise under his eye was still warm and throbbing, reminding of how easy it is to fuck up your last dollar if you say the wrong thing.

The storm hadn’t let up, and he had no choice. Up ahead, a neon sign flickered in the darkness, seconds away from burning out. “low prices, lower standards!” if he had a choice, he would've kept walking, but Stanley never had choices.

The door let out an obnoxious creak when he pushed it open. Behind the counter sat some guy in a wrinkled tank top and, hearing someone step in, he lazily lifted his gaze, looked at the person in front of him up and down, dirty, drenched, exhausted, before sluggishly sliding a key across the counter.

“Fifteen bucks.”

Stan didn’t even bother arguing, he already knew the room would be awful. Could tell by the smell in the lobby, the peeling paint on the walls and the stains nobody had even tried to scrub out. So he dumped the money on the counter, swiped the key, and moved down the hall, careful not to touch the walls.

The room was worse than he expected. Long, packed with metal beds, at least ten of them, maybe more. The mattresses all varying levels of fucked-up, one even had a spring jutting out like a rusty knife. In the corner, a bathroom, if you could even call it that. The faucet leaked constantly, and the toilet. . . yeah, best not to think about the smell coming from there.

But Stanley wasn’t the type to be picky. He’d been through too much to start acting delicate now.

He dropped his suitcase beside one of the beds and, sitting down, rubbed his tired face with both hands. Accidentally, his fingers brushed against the bruise, sending a sharp pang of pain through his skin. He hissed. It hurt, but in a way, it felt good. At least it meant he could still feel something.

The storm outside picked up even harder.

Stanley knew all he had to do was make it through the night. Just one more night in a long string of nights he wouldn't remember. If sleep came, it would be short and restless. His stomach grumbled, but he’d long since learned to ignore hunger.

And yet, there was something ironic about all this. Here he was, Stanley Pines, the free spirit, a boy with attitude, as his mother used to say. Once a promising athlete, as that one family friend had called him, ruffling his brown hair. And now he was just a washed-up liar, spending his last few bucks on a bed in a room where someone had probably died. Fate had one hell of a sense of humor.

He leaned back, staring at the ceiling. Somewhere in the next room, a tv blared some ad promising happiness a better life in three easy steps.

Yeah, if only life was that easy.

But Stan had stopped believing in easy a long time ago. He didn’t believe in simple ways out. All he had were his fists, wits, and his ability to get back up every time life knocked him down.

And he'd get up after this night too.

Tomorrow he’d hit the streets again, try to scrounge up some cash, tell himself that tomorrow would be easier.

He already knew it was a lie.

But sometimes, a lie is the only thing that keeps you moving.

In his dreams, Stanley was happy. No debts, no street fights, no counting pennies, no that one goddamn night when dad threw him out like some unwanted troublemaking mutt. Just him and a giant, disgustingly delicious burger. Meat dripping with fat, cheese stretching in long strings, sauce dripping onto his fingers. Stan tore into it, starving. Oh, god, ohh fuck. The best burger of his life. And bacon. Crispy, salty bacon.

Stan remembers bacon and coffee in the mornings, remembers a warm kitchen, the smell of fresh bread. And toffee peanuts, sticky and sweet, caramel-flavored, tasting like childhood.

Somewhere something clattered. Close enough that it shouldn't have been here.

Stan jolted awake so fast he almost rolled off the shitty, creaky bed. His heart hammered against his ribs and his mind latched onto one thought. Cops, fucking cops. He barely had time to say his mental goodbyes, to his brother, his mother, and—

In the doorway stood someone drenched, exhausted, with an oversized duffel slung over one shoulder. Dirty rainwater dripped from their boots and ran in slow rivulets down their face.

“Oh, shit, sorry. Didn’t know someone else was in this piece of— uh, shitty place.”

Stanley blinked. Looked around, still trying to process what the hell was happening. He had just been in heaven, his greasy, cholesterol-filled heaven, and now—

Now some random stranger from the streets had just stumbled right into his shitty motel room.

“I just closed my eyes!” Stan mumbled.

You threw your bag on the floor and scoffed, shaking the rain off your sleeves. “right, sorry for disturbing your precious sleep, your highness.”

“Oh, you better be sorry! I was dreamin’ about a burger. The juiciest, fattest, most delicious burger. And bacon. Bacon, man! Do you even know how long it’s been since i had bacon? And toffee peanuts! goddamn caramel melting in my mouth like—”

“Jeez, calm down, okay? man, you need therapy.”

“I need a damn burger!”

You smirked, shrugging off your soaked jacket. Water dripped onto the wooden floor, which was already sticky from years, no, decades, of dirt.

“Well, i don’t have a burger. But i do have a half-eaten snickers somewhere in my bag. Interested?”

Stanley looked at you like you had just offered him a brick instead of food.

“You think a snickers can replace bacon?”

“No? But it’s got peanuts. That’s protein. Protein is good for you.”

“You don’t get it, do you? It’s not just food, it’s nostalgia! It’s my damn childhood! It's waking up to the smell of bacon in the kitchen, my mom humming some old tune, me stealing a piece before my brother—“ he cut himself off, grimaced, and flopped back onto the bed. “forget it.”

You finally looked at him properly and only now noticed that he looked like he’d been through hell. “Rough night?”

“Rough life.”

You both went quiet. The storm outside raged on, shaking the flimsy motel walls under the force of the wind.

“So,” you finally said, rolling your shoulders, “we’re roommates now?”

Stanley snorted. “Seems like it. Welcome to hell, buddy.”

You flopped onto one of the empty beds, and the moment you did, the loudest creak imaginable ripped through the room, making both you and Stan clap your hands over your ears. Using your foot, you pulled your heavy-ass duffel bag closer, which created yet another horrible sound. You rolled your eyes and started wringing out your sleeves, water trickling in thin streams down onto the ancient, mildew-scented carpet.

“Jesus, what the hell is this weather? it’s like god himself wants me to suffer.”

Stanley, still grimacing, lazily turned toward you. “tell me about it. This place ain’t much better either. I think the walls are moldy.”

You eyed the peeling wallpaper, noticing the unsettling dark substance oozing out of the corner. God, you didn’t even wanna know what the hell that was.

“Yeah, well. Beats sleeping outside.” you said nervously.

Stan chuckled but didn’t argue. He watched as you fussed with your wet clothes for a few seconds before finally speaking up again, in the most pathetic tone imaginable. “Uh, so. . . you said somethin’ about a snickers?”

You looked up, and your heart almost burst, because this grown-ass man with a black eye and a permanent scowl was looking at you with the saddest, most puppy-eyed expression known to mankind. You felt like you had personally caused every single one of his problems. What a goddamn actor.

“Oh my god,” you pressed a hand to your forehead. “Fine. Knock yourself out. Bag’s on the floor.”

He didn’t need to be told twice. Practically leaping off the bed, he snatched up your bag and started digging through it, clearly on the hunt for the promised candy bar.

“Jesus, what do you even keep in here? bricks? dead bodies?”

“Yeah, first one to ask gets to be the next one in there.”

Stan snickered but kept rummaging. Finally, he pulled out the snickers, unwrapped it, and—

“Oh—oh my godd—” your eyes widened at the unexpected, borderline obscene sounds.

He literally moaned when the chocolate hit his tongue, tilting his head back, eyes shut in pure bliss. You stared at him in absolute disgust.

“Dude. Ew.”

“You don’t get it,” he groaned, taking another bite. “it’s been weeks since i had chocolate. Weeks! I was startin’ to forget what joy tasted like!”

“Yeah, that was a good one. I wanted to steal a twix too, but almost got caught.”

Stan froze mid-bite, eyebrows shooting up in pleasant surprise. “Wait. You’re tellin’ me, you steal too?”

You smirked, holding out your hands. “Duh. What, you think i have money for this crap?”

“Holy shit. We’re like, the same.” he shook his head, still in shock. “man. all this time i thought i was some kind of lone wolf, strugglin’ through life, hustlin’ my way through this shitty world. Turns out i got a partner in crime?”

“Ehh, sorry to break it to ya, but you ain't that special.”

Stan scoffed, finishing the candy bar. Although he clearly remembered when he kept rummaging through your bag, his hand suddenly stilled and he found something. Something that made his eyebrows climb higher and higher. He didn’t say anything. And neither did you. Stanley was good at pretending everything was okay.

You kept wringing out your soaked clothes, searching your bag for something dry, while Stanley swallowed the last bite of his snickers like it was the last chocolate bar he’d ever eat in his life. And, honestly, judging by the way he looked, that might just be true.

He was watching you until finally, his curiosity got the better of him. “So. Who the hell are you, anyway?”

You didn’t even look up, still rummaging through your things.

“Somebody who gave you food.”

Your answer made his mouth twitch into a grin, and he nodded. “Yeah, well, that’s a good start. Sharin’ food is a sacred bond, y’know.”

“Uh-huh. Sacred.”

“But seriously,” he rolled onto his side, propping himself up on his elbow, “you steal, you crash in shitty motels, you carry. . . whatever the hell that was in your bag, what’s your deal?”

You shrugged lazily. “No deal. Just life.”

Truthfully, your head was killing you, and all you wanted was for him to shut up. But he clearly wasn’t planning on it. You winced, rubbing your temples. “jesus, you talk a lot.”

“Aaand yet, you answer everythin’. Means you don’t mind.”

You squinted at him. “No, i’m just too tired to tell you to shut up.”

He snorted. “Yeah, sure. Keep tellin’ yourself that, buddy.”

You rolled your eyes, peeled off another layer of your damp clothes, and hung it over the back of the bed. Then, without stopping your rummaging, you nodded toward his face.

“What’s with the bruise?”

He immediately pulled a smug expression. “you should see the other guy.”

You kept digging through your stuff, barely paying attention to his cheap bravado. Yeah, yeah. Seen it, heard it, met plenty like that.

“Hmm. And the truth?”

Stan scoffed, but when he realised you hadn’t even acknowledged his first joke, he made a deeply offended face. “Wow. You weren’t even listenin’ to me?”

“Nope.”

He huffed and waved a hand. “Eh, whatever. Owed some guy money, didn’t have it, got this instead.”

“Fair trade.”

“You’d think, huh? So where you from, anyway?”

You kept rifling through your things, but your voice turned colder. “Not from any state.”

Stan raised a brow. “Oh. so you’re not even from the U.S.?”

“Documents, visas, all that crap. Long story.” you nodded.

He dragged out a slow “huh.” and fell quiet for a moment. Then, as if he suddenly remembered that conversations were supposed to go both ways, he said, “new jersey.”

“Huh?” you squinted.

“Where i’m from. new jersey.”

You made a mental note. Oh, great. An american. Then you glanced at him again. . . Grimy, exhausted, full of problems, broke as hell. The perfect representation of the american dream. . .?

You had no energy left for this conversation. You’d had your fill of socializing for today, just like you’d had your fill of adventures. That snickers bar had cost you enough. So you decided not to reply, just shrugged and turned away.

Your wet shirt was clinging to your skin, and it was getting unbearable. So you started taking it off, not particularly caring that someone else was in the room. There were bigger concerns.

You turned your back to Stanley as the fabric hit the floor with a soft thud, exposing your spine.

Stan froze, just staring. his gaze dragged down your back, and then he just kept staring.

Directly. At. You.

You felt it prickling at the back of your neck.

Silence. Way too long of a silence. Long enough to make you frown as you slowly turned your head.

“Dude.”

He immediately looked away.

“What? i ain’t lookin’.”

“Bullshit. You were literally staring.”

He grimaced, turning away harder. “Yeah, well. Not my fault. You’re the one strippin’ in the middle of the damn room.”

You rolled your eyes. “Gosh, it’s a back. Grow up.”

Stan muttered something under his breath, yanked his blanket higher, and grumbled, “Yeah, yeah. Whatever. Just warn a guy next time.”

You finally pulled on a dry shirt and flopped back onto the cot, exhaling. The rain was still hammering against the window, the wind howled, and the ceiling creaked ominously.

You glanced over at Stan, who was already curling up, about to knock out. “Wait.”

He cracked one eye open, barely awake. “hm?”

“Never asked. What’s your name?”

That made him blink. And immediately Stan started thinking. Of course, he should lie. He always lied. Threw out fake names like poker cards. Steve Pinington. Stetson Pinefield. Hell, maybe John from Alaska? No, Stan, that's too dumb.

He squinted at you through the dark room, until he finally said. “Call me Steve.”

“Steve?”

He nodded. “Yeah. Steve.”

You rolled your eyes. “Right. And i’m the queen of england.”

“Holy shit. Pleasure to meetcha, your majesty.” Stan stuck out a hand like he was about to shake yours.

But you swatted it away. “Okay, Steve. Whatever.” then you gave him your name.

“Well,” Stan tested your name on his tongue, stretching, folding his arms behind his head, “This been a real thrill, but i’d really like to—“

“Is that your car outside?”

He froze. “What?”

“The shitty, beat-up thing that looks like it’s been in five accidents and somehow survived.”

He pushed himself up on an elbow. “Hey! That’s my baby you’re talkin’ about.”

“Why didn’t you just stay there, then?”

He groaned dramatically and flopped back down. “Ugh. Somethin’s busted. Gotta fix it. But i need a real good mechanic, and guess what? I got no money.”

“So you’re tellin’ me that thing is just. . . sitting there, useless?”

He sighed. “Not useless. just— okay, yeah, maybe a little useless. but it’ll run! probably. Just needs a little love. and, y’know. Not to blow up in the process.”

You nodded thoughtfully. “so you’re afraid your car might explode.”

“Eh. Fifty-fifty chance.”

you nodded again. “Solid odds.”

“Right?”

You both finally settled in, pulling the blankets higher, and before long, you were both out cold.

But you weren’t given much time to sleep. A sharp, hysterical scream shook the motel walls, and you flinched, jerking from the suddenness of it.

“Where is he?!” the door burst open with a crash, and a man stormed into the room. The same guy who took the payment for the room. What the fuck? You hadn’t even processed what was happening before he jabbed a finger at you.

“WHERE IS HE, BITCH?!”

You panicked, looking around. And only then did you notice. Steve was gone. That fucking bastard just. . . disappeared.

You swallowed, feeling your throat dry, trying to wrap your head around it, and just as you were about to ask what the hell was going on, the man took a step toward you, his face twisting with rage.

“YOU FUCKERS SCAMMED ME!!”

“Huh?”

“HE PAID ME WITH COUNTERFEIT MONEY, THAT LYING PIECE OF SHIT!!!”

You didn’t even have time to react before he grabbed your arm, squeezing so hard it hurt.

“AND YOU, BITCH, YOU’RE IN ON IT TOO, HUH?!!

Counterfeit money? That dumbass gave him counterfeit money?

“I’ve never even seen him before in my life!”

“DON’T LIE TO ME, WHORE!!!” he shook you.

What the fuck. What the actual fuck!

“L-listen, man, i have nothing to do with this, okay? i didn’t even know he—“

“SHUT UP!!!” he raised his hand, and you realized he was actually about to hit you. And this shit, this fucking bullshit, was not even your fault. All you could do was grab your bag, sending a snickers wrapper tumbling to the floor, and bolt for the window like crazy.

“STOP, YOU BITCH!!”

However you were already climbing over the windowsill, jumping, falling, crashing into the mud. Pain shot up your ankle, but you couldn’t stop.

His voice roared behind you, “I’LL FIND YOU!!!”

But you were already sprinting down the wet road with that disgusting cold rain slamming into your face, mud clinging to your boots.

You were fucked. You were alone. On the street. In a foreign country. With no money.

And all thanks to that fucking bastard.

That’s how you end up on the street again, with a fucking bag, dirty boots, and realisation that the world is just a giant piece of shit you’re now neck-deep in. Rain’s pouring down and you can’t even remember what it feels like to be dry. Your hair’s soaked, clothes clinging to your skin, and your stomach is damn empty, a hollow ache that’s turned into this dull, throbbing pain gnawing at your insides. And the funniest fucking part? None of this is your fault. But does that matter? No. The guy at the motel is probably already calling the cops, waving around those fake bills, and now you’re not just homeless, you’re probably a wanted criminal.

Fantastic.

No money, no food, no Steve, no fucking anything. But no time for existential bullshit, you gotta get the fuck out of here, and quick. But how the fuck are you supposed to leave when you’re broke as shit? Bus tickets cost money. Taxis cost money. Even hitchhiking isn’t an option unless you wanna roll the dice on getting murdered in some psycho’s trunk.

You walk. And walk. And fucking walk.

And it’s humiliating, the way your stomach growls loud enough for people to hear, the way your soaked clothes cling to you, the way you have to press yourself against buildings just to shield from the wind. Your last meal was half a snickers bar and now even that feels like some luxurious memory from a past life.

You need money. And fast.

So you do what desperate people do, you start looking for work. Not a real one, obviously, because legally, you don’t even exist. So you walk into the first rundown diner you see, a place so grimy it’s a miracle the health inspectors haven’t shut it down yet. The guy behind the counter, fat, greasy, way too friendly with hamburgers, doesn’t ask questions. Just tosses you a filthy apron and says your shift starts now.

You carry plates and wipe sticky tables. Put up with customers who act like you’re not even a person, just part of the furniture. Some leave tips and others leave disgusting looks, but you pretend none of it matters.

Until you spill a drink on some guy, who said very nasty and dirty things to you and the manager, who’s been drinking all day in his office, just decides he doesn’t like you. Either way, you’re out on the street before you can even say “go fuck yourself.”

Fine. Fuck them.

Next, you try cleaning. Sounds easy enough, right? Just wipe shit, take out trash, don’t ask questions. But the people. Oh god, the people.

One guy stares too long. Another asks if you “do more than just clean.” You hear something in the next room that sounds exactly like a body being dragged across the floor, and before they can assign you your first shift, you’re already bolting out the backdoor, deciding you’d rather starve than end up as another missing poster.

So you adapt and start lying. The first lie is awkward, stumbling, barely convincing.

You become a lost tourist, a poor, helpless tourist with tears in their eyes. “i need to get home, but i got robbed, could you please help?” some people believe you, some don’t, but sometimes a few bucks land in your palm.

Actually pretending to be a lost tourist works. Not always, not on everyone, but enough to get you through a night. Enough to buy something cheap from a gas station. Enough to keep you from completely breaking.

But you’re still homeless, from time to time sleeping under bridges, curled up in your too-thin jacket, cursing Steve every time you hear a car pass because he’s probably in his fucking shitty car right now, dry and warm, while you’re here turning into a human popsicle.

Every night, you promise yourself if you ever see him again, you’re gonna punch him. Right in the jaw.

But then one day, you watch some lady on the street doing tarot readings. Honestly, she's dramatic as hell, but you see the way people eat it up. How badly they want to believe the bullshit she’s spinning.

And that’s when it hits you. You don’t need luck to survive. You just need a better lie.

So you become a psychic, not a real one, obviously. But you pick up quick because you watch, listen and learn.

You sit out on the street, put on a knowing expression, grab the hand of the first idiot who stops, and start spewing bullshit about “long fate lines,” “hidden symbols,” and “a rich soulmate just around the corner.” And people eat it up.

God, they’ll believe anything if it means hearing their future is bright. And you don’t blame them because you wish you could believe it too.

“Oh, i see a great love in your future!”

“Yes, you’ll be rich one day, just wait!”

“Your life is about to change in a big way!”

So the money starts coming in. Not much, but more than before. More than the waitress job and more than begging. For the first time in forever, you don’t feel like you’re at rock bottom.

And soon you’ve got enough to get the hell out of this cursed city.

Here you are, trying to catch a bus, because if you stay here even one more day, you’re either gonna get arrested for illegal stay, or get eaten alive by the homeless, or worst of all found by the people who were supposed to make sure you never crossed the border in the first place. Okay, last chance, last hope. Standing on the roadside, you're scanning the cars, forcing a practiced smile, as if you’re not freezing your ass off and your legs aren’t burning from exhaustion.

The bus finally arrives, late as always, Because yeah, why would anything ever be convenient for you? The city is already deep asleep, leaving the streets empty, and that silence unsettles you. You’ve always hated silence. Especially this one that makes you glance over your shoulder and wonder if you should even get on this bus at all. But you don’t have a choice so you throw the money at the driver before he can say anything, drag yourself to the back, where you can sprawl out by the window and maybe catch a few minutes of sleep. You’re already hauling your heavy-ass bag, dreaming about collapsing into a seat, when you see—

WHAT

That bastard, slouched in the corner, legs widely spread, brown hair is even messier than before, his gaze lazy, but the second he spots you, his eyes widen just a little.

You stop and stare. So does he.

“You. fucking. asshole.” you throw your bag onto the seat beside him, the sound echoing through the empty bus, but you don’t give a single shit.

“Hey, what the fuck, lady?” Steve or whatever the hell his name was raises his hands, as if he has no idea what’s happening, as if he’s genuinely fucking clueless about why you’re yelling at him.

“Oh, don’t you fucking “lady” me. You left me, you piece of shit.”

“Listen, doll, it's not like I—“

“Oh my fucking god, don’t ”doll” me either, you goddamn motherfucker.”

You hate the fact that he acts like this is funny. But he's not dumb, he knows you’re ready to kill him.

“I did what I had to do, you know! you should be grateful I didn’t wake you up.”

“Grateful?” you laugh, because at this point, it’s not even anger, it’s pure, unhinged hysteria. Grateful? Fucking seriously? “that motel guy was about to fucking kill me!”

“Well, did he?”

“No? but that’s NOT the point!”

Stan rolls his eyes. You can literally see him gearing up for some dumbass excuse.

“Ohh, come on, sweetheart, i knew you’d make it. You don’t look like someone who’d die that easily!”

You feel your face burning with rage. “Oh, oh, fuck you. Fuck you so much. you know what? I should've stolen your damn car.”

“Oh, you should've?” he smirks. “please, id love to see you try.”

You narrow your eyes. “next time I will.”

“Sure, good luck with that.”

You're aware that he looks you up and down, soaked, pissed off, hair a mess, but alive. And the bastard has the audacity to look. . . pleased?

“Anyway. nice seeing you again. Name’s Bill, by the way.”

You snap your head up. “wasn’t you Steve?”

He freezes. Then grimaces because he just realized he played himself. “. . .Yeah, well. i have many names.

“And no brain cells. But oh my fucking god. Was that even your real name?”

He leans back against the seat, already bored of this conversation.

“Who even gives a shit about real names, huh? names are just a concept.”

“A concept?”

“Yeah, you know, just labels people put on you. But they don’t mean shit. you can be whoever the fuck you want. Today I’m Bill. Yesterday I was Steve. Who knows what I'll be tomorrow?”

You press a hand to your forehead. “You are literally the dumbest person I have ever met in my life. I can't believe i—“

“Aww, thank you.” Stan interrupts you.

“That wasn’t a fucking compliment.”

“I’ll take it anyway.”

You exhale. No, seriously, you’re too fucking tired for this.

“You know what, fuck it. I don’t even care anymore. I’m sitting here, and if you open your mouth again, I swear I’ll strangle you.”

You're so cute when mad. That makes Stan grin. “ohhh, so we’re traveling together now?”

“No.” you're wrinkling your forehead.

“Sounds like we are!”

“Shut the fuck up.”

The bus rattles down the highway, lights flashing past the windows, and you're doing your best to ignore the fact that you’re stuck in the same goddamn vehicle as this absolute idiot. Unfortunately, he’s here, sitting right next to you, breathing the same air, and worst of all, he’s enjoying it. It's obvious by the way he smirks and sits all sprawled out like this is his personal limousine and you’re just some random hitchhiker who happened to stumble into his kingdom.

You take a deep breath. You need to calm down. Just count to ten, breathe and—

“Man, you are so mad. I literally feel the steam coming out of your ears. Are you always like this, or is it just me?”

You squeeze your eyes shut. “it’s just you.”

“Oh, I feel so special now.”

You clench your fists. God, he’s such a dick. But something about his words sticks with you, that moment when you mentioned his car, and then the question pops into your head.

“Wait a second. Didn’t you have a car?”

Stan blinks, then makes the most pitiful face you’ve ever seen. “Oh, my baby. . .“

“Your what?” you immediately frown.

“My car! My precious, my one and only. . .”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

He sighs dramatically, placing a hand over his chest looking like he's talking about a dead relative. “I had to sell her.”

“What?”

Stan nods, staring out the window like some tragic movie character. Oh shit here we go, you think.

“Yeah. . . she’s gone now. Sold her to some guy named Bud.”

“You sold your damn car?”

“Had no choice, sweetheart.”

You stare at him, unable to process this information. “and what the hell did you do to end up in a situation where you had to sell your fucking car?”

He shrugs, way too casual about the whole thing. “oh, you know. fucked up. I'm a screw up after all.”

You stare at him, waiting for an actual explanation, but he just keeps grinning that lazy grin like this whole conversation is just a fun little game for him. And that pisses you off even more.

“You are literally the worst person I’ve ever met.”

Stan snorts. “Oh, come on. Don’t act like you’re sad about it. Or what, were you hoping to move in? live in MY car?”

“NO, you idiot! but I was hoping you’d stay the fuck away from me instead of sitting here, ruining my life even more!”

He leans too close, invading your personal space, grinning. “Bold of you to assume I would even let you touch my baby.”

“Are you kidding me, you idi—“

Stan throws his head back, laughing loudly, and it’s the worst sound you’ve ever heard. “Oh man, you are so easy to piss off. I love it.”

“I hate you. Shut up.”

“I know. And no, i wont.”

You roll your eyes, turning away, deciding you’re done wasting your energy on this asshole. But your stomach has other plans as it growls too loudly, and suddenly you remember that the last time you had a proper meal was. . . well. Way too long ago. You dig through your bag and pull out real food. Warm, actual food. Not a goddamn snickers like last time, but something that smells so good your mouth starts watering.

You still remember the motel. You remember this asshole munching on YOUR snickers and moaning like he was in heaven, knowing damn well you had nothing to eat.

You pick up a piece, put it in your mouth, close your eyes and—

“Mmmhmm.”

Stan’s head snaps toward you immediately.

“What the hell are you doing.”

You open your eyes, smirking, and take another bite. “just enjoying my food.”

He squints at you. “you’re fucking with me.”

“Am I?” you close your eyes again, letting out an exaggerated sigh. “Mmhh. God, this is so good.”

“Okay, stop.”

“Stop what? enjoying my food? Oh, no, no, no. I should savor it.” you take another bite, chewing as slowly as possible, staring right at him.

He’s getting nervous. And his stomach starts growling too.

“So what, not even gonna share?” Stan looks at you, demonstrating you his puppy brown eyes.

Without breaking eye contact, you put another piece in your mouth, chewing as slow as humanly possible.

“Why the fuck would I share with the person who got me almost killed?”

He gasps, clutching his chest like you just stabbed him. “oh, please! it’s not like I ever needed your help!”

And with that, he yanks open his suitcase, clearly expecting something great, warm, tasty and instead. . .

Nothing. Well, except for some sad, rip-off band-aids.

He stares at them, slowly closing the suitcase. “man, life sucks.”

Finally, the bus screeches to a stop, tires rattling against the old asphalt, and you’re not even sure whether to be relieved or not. Sure, you got out of that place, the one you definitely shouldn’t have stayed in, but now you’re here, some other godforsaken place you don’t even know what to do with. But that’s not a problem anymore. At least you know what comes next. Unlike some people with fake names.

You stand, grab your heavy duffel bag, and Stan does the same with his suitcase. The entire ride, he didn’t shut up for even a second, but now that you’re outside, he’s way too quiet.

You steal a glance at him, he's standing there, gripping his suitcase like a little lost child, brushing his thick fingers over his mustache, scanning the darkness as if he's looking for something.

And it bothers you a little. Not because you worry about him. Just because Steve never gets this quiet for no reason. But you don’t care.

Honestly, it’s even better this way.

You adjust the strap of your bag and start walking. Slow, but determined. You don’t need this idiot. You don’t trust him, not after what he did, and not after he screwed you over. Yeah, maybe you’re no saint, but at least you never betrayed him the way he betrayed you.

And now, when he’s in even deeper shit than you are, why the hell should you stay?

But of course, he just has to open his damn mouth.

“So what? You just leave?”

You stop, exhaling sharply. “um, what do you expect me to do? take your hand and lead you like a lost puppy?”

“I mean, that would be nice.” he smiles awkwardly.

You roll your eyes and turn, meeting his sad gaze. “look, Steve if that's even your name, you got me in enough shit already. The last thing i need is you making it worse.”

He scoffs, rolling his eyes right back at you.

“Oh please. Don’t act like you weren’t already knee-deep in trouble before me.”

“Yeah, but at least i was handling it! Unlike some people.”

Stan narrows his eyes at your answer. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“It means, at least i still have my business. I still got people to scam. What do you have? Failed cons and a car you had to sell to some guy named Bud?” you smirk, shaking your head.

His face twists in mock offense. “Hey, Bud was a great guy! very talkative! he even gave me some advice—“

“I do not care.”

“Man, you’re so heartless.” Stan sighs.

“And you’re a liability.”

He opens his mouth to argue, but then he just stops. You see it hit him, even if he tries to play it off. Stan hates losing, hates to realise that someone else is better than him at at least one thing he thought he was good at, scamming. And right now you’re doing better.

He could say it’s not a competition, but for him, it always is. And that feeling, that he’s falling behind, pisses him off more than anything.

But when Stan blinks, shaking the thought off, he notices he’s standing alone.

You’re already gone and that makes him curse under his breath, glancing around, but you’re nowhere in sight.

“Well, shit.” he stands there, alone in the dark, and for the first time in a long time, he has no idea what to do.

But he has money. Shit, at least he has that. Thanks, Bud.

Stan glances around, thinking this place feels too dark and too empty so it makes him uncomfortable. He needs to get somewhere with people. Somewhere with a motel or at least a spot to crash for the night.

He walks, humming under his breath. Whatever, he doesn't need you, he doesn't need anyone. He's free spirited Stanley damn Pines, right, ma?

He turns the corner and something heavy slams against his head. Stanley doesn’t even get the chance to curse before he stumbles forward, collapsing onto the pavement with a dull thud and everything goes black.

[salty-autistic-writer]

Buck needs to be held. (Tw: Spoilers for episode 15, grief)

Morning light wakes Buck up from his uneasy slumber. It’s surreal to feel the warm spots on his face. To hear the noise of cars and people going about their day. It seems wrong that time is still passing. That the world is still turning.

Buck rubs at his burning eyes, his head feeling like it might split. He is surprised when he still has tears left to cry again, although he cried himself empty half the night, exhaustion eventually overwhelming him and forcing his body into half-sleep. Buck sniffles, grimacing when he notices that the pillow is wet. Wet from tears, drool, and snot.

Steps approach the room. The soft plodding of bare feet. Buck blinks through the blurry curtain of tears. He sees Tommy entering the room, running a hand through his hair, and sighing.

Right. Buck remembers. They went home together without really talking about it. Buck hasn’t been in the state to talk. Or to take care of anything. He was just … numb. He vaguely remembers Tommy calling an Uber. Remembers being guided into the car, gently. Remembers being led into the house. To the bed. Did Tommy take off his shoes? Did he place the water bottle on the night table? Did he pull the blanket up to Buck's chin? Did he go to sleep on the couch then? Probably.

Tommy sits on the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight. His eyes are swollen and red from crying. He looks exhausted. And clearly didn’t sleep much - or well - either. He looks at Buck, wordlessly handing him a pack of tissues. Buck takes it, grateful. It takes three tissues to free his stuffed nose.

When he tries to talk, his throat is scratchy and dry. Buck clears it, grimacing at the feeling. Feels like gargling with gravel. Tommy looks at him. “You don’t need to say anything,” he says quietly. “Not if you don’t want to.”

Buck swallows. He needs. But he isn’t sure if he’s allowed to need. To want. To -

Tommy opens his arms. “Come here,” he says.

Somehow, he knows Buck needs to be held. And now that he offers, Buck can’t hold himself back. His throat tightens, new tears welling up. He scrambles to sink into the embrace, to press himself against Tommy’s chest, shuddering when Tommy wraps his arms around him, when he’s surrounded by warmth, shielded from the world and its cruelty. Why … Why. 

It’s not fair.

“I know,” Tommy says into Buck’s hair. Oh. Maybe he said that last thought out loud.

It’s not fair.

They got the antiviral. Athena made it in time. Everyone was supposed to be fine. Everyone. But now, now everything is broken. And Bobby …

“He,” Buck starts. Rasps. “He’s …”

“I know,” Tommy says again, strained. “I’m so sorry.”

Buck squeezes his eyes shut, groaning. It hurts so much. In his head. In his chest. In his stomach.

He thinks of Bobby’s calm voice and his sad eyes. It hurts. Thinks of Athena’s eyes filling with dread. It hurts. Thinks of Chimney shaking his head in numb disbelief. It hurts. Thinks of Ravi hiding his face in his hands and Karen hugging him. It hurts. Thinks of Hen’s haunted eyes. It hurts.

It hurts.

Will it ever stop?

Buck thinks of Tommy waiting for him outside the lab, tears drying on his face. It hurts.

Are they still broken, too?

Buck swallows around the lump in his throat. Realising that they didn’t talk. Buck wanted to apologise. He didn’t. Because he was scared to call. And now Tommy helped again. He showed up. Without a moment of hesitation. He risked his life and his career and … He’s here. He’s still here, taking care of Buck.

Tommy could have died. He could die every day. They all could. No one knows how much time they have left in this world. And yet, they waste so much of it.

It hurts.

“Tommy. I’m …,” Buck starts, longing to show that he never wants to let go again.

“No. Not now,” Tommy says, anguish in his voice. “Don’t worry about it, okay? There will be time to talk. But not now. Not … Not while you are in so much pain.”

Pain. Yes. Buck shivers. He’s in pain.

Time. They will have time. That means Tommy will stay. Will still talk to him. Buck exhales shakily. He doesn’t have to let go.

With his forehead leaning against Tommy’s shoulder, Buck starts to cry again. Dry sobs. They shake his whole body. He’s a boat, lost on the ocean. Thrown around by invisible forces. Tommy holds him. Just holds him. A solid anchor in this storm.

Everything is broken. His family is broken.

And Buck can’t fix it this time.

No one can.

Because Bobby is gone. It feels like a piece of Buck’s heart is gone as well. Like it was torn out of his chest and carried away by the storm.

He can’t fix it.

(AO3 Link)

[unspeakable-imagination]

We Don't Have to Dance ||Part One

My masterlis is here and my requests are open!

Cw: Soulmate AU!, worst!Logan, use of tabacco and alcohol, poor mental health, mutant!reader fem!reader

It had been too long since your logan died. Every morning, you'd wake up in the X-Mansion, stating at the tattoo scrolled across your forearm reading, "James Howlett." Sometimes, you'd trace it with your fingers. Other times, you'd sit in your bed and cry. Those days, Colossus would have to drag out out of bed to the breakfast table.

It was one of those days. Colossus lifted you into the cook of his elbow and comforted you with his Russian songs that he continued to sing before lifting you upright and gently putting you into a your chair. Ellie and Yukio worked together in the kiten, plating you two waffles and handing it to the steel man, who, inturn sat it in front of you.

Days like this made it hard to eat. Tou mostly forked the waffles around until the others sat at the table with you, Colossus motioning to you and telling you something about eating that you were to consumed to hear.

You got the hint, though, and cut into the tiny stack of waffles to eat it. Looking up, you finally were able to tune into the conversation.

"Wade is asking us to come to a homecoming party. Imparently, there are two new additions to his single-room apartment. No, wait, she just said it's acctually three. He has a dog now, too."

"A homecoming party?" You questioned, shifting in your chair. "Who's he bring?"

"Didn't say, he says that he wants us to meet them." You nodded taking another bite as Collossus began to speak.

"How is he meant to have four people and a dog in that awfully small apartment?"

"I don't know," Yukio said," Maybe now that there is more people, they'd get enough income to movie into a new apartment?"

"That would be the realistic option," Ellie said.

You tuned out again, after that, playing with each bite of food before you ate it. Everyone's plates were already clear, and yours was down to the last bite. The moment tour fork hit your empty plate, you grabbed everyone eles' and stacked it onto yours. The looked at you, and Ellie and Yukio smiled.

As you walked towards the sink with the empty plates, you could hear them mutter about how you're getting better every day.

You pulled on the flats you were wearing in compbation with the mid-thigh kahki shorts. You had on some random white sleeve shirt, you didn't really care. What was important whas the lethar jacket ontop. It didn't smell like him anymore, but it reminded you of Logan. And it scared the people away. Any man that tried hitting on you, he tended to run away. You took a deep breath as tou treaded down the stairs to the kitchen to grab the pan of brownies that you'd made. Once it was secure in your hands, you twisted to run out the door, joining the others outside the vehicle that Colossus decided we take.

You didn't notice how long the drive was, you spent the whole thing looking out the window, watching the racing rain drops on the glass. You came to tour attention when you were all parked on the curb. You cringed, slightly. Colossus was usually a good driver, unless it came to parallel parking. You undid your seatbelt and situated the brownies under your jacket do they wouldn't get rained on. You threw open the door and slid out of the car, sprinting towards the apartment entrance. The others followed suit.

You made your way up the the second story and knocked on the door. Peter opened it for you and you thanked him, feeling towards the tiny table, not noticing the other people around aside for Buck, who sat silently at the table. You leaned close to him and squeezed his shoulders, whispering, "you can have the first brownie. Since you're my favorite."

She started to try and say thank you but you shushed him. "Hush, Wade says something like you've not spoken since the first movie or something. I done think you're allowed to talk," she joked. Buck only shook his head and grabbed his knife from his hip and cut into the brownies. You stood up and clapped your hands as you dpun around, speaking loud.

"Alrighty, Wade, who's the spec-" the words caught in your throat as you saw wade standing next to Logan and Laura. Your whole body went fridgid. Goosebumps ran up your skin and your throat went dry. You just sat there, still as death, stating at logan.

"[Y/n]! This is Logan and laura," and he held up the tiny dog in his hands. "And this is Mary Puppins, but we call her dogpool."

You didn't even pay attention, to shocked to speak. He looked so much like logan, just a little younger. He didn't seems sick, and he was staring right at you.

"[Y/N]," Colossus started, "It's him." You glanced at Colossus, and when Logan tried to take a step forward to you, you backed up, hitting the table.

"What is going on here," Wade asked, finally noticing the tension that the x-men had had since the moment that they walked in. "I don't understand. Did all of our panties turn to thongs?" He stuck his hand into his pants, "No, but I'm sensing some serious tension."

"I've got to go," you said, turning to go.out the door.

"No, [Y/N], Wait." Colossus was one step ahead and grabbed your shoulder, pulling you away from the door and towards the sofa. "You're staying here. You do not have a ride home. This could be good for you."

You were only silent, choosing not to fight. Instead, you chose to just listen to Colossus, shrugging his massive hand off, and sitting on the couch. You eyed logan the whole time. He had the same tells as before, but something about him was different. This wasn't the same Logan.

Wade handed the dog over to Logans arms, and he looked slightly disgusted at Wade, but quickly smiled at the dog as Wade began speaking. He clapped his hands. "Alright, everyone. These are my new friends. This is Logan, I found him in another universe and fed him like a dog, so I had to bring him home. As I think some if you know, this is his daughter x-23, also named Laura! And that little honeymuffin angel love is Mary Puppins, as stated before!"

You pursed your lips and watched the events unfold,unsure of what to do. Now that you realized that this Logan was from another place? It kicked you in the butt all over again that your soulmate really is dead.

"But peanut here is a new anchor being, so he's fixed out universe," Wade conveniently said, placing a hand on Logan's shoulder. You frowned. Nobody could replace your logan. Not the love you had with him. You nodded silently, trying to acknowledge what wade was saying, but became distraught. It only got worse when Logan sat in a chair, across from you.

He didn't say anything, he just sat there. Everybody had moved in with their party, taking to Laura and boggling at the now free dog. Exept you and Logan. You two just sat there, not talking, and occasionally looking to one another, only to look back down to the floor. It was like that for the whole night. Until Colossus said it was time to do home. You both sat there in silence, sitting in the bree of whatever your thoughts were.

When you did return to the mansion, you didn't say anything. You just went up the stairs into your room, and cried yourself to sleep.

[achilles-rage]

thirteen crows: chapter six

summary: your bar regulars come visit you at your house, begging you to let them in. then, you're visited by the masked men again.

word count: 2.6k

previous chapter

series masterlist

a/n: one again, you can choose who is who during the last part of the story, but i wrote it with the idea that buck is more eager to please, while eddie is sadistic hehe. and i'm so sorry, this was supposed to be longer (the smut was lol) but i sprained my wrist a couple years ago and it never fully healed, so typing is really painful sometimes, and lately it's been really bad. i'll try to make the next chapter longer if my wrist feels better though. enjoy<33

warnings: hints of smut, stalking, slight non-con (but reader likes it??? idk), no use of y/n, fem!reader, plus size!reader, race inclusive!reader

It’s been almost a week since you watched Isaac die in the alleyway. You’ve called in sick to work the entire week; you can hardly even get out of bed. While you hope and pray that you aren’t in danger as long as you play along with this fucked up game, the people around you are dying now. 

You went to take the trash out the day after Isaac died, it was late at night, and you almost bumped into a man in the dark back entryway of your building. The next day, he was found dead in his car. Stabbed to death. And you recognized him immediately when you saw the news.

You hadn’t noticed when he turned, thinking for a moment about following you, but choosing against it. But they did. They had been parked outside of your house for most of the day, just making sure their sweet girl was okay, when they saw the man. They knew what they had to do; they couldn’t risk anything happening to you. 

In reality, the man had stopped and turned because he thought he forgot his wallet in his girlfriend’s apartment, but then realized it was in his pocket, and turned back around and left the building. They weren’t aware of that, though. Clearly.

They start to get worried for you when you still haven’t left your apartment a week later. They’re almost sure you’re running out of food by now, and all you do is move from your bed, to your couch, and back to bed. 

You’re ignoring their messages and calls, too. You didn’t even laugh when you listened to Buck’s voicemail about a fight almost breaking out at the Thirteen Crows on football night. You usually love to hear drama like that. 

That’s why, eight days after they killed Isaac, Eddie shows up to your house with a smile and a box of donuts. Something to cheer you up, he says.

“Eddie, you have to go.” He’s only just able to see your face; your body completely behind the door as you open your door just far enough for you to stick your head out. His smile falters; this donut shop is your favourite.

“I heard about Isaac, and Tara says you’ve called in to work every day this week. Figure you could use some company.” he tries to reason, fighting the urge to push the door open and bully his way in. He can’t, though. He knows that.

“Thank you, but you really have to go.” you tell him. You try to be stern, but your voice comes out just above a whisper, and Eddie picks up on the edge in your voice. 

You can’t see him being killed too. You’re not sure why these men have attached themselves to you, or how the people around you are managing to piss them off, but you really don’t want to test them. And Eddie has a son, for god’s sake, you can’t risk anything happening to either of them.

“Why? Is everything okay?” he asks, feigning concern as he looks at you with his big brown eyes. You sigh, tears forming in your eyes as you tear your gaze from his and tilt your face to the floor. He’s so kind, and you want nothing more than to have his large arms wrapped around you right now, letting him calm you down, but you know you can’t.

“I don’t want you to die.” is all you say before you close the door abruptly. He hears the lock click, and he listens hard to hear your movements behind the door. When he doesn’t, he pulls out his phone, seeing that you’re still standing with your back pressed to the door, tears streaming down your cheeks and dripping off your chin. 

He huffs as he opens the phone app and hits Buck’s contact. He needs him here now. Their poor thing; they’ve scared you too much, and now they have to do something to get you back. To make you believe they can protect you.

He walks down the hall, just enough that you won’t be able to hear him before he explains what’s just happened to Buck, although he’s sure Buck had already heard most of the conversation from the camera.

Not even ten minutes later, Buck is walking into your building with food from your favourite takeout place. They both walk back to your door together, waiting impatiently for you to let them in. 

When Buck sees your tired face, riddled with sorrow, it’s hard for him to fight the urge to barge into your apartment and wrap his arms around you, but he restrains himself. He knows you have to let them in willingly.

“Please.” is all you say when you look between them, and they give you sheepish smiles.

“You’re not gonna get rid of us, sweetheart. We know you need someone. Please let us in.” Buck says, and Eddie’s brows raise just slightly, proud of the sincerity in his voice.

You hesitate as you look between them, their eyes big and hopeful. You know you shouldn’t; you’re half sure that they’re already on the masked men’s hit list already just by being here. But you feel like you’re going fucking insane. You want nothing more than to be close to someone right now, so after a few moments, you sigh and open the door further. 

They’re quick to move past you and into your apartment before you change your mind. They make themselves right at home in your kitchen, getting the food they brought ready, while you sit back down on your couch, too exhausted to follow them.

They sit the food in front of you when they come back in, then sandwich you between them on the couch. Their bodies are pressed up beside yours, but you hardly care right now, you’re just glad that someone is here. Finally.

“Now, you’re gonna eat, and then you’re gonna tell us why you think we’ll die because we’re here.” Eddie tells you sternly, although there’s a hint of softness in his voice that you cling to. 

You look down at the food and sigh. You don’t remember the last time you’ve eaten, so you take the food that Eddie holds out for you, feeling a little awkward as they watch you eat.

Buck picks up on your expression and grabs the remote to your tv, turning it on and letting the noise drown out the silence of your apartment. With one quick look to Eddie, both of them turn to watch the tv while you finish eating, continuing to steal glances at you every now and then.

When you’re finally finished, Buck takes your empty plate from you and sets it on your coffee table, then both men angle their bodies to face you once again.

You look straight ahead of you as they wait for you to start speaking, and then you let out a sob, closing your eyes as you lurch forward, holding your head in your hands.

They’re both quick to comfort you. Buck puts an arm around your shoulders and shushes you quietly, while Eddie’s hand goes to your thigh, rubbing a thumb across the skin not covered by your sleep shorts.

After ten or so minutes, you finally inhale a shaky breath, whispering a quick “okay” as you straighten up.

“Everyone around me is dying.” you say, unsure of what else you even can say. They furrow their brows in feigned confusion, both keeping their hands on you as they urge you to continue speaking.

“I just- I don’t want anything to happen to you. You shouldn’t be here.” They shake their heads adamantly, and Eddie is the first to speak.

“Hey, nothing is gonna happen to us. We can take care of ourselves.” he says sternly, and you turn to look up at him, chewing on your lip nervously. 

The rest of the story is on the tip of your tongue; threatening to spill now that your friends, your very large, very handsome friends, are beside you. You don’t though. You know the masked men will find out somehow.

“That’s what Isaac said. And look at him now.” you speak in a quiet voice. Tears are forming in your eyes again as you think of the sight of him, bloody and gasping in the alleyway, and nothing for you to do for him.

“We’re not Isaac. Nothing is going to happen to you. That’s a promise.” Buck says, and you want to believe him so bad. Your mind is so jumbled that you don’t realize the “what the fuck?” look Eddie gives Buck. You know that they can’t really promise that, but you can’t help but believe Buck’s words. You’re sure it’s just because you’re desperate for his words to be true, but either way, you can’t help but let out a big breath, feeling your shoulders deflate slightly.

“I’m not worried about me. I’m worried about you.” Both men raise a brow at your words. They both feel you’re about to tell them about everything, and they’re not sure if that’s good or bad. 

“If people around you are dying, why aren’t you worried about yourself?” Eddie asks, a slight edge in his voice that flies right over your head. 

You shake your head as you think about everything that’s happened to you the past couple weeks. Why couldn’t they have just killed you; gotten it over with, you think.

“I don’t know. I just- I don’t want to lose anyone else.” You whisper the last sentence, crossing your arms over your torso in a desperate attempt to calm your racing heart. Both men smirk at each other for a split second before their eyes are back on you. Their good girl; they knew you’d listen to them.

“We’re not going anywhere. We’re gonna help you through this, alright?” Buck speaks, and you nod slowly. You look up at him with the smallest hint of a smile, and he lets out a breath, elated to finally see that pretty smile he’s been so desperate to see for the last eight days.

“Yeah, who’s gonna kill us? We’re firefighters, and we wouldn’t go down easy.” Eddie tries to joke, and your smile widens. Buck almost moans at the sound of your soft laugh, a grin breaking onto his face as he makes eye contact with Eddie over your head. They’ve won.

You finally go back to work for your next shift two days later, a small smile on your face as you greet Tara. She explains the new people your boss has hired as you begin to work, and you almost feel normal for an hour or two as she tells you that the new guy is an absolute idiot, and the girl is super nice. You’re excited to meet them, although you’re sure the man will make you want to punch him, but you hope that he’s at least nice. 

You’re extremely happy when your regulars walk into the bar. It means that they haven’t been brutally murdered by two masked men, and you feel yourself becoming a little less anxious. Maybe the masked men have found a new target, you think, because the killings haven’t stopped, but the man that the police had found yesterday wasn’t anyone you knew.

Both men walk you home at the end of the night, vowing that they’ll protect you and themselves the whole way, and you let them. You know that if the masked men want to kill them, they’ll kill them regardless of if you let them walk you home, so you quickly agree to them coming with you.

It’s still dark when you wake up from a deep sleep, a hand clasped over your mouth and the familiar feeling of a cold blade at your neck. You stare up at the masks with wide eyes, trying to blink away the darkness as they shush your soft whimpers in low tones. 

“Hey, sweet girl. You miss us?” one purrs, both of them tilting their heads to the side as they take in your fearful expression.

“It’s okay, honey. You’ve been so good for us; haven’t told a soul, have you?” the smaller one speaks, and you nod quickly. They hear your muffled “no, no” under the firm hand over your mouth, and chuckle darkly.

“And nothing’s going to happen to you, sweet girl. As long as you don’t say a word to anyone about us. You got that, baby?” the larger one says, and you nod quickly when the knife is removed from your neck. 

You try not to think about the pool between your legs as they stare down your body. You know you shouldn’t feel this way about these men; they’ve killed two people you knew, and countless others, but you can’t stop staring at their broad shoulders and muscular arms. 

With one swift motion, the smaller man hands the knife to the other man and then yanks your panties down your legs, the smirk evident in his voice when he speaks.

“You like being our little toy, don’t you, sweet girl? You’re fucking soaked.” You hesitate, and when the larger man takes his hand off your mouth and leans down to inhale the scent of your skin, you nod once.

“Yes. yes.” you whimper, closing your eyes and shivering as the smaller man’s glove-covered fingers ghost up your inner thigh.

“Then, you know the drill, baby.” is the last thing you hear before your eyes are covered by what you’re sure is the same blindfold they used last time. 

They do the exact same thing as the last time they broke into your apartment; one man playing with your tits while the other licks and nips at your dripping cunt. 

You realize almost immediately, though, that the way they touch you is extremely different. While the man whose mouth attached itself to your clit last time was desperate and eager, the other laps at your cunt in a way that’s almost sadistic. His teeth ghost over your clit before he bites lightly, and if it wasn’t for the knife firmly placed between the valley of your breasts, you’re sure you’d be screaming and writhing away from him.

Similarly, the man whose mouth and hand are attached to your sensitive breasts seems to be relishing in your pleasure. As you fight back whimpers and moans, all you can hear is the man’s voice continuously asking “you like that, sweet girl? You want more?” 

When they finally leave, you’re once again left in complete darkness. Your legs are weak, and you can still feel the cold remnants of spit around your nipples, which is now making you shiver as it dries in the cool air.

As you drift off to sleep, all you can think about is how fucking good they just made you feel, and why they haven’t made you do anything for them. You want to believe their words; you want to believe that they won’t continue killing if you continue with their arrangement, so you find yourself doing so as your eyes flutter shut. 

You can’t help but think that this arrangement isn’t half bad. You feel extremely guilty as the miniscule thought trumps the stampede of fearful ones in your mind, but you can’t help it. If all they want is this, you sort of don’t mind giving it to them, even if it makes your heart race and your hands shake in fear.

next chapter

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[sparklefics]

Losing you

Bucky & avenger!reader

WC: 1,185

Summary: a near death experience puts things in perspective.

Warnings: near death experience (not detailed tho), mentions of injury and blood. Language!

I wrote a thing!! It’s been months since I’ve been inspired/ had time to write. Here’s a little angsty fluff.

Gif not mine.

[Masterlist]

Since you joined the team you’ve gotten along with everyone. Missions are successful at least 90 percent of the time.

For the last nine months you’ve been partnering up with Bucky. He’s damn good at his job and you get along just fine, at least when you’re on the field.

Off the field is an entirely different story.

It’s not so much that you don’t get along, it’s just you don’t hang out outside of work. The only time you ‘hang out’ is during training.

You wouldn’t consider him a friend— at least not like Sam is. Bucky is merely your teammate, your partner.

Normally Bucky is cool, calm and collected until the day you get hurt in the field.

“Star, come in.” Bucky speaks through the comms but is only met with silence so he tries again. “Agent Star, come in!”

Star is the code name Sam gave you when you joined his crusade as Captain America. He liked to joke around about his Stars and Stripes and the Sentinel of Liberty, respectively you, Joaquin and Bucky.

Bucky turns back to the last checkpoint and his body goes rigid as he takes in the scene before him. There you are laying on a puddle of blood—yours, he realizes.

He doesn’t take the time to over analyze what went down, all he cares about right now is getting you to safety.

—————

It’s scary to put so much on someone. To let them be your everything, he hadn’t realized that was what had happened. To him you were just his partner.

Until he almost lost you.

That’s when he realized what’s really at stake here. Not only your life, but his happiness.

—————

Three days, that’s how long it takes for you to wake up.

“Ow. That hurt.” You groan and hear Sam chuckle, when you bat your eyes open you see Bucky storming out of the room.

“That’s not funny, Star.” Sam says. “You scared us. How come you didn’t call for backup?”

“How long was I out?”

“Three days. And yes, he was here the whole time, barely got him to eat and shower.”

“Where’s Stripes?” You deflect and ask about Joaquin.

“Coffee run.” Sam stares towards the doorway and sighs. “Buck was the one that found you.”

“Hmm. I think he might be mad at me— you know for almost dying.”

“He’s entitled to that, you’re his partner after all.”

—————

Bucky never comes back to the med bay. In fact you don’t see him for weeks, until you’ve been given the all clear to go back out on the field.

You approach him silently at the gym while he’s pummeling a punching bag. Three bags already discarded after he ripped them open.

“Hey Liberty!”

“Don’t call me that. You know I fucking hate it.”

“Are you still mad at me?”

“Who said I was?” He turns around and you’re not ready for that tender look he gives you. A mixture of guilt that you almost died on his watch and something else you can’t pinpoint and it almost makes you think that he might actually care.

As scary as it was, almost dying put so much in perspective for you. First thing’s first, before you passed out on the field your very last thought was Bucky’s smile. That was strange…yes, he’s your partner but you were about to die and your last thought was of him not begging for help just one last smile of Bucky’s.

Secondly, it felt so off and hurtful seeing him walk out as soon as you woke up. You didn’t know why it hurt but the fact that it did meant that you wanted him there when you woke up. Or at least you expected him to be there, he is your partner after all.

You almost lost everything.

You almost lost him.

It’s infuriating how he managed to become something more than just your partner without you even realizing it. Though all your anger dissipates with the look he gives you. None of it matters when he’s looking at you and touching you so delicately.

Bucky traces a finger ever so delicately over the still fading bruise on your cheek bone.

You hadn’t realized he’d been standing so close to you. Or why the disheveled look he’s got going on looks so good on him. Has he ever looked better? Yes, but today he looks kinda hot and vulnerable, in a way that you just wanna comfort him, run your hands through his hair, cuddle the shit out of him.

Out of nowhere you grab his face and kiss him— on the lips!

“You can’t blame me for that. I almost died.”

You murmured against his lips. And to your surprise he doesn’t pull back, instead he deepens the kiss.

“Shut up, I'm still mad at you.” He mumbles against your lips.

“Ha!” You pull back just enough to slap a hand on his chest. “I knew it! You are mad at me!”

Bucky pulls you right back to his arms and rests his forehead on yours. “I’m just…I can’t lose anyone else. Do you understand?”

You nod.

“I’m not mad at you, I’m mad at myself. You got hurt out there, I should’ve—”

You pull back to look him in the eyes, “James Buchanan Barnes it is not your fault I got hurt. I should’ve called for backup, it’s not your responsibility to keep me safe.”

“Yes it is. You’re my partner.”

“You say that like it means something else. What are you really trying to say, Sarge?”

As if the kiss you two shared hadn’t made it clear this certainly would.

“Star, you are everything to me.”

And your anger makes an appearance again, you pull away from him. “I’m finding that a little hard to believe, cause since I woke up all you’ve done is avoid me.”

“I’m just— seeing you there in a puddle of blood it fucked me up.”

“Waking up and seeing my partner walking out on me fucked me up. You were the last thing on my mind before I passed out. I was trying to call for— I was going to call for you when I blacked out. Then I wake up and see you walk out the door and never come back.”

This isn’t how Bucky pictured this moment. It should’ve gone like in the movies. You both admit your feelings, kiss and voila: happy ending. Not you angry at him, with unshed tears in your eyes.

“I’m sorry I’m an idiot that can’t handle his own feelings. But I love you. I need you to know that. I love you.” He squeezes your hands.

“That’s the thing Bubba, I love you too. So don’t you dare walk out on me ever again.”

You pull him in for a hug and you climb on him like a koala, arms around his shoulders and legs around his torso. He tells you he loves you again and assures you that he’s not going anywhere without you. “Well then, take me to my room. You owe me three weeks worth of cuddles.”

[hopelessromantic423]

My Tears Ricochet

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x f!Reader

Summary: You were finally happy with Steve, until a character from your past appears as a reminder of what could have been.

Warning: ANGST. Cursing. Messy ending hehehe. Flashbacks are italics!!

A/N: Heyyy!! I’m back from the dead!! Maybe you’ll see me next year?!? Who knows!!

Inspired by My Tears Ricochet by Taylor Swift

"Ready honey?"

A smile spread across your face while hearing the lovely voice of your fiancé. Today was going to be one of the best days of your life. Your engagement party.

Swinging the door open, you found Steve beaming with excitement while taking in your look. "You look absolutely drop dead gorgeous sweetheart," Steve said like his breath was taken away.

"You don't look too bad yourself handsome."

"I think I've died and gone to heaven doll. There is no way you're real," Bucky spoke in barely a whisper while gathering you in his arms. You hadn't seen him smile like that in a while.

"Buck! We've got a party to go to!"

There it was again. Those memories flash every once and while but they never go away. The memories of you and your ex-boyfriend Bucky Barnes. He was your everything before Steve, but you moved on. You forced yourself to move on and let go.

"Honey?" Steve's voice called out to your inner thoughts.

"Sorry! I just got caught up in my thoughts for a second," you sighed with a frazzled expression. Steve gave a soft sigh and pressed a kiss to your forehead before lacing his fingers in yours. "The people are waiting for the soon to be bride."

The crowd of friends and family cheered as you made your way down the stairs with Steve to the living room area of Tony Stark's house. Thankfully, he agreed to host. Almost immediately you were pulled away to the kitchen where Natasha was pouring you a glass of champagne.

"There's so many people," you confided while leaning against the kitchen countertop.

"So many people that are excited to see you married." She handed you the glass. "I think everyone is migrating outside, it's beautiful out today."

The breeze was absolutely lovely. Everything about today was perfect. Except your thoughts that were so pent up with nerves it was impossible to enjoy a moment for longer than five minutes.

Steve stalked over to you with a soft smile, as he usually had when spotting you in a crowd.

"Buck is here, says he wanted to congratulate you." Steve knows about your past with Barnes, but he also still sees him as his friend. From the tone in his voice, something was going sideways with the new guest.

"Oh, okay," your body stiffened. "I'll be right back," you addressed your cousins. You haven't seen Bucky in a few months, where things did not go well.

"Tell me (Y/N)! Tell me that you don't miss us."

"I- I can't Bucky. Please, just leave."

"You didn't answer my question," he spoke in a softer tone. "Do you love him?"

"Of course I love him Bucky. We've been together for a while now."

"But do you love him more than me?"

"Go home Barnes," you shouted.

Bucky looked hopeless standing near your doorway. "I'm leaving I promise. Just say you'll remember one thing." At this point you had pushed him out of the doorway and he was holding the front door with his left arm.

"What? What could you possibly say right now?"

"Remember how we were. How much I loved you." Then you slammed the door in his face.

Bucky stood talking to Sam with a beer in his hand. His eyes scanned the room until they caught your figure walking towards him.

If I'm dead to you why are you at the wake.

"Congratulations (Y/N), I'm really happy for you."

"Can I talk to you for a second?"

Grabbing his wrist, you drag Bucky into one of the guest bedrooms near the end of the hall. He followed quickly behind your shuffled steps with a confused look on his face. You slammed the door the second he got in the room.

"You can't just walk in here to my engagement party since you were completely against it a few months ago!"

"I can still show up when your fiancé invited me!"

"You knew he had a ring didn't you? That's why you showed up to my apartment?"

"Of course that's why I showed up! I was trying to save you from making the biggest mistake of your life!"

"The biggest mistake of my life was thinking that you loved me!"

The look plastered on Bucky’s face was one of pure shock. Like a bullet just ran through his chest.

"Y/N," he said softly with his eyes softening to a sad lull. "Don't say that. You know I loved you. You know how much you mean to me, that's why," Bucky took a moment to collect his thoughts with a breath, "that's why I left."

"You are full of bullshit Barnes," you almost shouted in a whisper. "I would've stayed with you if you gave me the option. You decided to leave. You're the reason I'm in a fucking white dress."

"So you end up with my best friend instead?"

You couldn't tell Bucky how you found yourself with Steve. The truth was that Steve was the closest thing to Bucky you could find in the universe.

"I hate you," you mumbled while taking Bucky's shirt in your fist and meeting his lips to yours.

"I hate you more," he mumbled in between kisses.

You stepped back and caught your breath. Bucky stood watching your every sway trying to read what your next move was.

"We'll talk about this later," you stated brushing your white dress off.

Too nervous to hear Bucky's response, you stepped out of the room leaving the brunette with a dumbfounded look and a light smirk printed on his lips.

[goodluckeddie]

Scenes we deserved to see: Eddie finds out.

Eddie had just walked through the door of the house with Chris, laughing at something he’d said, still holding a half-finished bucket of popcorn from the movies. He had noticed it took them a lot longer to finish off the popcorn when Buck wasn’t around. Buck, who he hadn’t been able to contact all day. And when he had tried contacting the other members of the 118 instead, there had also been no response. He wasn’t panicking yet. They’d probably just had a busy day.

As Christopher headed off to his bedroom, Eddie fished his phone out of his pocket and got Buck’s contact up. He needed to tell him about the dumb movie they’d just watched, and he wanted to hear all about Buck’s (clearly very eventful) day too. Just as he was about to hit the FaceTime button, his screen lit up with a phone call from Buck. That was… not what they had been doing. It was always FaceTime, not a phone call. But he didn’t dwell on it; he was happy as long as he got to hear from him.

“Hey, Buck,” he said cheerfully, “I was just about to call. You alright?”

Silence. No, not silence. Breathing. Ragged, tired, hitched. It went on for a beat too long before Buck said, “I needed to hear your voice.”

Somehow Eddie didn’t think that was what Buck had intended to say. He felt dread begin to creep in. His chest tightened, his jaw clenched, like his body was preparing for the worst. And it was.

“I’m here, Buck,” he said, fighting to keep his voice level. “Talk to me. What’s happened?”

Buck’s voice was raw. It barely even sounded like him. “Bobby’s dead.”

And… no. It was like the world stopped spinning. Or more like it had tilted on its axis - still spinning but wrong. Something here was so inherently, intrinsically, heartbreakingly wrong. Because Bobby Nash wasn’t supposed to die. A man who had fought so hard to live shouldn’t be dead. Eddie felt untethered. Bobby had been an anchor for him for so long, grounding him, reminding him of who he was and what was important. How could Eddie stay grounded if Bobby wasn’t there to tie him down?

“What do you mean?” he asked dumbly. “What happened?”

“We, uhhh… we responded to a lab explosion. It’s a long story. This crazy… crazy scientist, she, she made this super fast virus and there was only one cure and… and Chim got infected.”

“Is he…?” Eddie didn’t even want to finish the question.

“Chimney’s alive,” Buck said. It was only half a reassurance. “Bobby got infected too but he didn’t tell anyone. He didn’t say anything. Because there was—”

“Only one cure,” Eddie finished for him. He let out a mirthless laugh. “That’s Bobby.”

Buck let out a sob. It didn’t sound like he was really crying - Eddie supposed he’d cried enough today already - but his body was still convulsing, wracked with this heartache that he couldn’t get out. He was in pain. Eddie could hear it. And he felt it too.

Eddie couldn’t imagine where he’d be without Bobby. Still slipping in and out of illegal fighting rings, trying to punch the grief away? Still stuck the pain of survival when everyone he’d saved had died? Still waiting for Chris to come home? He was the man he was today because Bobby had helped him, shaped him, reminded him of who he was, his purpose, his importance. Bobby had tethered him when he could’ve just let him float away. He had given him somewhere to take Christopher when everywhere else was hopeless. He had given him a job, and a family with it. What was there back home in LA that Eddie didn’t owe to Bobby? And he hadn’t even been there when he died.

“I should’ve been there,” he said to himself more than to Buck.

“No,” Buck said, voice suddenly hard. Its threadiness and desperation was gone, replaced by conviction. “I’m glad you weren’t. I’m glad you weren’t in there with them.”

“You weren’t in there?” Eddie asked.

“Athena and I, we were trapped outside,” he returned. Hollow. “We couldn’t get to them until they had given Chim the cure. We got everyone out except… they were all supposed to make it, Eddie. It wasn’t supposed to go like this. He was supposed to live.”

Eddie felt the tears fall again. World spinning, wrong. Bobby should’ve lived. Why didn’t he? Why Bobby? What sort of sick joke was that? Maybe Eddie was wrong, maybe the universe did pull all these crazy stunts, because in any sane world Bobby Nash would not have died in a random lab accident while everyone else made it out.

“I’ll get the next flight I can,” he said eventually. “I wish I wasn’t so far away.”

“You’re coming back,” Buck said, ragged. “That’s all that matters.”

Eddie ran a hand over his face. He was suddenly exhausted. None of this felt real. It couldn’t be real.

“I need to tell Chris,” he said quietly.

“Mm. Yeah. Go talk to him. I’ll call you tomorrow,” Buck promised.

“Yeah,” Eddie said, “tomorrow. I’ll let you know when my flight is. Thanks for calling, Buck.”

“Yeah. See you soon, Eddie.”

“See you soon.”

He just wished it wasn’t happening like this.

[deansluvrr]

Infatuation

Warnings: male masturbation, fantasizing, slight sexualization of women? Illusions to caught in the act

Notes: this is my first fanfic, might delete later. Please give me all the criticism I need! I want to make reading my works as enjoyable as possible :)

pairings: dean winchester x tribrid!fem!reader

Dean was fucked. 

Now, that's nothing new, he has been all his life but this? This was different. It started a couple months ago when Jess died, causing Sam to become a grieving angry mess. He brought you, sweet you who graced Dean's eyes when they set on you. Now for maybe the first few weeks when he found out about your nature, he was a bit on guard, but it melted away as his feelings grew stronger and he couldn't bare seeing your cute face without talking or being near you.

Now when he saw you walk out earlier in your cute little white dress, wearing matching white thigh high socks from the fall weather outside, alongside a pretty bow in your hair to go get some food with sam for the three of you, well he just knew what he was going to do as soon as you stepped out.

That's how he found himself in this position, his hand working on his aching weeping cock, crying out to no one in particular as pleasure buzzes through his veins. Usually he just gets off, maybe watches something or thinks about some hot girl he saw earlier that day, but since you joined him and his brother on this adventure, you've completely taken over his mind. He cant think of another women without feeling sick to his stomach, only happy at the thought of being with you, holding you, kissing you, fucking you. 

“God-” Dean chokes out, his breathing heavy and his head lolled back on the bed. If anyone were to walk they'd see how pathetic and needy he looks. His brows are furrowed while his jaw hangs, his eyes screwed shut with his shirt hiked up his chest and his jeans unbuttoned while he lets out the most pornographic moans someone's ever heard.

“P-please” he begs to no one in particular, just thinking about your soft body on his, riding him slowly and teasingly as you taunt him. “What was that? Didn't hear you” you say, gripping his jaw to make him look up at you. Dean moans, his eyes fluttering as he looks up at you “i-i need” he whimpers out, his body squirming as he gets closer to coming. “Need what? Cant give you what you want if you dont tell me” you breathe out, letting out a moan as he hits a particular spot inside you. 

He chokes, his hand getting faster as he thinks over his fantasy, getting closer to his release he so desperately needs. Finally, after what seems like forever, but also not long enough he yelps, his body quivering as his hips buck into his hand. Eyes rolling to the back of his head as he rides his high out, gasping and panting as he removes his hand, taking a few minutes to recover. He laughs to himself once he comes down, looking down and seeing his cum pool around his base, and that some of it landed on his shirt, causing him to sigh before he gets up to get cleaned up.

Once Sam and you arrive back with food you're none the wiser, just handing his food with a sweet smile like always and watching tv alongside him on the bed.

Though of course Dean gets a little dumb around you, did he forget you're part werewolf and can smell everything? Including the cum he got on the bed that he didn't notice.

[leashybebes]

Congrats on your milestone! 🥳

For the prompt:

I enjoy your Buck & Bobby stories and I would love some Bobby & Tommy bonding. Maybe Bobby gives Tommy the secret ingredient for the lasagna that he haven't even given Buck yet?

no pressure, if it sparks joy 🥰

thank you! it does spark joy, so naturally i wrote some angst. i'm so sorry, i don't think this is exactly what you were looking for!! sorryyyyy. IOU one (1) fluff

It's purely a coincidence that Bobby sees him first, as he's coming back from calling Athena to make sure she'd got back from work okay. Tommy's just stepping into the station, looking around - eagerly, Bobby thinks at first.

"Hey, Tommy. This is a nice surprise," he says, and the way Tommy almost flinches at the sound of his voice makes him think it's more like anxiously. "You're looking for Buck?"

"Yeah. Sorry, I know there's a few hours left of your shift."

"That's okay. I sent him and Eddie on a supply run so provided they don't manage to start a riot somehow they should be back soon."

"Oh, that's - sure, I'll just go - " Tommy half turns to head back outside.

Since Tommy came back into their lives, Bobby has been pleasantly surprised at how easy it is to read him. Of everyone at the 118 when Bobby first arrived, Tommy was the most locked down, the slowest to open up. He's a pretty open book nowadays, and not just with the way he looks at Buck. Right now though, there's more than a hint of that stiff, cautious young man Bobby first met.

"Tommy, is everything okay?"

"Um. Yeah," Tommy says, but there are unshed tears in his eyes all of a sudden, and his lips are pressed tightly together.

"My office," Bobby offers. "C'mon."

Tommy hesitates, and Bobby gets a hand on his elbow, not about to take no for an answer. Tommy tenses for a second but then his body sags, giving in, and he lets himself be walked up the stairs and past the couch. Chim looks up from his phone with a grin, but Bobby gives him a minute shake of the head, and he settles back, looking troubled.

Bobby steers Tommy into his office and closes the door. Tommy sits in the same chair he'd sat in all those years ago, when he'd admitted to Bobby how much he missed flying, and they'd started working on his transfer. Bobby doesn't put the desk between them this time, leaning against the corner of it instead.

Tommy's eyes are on his hands which are in his lap. Which are shaking, Bobby realizes.

"What's up, kid?"

"My, uh. My dad died," Tommy says, and it sounds like he's surprised that he let it come out.

Bobby's been enjoying getting to know this new, realer version of Tommy, and he thinks they're well on their way to being friends, but he's very aware that he's not the one who's needed here right now.

"You want me to give Buck a call? Get him back here?"

"No, you don't have to do that," Tommy says. "I'm fine."

Bobby privately thinks that if Tommy was actually fine, he'd have waited out the rest of Buck's shift instead of walking into the station looking like he has a fingertip hold on his composure.

"Okay," he says. 

"Really," Tommy says. "We hadn't even spoken in ten years."

As though that will make it less complicated, rather than more so.

"It was, uh. Liver cancer, in the end. Ironic, really," Tommy says, and then falters, looking like he wants to clap a hand over his mouth. 

Bobby feels like he has a sense of where this is going, and he tips his head. "Yeah?"

"Sorry, that was a shitty thing to - he was in recovery for a long time."

"I'm sorry to hear that, Tommy."

"Yeah. Yeah, it was. Well, you know."

"Yeah."

Tommy rubs a hand over his eyes, like he's embarrassed about a complicated relationship with an alcoholic father. Bobby aches for him, sneaks a quick glance at the clock, trying to estimate how long it'll take Buck and Eddie to get back. 

"He actually…he'd been sober since a few years after I got out of the army. Didn't start working the program until I was enlisted, but it finally stuck. It didn't make him a good person, but he felt like it did."

"Yeah, that's a risk," Bobby admits. "I guess Buck told you about my - "

Tommy's laugh sounds a little hollow, but his smile looks genuine. "No. In the nicest possible way, I could see you white knuckling from a mile off."

Bobby reevaluates some of how cautious Tommy was around him to begin with.

"Yeah, you do get good at spotting the signs," he allows. "Mostly in other people, in my case."

Tommy nods. "I have a lot of rules," he says. "No neat spirits. Not after a bad shift. Not alone."

"You stick to 'em?"

"Mostly. All the time, lately."

It's Bobby's turn to nod. "That's good."

"My cousin's organizing a funeral," Tommy says suddenly. "I don't - do I go?"

Bobby's well aware that Tommy probably wouldn't have deliberately come to him with this, but they're here now, so he takes a careful breath and asks, "Do you want to go?"

"I want - " Tommy looks away, knuckles at his eyes. "I want a dad I could just grieve."

And oh boy, does Bobby get that. He squeezes Tommy's shoulder, although what he really wants to do is scoop this mountain of a man into a hug.

"Whatever you decide," he says, "You have people in your corner, Tommy. You're going to get through this."

Tommy nods. Says, "Yeah." And then, "Yeah," again, with a little more belief behind it this time.

Bobby draws breath to speak, but before he can, he hears the thundering of footsteps up the stairs, the familiar sound of Buck and Eddie bickering. Tommy straightens up, half turns in his chair, like even with a door between them, he's orbiting around Buck just like always.

Bobby crosses to the door, and leans out to call, "Hey, Buck. Get in here, please?"

"Aw, Cap, what'd I - " Buck says as he shoves the last of his bags into Eddie's overloaded arms and heads to the office. "Tommy? Babe, what are you doing here?"

"I'll leave you boys to it," Bobby says, patting Tommy's shoulder on his way out of the door.

Tommy looks up, catches Bobby's wrist. "Thank you," he says, his voice thick.

"Any time," Bobby tells him, meaning it. There's a lot more he means too, a lot more he could say, but he can see Buck practically vibrating as the anxiety ratchets up so he takes his leave, shutting the door behind him.

In the kitchen, everyone else is in a deeply unsubtle huddle, and they look at him expectantly. He shrugs and nods his head at the bags on the island. 

"That stuff gonna put itself away?"

They grumble but get to it, and Bobby sends up a silent prayer that the alarms stay quiet for now. It's answered, and Buck comes out of the office alone ten minutes later and beelines for Bobby.

"Hey, can I - "

"Take him home," Bobby says. "Look after each other."

"We always do," Buck promises. "Thanks, Bobby."

"Everything okay?" Eddie asks, the designated spokesperson for the peanut gallery, Chim and Hen at his back.

"Call you later," Buck offers, heading back to the office to collect Tommy.

"C'mon, I know for a fact you all have jobs," Bobby says with a clap of his hands that sends them scattering, trying to make sure Buck and Tommy have a clear run at the exit without being accosted by any well-meaning enquiries.

The two of them pass him a minute later, Buck speaking too quietly for Bobby to hear, and Tommy nodding in response. He watches them head out, sees the way Buck gets an arm around Tommy's waist, the way he looks steadfast and solid, ready to shoulder the weight of this with Tommy. He sees the way Tommy leans into him, like he's ready to let Buck do it.

Yeah, Bobby thinks. They're going to be okay.

[venactricisfics]

Bucking Tradition: A Yellowstone Fanfic

Chapter Twenty-Three

Mentions of trauma and some smutty stuff too. 18+

The days after my attack drug on. I was examined. I didn’t know for sure what they did to me when I was out. The bruising on my legs and thighs made them think the worst but I had to know for sure. 

“Take these,” the nurse said as she handed me a cup with pills, “just in case it’s not conclusive.” 

I didn’t need to ask what the pills were, I knew. 

I stared down at the cup in my hands, the tiny white pills rattling against the plastic as my grip tightened. Just in case.

The words settled over me like a suffocating weight.

I didn’t know what happened when I was unconscious. Maybe nothing. Maybe everything. The bruises, the foggy memories, the sick feeling in my gut—I had no answers, only the gnawing uncertainty that wouldn’t let me breathe.

I swallowed hard and forced my shaking fingers to close around the pills.

Outside, Ryan's boots continued their restless pacing, each step a reminder that he was waiting for me. That he hadn't left.

Would he still look at me the same if the worst had happened? Would he see me as broken?

I downed the pills. 

“That man outside with your father, he your boyfriend?” the nurse asked, “We need to know if we find anything and he needs to be ruled out.” 

I nodded and bit my lip, “but it’s been several days so I don’t think…” 

The words died in my throat. I didn’t want to finish that thought. I didn’t want to say it out loud, to give it weight.

The nurse gave me a sympathetic nod, jotting something down on the chart. “We’ll do everything we can to get you answers, honey.”

I swallowed, my mouth dry. Answers. I wasn’t sure if I wanted them or if I was terrified of what they might be.

Outside, Ryan was still there. So was my father. I could hear his voice—low, clipped, controlled rage barely held in check. He was ready to burn the world down.

And Ryan…

I glanced toward the door. Would it change anything between us? Would he still look at me the way he always had? 

I stared at the ceiling as they did the kit. 

“No signs of penetration,” the doctor said. I felt a weight lifted off my chest. 

“I want to go home now,” I stated. 

“The police are here and need to ask some questions,” she said. 

“I’m not answering any fucking questions, I want to go home now,” I said louder. 

The doctor hesitated, exchanging a look with the nurse before nodding. “I’ll let them know.”

I sat up too fast, my head spinning, but I forced myself to move. I needed out of here. The sterile walls, the bright fluorescent lights, the quiet pity in everyone’s eyes—it was suffocating me.

The door cracked open, and Ryan stepped inside. His eyes met mine, searching, cautious, like he wasn’t sure if I wanted him near.

“I’m taking you home,” he said softly.

I swallowed hard and nodded. “Please.”

He helped me off the bed, his touch gentle like I might break. Maybe I would. Maybe I already had.

As we stepped into the hallway, my father pushed off the wall. His jaw was tight, eyes burning with barely restrained fury. He looked at me for a long moment before exhaling sharply and pulling me into a hug.

I stiffened at first, then melted into it, the smell of leather and dust and home grounding me.

“How’s Tate?” I asked, in all the whirlwind of everything, no one told me how he was. 

“Tate’s gonna be ok, he’s at home with Monica,” Dad told me. 

“I’m sorry, Dad,” I said, “I couldn’t stop them. I tried but…” For the first time since I was taken, I started to cry. 

Dad cupped the back of my head and held me tighter. “Ain’t nothing to be sorry for,” he said, his voice softer than I expected. “You did everything you could.”

I buried my face against his chest, my body shaking as the sobs came harder. I’d fought. I’d tried. But in the end, I still couldn’t stop them.

Ryan’s hand settled on my back, grounding me. “You kept Tate safe,” he reminded me. “You left a trail. You got us to you.”

I sniffled, pulling away slightly to look at my father. His eyes, usually hard, held something else now—something I hadn’t seen since I was a kid.

“I should’ve protected him better,” I whispered.

Dad shook his head. “That boy is alive because of you.” His thumb brushed a tear from my cheek.

I nodded wanting to believe him. 

“They’re dead, honey,” my father told me, “you don’t have to worry about them again.”

“I told that asshole in the bolo tie you’d kill him,” I said. My father killed him. And let him die a slow death in a field. 

“Come on, sweetheart, let’s get you home,” he said. 

Ryan’s arm stayed around me as Dad led us out of the hospital. The Montana air was cold, but I barely felt it. I was too numb, too drained. The weight of everything still sat heavy on my chest, but knowing they were dead—knowing my father made sure of it—gave me some peace.

I leaned into Ryan as we walked toward the truck. “You’re shaking, baby,” he murmured, pulling me closer.

I exhaled shakily. “I think I just wanna sleep for a week.”

“You can sleep all you want,” he promised. “I’ll be right there.”

Dad opened the truck door for me. “We’ll handle everything else. You just focus on getting better.”

I nodded, climbing inside. I wasn’t sure what better even looked like after this, but I knew one thing for sure.

I was going home.

—-

The sun was bright as we entered the gates of the Yellowstone. Dad helped me down from the truck and Ryan helped me up the porch steps. He stopped when he got to the door. Reluctantly releasing me. 

“I need you with me,” I told him, “Please, stay. I can’t do this without you.” 

Ryan looked from me to my father, not knowing what the right thing was. 

“Come on, son,” my father told him, “you two have been making eyes at each other for years. You think there’s something going on on this ranch that I don’t know about?” 

A flicker of surprise crossed Ryan’s face before he huffed out a small laugh, shaking his head. “Guess the secret’s out then.”

Dad snorted. “Was never much of a secret.”

Ryan’s eyes met mine again, searching, making sure this was really what I wanted. I squeezed his hand. “Stay,” I whispered.

That was all it took.

He nodded, slipping his arm around my waist again, steadying me as we walked inside. The house smelled the same—wood smoke, leather, something faintly warm and familiar—but it didn’t feel the same.

Maybe it was me that didn’t feel the same.

I swallowed hard, my throat still raw, and let Ryan guide me to the couch. He sat beside me, his fingers brushing lightly over my knuckles. The silence stretched between us, thick with everything that had happened, everything we hadn’t said yet.

Dad cleared his throat. “I’ll let the others know you’re home.”

I barely nodded before he disappeared down the hall.

Ryan stayed quiet, just watching me, waiting.

“I don’t know how to be okay after this,” I admitted.

His grip on my hand tightened. “Then I’ll be here while you figure it out.”

I groaned as I tried to stand up.

“What do you need?” Ryan asked. 

“A shower, I need to wash this whole fucking nightmare away,” I could still feel the stench of them clinging to my skin. My body groaned as I moved, “Can you help me upstairs?” 

Ryan’s eyes softened, his worry evident as he stepped closer. “Of course, baby,” he said quietly, his hand reaching for mine.

He moved slowly, supporting me as I leaned into him, every step feeling like a battle. When we reached the stairs, he didn’t hesitate to scoop me up in his arms, his strength a solid comfort.

“Got you,” he murmured, holding me close as he ascended the stairs.

I buried my face into his chest, grateful for his warmth and presence, and the feeling of being safe again, even if it was just in this moment.

I swung the door of my bedroom open and stepped inside, closing it softly behind us. As the quiet settled around us, I couldn’t help but realize that this was the first time Ryan had ever been in my space. I’d spent countless hours in his, a place that felt like home to me, but this—my room—was different. It had always been mine, my refuge. And now, Ryan was here, his presence suddenly feeling larger than it ever had before.

“Well,” Ryan said, his voice filled with a teasing warmth as he glanced around the room. “I can see why you wanted to stay in the bunkhouse all this time, baby. Who needs all this space?”

I gave him a half-smile, walking over to the bed and sitting on the edge, still trying to shake off the weight of the day. "Well, you were in the bunkhouse," I reminded him, a slight laugh escaping me as I leaned back. "So that’s where I wanted to be."

Ryan's smile softened, his eyes never leaving me. He took a few steps into the room, as if settling in, his boots soft against the wooden floor. "Yeah," he said quietly, "guess I should've figured that out sooner."

I watched him for a moment, noting how he seemed to fill the room without even trying. It was almost like I could breathe easier just having him here, like this space wasn’t just mine anymore—it felt like ours. And maybe, in a way, it always had been.

"You should've," I teased back, but there was an underlying tenderness in my voice, the kind that only seemed to surface when he was near.

Ryan met my gaze, his lips quirking up into a smile that made my heart do something funny in my chest. "You ready for that shower?" he asked, his voice dropping just low enough to make the words feel more intimate, more comforting.

"Yeah," I replied, my voice steady despite the emotions swirling inside me. "But only if you stay."

He stepped closer, a glint of amusement in his eyes as he reached out, his hand gently brushing mine. "I’m not going anywhere, baby," he murmured, leaning in just enough for me to feel the warmth of his breath against my skin.

I nodded, feeling a quiet sense of peace settle over me, knowing that, for once, I didn’t have to carry the weight of everything on my own. "Good," I whispered back, as if everything in that moment depended on him being there, in this room, with me.

“Bathroom is through that door,” I told him, my voice softer now. I let him guide me through, feeling his presence steady behind me. The warm, comforting weight of him was like a constant reminder that I wasn’t alone anymore.

I leaned against the bathroom vanity, my eyes drawn to the reflection in the mirror. For the first time, I really saw the aftermath of everything—the bruises that had only been whispers in my mind, but now they were a vivid, painful reality. I winced as I reached down to tug my shirt up over my head, the motion pulling at the rawness of my skin.

The bruises stretched across my sides and back like dark purple rivers, some of them already fading, others fresh and angry. I hadn’t realized how bad it was until now. When I slipped off the hospital sweatpants, I caught sight of the bruising on my legs—deep, angry marks that ran like streaks of violence across my skin.

I stood there for a moment, breath catching in my throat. My hand lingered over the marks, almost as if I could erase them with just the touch of my fingers, but I couldn’t.

I met his eyes in the mirror. His gaze was soft but steady, unwavering. I felt his presence behind me like a protective shield, and it was enough to make me lean back, resting against his chest.

His arms came around me instinctively, the warmth of his body wrapping around mine, and I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding.

“I’m with you, baby,” he whispered into my ear, his voice steady but thick with emotion. “Always.”

I nodded, the weight of his presence grounding me as he helped me undress. His movements were gentle, careful, as if afraid that any wrong move might cause me more pain. He slipped off his shirt and jeans, his body warm against mine as he guided me into the shower. The sound of the water rushing down around us was calming, a contrast to the storm inside my chest.

The heat of the water flowed over me like a shield, and I felt the tension in my muscles slowly begin to ease. But it was him—his steady hands, his presence—that truly brought me comfort. He stood behind me, holding me up, his touch soft but reassuring. I closed my eyes, letting the water cascade over my face, the warmth a small relief from the chill I’d been carrying for so long.

I could smell the mint and tea tree as he poured body wash into his hands, rubbing it between his palms before smoothing it over my skin. His touch was soothing, tender, and as he grazed his hands across my bruised body, I felt a ripple of warmth that had nothing to do with the water.

“Ok, this does smell better than mine,” he whispered softly, the hint of humor in his voice like a small, delicate thread tying us back to something normal.

I couldn’t help but smile, even though the bruises, the pain, were still there. His touch was like a balm, each stroke melting the tightness in my muscles, each careful movement a reminder that he was here—that we were here, together.

He worked his way across my shoulders, my back, tracing over the marks left by those men, as if trying to erase them with each touch. It didn’t take away the hurt, but it eased it, bit by bit. His hands were gentle. He wasn’t just washing away the dirt or the sweat; he was helping me wash away the weight of everything I’d been carrying.

I let myself simply be, trusting him to help me carry the burden, just as he had before, just as he always would.

He helped me wrap a towel around my body, his touch gentle as he guided me to the bed, ensuring I didn’t sway too much. My muscles were still sore, but the warmth of the shower had done wonders to settle some of the tension. He paused, looking around the room as I pointed to the dresser.

“Top drawer,” I said, my voice soft but teasing. “I’m giving you free rein to rummage through my panty drawer.” I started to laugh, but a sharp pain flared in my side, making me wince.

Ryan’s eyes softened, and he quickly grabbed a comfortable pair, carefully sliding them up my legs. His fingers lingered for a moment, and he murmured with a slight smirk, “This is the first time I’ve put them on you.”

“When I’m better, you can help me take them off again,” I whispered back, my voice laced with quiet confidence. My heart fluttered, even in the midst of everything that had happened. “Second drawer is pajamas,” I added, nodding toward the next drawer.

Ryan pulled out a t-shirt, his eyes flicking to the fabric. A grin tugged at his lips as he said, “I wondered what happened to that.”

I met his gaze with a small smile, “I was meaning to bring it back to you, but I liked having it.” There was a pause before I added, “I’ve got some of your sweats in there too if you want them.”

He chuckled softly, the sound warm and familiar, and for a moment, it felt like everything could go back to normal. Like the world wasn’t so heavy.

“I think I’ll borrow them tonight,” he said, pulling me into his arms as he slid the shirt over my head. It wasn’t just the comfort of the clothes that mattered. It was the way he held me close, his body warm against mine. It was the safety in knowing that, no matter what had happened or what was still to come, I had him by my side.

I lay on the bed, watching him with a quiet intensity as he slipped the sweatpants over his hips. His hair was still damp from the shower, droplets trailing down his neck, and his chest—still unbranded—was a quiet reminder of everything unspoken between us.

I couldn't help myself. “I thought you?” I asked, my voice tentative as I met his eyes, searching for something in them. Something I didn't know I was looking for.

Ryan’s expression softened, and he shrugged as he climbed into the bed beside me. “There wasn’t time,” he said, his tone quiet, almost dismissive, but not in a way that closed me out. He just seemed to want to move past it.

I watched him settle beside me, and I felt a tightness in my chest. "You don’t have to prove yourself to them for me," I murmured, turning my body slightly toward him. My fingers brushed against his, and I gave him a look that said everything I couldn’t quite put into words. “If you do it, do it for you.”

Ryan’s eyes met mine, softening. He nodded, his fingers finding mine as he gave them a gentle squeeze. “Don’t worry about it, baby,” he whispered, the weight of everything easing just a little as he spoke.

I didn’t know if I believed it yet, if he could truly separate the pressure of the brand from what he wanted, what we both wanted. But in that moment, with him here, beside me, I felt a little less alone in the storm. 

—--

“You sure you want to ride out there today?” Ryan asked, “We’re just finishing up the new barn. Nothing too interesting.” 

“I have to get out of this house,” I told him as I slipped into a pair of jeans, “I’ve been cooped up here for weeks.”

“I know but you’re still sore,” he said, “I don’t want to see you get hurt.”

“If you thought I couldn’t ride,” I slipped my arms around his waist, “You should have said something last night when I was riding you.”

Ryan raised an eyebrow, his lips twitching into a smile despite himself. "That’s completely different," he smirked, his hands resting on my hips as he leaned in, his face inches from mine. “I can’t have you out there working too hard.”

I could feel the heat of his breath, the teasing undercurrent in his voice, and I couldn’t help but laugh softly, brushing my fingers over the side of his face. “It’s just nails and wood, Ryan. I think I can handle that much.” I gave him a playful kiss on the cheek before stepping back to finish buttoning my jeans.

"You don't have to do this," he said, a hint of concern still in his eyes, but I could tell he was giving in to the inevitability of my determination.

“I know,” I said, my voice softening as I looked up at him. “But I need to feel like myself again. I’ve been stuck in this house, in my own head, for too long. I need to get my hands dirty. Besides," I added, a teasing glint in my eyes, "if I supervise, I might be able to make sure you’re doing it right after all."

Ryan exhaled through his nose in a half-laugh, half-sigh, but I could see the affection behind it. "You’re stubborn as hell,” he murmured, pulling me into a tight hug. “But you’ve always been like that.”

I nestled against his chest, feeling the strength in his arms, and the warmth between us that seemed to fight off the coldness that had been creeping into my bones the last few weeks. “And you love me anyway,” I whispered.

“Don’t think that means you get to manipulate me into giving in to you,”  Ryan replied, his voice steady and protective. 

“That’s exactly what that means,” I dipped my hands in his back pockets giving him a playful squeeze, “Come on, cowboy, stop fighting me on this. You’ll be there to keep an eye on me, make sure I don’t break a sweat or anything.”

He sighed, but his expression softened. "Fine," he said with a nod. "But I’m not letting you out of my sight for a second." He kissed the top of my head and gave me a last look of caution. "You still owe me a bit of pampering when this is all over, though."

I grinned up at him. “You know that sounds more like a reward for you, right?”

“Hey, I’ll take whatever I can get,” he smirked, grabbing his jacket off the back of the chair. “Let’s get to work, then. But I’m watching you every step of the way.”

I laughed, following him out the door. “You wouldn’t be anywhere else, cowboy.”

The breeze felt good against my skin, the sun warm on my face as I guided my horse. It felt freeing to be out here again, riding, even if I had to be cautious. I knew Ryan wouldn’t let me hear the end of it if I overdid it. We reached the site of the new barn construction, and I reluctantly allowed him to help me down from my horse.

“You know, I only let you help me so I can have your hands on me,” I teased, giving him a sidelong glance.

Ryan grinned, his eyes glinting with mischief. “I only help you because I get to put my hands on you,” he shot back, pulling me closer with a smirk.

“Are y’all done making goo-goo eyes at each other?” Colby called from inside the barn. “We could use some help in here.”

“All done,” I called back, chuckling as I started to help Ethan with a crossbeam, but Ryan beat me to it, swooping in with that confident ease he always had.

“So what’s wrong with the old barn?” Jimmy asked, leaning against a wooden post as he looked around.

“It’s seven miles from this half of the ranch,” Lloyd answered.

“Hey Lloyd,” Jake called from the back, “What was that joke about the two fat chicks and the wheelbarrows?”

“That wasn’t a joke, Jake,” Lloyd responded dryly, “that was you at the Cooper branding.”

The whole group erupted into laughter.

“I gotta joke, wanna hear it?” Jimmy asked, raising his hand.

“No,” the boys said in unison, barely pausing to look at him.

“Alright, check it out. There’s this big Texas oil guy, right? Goes into this bar down at the border,” Jimmy started, “sits next to this vaquero and says, ‘Hey man, you a rancher?’ The vaquero says, ‘Yeah, I got fifty acres down by the river.’ Big Texas oil guy says, ‘Oh, on my ranch, I can get in my truck in the morning, and I still won’t make it to the gate by sundown.’ Vaquero sits for a second, nods, and says, ‘Yeah man, I used to have a truck like that too.’”

I chuckled at that. It was stupid, but it was just the kind of small thing I needed to hear after everything. A ridiculous joke from a half-green kid.

“That was almost funny,” Colby teased, shaking his head.

“Alright, I got one,” Ryan said, stepping up to lean against a post, a wicked grin spreading across his face. “Y’all hear about the guy that goes to see a doctor, and the doctor says, ‘Sorry to be the one to tell you this, but you got cancer head to toe. One week to live.’ Man says, ‘A week?! That’s not enough time. What can I do doc?’ Doc thinks and he says, ‘I’ll tell you what to do: You go find yourself a barrel racer girl with two little dogs. And you marry her.’ And the man says, ‘That’s gonna make me live longer?’ And the Doc says, ‘No. But it’ll make that week seem like a fuckin’ eternity.’”

Everyone laughed, myself included, despite myself.

“Barrel racer girls?” I raised a brow at Ryan, feigning confusion. “What was that about barrel racer girls?”

Ryan just smirked and shook his head, looking me over. “Baby, you’re a trick rider, a whole different animal,” he replied, the playful tone matching my own.

“I think mine was funnier,” Jimmy said.

“Jimmy, when you’re all growed up and you’ve dated a woman, you’ll find it funny,” Colby laughed, throwing an arm over Jimmy’s shoulder as the rest of the crew snickered.

Rip called from outside the structure, his voice cutting through the air, “Alright, y’all, we’re done. Let’s head up to the big barn.”

I stepped out to find Kayce riding alongside Rip, looking as serious as ever. His eyes immediately flicked over to me, then to Ryan, suspicion written across his face. “I thought you were supposed to be taking it easy.”

Ryan gave a helpless shrug. “Hey, man, I tried to stop her. She twisted my arm.”

Kayce raised an eyebrow. “I doubt she had to do much twistin’.”

“I’m fine,” I interjected, brushing off his concern, “They didn’t let me carry anything heavy. Hell, they didn’t even let me use the hammer. I was ready to nail something.” I gave Ryan a pointed look, adding a playful edge to my voice.

Ryan, never one to miss an opportunity, smirked. “Well, since you’re offering…”

I shot him a glare, hands on my hips. “I’m supposed to be taking it easy, remember?”

Kayce just shook his head at the back-and-forth. “Y’all are impossible.”

“Lloyd, get those mules outta the field,” Rip barked, his voice carrying over the chatter of the group. “We’re running a spike camp this summer, understand?”

Lloyd gave a nod and turned to start rounding up the mules.

Jimmy, always quick to ask questions, raised his hand like a kid in class. “What’s a spike camp?”

Rip glanced over, eyes narrowing slightly but not unkindly. “Spike camp’s where we’ll set up outside in the field during summer. We’ll camp out there for a while, work on things that need done away from the ranch, keeping an eye on the cattle make sure they don’t find anything they shouldn’t eat out there.”

“Sounds like a pain,” Jimmy muttered, but there was a spark of excitement in his eyes. 

“Yeah, well, it's part of the job,” Rip replied, his voice low and serious. “And it ain't just a pain. It’s a way to make sure the ranch keeps running smooth, even when we’re far from home. So you better get used to it, kid. This summer’s gonna be a long one.”

—-

I leaned back into the couch, letting the warmth of the fire and the comfortable chaos of the room wash over me. The tension from the past weeks started to melt away. The laughter and teasing, the way everyone just carried on like nothing had happened—maybe that’s what I needed. To be around people who didn’t treat me like a fragile thing. To be reminded that life kept moving, even when everything felt like it was frozen in time.

Ryan passed me the bottle with a grin, his eyes still burning with that spark of mischief. He was always the first to throw himself into the fun, to make sure everyone else was laughing. I took a sip, savoring the burn that spread through me. For the first time in days, I felt like I could breathe again.

Ryan spun around the branding iron, as Colby counted ten turns. Ryan took off running across the bunkhouse. A second later, he was on the floor, Colby’s lasso tight around his ankle, sending him crashing to the hardwood with a loud thud.

“Oh shit,” I looked down at him, “you ok, cowboy?”

He laughed, as Jimmy and Colby helped him up off the floor, “I’m alright. Though I wouldn’t mind if you kissed me and made it feel better.” 

I wiggled my finger, “Well come here.” I smirked as he leaned in pressing his lips to mine, then plopped down on the couch beside me. 

I couldn’t help but laugh as he leaned back into the couch, grinning like he’d just won a prize. The warmth of his kiss still lingered on my lips, a familiar feeling that had always grounded me, even when everything around us was chaos.

“Well, now I feel better,” he teased, his fingers gently brushing through my hair as he relaxed against the couch.

“You know, if I had known it would only take a kiss to fix you up, I’d have done it sooner,” I smirked, settling in next to him.

“Guess you’ll have to kiss me again just to be sure,” he grinned, clearly enjoying every second of the playful banter.

“I might just do that,” I replied, letting my fingers trace along his jawline. “But only if you promise to stay out of trouble for the rest of the night.”

“No promises there,” he chuckled, kissing me again, the warmth of it still burning long after his lips pulled away.

“Jimmy, you’re up,” Lloyd chuckled, his voice dripping with amusement.

“Okay, okay, okay, hold on,” Jimmy grinned, taking a long swig from his beer bottle.

“You get bucked off shit for a living,” I teased, “This should be easy for you.”

“Take into consideration, you gotta have a brain to get it concussed,” Colby chimed in with a sly grin, “So you’ll be fine.”

Jimmy smirked. “Hey bro, just try not to rope my dick. Your mom’s gonna be pissed.”

Colby’s face went stone cold. No humor there.

Ryan laughed, leaning back. “That’s funny.”

Colby growled, “Give me the damn rope.”

With that, Jimmy went tumbling to the floor in a heap, still grinning as he landed. “Your mom’s gonna be really pissed.”

“Alright, pretty boy, you’re up,” Jake called out to Jamie, a challenge in his voice.

“I’m good,” Jamie said flatly, shaking his head.

“You’re good?” Ryan raised an eyebrow, a playful grin tugging at his lips.

I leaned back, crossing my arms. “He doesn’t have to if he doesn’t want to. Don’t succumb to peer pressure, Jamie.”

“Come on, Jamie,” Colby pushed, “You gotta pay your dues.”

Jamie hesitated for a second, then stood up from the bunk. Grabbing the bottle from Ryan’s hand, he took a long drink. “I really don’t get the point of this, but alright, let’s do it. On three, right?”

On three, Jamie spun and ran, but his foot caught on the floor, throwing him off balance. Ryan swung the rope, and with a perfect arc, it snaked around Jamie’s torso, sending him crashing to the floor with a thud.

I jumped to my feet, rushing to Jamie’s side. “You okay?”

Ryan immediately knelt beside him, his face full of concern. “I tried to get it around his waist so he wouldn’t go down too hard,” he said, defensively.

“Well, you sure fucked that up,” Lloyd retorted, quickly checking Jamie’s head for any injuries.

Ryan’s face tightened. “Is he alright?”

Jamie shook his head, then let out a laugh. “Damn, that was worse than I thought. When’s it my turn with the rope?”

The bunkhouse erupted in laughter, the tension easing with every chuckle.

“What the hell are you doing?” Rip’s voice sliced through the air, sharp and annoyed. “And why the hell are you still awake?”

“Is it late?” Jimmy asked, squinting at the clock as if he had no idea.

“It’s 3:30 in the morning,” Rip spat, “Get a fucking watch.”

—-

Ryan watched me saddle my horse, a slow grin spreading across his face. “You can always come out later. We’ll be out there all summer.”

I tossed him a playful look, fastening the cinch. “And let you have all the fun?” I gave him a sly smile. “It’s camping, Ryan. Nothing too strenuous.”

I met his gaze from atop my horse, raising an eyebrow. “At least not until you join me in my tent.”

His expression shifted, that familiar spark of mischief lighting up his eyes. “Oh, you do make a good point.” 

“Stick that horse back in the barn,” Dad ordered, his voice gruff as he gestured toward Jamie. “And move your gear out of the bunkhouse.”

Jamie raised an eyebrow, “Where to?”

“To the lodge,” Dad replied, not missing a beat. “I can’t have the new livestock commissioner living in the bunkhouse.”

I couldn’t help the smile that tugged at my lips. Jamie had finally proven to Dad, and himself, that he was back on solid ground. It was good to see him take that next step, the one that made him feel like he truly belonged again.

Kayce rode ahead with the wranglers, his pace quick and steady, keeping the crew in line. To keep everyone content, I stuck with the slower pace alongside Lloyd and the wagon with my father. Tate, eager as ever, climbed into the shotgun seat, giving me a nod as he settled in. I returned the gesture, appreciating the quiet bond we shared. It was rare that we all felt so at ease, but in that moment, the world felt a little more like it used to be. 

I tied off my horse, my gaze drifting toward Ryan as he set up my tent. A slow smile tugged at my lips as I watched the flex of his arms, the easy strength in the way he worked.

“I noticed you pitched my tent on the opposite side of camp from my father’s,” I mused, tilting my head.

Ryan smirked, glancing over his shoulder. “Your dad may know about us, baby,” he said, driving the last stake into the ground, “but knowing and knowing are two different things.”

“Glad you cleared that up,” I gave him a look, as grabbed my bedroll and his and carried them inside the tent. 

“What I mean is,” he ducked inside the tent with me, pulling me close, smirking as he whispered in my ear, “I don’t think you’d want him to hear all the noises you make when I buried inside you.”

I arched a brow, feigning innocence as I spread out the bedrolls. “Oh? And what noises would those be?”

Ryan chuckled, the sound low and rough as he crowded me against the tent wall, his hands settling on my hips. “You know exactly which ones,” he murmured, his lips grazing my ear.

Heat curled in my stomach, but I bit back a smirk. “You seem awfully confident, cowboy.”

He brushed a slow, teasing kiss along my jaw. “Let’s just say I’ve got a pretty damn good memory.” His grip tightened just enough to make me feel it. “And if you’re real quiet, maybe we won’t wake the whole camp.”

I hummed, letting my fingers trail up his chest. “Or maybe I want to see just how good you are at keeping me quiet.”

“I have my ways,” he murmured against my skin, “but I do enjoy all the noises you make. Especially the way you say my name when you’re about to cum.”

My arms slipped up and around his neck, my body pressed fully against his, “I thought you might like that.” 

“Ryan!” Colby’s voice cut through the building tension, “come on man we gotta finish setting up the rest of camp.” 

“Go to work, cowboy,” I told him, “You can make me call out your name tonight.” 

Ryan groaned, pressing his forehead against mine for a brief second before stepping back. His hands lingered at my waist, reluctant to let me go. “You’re killin’ me, baby,” he muttered.

I smirked, reaching up to adjust the collar of his shirt. “Consider it motivation.”

He exhaled a laugh, shaking his head. “You’re trouble, you know that?”

“Always,” I winked.

Colby’s impatient voice rang out again. “Ryan! Move your ass!”

Ryan rolled his eyes, pressing one last lingering kiss to my lips before pulling away. “Tonight,” he promised, his voice thick with intent.

I watched him walk off, the easy swagger in his step making my stomach tighten with anticipation. Smirking to myself, I settled into the tent, already counting down the hours until sundown.

While Ryan, Colby, and the others worked on setting up camp, I focused on making our tent as comfortable as possible. Just because we were roughing it didn’t mean we had to suffer. I spread out the thick bedrolls, layering them with extra fluffy blankets and pillows���summer or not, I wasn’t about to let a stray rock ruin the mood. Comfort was key, and a little effort went a long way, especially when the night stretched long and the company was as enticing as Ryan.

After smoothing out the blankets, I stepped outside and unfolded a two-seater camp chair, positioning it close to the campfire but far enough for a little privacy. The thought of curling up with Ryan under the open sky, firelight flickering against his easy grin, sent a pleasant shiver down my spine.

Satisfied with my work, I dusted off my hands and glanced over at Ryan. He was finishing up with the last of the tents, his shirt damp with sweat, muscles flexing as he tightened a rope. I bit my lip, watching the way his jeans hung on his hips.

Yeah, tonight was going to be good.

I strode over to the opposite side of camp, watching my father and Tate get settled in. 

“Hey bud,” I sat down next to him, “how are you doing?”

Tate sat in silence for a moment, stacking kindling on the campfire. The two of us had been through something together—something that still lingered in the quiet moments. I knew he was still adjusting. We both were.

“Do you still have nightmares, too?” he asked softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

I nodded. There were still nights I’d wake up in a cold sweat, heart racing, the walls closing in until I found Ryan beside me, his steady warmth grounding me back into reality.

“Sometimes before I fall asleep,” I told him, “I like to think about all the things that make me happy.”

Tate tilted his head, considering my words. “Like what?”

“Like riding my horse through the meadow,” I said with a small smile. “Or remembering when your dad and I used to go swimming in the river as kids. Winning a rodeo, the way it feels when the crowd cheers.”

He smirked. “That cowboy you like so much?”

I felt heat rise to my cheeks but didn’t deny it. “Sometimes him too,” I admitted. “But you know what happens when I think about all the good things?”

Tate shook his head.

“The bad dreams don’t come as often,” I said, my voice soft but certain.

He nodded, staring into the fire, the flickering flames reflecting in his thoughtful eyes. “Maybe I’ll try that,” he murmured.

I reached over and gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “You should. It helps.”

For the first time in a long while, I saw a flicker of ease settle over him, just enough to let me hope that maybe—just maybe—we’d both find peace again.

“Sweetheart,” my father’s normally gruff voice softened as he approached from behind, “you get settled in?”

I turned to face him, nodding. “Yeah, Dad,” I said, glancing out over the vast stretch of open land. The golden light of the setting sun painted everything in warm hues, casting long shadows over the camp. “I think this is what we need,” I admitted, my voice quieter. “What we both need.”

His gaze followed mine, taking in the familiar landscape, the same land that had shaped us, broken us, and somehow held us together. I fought against the sting in my eyes, swallowing the lump in my throat before it could take hold.

“I think I’m gonna go see what Lloyd has on the chuckwagon,” I said, forcing a smile. “I’m starving.”

Dad gave a small nod, understanding in his eyes. “Go on, then. Make sure he saved some for me.”

I turned away, grateful for the excuse to put some distance between myself and the emotions threatening to surface. Maybe out here, under the wide-open sky, we could start to put the pieces back together.

I sank into my camp chair, the warmth of the stew in my lap comforting against the cool evening air. The Montana sky stretched endlessly above us, a blanket of stars flickering like tiny promises. Ryan’s hand rested on my thigh, his touch grounding me in a way nothing else could.

“You doing okay, baby?” His voice was gentle as he pulled me from my thoughts. “You don’t have to put on a brave face for me.”

I turned to him, finding the quiet concern in his eyes. “I know,” I murmured, my fingers brushing over his. “I’m doing better. I don’t know if I could have made it through it without you.”

His grip on my leg tightened just slightly, reassuring, steady. “Baby,” he said, voice soft but firm, “I’m not going anywhere.”

I nodded, knowing it was true. “You ready to take me to bed, cowboy?”

Ryan’s grin was slow and knowing. “I thought you’d never ask,” he said, gathering up our empty bowls and setting them aside.

Before I could move, his strong arms wrapped around me, lifting me effortlessly. My heart skipped a beat as he carried me toward the tent, the firelight casting flickering shadows across his face.

“Ryan,” I murmured, looping my arms around his neck.

“Hmm?” he glanced down, his smirk never fading.

I brushed my lips against his ear, my voice a teasing whisper. “I think I like it when you carry me.”

His grip tightened. “Good,” he said, stepping inside the tent and kicking the flap shut behind us, “because I’m not putting you down anytime soon.”

His hands ran slowly down my legs and tugged my boots off. He looked down at me as we settled on the bedding. 

“What’s wrong?” I asked. 

“I’m trying to decide where I want to start with you,” he smirked eyes dark as they scanned my body. His thumb grazed my lip, “Should I start here?” Then he slid his hand to my neck, ghosting his fingers softly over my flesh, “Or here,” his fingers trailed lower, teasing the skin of my chest as he unbuttoned my shirt, “Or even here,” he smirked as I reacted to his touch. 

“Ryan,” I groaned as he teased me.

Ryan chuckled, low and deep, clearly enjoying the way my breath hitched beneath his touch. His rough fingers traced lazy circles over my skin, igniting a slow burn everywhere they lingered.

“You sound impatient, baby,” he murmured, pressing a teasing kiss just below my ear. “That bad?”

I swallowed hard, gripping the front of his shirt and tugging him closer. “You’re doing it on purpose.”

His smirk was pure sin. “Maybe.”

His hands roamed lower, fingertips grazing the dip of my waist, the curve of my hips, setting every nerve alight. The anticipation coiled tight in my stomach, my body arching into him as I let out another breathless sound.

“Damn, I love that,” he muttered, his voice husky. “You always sound so sweet when you want me.”

“Then quit teasing me and do something about it,” I challenged, my lips curling into a smirk of my own.

Ryan’s eyes darkened, his grip tightening as he leaned in. “Oh, baby,” he breathed against my mouth, “you have no idea what you just started.”

“Please, just start,” my words came out more needy than intended. My impatience growing as the fire of each light torturous touch edged me on. 

“You know I’ll take care of you,” his lips danced over the tender spot on my neck. “But I like feeling you squirm.”

Ryan’s words sent a shiver down my spine, heat pooling low in my stomach. My breath hitched as he lingered at my neck, his lips barely ghosting over my skin.

“Ryan,” I pleaded, my grip on his shirt tightening.

He chuckled, the sound vibrating against my throat. “Damn, baby,” he murmured, “you’re really that desperate for me, huh?”

I exhaled sharply, my nails digging into his shoulders. “You know I am.”

His hands trailed lower, slow and deliberate, teasing every inch of me with maddening restraint. “I love hearing you beg,” he admitted, his voice thick with desire. “Almost makes me want to drag this out longer.”

I whimpered, pushing up against him, wordlessly demanding more.

Ryan groaned, his control slipping as he finally gave in. “Alright, baby,” he whispered, his lips crashing against mine, “let’s start.”

“You are such a tease,” I groaned against his lips, his hands moved to quickly unbutton the rest of my shirt and push it off my shoulders. His lips moved down my neck more determined than before. His fingers unbuckled my belt and popped the button of my jeans open. His hand slipping inside the waistband of my satin panties.

“I think you like it when I tease you,” his fingers glided slowly over my folds, “you’re already soaking wet for me.” 

A shuddering breath escaped me as Ryan’s fingers traced agonizingly slow circles against my heat. My body arched into his touch, craving more, but he held me in place, his other hand splayed against my hip.

“You talk a big game,” I managed, my voice shaky with anticipation, “but if you don’t stop teasing, cowboy, I might just have to take matters into my own hands.”

Ryan chuckled, the sound deep and full of amusement. “That so?” he murmured, his lips trailing lower, brushing over my collarbone. “Well, we can’t have that, now can we?”

With one swift movement, he hooked his fingers around the waistband of my jeans and panties, tugging them down my thighs. His heated gaze met mine as he settled between my legs, a devilish smirk playing at his lips.

“Let me take care of you, baby,” he whispered, his breath hot against my skin. “Nice and slow.”

He pulled me closer to him, throwing my legs over his shoulders as he buried himself between my thighs. Groaning against my sensitive flesh as his lips and tongue danced over me. My fingers curled in his hair urging him to further. I could feel his smile against my flesh as I tried to push up against him. I needed more. 

I let out a deep moan when he slipped his finger inside me, then added a second. Hooking them to reach the right spot. His lips circled my clit, sucking gently as his tongue grazed the delicate bundle of nerves. 

“Ryan,” I cried out, I couldn’t make myself hold back, I didn’t want to, he didn’t want me to. My legs trembled around him, my body tightening with every stroke of his skilled fingers and flick of his tongue.

He pulled away, leaving me gasping and desperate for his touch. “You taste so good,” he murmured, his eyes dark with desire as he looked up at me. 

I groaned, “I was there and you stopped.” 

“I know, baby,” he muttered, his voice thick with his own need. Without a word, he slammed into me, filling me up and sending a shockwave of pleasure through my body. Our eyes locked as we found our rhythm, his hips moving in a steady beat that almost made the ground beneath us tremble. 

My nails dug into his back as he picked up the pace, the pressure building inside me again. 

“Cum for me,” he demanded, his voice gruff with need. And just like that, I did. The orgasm ripped through me like lightning, leaving me trembling and gasping for breath. 

But Ryan wasn’t done. He kept moving, pushing me towards another peak, his own release drawing closer. 

And then it hit me, a second orgasm that felt like it would never end. I screamed out his name, my body convulsing around him as he followed me over the edge, filling me up with his heat. 

We collapsed together, our hearts racing, breaths mingling in the quiet of the tent. I rested my head against his chest, the warmth of his body grounding me as the aftershocks of our connection lingered.

“You’re lucky I love you,” I murmured, a playful smile tugging at my lips. 

He chuckled softly, his fingers brushing through my hair as he pulled me closer. “Yeah, I’m pretty fucking lucky,” he replied, his voice low and warm, his touch gentle.