#so maybe i sleep now. and then work later

[lillilybells]

May I request platonic batfamily x batsis!child!reader (maybe reader is like 4-5 yrs old) one day jason read her a fairytale book and explain her what having a crush on someone feel like. many days later reader told her brothers she's having a crush on someone. the batfam are going crazy tryna find who's her crush. (fortunate for them) turns out reader’s crush is a cartoon character she watch on tv.

Puppy crush✧₊⁺

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

pairing|batfamily x toddler!reader

summary|Jason’s not great at explanations..

word count|1214

warnings|this was made by a very sleep deprived human.

notes|not my best work but this request was so cute!!

masterlist

It was one of those rare days when Jason Todd actually decided to grace the manor with his presence. Nostalgia had struck like a semi-truck, and he figured a visit wouldn’t kill him—as long as Bruce didn’t try to lecture him and Alfred made those double chocolate cherry cookies he liked.

He made it explicitly clear that he was here for two things only: Alfred’s cooking and you—his favorite (and youngest) sibling. Everyone else could take a number.

You’d been clinging to him since the second he stepped foot inside.

Jason, in his leather jacket and boots, looked wildly out of place being tugged through the manor by a toddler in mismatched socks and a pink dress. You showed him every single crayon drawing taped to the wall in the kitchen, explaining each one like a gallery tour.

“This one’s me and Titus. I gave him a cape so he can fly.”

“Kid, if Titus could fly, Gotham would be a crater.”

“And this one’s you!” you pointed proudly at a red scribble with horns.

Jason mock gasped. “Why do I look like the devil?”

“Because I was mad at you last week,” you said sweetly. “You said you’d come and you didn’t.”

Jason clutched his heart.

After that, you insisted on baking cookies with him. Jason did most of the work while you sneakily ate half the chocolate chips and used flour like it was fairy dust. Alfred eventually stepped in before things got nuclear.

Finally, you and Jason collapsed onto the living room couch, the results of your baking sitting on a plate between you. The cookies were... technically edible. The TV played old Looney Tunes reruns as you cuddled up to Jason’s side, one thumb in your mouth, the other gripping his sleeve like a lifeline.

Bruce entered a few minutes later, arms crossed. “Alright. Enough cartoons. It’s bedtime.”

“Nooo!” you protested dramatically, hiding behind Jason’s arm. “I wanna stay with Jay Jay…”

Jason raised his brows at Bruce smugly. “See? Kid’s got good taste.”

“‘Jay Jay’ has to go home,” Bruce said pointedly. “Say goodnight.”

Jason shifted. “I can put the gremlin to bed. Don’t get your cape in a twist.”

Bruce exhaled heavily, then turned with a muttered, “Good luck with that…”

Upstairs, Jason managed to wrestle you into pajamas and tuck you into your pastel pink bed without much resistance. But as he made a break for the door—

“Wait! Where you goin’?” you frowned, grabbing his hand.

Jason blinked. “Uh… to go brood dramatically in the hallway?”

“Nooo,” you pouted. “Daddy tells me a story before bed.”

Jason squinted. “Bruce? Bruce Wayne? Tells you stories?”

You nodded enthusiastically. “From his ‘magination! Sometimes they’re about you!”

Jason tilted his head, stunned. “Okay, now I know you’re messing with me. Bruce doesn’t even tell me the Wi-Fi password.”

He sighed and dropped into the armchair beside your bed. “Alright, alright. A story. Let’s do this.”

You sat up excitedly, pulling the blanket to your chin.

“Okay, uh… once upon a time, there was a princess named… Snow White. She had a mean stepmom. Real piece of work. Kinda Cinderella vibes—”

“Who’s Cinderella?”

Jason blinked. “You don’t know Cinderella? What is Bruce teaching you?!”

“Taxes,” you said seriously.

Jason wheezed.

“Anyway,” he continued, regaining composure, “Snow White had to clean and do chores, which sucked. But she had animal friends and liked to sing and stuff. And one day, a prince walked by and heard her sing—and he got a crush on her.”

You tilted your head. “What’s a crush?”

Jason froze. “Oh. Uh…”

He leaned forward. “Okay, so a crush is when you like someone a lot. Like, you think they’re really cool and funny and cute. And they give you, like, butterflies in your stomach.”

“Like the zoo?”

“Sorta. But inside you.” He poked your tummy gently and you giggled.

“Did the prince get butterflies?”

“Yeah. Big ones. Like mutant butterflies.”

You giggled more, eyes starting to droop.

“And then they rode off into the sunset while the dwarfs cheered,” Jason finished, quietly. “The end.”

You yawned. “That was a good one, Jay Jay…”

“Goodnight, short stack.” He pressed a soft kiss to your forehead before tiptoeing out.

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊

Two days later…

It was a normal afternoon at Wayne Manor. Damian sat on the couch reading case files, sipping strong coffee, the picture of grim concentration.

You were on the floor with your crayons, singing to yourself and scribbling away.

Without a word, you waddled up to Damian, holding up your newest drawing.

He looked up. A tall stick figure with a cape, messy black hair, and a big pink heart next to its head.

“…Who is this?” he asked slowly.

You leaned in, voice conspiratorial. “Can I tell you a secret?”

He raised a brow. “Go ahead.”

“Pinky promise you won’t tell!” you held up your pinky with authority.

He sighed and linked his pinky with yours. “Fine. I swear.”

You grinned. “It’s my crush!”

Damian stared. “Your what?”

But you were already running off, giggling with the drawing hugged to your chest.

He blinked. “What the hell…?”

The thought haunted him all day. Who was your crush? Did he know them? Were they a threat? He needed to know.

Later that night, the Batfam returned to the cave after a long mission. When they wandered into the manor you greeted them all with a cheerful wave, still coloring.

Damian lingered in the shadows, arms crossed, staring at you like a secret agent trying to crack a code.

“Why are you looking at her like that?” Tim asked.

“She said she has a crush,” Damian answered darkly.

The room fell silent.

“...What?” Jason blinked.

“I was shown a drawing,” Damian continued. “Tall figure. Cape. Hair. Hearts.”

“Oh no,” Jason groaned. “Not already.”

“Do we know the guy?” Dick asked cautiously.

“No,” Damian hissed. “She ran off.”

“We need to find out,” Duke added, already concerned.

“Absolutely not telling Bruce,” Jason declared. “We don’t need him to realize she’ll grow up.

At that moment, you waddled in again, holding up a new drawing. “Look! It’s my crush!”

Jason crouched down slowly. “Alright, sweetheart. Who is that?”

You beamed. “Batman!”

Silence.

“…Seriously?” Damian blinked.

“He’s so cool! He punches bad guys and never smiles and has a cape and everything!” you explained proudly.

Jason fell back onto the floor with relief. “Thank god.”

Dick was laughing. Tim was trying not to. Damian turned away and muttered something under his breath.

“Don’t tell him, though!” you begged. “It’s a secret crush.”

“Too late,” Bruce’s voice cut through the air as he effortlessly lifted you into his arms. “I’m telling him everything.”

“Daddy, nooo!” you squealed, giggling as he tickled your side.

The others watched in exhausted silence.

“Who taught her what a crush even is?” Tim asked.

Jason coughed. “Okay, to be fair, I was trying to tell her a bedtime story, not teach her about emotions.”

“Next time, be more specific, Todd,” Damian muttered.

“Or just… maybe don’t,” Dick added, patting Jason’s back. “I don’t need this scare again for another decade..”

You? You just sat in Bruce’s arms, happily drawing a new picture of Batman with a crown and hearts around his head.

[screamlet]

in lieu of kissing!!

fyi the first draft of this was exactly 666 words and to be honest i'm sure that was a code to unlock how sickly sweet this turned out. established bucktommy, sick and comically delirious tommy. 650ish words.

---

It's terrible that Buck is this excited to pick up Tommy from work.

"You are so close to skipping," Lucy says when Buck strolls through the hangar. "And way too comfortable on our turf."

Buck stops to reach into one of his pockets and pull out his wedding ring, swapping it out for the silicone one on his hand. He smiles as he holds his hand up to Lucy. "I like to think of Harbor as my turf-in-law."

"Oh my god, get your pilot and get out of here."

"Yes, ma'am."

Buck leaves the hangar for the station area of Harbor, waving hello to the A-shift crew gathered around the kitchen. "Please tell me he's sleeping," Buck calls out.

"He's in the bunk room," Mel, the other A-shift pilot, calls back.

Buck frowns at that very careful wording, but he doesn't stop to ask questions. He knocks at the door of the bunk room and slowly opens it.

All the lights are fully on and Tommy's curled up on one of the lower bunks. He looks at Buck and pouts. "I was resting my eyes."

Buck ducks and sits on the edge of Tommy's bed. "With all the lights on?"

"I didn't want them to get too rested."

Buck presses the back of his hand to Tommy's forehead, but his red cheeks and watery eyes tell Buck what he needs to know. "Do you really want to fly a helicopter like this?"

Tommy nods off mid-thought, then startles awake a second later. "No, but I could. That's what I was telling Lucy. And that's why I called you! So you could tell her, and everyone, that I can fly right now, because I'm not sick, I just don't want to."

Buck runs his fingers through Tommy's hair, gently ruffling his curls. Maybe Tommy will remember later that he actually called Buck and said, "Evan, I'm not sick but no one will let me fly, can you come tell everyone that I can fly because they're making fun of me. I'm gonna lie down but I can totally fly. I have a license."

But maybe he won't. In any case, Buck's marking this as a check in the Tommy asking for help when he needs it column.

"I'll tell her that, if you tell me: Evan, I'm sick and I want to go home and let you take care of me."

Tommy's pout was… incredible. He hesitates for a beat, then says, "Baby, I'm sick and I want to go home and let you take care of me. I want that really good ginger ramen, and The Birdcage on the big TV, and you have to sit with me and watch the whole thing."

"Okay. We'll do all those things," Buck promises.

"All of it," Tommy says. "Even the beginning credits. They set the mood. It's world-building."

"We'll watch all of it, I promise," Buck says. He stands and helps Tommy to his feet, catching him as he sways.

"Kiss me, promise me, you have to promise with a kiss," Tommy protests.

Buck hugs him instead, scratching his nails along Tommy's scalp. "Oof, don't relax that quick, we gotta get to the Jeep," Buck laughs. He pulls away and kisses Tommy's forehead, then rests his hands on Tommy's cheeks (they're burning up). "And we'll cuddle on the couch while we watch the movie."

"It's too sweaty for that," Tommy whines. "Soup and movie, that's it."

Buck sighs. "Okay, into the Jeep, let's go. There's soup and a movie and cold medicine waiting for you."

As Buck leads Tommy through the door into the hangar, Tommy waves at the crew. "Evan said I can fly but he's going to make me soup and I can't say no to my husband so I'm not gonna fly today. Have a great shift, everyone, I love all of you."

Buck smothers his laugh into a cough, and glances over his shoulder. Everyone is waving their phones as they leave, so Buck shakes his head and waves back.

[nevajjk]

Ties That Bind

A/n: Hello! Sorry for being so inactive for so so long : (((( I have a lot of ideas and many drafts so I'm hoping to finish them and be able to release them soon. Right now im doing a bunch of one-shots but hopefully soon I can do a mini series maybe????

Warnings/tags: smut, making love, rough sex, jk and reader is blindfolded, dominance (both m and f), porn with LITTLE plot, sleepy sex, kink exploring, doggy, blowjob, etc.

NOT PROOFREAD!!!

Idol!jk x reader

The rain was pouring on the apartment windows overlooking seoul. You and Jungkook were taking a nap since jungkook had a 2 day break from work.

It's been very peaceful, Jungkook has been requesting a bunch of movies to watch, you both go walk around Seoul and shop. Basically spending the whole weekend together.

And obviously getting very intimate.

Since Jungkook is an idol and is always so busy due to his schedule, you both don't have much time to have sex, or even dinner together.

Most night's your just sleeping without him and waking up to his alarm clock. You don't really complain about it often, you knew it was his dream. And you knew what you were getting yourself into with dating an idol.

So, these 2 days have been very peaceful and loving.

Something special about you and Jungkook is you both like to explore things. Sexually.

Wether it's him tying you up, or multiple positions, you guys are very open to multiple kinks. It's something special about you two.

So, Jungkook wasn't very surprised when you said you wanted him to be blindfolded.

You stir awake from your nap, hearing the rain tap the windows. You look over at Jungkook sleeping peacefully next to you.

You tap on his shoulder to wake him up. No response.

You sit up on your knee's and pout, but then a good idea comes to mind. You get up from your bed and go look in your dresser to find a blindfold.

You crawl back on the bed and pull the duvet down Jungkook's chest revealing his tattooed arm and toned chest. Your favorite sight. You kiss his chest and lick a trail up to his boob's.

He stirs awake. Finally.

Jungkook groan's a little as he tilts his head up and look's at you.

"What are you doing y/n"

"Trying something new"

"Right now?"

"Yes!'

Jungkook sits up and rest on the headboard as he nod's in approval. You crawl up closer to his face and show him the blindfold in your hand. He raises an eyebrow at you as nod.

He smirks as he lifts his head to give you access to tie the blindfold around his eyes.

Once you tie it tightly you start to kiss him and play around with his lip piercing. You make a trail of kisses down his neck to his abs and land right before his boxers. His breath hitches.

You slowly pull his boxers down sensing his already growing erection. His cock spring's free making you both gasp.

Just the thought of you even near his cock makes Jungkook close to cumming.

You gently wrap your hands around his cock as you stroke him slowly up and down. You put just his tip in your mouth and spit some saliva on it.

You put him in your mouth fully and your mouth follows the same pace going up and down.

You look up at Jungkook who is a groaning mess. His hand finds your hair and bunches it up as he guides your head on his cock.

"agh, y/n im gonna cum." He whimpers.

You don't stop, you continue the same pace while looking at him. Gosh he look's so sexy with the blindfold.

A couple seconds later he shoots thick ropes of cum into your mouth. You make sure to swallow before you crawl back up to his face and kiss him deeply. Pushing your tongue into his mouth and share your saliva with him.

Jungkook pulls away as he rips the blindfold off and pushes you to lay down on your stomach. You moan at the sudden movment.

"You didn't think i'd let you be the dominant one the whole time, right?" he whispers in your ear. You love when he get's riled up like this. He takes the blindfold and ties it around your eyes and pushes you on the bed. Your face lands in the pillow as he gives you soft kisses down your back.

Jungkook grabs your hips and pulls them up, his hands then arch your back. You slightly moan due to this.

Jungkook wastes no time and put's his hard cock into your pussy. You grip the pillow your face is in and moan. Jungkook starts thrusting into you with no mercy. You can tell he was touch deprived because he never goes this crazy so early into sex.

He suddenly pulls out and grabs another piece of fabric as he ties your hands together behind your back and pulls on it. You turn your face to the side as tears brim your eyes under the blindfold.

Jungkook grunts and his brows furrow as he enters his euhporia of being balls deep inside you.

Jungkook pulls the ties around your hands and pulls you up against his chest. He wraps his hand around your neck, not putting to much pressure on you so you can still breathe.

He pulls your blindfold off and makes you look at you both in the mirror above the dresser in front of the bed.

You see him pounding relentlessly into your dripping pussy as your hair is all messed up and your breasts bouncing. You moan at the sight.

You feel yourself about to cum, you whimper loudly giving Jungkook the signal.

Soon enough you cum on his dick, your juices dripping down as he grunts.

Jungkook lays you down gently and get's a towel to clean you up. He throws on his boxers and goes to the kitchen to get you aspirin and water.

Afterwards, He lays down against the pillow as you sprawl your legs across his as you lay your body on top of his.

He grips your ass and kisses your forehead as you both catch your breath.

You soon both fall asleep again against each other. The room dimly lit and filled with intimacy as the rain still taps against the window.

[cobaltperun]

Other Worlds Than These

Zora Bennett x Female Reader

Summary: She'd be fine, she was the most capable woman you've met, she was the Zora Bennett, the best of the best, but these were fucking dinosaurs, and you just couldn't sit back in your apartment waiting to hear if everything went right. Even if you left that life behind many years ago.

Masterlist

Word Count: 4k

-There are monsters in the sky, there are demons in the sea, I have seen them with my eyes-

Early morning sunlight peeked through the windows of your living room, mercilessly and precisely hitting your face as you turned to the side and covered your head with the pillow. You fell asleep watching some movie about a dog getting reincarnated over and over again. “Now that would be awesome, always being reunited with your pet,” you figured before yawning. It was the second day of your vacation and you were already bored. Now, you didn’t want the excitement of your old job back, but maybe a pinch of excitement more wouldn’t hurt.

You thought back to working with Zora and the rest and shook your head. Nah, you’ve had enough excitement for your whole life already. Boring was good. Safe.

Just as you closed your eyes again with the intention to go back to sleep your phone rang and you, as responsible as you were, chose to ignore it. It was too early in the morning for a call. Whoever it was should have gotten their ass out of the ancient times and just sent a text.

The ringing stopped after half a minute and you relaxed, thinking that would be the end of it, but not even a minute later your phone was ringing again. “Son of a bitch,” you turned around and blindly patted the table for your phone, not yet eager to remove the pillow from your face. “Yes?” you answered the phone.

“Shouldn’t you be more excited to hear from your good old friend?” you recognized Bobby’s voice immediately.

You dragged the pillow off your face with a low groan. “Yeah, cause you always call to hang out,” he never has, it was always Duncan pulling you back in to hang out with the group, Bobby called with different jobs he wanted you to take with him.

He snorted at that. “That stings. Anyway, got a job for you,” and there it was again.

“No,” you hung up, but the phone immediately rang again.

“Zora is involved-“ and you hung up again, only for him to call again. “It’s dangerous-“ it always was, so you hung up again, really tempted not to answer when he yet again called you. But if you didn’t answer he’d just keep calling. “Dinosaurs!” you paused before you hung up.

“Excuse me?” you sat up, more surprised than actually interested.

“Some people want blood samples from alive dinosaurs, and they hired Zora,” shit…

You could still say no, pretend he never called you, or that you simply left that line of business behind way too long ago for this to be the job that drags you back in. But the idea of Zora going there and you waiting in your apartment to hear the news of how the job went made you nauseous. “Fine,” you accepted the job, figuring anything was better than that uncertainty.

~X~

You stayed behind in the crowd as Bobby reunited with Zora, Duncan and the employer. It’s been over a year since you’ve last seen her, you talked over the phone when her mother died and she missed her funeral, you helped handle the funeral arrangements as a favor to her, and because you liked her mother, but that was pretty much it. The further apart you were, the better; at least that was something you both agreed with.

You tried for a few years, as a couple, not just coworkers, but things happened.

She didn’t change one bit, she was still just as beautiful as the last time you’ve seen her, confident and elegant in every move she made, with that confident smile on her face, just another thing about her that made everyone look at her and she knew it.

Tentatively you approached the group, prompting Bobby to smirk in that usual, almost annoying way of his. “I brought you a surprise,” he told Zora as he gestured toward you. The smile on her face fell when she saw you, replaced by utter shock as she just stared at you. “You’re not seeing things, Z, though you might want to close your mouth to avoid catching flies,” he teased, striking a balance between mean and good-natured in a way not a lot of people could.

“Really funny, Atwater,” Duncan jokingly smacked his back before approaching you and spreading his arms. “Good to see you, hawk,” the two of you hugged and then he turned to the man who hired Zora. “She has eyes like a hawk, you won’t find a better person to watch your six, while she keeps an eye on everything else,” he explained and the man nodded.

Zora cleared her throat and walked over to you, and for a moment you thought she’d just offer you her hand, respecting the distance the years created between you, but instead, the moment Duncan stepped away from you she hugged you, burying her face in the crook of your neck and holding you tightly.

“Hey,” you whispered, hugging her back as if no time passed since you last saw her.

“Hey,” and that was all either of you had to say, all you could even try to say, and all you needed to say. Everything else you understood instinctively, without a single word spoken.

~X~

True to Duncan’s nickname for you, you were sitting on the highest roof of the boat watching for any troubles that the radar might not pick up on. Whether it was other ships, or dinosaurs in this particular case. Duncan knocked the roof from underneath and you reached down, grabbing a bottle of water he was offering you.

“Glad to see you are still making the right calls,” you said as you opened the bottle.

“The water?” he joked with a laugh.

“Sure, that’s exactly what I’m talking about,” you snickered, taking a deep breath and the scent of the ocean. You actually missed this, sailing, feeling free, you supposed, though you’d prefer not to be in dinosaur infested waters.

“I couldn’t just let them die,” he eventually sighed, and you heard him leaning back against the railing.

“I’d be surprised if you could,” even before the tragedy he was always a big softy underneath the tough demeanor. “Just hope we didn’t put them in even more danger,” you were going straight into danger, and the group of four had a child with them.

“We’ll do our best,” Duncan figured and went back inside.

A few minutes later you saw the mosasaurus swimming toward the boat and grabbed the comms. “Target found us, get ready,” you dropped down from the rooftop as Zora came out with the sniper rifle she’d use to get the sample. The two of you looked at one another and you nodded, following her without a single word as she got in the position. You hooked her to the floor without waiting for her instructions and grabbed onto the railing next to her. “We need to get closer!” you yelled as Duncan took control of the ship and sped up, closing the distance between the ship and the mosasaurus. “Twenty-one meters! Get closer!” you could only hope you’d get lucky, and the dinosaur wouldn’t go underwater. “Loomis, grab a spare shot!”

“Someone’s already thinking about back-up?” Zora teased, speaking to you for the first time since you reunited.

“You used to love that,” you pointed out with a smirk, and she glanced at you just for a moment.

“Not quite ‘used to’,” she playfully rolled her eyes, and you desperately tried to convince yourself your heart was drumming in your chest solely due to adrenaline. Yeah, that had to be it. You were this close to a dinosaur that could sink a small boat like it was nothing.

The boat sped up, closing the distance, but then the creature attacked, slamming into the boat from the side, nearly knocking you off the boat and making Zora miss the first shot. “Shit!” you exclaimed, grabbing onto the railing as the dinosaur went underwater.

Zora made sure you were fine with a quick glance and, satisfied that you were still hanging on, turned toward Loomis. “Get me a second one!” she ordered and he ran toward the two of you, handing the second shot to you as the mosasaurus emerged from the water, hitting the side of the boat and making it lean to the side, just as you managed to load Zora’s rifle.

It repeated the attack, nearly making the ship turn over and throwing Zora off her feet. “Hang on!” you managed to grab her, steading her before she could fall over the railing and just barely hanging on yourself. Zora relaxed in your arms, focusing only on aiming and fired, shooting it as it swam a bit further away from the boat. You watched, your left arm still around Zora’s waist, as the syringe filled up with blood and then got ejected into the air.

“One down,” Zora smiled at you as everyone cheered, and you nodded. Maybe this wouldn’t be as bad as you thought it would be. “Thanks, for catching me,” she stepped away from you and the cold left by her absence must have been something you imagined.

“Of course,” you struggled, your voice a bit hoarse all of a sudden. And so you went back to the roof, avoiding facing what was actually going on, a lot like you did years ago.

~X~

You should have known things were going way too easily; you should have known it wouldn’t be as simple as shooting a couple of dinosaurs and going home. You saw them approaching, your blood running cold. “We’ve got company! Dino is back and it brought company!” you yelled into the comms and went down to grab one of the guns Bobby brought. “These better work,” you muttered, for the second time today realizing that this wasn’t something you should have gotten involved with, that any of you should have gotten involved in. These animals were part of the world long gone, a world a lot more dangerous than the one you were living in, they might as well be forces of nature to you.

Something hit the boat from below just as you were about to take aim, knocking you off your feet and nearly off the roof as well. “Y/N!” you heard Zora yelling your name as you clung on desperately as the boat rocked.

“I’m fine!” you yelled and then heard more screaming and looked down, just in time to see Bobby being dragged into the water by a smaller dinosaur. You tried to shoot, but you kept missing, unable to aim properly in your current position. As it was you doubted the shots were actually effective.

Each second felt like eternity spent in hell, the boat that used to feel like it could take you anywhere now seemed like a fragile toy, pushed from side to side by the animals bent on killing you all. Someone actually looked at these and thought: ‘Nah, it’s boring, give it another pair of legs, or wings,’ you honestly couldn’t wrap your head around that.

“Y/N! You need to get down!” you heard Zora yelling, though not through the comms this time, and so you looked back, seeing her outside as well, holding onto the railing.

You knew that. It was only a matter of time before your grip would loosen and you’d fall off, potentially into the jaws of a dinosaur. How long have you stayed there, on the roof? Barely holding on? Your muscles already burning and aching? You couldn’t tell. It could have been a minute, or much longer. And then a slightly sharper turn Duncan took threw you off and sent you straight into the water.

You hit the water, momentarily getting disoriented before arms wrapped around you, pulling you to the surface. Somehow, even as disoriented as you were, you knew it was Zora, dragging you to the shore while you recovered from the abrupt fall.

The two of you scrambled to the shore, you on your knees as you barely got out of the water, gasping for air as your body trembled from the near-death experience and you felt sick to the stomach, so much so that you thought you’d throw up, but though you gagged and felt like you were about to lose your lunch nothing came out aside from bile. “Fuck!” you grasped the sand under your palms, cursing as you looked at the wrecked boat. You felt hands on your shoulders and abruptly twisted around, almost pushing Zora off you as she steadied you.

“It’s okay, it’s just me,” she assured you softly, yet urgently, and you focused on her eyes, just like you did so many times before. It wasn’t fine, not this time, but there was no time to lose. You couldn’t stay on the beach.

“Thanks, for jumping in after me,” you managed to say that much and she nodded, just relieved that you were both still alive.

And then it happened.

“Nina!” Duncan screamed and both you and Zora turned to your left, seeing the dinosaur taking Nina into the sea. You stared, frozen for a moment, as another one of your friends got devoured.

As Duncan screamed for his friend, calling out to the person who would never again be able to respond, who you wouldn’t even be able to properly bury because no remains would ever be found, you glanced at Zora. “We made a mistake,” you whispered gravely.

She nodded, accepting that. “But we can’t go back now,” you couldn’t, not yet, you could only hope her back-up plan would work.

And for that plan to work, you’d need to leave the beach. Not that it was safe to begin with. There wasn’t a single place here that was safe.

~X~

You remained on high alert as Zora got the second sample. You felt like a fish out of water, surrounded by tall grass that somehow managed to hide these behemoths. Good eyesight meant nothing when you couldn’t see more than a couple of feet ahead of you and were forced to only look above. And it made you dread every step, every unnecessary break, every moment spent in this tall grass where you might as well be blind.

Not even the sight of dinosaurs in some courting ritual or whatever made you relax even one bit. You wanted to get off this island, you wanted this nightmare that already cost you two of your friends, to end.

Well, at least with the second sample secured, you could now leave the grass beneath you, and go after the third sample. “So… how exactly will we get the sample for the lizard bird?” you asked as you looked up the steep mountain ahead of you.

“We won’t. We’ll get it from an egg,” Loomis explained, and you nodded, hoping this would go smoothly.

You really should have known better than to be optimistic in a situation like this one. Perhaps the heat and the lack of water were getting to you, but, you’d persevere, no matter what, no matter how difficult it gets. That’s who you had to be all those years ago, and that’s who you had to be today. You reached the steep mountain and took a dee breath, steadily starting the climb to the top with Zora by your side.

“What will you do after this?” Zora asked out of blue.

“No idea,” and you really didn’t have any idea. You probably needed a break after everything, an extended one, instead of going back to work. “I know I’m never accepting one of these jobs again, though,” and that felt like the only certainty you knew.

“I’m still surprised you accepted to come here,” she pointed out, and if you weren’t climbing you probably would have shrugged.

“I had a good reason,” and that reason was right next to you, climbing with precise elegance of a woman who’s done this or something similar dozens of times.

Zora took a moment to glance at you, and whatever she wanted to say remained unspoken, left to hang in the air like the two of you didn’t even need other forms of communication. “It’s not your fault. About Bobby and Nina, and about…” she paused, avoiding saying his name and you sighed, aware that you couldn’t have done anything for either Bobby or Nina, but it still felt like you didn’t do enough.

The last time you lost a team member you stopped doing these jobs, you avoided them like plague, but Zora? She buried herself in the work, seeking whatever it was these jobs could offer her, but now it was slowly starting to seem like she wanted to set it all aside, to move away from her job, to have her own life outside of it. “Maybe I should retire after this,” she said, mostly to herself, but you heard it too.

“Maybe,” you agreed tentatively, not daring to hope that Zora would start looking for challenges in safer environments.  

~X~

Frankly, you weren’t sure if you began hallucinating after that conversation with Zora, because everything felt like a fewer dream. Lowering Zora, LeClerk and Loomis went fine, until the big prehistoric bird descended from the skies and despite your best efforts ate LeClerk. Then you managed to get down, reunite with the family that jumped the ship, there was a gun, then a bunch of smaller mutated dinosaurs, and then a big, mutated dinosaur that ate the helicopter, and Krebs, and you all ended up on the ship fleeing the island. In the end you all just fell asleep the moment you were in safer waters.

The sound of water splashing woke you up and you slowly blinked, realizing you were sleeping with your head on Zora’s lap. That was nostalgic. You glanced to the side, noticing dolphins swimming next to the boat and smiled. “Never thought I’d be this happy to see dolphins,” you didn’t hate them, you didn’t exactly love them either, but it meant you were definitely in safer waters compared to what you just left behind.

“Tell me about it,” Zora whispered, still carrying what happened on the island with her, all the lives lost, the decision she made, the uncertainties that might await you all. Even if you were bringing a potential medical revolution of sorts back, you still broke a lot of laws.

“Why don’t we just chuck the suitcase into the ocean?” you asked as you abruptly sat up and turned toward Zora and Loomis.

“What?!” they both exclaimed.

“And make this all even more for nothing?” Duncan demanded.

“We’re basically saying: Hey guys, we did something very illegal, here’s a proof for the whole world to use, only for some rich fucks to get it anyway meaning we accomplished absolutely nothing,” you said dryly making Zora and Duncan blink a few times, as they thought about your logic.

“That’s not how it would go, right?” Loomis asked slowly and you just shrugged.

“It’s all yours, we’re backing out,” Zora decided and pushed the case toward him.

“We were never here,” Duncan agreed, and you nodded, really not wanting to push your luck with this one. Hell no, you probably used up all of your luck just to make it out alive; hoping you had enough luck left not to be arrested the moment the world knew what you brought from the island was the kind of naïve thinking that wouldn’t do you any good. You glanced at the clear sky above you, and you liked looking at it without bars ruining the view.

~X~

A week later you were back in your apartment, taking a long break from everything when someone rang your doorbell. You sighed, it was supposed to be a quiet, simple night, but from the looks of it you couldn’t have that. You set aside the half-empty pizza box and pushed yourself to get up. Whoever came to your door didn’t ring again, so a part of you hoped they gave up and left, thinking maybe you weren’t home.

That hope faded when you heard a knock just as you were about to open the doors. Well, so much for whoever this was giving up, with a heavy sigh you opened the doors only to find Zora standing there, looking a lot like you did. Dark circles underneath her eyes, clear exhaustion etched onto her face, and perhaps a few beers too many.

“You look like shit,” she pointed out, making you roll your eyes.

“Right back at you,” you stepped to the side, letting her walk into your apartment like she used to do so many times before. She had your spare key, but you figured she didn’t want to use it, didn’t want to remind either of you of the time you were living together, sharing this very apartment, waking up next to each other, dreaming of a better life, until it all fell apart.

Zora looked around, her eyes landing on the photos still hanging on the walls, some of the two of you, some of the team. She stopped, her gaze lingering as her jaw clenched and you saw tears in her eyes as she looked at the photo where the whole team was, back before Duncan took his part of the crew, back when everyone else was alive. “Yeah, that’s the weight of surviving,” you caught yourself saying as you approached her. You’ve spent hours these past few days staring at that photo in particular, reminiscing about all the people who died, whether it happened last week or over the years.

You’ve both lost people before, but it was never this many on one mission. First Bobby, then Nina, and then LeClerc, not to mention how close to death Zora, Duncan and you got. “And it meant absolutely nothing,” no cure, no money. You might as well say you killed them yourselves.

“It rarely means anything in this line of work,” which was why you quit, before Bobby had the bright idea to drag you right back in. Zora nodded, smiling bitterly as she turned toward you.

“Why did you accept to come along? I thought you weren’t after the money anymore?” she asked, spreading her arms, watching you in a way that told you she wouldn’t leave until you gave her the honest answer.

You closed the distance between you, standing right in front of her. “Couldn’t live with letting you take that job without me watching your back,” you had no intention of hiding anything from her.

She raised her hand, brushing her fingers against your cheek, soft, as if she wasn’t sure if she should be doing it. “And I nearly lost you because of that,” she whispered, and you shrugged, you couldn’t let some mutated monster get her that easily. “Y/N,” she slipped her hand to the back of your neck, tugging you closer. “Is it smart to try this again?” you could feel her warm breath against your lips as your heart hammered inside your chest.

“No, but that never stopped us,” not the first time, not when it came to choosing jobs, and it clearly wouldn’t stop you this time.

Zora smiled, and you leaned in, capturing her lips, feeling a sense of relief as the longing you felt for years faded away, replaced by her presence. By her heated lips, warm body pressed against your own, her arms wrapped around you as you held her close. The kiss reawakened that old hunger, the one you believed was gone, yet all it took was one taste of her lips to make you feel like you’ve been starving for her.

You didn’t know how this would all end, but you didn’t want to let her go again, no matter the dangers or risks.

A/N: Yes, I did realize halfway through writing the movie part of the story that I didn’t have anything real for Reader to do, so, I figured, might as well skip it. I am not as sorry for that as I should probably be. Still, I can't say I'm happy with this one.

[azzifudd10]

Silent Strings

Chapter 13: Brutal

TW: detailed mentions of abuse

The apartment was quiet except for the faint hum of the refrigerator.

Paige sat on the couch across from Azzi, her forearms resting on her knees, her fingers laced together so tightly her knuckles ached.

Azzi avoided her eyes, her body curled up at the far end of the couch like she wanted to disappear into the cushions.

“Azzi,” Paige began, her voice soft but steady. “I saw it.”

Azzi’s head jerked up, her lips parting in confusion. “What?”

Paige took a breath. “That picture. On his desk. Of you. In the stairwell. Hurt. Scared. And it—” Her voice faltered for a second before she pushed on. “It broke me. And it scared the hell out of me. Because if I didn’t know about it, then what else don’t I know? What else is he holding over you?”

Azzi swallowed hard, her shoulders curling inward, her gaze dropping to her hands.

“I can’t protect you if you won’t let me,” Paige whispered. “Please. I need you to tell me the truth. The whole truth. No matter how bad it is.”

Silence stretched between them for a long moment.

And then, finally, Azzi nodded faintly, tears already spilling down her cheeks.

“Okay,” she whispered hoarsely. “I’ll tell you.”

Her voice was barely above a whisper as she began.

“It started during my first year of residency at NYU,” she said, her fingers twisting the hem of her sleeve. “He… wasn’t my boss at the time, but he was a rising star. Charming. Brilliant. Everyone wanted to be on his service. And at first… he was kind. Attentive. He’d leave coffee on my locker. Stay late with me on difficult cases. He made me feel like… I was special. Like he saw me.”

She let out a bitter laugh that died in her throat. “And then we started dating. At least, that’s what I thought it was. But it wasn’t just that. He… started isolating me. Subtle at first. Told me my parents didn’t understand me. That the other residents were jealous of me. That the attendings were out to sabotage me.”

Her hands shook as she spoke, her eyes glassy but fixed on some distant point in the past. “And then… there was that night. The stairwell. I’d just come off a 26-hour shift. He was waiting for me in the dark. Said he’d heard I was planning to switch services, to work under a different surgeon. He…”

Her voice cracked, and she swallowed hard.

“He grabbed me. Pushed me against the wall. Called me ungrateful. A traitor. Told me if I left him, I’d never finish my residency. That he’d tell everyone I’d been sleeping my way up. That he’d ruin me.”

Her breath hitched, and she finally looked at Paige, her eyes shining with tears. “And then he… he hit me. And when I fell, he kicked me. Over and over. Said if I screamed, if I told anyone, no one would believe me. That they’d just think I couldn’t handle the pressure.”

Paige’s jaw tightened, her hands curling into fists. “Oh my god,” she whispered, her eyes wet now too.

Azzi wiped at her cheeks, shaking her head. “I tried to report it. I tried. But he got to them first. He made it seem like I was unstable. Like I’d hurt myself. They made me sign an agreement to keep quiet — in exchange for letting me finish my residency. They… they said it was ‘better for everyone’ that way.”

Her voice dropped even lower, barely audible. “And I agreed. Because I thought… maybe it was my fault.”

Paige reached over and grabbed her hands, holding them tightly. “It was never your fault,” she said fiercely, her own tears falling freely now. “Not for a single damn second.”

Azzi squeezed her eyes shut, more tears sliding down her cheeks. “I thought I could bury it. That if I ran far enough, worked hard enough, it wouldn’t matter anymore. But… he knows. He still has everything. The photos. The notes from my therapy sessions. That night in the stairwell. Even the mistakes I made later.”

Paige’s brow furrowed. “Mistakes?”

Azzi nodded, shame written all over her face. “I… got addicted to stimulants for a while. To keep up with the hours. I forged my attending’s signature on a discharge once when I made a mistake on a chart. Stupid, desperate things I did to survive. Things he found out about. Things he’s probably waiting to use against me.”

Her voice cracked completely then. “He has everything, Paige. And if he ever shows the world who I really am… I’ll lose everything I’ve worked for.”

Paige slid across the couch and wrapped her arms around her, holding her so tight Azzi could barely breathe. “You listen to me,” Paige murmured fiercely against her hair. “You are not what he says you are. You’re not weak. You’re not broken. And you’re sure as hell not alone anymore. He doesn’t get to own you. Not now. Not ever.”

Azzi clung to her, her tears soaking Paige’s hoodie, her body shaking with quiet sobs.

The silence that followed her confession was thick and heavy, broken only by the faint sound of Azzi’s breath as she curled into Paige’s chest, her tears finally subsiding.

But her mind wouldn’t stop.

Even when Paige smoothed her hair and whispered promises she wasn’t sure could be kept.

Even when her hands stopped shaking and her chest stopped heaving.

The thoughts were still there, sharp and relentless: He’s never going to stop.

He hadn’t stopped when she fled New York. Hadn’t stopped when she cut him off, changed her number, moved halfway across the country. Hadn’t stopped even now, when she was hiding in someone else’s apartment, clinging to someone else’s strength.

He was never going to stop.

And if she didn’t figure out how to end this — really end this — he’d just keep coming.

And she’d keep running.

She pulled away from Paige slightly, enough to look her in the eyes. Her own eyes were red but clear now, her jaw set with something new — something steely.

“I need to stop him,” she whispered.

Paige cupped her cheek, confused but gentle. “We will. We’ll fight him. Legally. I’ve got Naomi already working—”

“No,” Azzi interrupted softly, shaking her head. “Not just legally. That won’t be enough. You saw what he’s capable of. He has… people. He has money. He has power. If he wants to drag this out, he will. And he’ll win. Because he doesn’t care who he ruins along the way.”

Paige swallowed hard, her stomach twisting. “What are you saying?”

Azzi bit her lip, her hands fisting in her lap. “I don’t know yet,” she admitted. “But… I can’t keep hiding. If I want to end this, I have to figure out where it hurts him. I have to figure out what he’s scared of.”

She sat back, staring at the floor, her mind already churning. “There’s always something. People like him don’t operate without leverage. They don’t expose themselves unless they’re sure you’re too weak to fight back. But… what if I’m not?”

Paige watched her quietly, her chest tight with both pride and fear. “I don’t want you to put yourself in danger,” she said gently.

Azzi gave her a faint, sad smile. “I already am.”

Across town, Ryan sat in his car in the parking lot of the team’s practice facility, his eyes fixed on the entrance.

He swirled the whiskey in his paper cup, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel.

Something was wrong.

His PI had stopped sending updates two days ago, claiming Azzi hadn’t shown up to collect her mail or even appeared in the area.

But Ryan knew her.

And something told him… she hadn’t run yet.

She was close.

He just hadn’t been looking in the right places.

That afternoon, he had parked himself at the facility under the pretense of work, hoping to catch some sign of her.

And then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw it — a flash of dark curls through the tinted window of a car pulling into the side lot.

Not at the main entrance.

The back.

His breath caught as he straightened, his eyes narrowing.

You’re here, he thought, a faint smirk curling his lips. You’ve been here all along.

Later that night, Azzi sat at the kitchen table with a notebook in front of her, scribbling names, connections, memories — everything she could remember about his career, his family, his allies.

Paige sat across from her, quietly watching her work.

“You’re really going to do this,” Paige murmured after a while.

Azzi didn’t look up. “I have to.”

Her hand didn’t stop moving as she added one more name to the list, circled it, and underlined it twice.

Across town, Ryan leaned back in his car seat, his phone in his hand, dialing a number he hadn’t touched in years.

When the line picked up, his voice was calm but sharp.

“I need you to do me a favor,” he said. “She’s here. I want eyes on her — and I want them close.”

His fingers drummed against the wheel as he smiled faintly to himself.

You can’t hide from me forever, Azzi.

Azzi had barely slept in two nights.

She sat cross-legged on Paige’s living room floor, her laptop open in front of her, notebooks and folders scattered all around. Every so often she’d glance up at the window, checking the curtains, then back down at the screen.

She wasn’t just waiting anymore. She was working.

The names she’d written the night before were now color-coded and cross-referenced. His family’s businesses. His law firm contacts. Even the shell company they used to funnel money into that women’s soccer team his parents owned.

And then she saw it — tucked into an SEC filing, a name she recognized from her NYU days: Dr. Lara Patel.

Azzi’s heart stopped.

Lara had been a fellow resident during her first year — ambitious, brilliant, and then… gone. Disappeared suddenly, supposedly taking a fellowship abroad.

But here was her name, listed in connection with one of his family’s charities.

Azzi grabbed her phone, hesitating only a second before calling the number she still had saved.

It rang three times. And then: “Hello?”

“Lara?” Azzi’s voice cracked. “It’s… it’s Azzi.”

Silence.

Then a sharp inhale. “Oh my god. Azzi. You—are you okay?”

“No,” Azzi admitted. “But… I think we both know why I’m calling.”

Another long pause. Then, softly: “Meet me tomorrow. I can help.”

Across town, Ryan sat in his car, his PI standing at the window.

“She’s somewhere close,” the PI said, flipping through a small stack of surveillance photos. “She doesn’t pick up her mail, but someone comes for it every week. 

Ryan smirked faintly. “Paige,” he murmured. “Of course.”

The PI raised an eyebrow. “What now?”

Ryan leaned back in his seat, crossing his arms. “Now? We stay close. Very close. I want you following her — not Azzi. She’ll lead us there.”

That evening, Paige returned to the apartment to find Azzi still surrounded by papers and her laptop glowing in the dim light.

“Az,” she said gently, dropping her bag on the counter. “You need to eat something. You’ve been at this all day.”

Azzi shook her head, eyes still on the screen. “I found someone. Someone he hurt before me. Her name’s Lara Patel. We’re meeting tomorrow.”

Paige crouched beside her, resting a hand on her knee. “You don’t have to do this alone,” she said softly. “I’ll come with you.”

Azzi gave her a faint smile, leaning into her touch. “I know. But this is my fight too.”

The next morning, Azzi sat in the corner of a small café, her hood pulled low over her face. She nearly jumped when a familiar voice said quietly: “Still hiding, huh?”

Lara slipped into the seat across from her, older now, sharper, but still with the same sad eyes Azzi remembered.

“I should’ve warned you,” Lara said bluntly, setting down her coffee. “I should’ve told you what he was when I left. But I thought… if I disappeared, he’d leave me alone.”

Azzi swallowed hard, her hands curling around her cup. “Did he?”

Lara shook her head. “Not for a long time. But I found something. Something that scared even him. That’s how I got free.”

Azzi leaned forward, her heart hammering. “What was it?”

Lara slid a USB drive across the table. “It’s all on there. Tax records. Off-the-books payments. Proof of what his family’s really funding. And who they’re paying to keep quiet.”

Azzi stared at the little drive, a flicker of hope — and terror — lighting in her chest. “Why help me now?” she asked.

Lara’s lips curved into a bitter smile. “Because you’re the first one who didn’t just disappear.”

Meanwhile, outside the café, Ryan’s PI sat in a black sedan, snapping photos through the window. He dialed Ryan’s number.

“She’s here,” he said simply. “She’s closer than we thought.”

Ryan’s laugh was low and cold. “Good girl,” he murmured. “Coming back to me all on her own.”

That night, Azzi slipped back into Paige’s apartment, clutching the USB drive like it was her lifeline. She collapsed onto the couch and whispered: “I think I finally found a way to end this.”

Paige sank beside her, pulling her close. “Whatever it takes,” she murmured fiercely. “We’ll burn him down.”

Azzi closed her eyes, clutching the drive tighter, her breath shaky but steadier now. For the first time in years… she didn’t feel completely powerless.

Across town, Ryan leaned against his office window, staring out at the city lights, a cruel smile on his lips.

“She’s close,” he whispered to himself. “And this time… she won’t get away.”

It was after midnight when Paige and Azzi sat cross-legged on the living room floor, the USB drive resting on the coffee table between them like a live grenade.

Neither of them spoke for a long time.

Azzi’s hands hovered over it, then dropped. Her throat was dry.

“You sure you’re ready?” Paige asked softly, searching her face.

Azzi nodded. “No. But… we have to know.”

Paige reached over, covering Azzi’s hand with hers for a second, then stood and crossed to her laptop. She slid the USB into the port.

The screen flickered, and a folder popped up. It was titled simply:

“HOLLOW.”

Azzi swallowed hard and clicked it open.

Inside were dozens of subfolders. Some with dates. Some with names she recognized — her own included. Some marked only with words like PAYOFFS and COVERS and DISAPPEARED.

She froze at the last one. DISAPPEARED.

Paige knelt beside her, her jaw tightening as Azzi scrolled.

She opened the PAYOFFS folder first.

PDF after PDF — scanned checks, wire transfers, and NDAs — all payments made to women. Some with notes attached: “Residency transfer.” “Fellowship denial.” “Termination.” “Relocation.”

Some women she recognized — Lara, another former resident, even a nurse from her NYU hospital she vaguely remembered.

One file labeled AZZI F. made her stomach drop. Inside were photos of her own signed NDA 

Paige swore under her breath. “This is blackmail. Organized. Systematic.”

Azzi opened the next folder — COVERS.

There were emails. Emails between hospital administrators, lawyers, and Ryan’s family foundation. Doctors writing “concerns” about female residents’ behavior. Fake reports filed to smear their reputations before pushing them out. Photos of them drunk at parties, clearly staged. Private therapy notes — some of hers.

Azzi’s stomach turned as she clicked through, her pulse pounding. He hadn’t just hurt her. He’d destroyed others. And his family had bankrolled all of it.

Finally, she opened DISAPPEARED.

Her hands shook as the folder opened to reveal a list of names — women she didn’t recognize — each with a photo and the word: MISSING.

Police reports. Old ID photos. Dates of last sightings. Case files stamped with: CLOSED: INSUFFICIENT EVIDENCE.

At the bottom of the list, a file labeled: AZZI F. – DRAFT

She clicked it. It was a fake missing persons report — already written, with her picture at the top, dated just a week ago.

Filed by Ryan.

Paige sat back on her heels, her hands balling into fists. “Oh my god,” she muttered. “This was never just about you leaving him. He’s been planning this.”

Azzi stared at the screen, her chest tight, her breath coming faster.

“He wanted me… gone,” she whispered. “And when I wouldn’t disappear… he decided to make it happen.”

She covered her face with her hands, but Paige gently pulled them away, her voice fierce: “This isn’t the end. This is leverage. This is evidence. This is how we take him down.”

Azzi shook her head weakly. “He has more. He always has more.”

“Maybe,” Paige said, her jaw set. “But now? So do we.”

Paige stood and pulled her phone from her pocket. “I’m calling Naomi,” she said, already scrolling to her lawyer’s number. “She’ll know what to do with this.”

Azzi just nodded numbly, staring at the names on the screen — all the women who hadn’t gotten away. Her fingers hovered over the trackpad, scrolling back up to Lara’s name, then her own.

Finally she whispered: “I won’t let him do this to me. Or to anyone else.”

Paige squeezed her shoulder, her eyes blazing. “Damn right you won’t. Not while I’m here.”

Across town, Ryan sat at his desk, swirling whiskey in his glass, a faint smile on his lips. His phone buzzed.

A text from his PI:

She’s meeting with someone. A woman. Patel.

Ryan’s smile faded just slightly as he stared at the message.

“She’s getting bold,” he murmured. “Fine. Let’s see how far she thinks she can go.”

He opened a drawer, pulling out a small black phone and dialing a number he hadn’t used in years.

[magical-reid]

Hi, can you make like doctor bucky x reader or doctor reader x patient bucky and it starts when one of them starstruck by another like a slow burn but they got happy ending .... Lol, sorry for the messy writing, but it never leaves my minds, so i hope you can think about this one, thanks

Steady Hands

Pairing: Doctor!Reader x Patient!Bucky Barnes

Rating: T (slow burn, emotional whump, medical themes, hurt/comfort)

Content Warnings: PTSD, medical recovery, emotional vulnerability, past trauma, mild injury description. All handled with care.

Word Count: 6.1 K

Summary: In the sterile quiet of the med bay, Bucky found an unexpected kind of solace in the steady presence of the new trauma doctor, someone who treated him with care instead of caution. What began as routine checkups slowly became something deeper, as her quiet compassion unraveled his tightly wound walls and reminded him that healing wasn't just for the body, but was for the soul, too.

The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting a pale halo across the hospital corridor. Stark Tower’s private med bay was sleek and clinical, all metal edges and antiseptic chill, but there was a warmth to the way you moved through it. Confident, quiet. A steady heartbeat in the middle of chaos.

Bucky noticed the second you walked in.

He was sitting up on the exam table, a little too tense to look relaxed but too proud to admit the pain in his ribs. His shirt was long since shredded, soaked with dried blood and discarded by the nurse. Stark had brought him in half-limping, half-grumbling, and promptly left without ceremony.

Then you stepped in. Clipboard in hand, white coat swishing. He didn’t expect someone so composed. So calm. So… startlingly human in a world where everything felt like it was either burning or breaking.

Your eyes met his, and for a second, he froze.

You smiled politely. “Mr. Barnes?”

He blinked. “Bucky.”

You nodded, moving closer, scanning his chart. “Okay, Bucky. I see you took quite the hit. Mind if I take a look at those ribs?”

He didn’t answer right away. He was still staring—trying not to, really, but failing. The clinical lights behind you made your features glow soft, warm. You looked like safety.

Like something he wasn’t sure he was allowed to have.

“Sure,” he rasped, voice low and a little hoarse. “Go ahead.”

You were careful when you touched him. Gloved fingers pressing gently along the side of his ribcage. He winced, breath hitching, but didn’t flinch away.

“You’ve got at least one cracked rib, maybe two,” you said gently. “No punctured lung, though. That’s good.”

You leaned back, stripping the gloves off, and reached for the gauze.

“You’re the new trauma physician,” Bucky said, voice quieter now. “They brought you in after that mission in Prague, right?”

You looked surprised. “I didn’t realize you kept tabs on us doctors.”

“I don’t,” he said quickly. “I mean—I didn’t. Steve mentioned you.”

That wasn’t exactly true. He had kept tabs. Or rather, he’d asked. Once. Maybe twice. There was something about the sound of your voice over comms during emergencies—steady, reassuring—that had stuck with him.

“You’re good,” he added, awkwardly. “At this. The patching people up thing.”

You smiled again, and this time, it reached your eyes.

“Thanks,” you said, wrapping the gauze gently. “I’ve had practice.”

There was a beat of silence. You focused on your work. Bucky focused on not watching you like you were something untouchable. He wasn’t sure what unsettled him more—the pain in his side or the flicker of warmth he hadn’t felt in years.

When you were done, you stepped back and gave him a small nod.

“You’ll need to rest. No combat for at least a week. I’ll write it up, but you’ll have to fight Stark on enforcement.”

“I’ll manage.”

You lingered at the door for a second longer than necessary.

“If you need anything—pain management, help sleeping—just page me. Night or day.”

And then you were gone.

Bucky exhaled. Slow. Controlled.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Three days later, Bucky was back in the med bay. Not because he had to be—he could’ve lied through his teeth and walked it off—but because he hadn’t stopped thinking about you.

Well, that and his ribs still ached like hell when he breathed too hard.

You noticed him the second he stepped inside, wearing that same vaguely annoyed expression he used to mask discomfort. You set down your tablet and tilted your head.

“Didn’t expect to see you so soon,” you said lightly. “Did something feel off?”

“No,” he said too fast. Then, after a beat, “Maybe.”

You approached, expression softening. “Let’s take a look.”

He climbed back up onto the exam table, slower this time. Less bravado, more honesty in the wince he didn’t quite hide. You noticed.

“You’ve been resting?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

He gave a dry little laugh. “Define ‘rest.’”

You let out a small sigh, not scolding, but not amused either. “Bucky, cracked ribs don’t just vanish because you decide you’re fine. They need time.”

“Time isn’t something I usually have.”

You were quiet for a moment, fingers ghosting over the edge of the wrap you’d done days ago. “If you keep pushing your body like this, eventually it’ll stop keeping up. You know that, right?”

He did. God, he did.

But he didn’t say anything. Instead, he stared straight ahead—at the sterile cabinets, the neatly coiled IV lines—anything but your eyes.

You didn’t press. You just began to unwrap the bandages, gentle as ever.

He hated how aware he was of your touch. It wasn’t even like that—not really. It was just… it had been so long since someone touched him with care. With intent that wasn’t violence or protocol.

Your hands paused briefly on his skin. “You’re still bruised pretty badly. There’s swelling. I can feel a lot of tension in your back too—are you sleeping?”

“Yeah.”

“Honestly.”

“…No.”

You didn’t react. No surprise, no pity. Just a soft nod.

“Do you want something to help?”

He hesitated.

“I don’t like meds,” he said. “Too many bad memories.”

You nodded again, slower this time. “Okay. Then we find another way.”

That startled him.

“You don’t have to fix everything tonight,” you continued. “You’re not a machine, Bucky. You’re allowed to heal.”

It hit harder than it should’ve.

He turned his head away slightly, jaw clenched. You didn’t apologize for saying it, and that mattered more than he could explain.

You redressed the injury in silence, and he let you. Trusted you, without realizing that’s what he was doing.

When you were done, you didn’t walk away right away.

“I’m here late most nights,” you said gently. “If you ever want to come in. No pressure.”

He looked at you then. And something in his chest shifted.

A tiny breath of warmth in the cold room he’d gotten used to.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Later that night, long past midnight, Bucky found himself standing just outside the med bay again. He didn’t go in.

But the light was still on.

You were still there.

And that was enough.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

There wasn’t a set schedule to when Bucky stopped by the med bay.

Sometimes it was under the guise of a follow-up. Other times he claimed he “just happened to be passing through.” You didn’t call him on it. You let him come and go as he pleased, offering only what he’d take.

A cup of water.

An offered seat while you updated charts.

Silence, sometimes. Comfortable silence, if a little weighted.

You learned quickly that Bucky wasn’t the type to fill a room with words. He spoke like every sentence was a test, like he was measuring the safety of every truth before it left his mouth. But when he did speak—really speak—it meant something.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Day Twelve

He sat quietly while you reset the cabinet locks and muttered under your breath about new inventory codes.

“You’re too calm for this place,” he said, after a long silence.

You glanced over your shoulder. “You think I should be yelling at the walls?”

He shrugged. “Everyone else does.”

You chuckled. “Well. Someone has to keep the temperature down.”

You didn’t see it, but he smiled.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Day Seventeen

He brought you a coffee.

Didn’t say much about it, just handed it over with a quiet: “You looked tired last time.”

You didn’t ask how he remembered your order. You just took it, fingers brushing his glove.

“Thanks, Bucky.”

He looked away like the words had more weight than he could handle.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Day Twenty-Four

You caught him in the hallway. He wasn’t heading to you this time—he looked like he was trying to disappear.

“Rough day?” you asked gently.

His eyes were a little darker. The circles under them deeper.

He paused. Then gave a one-shouldered shrug. “Just tired.”

You didn’t push. But you did say: “If you change your mind, you know where to find me.”

And then he disappeared into the elevator, the doors closing too quickly for you to read his face.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Day Twenty-Five

2:46 a.m.

The knock was soft.

You weren’t even sure you heard it at first—just the faint shuffle of movement past the glass. You were reviewing scans, half-asleep on your feet. But then it came again. A gentle knock, barely there.

You opened the door.

And there he was.

No jacket. T-shirt damp with sweat. Left hand gripping the doorframe just a little too tightly.

“Bucky,” you breathed. “What—”

“I just—” he cut off. Voice hoarse. Strained. “Can I sit here? Just for a bit?”

You stepped aside immediately. “Of course.”

He walked in like someone unsure of the floor beneath him. Sat on the edge of the nearest chair, back stiff, jaw clenched. His metal hand flexed in his lap.

You didn’t ask. You didn’t need to.

You just turned on the electric kettle you kept for late shifts and moved quietly around the room, giving him space to breathe. The quiet wasn’t awkward—it was fragile. Sacred.

After a while, you handed him a mug of tea. Chamomile and peppermint. He didn’t drink it at first. Just stared into the steam like it held back a tide.

“It was a dream,” he said finally. Voice rough. “Same one I’ve had since Bucharest. Different sometimes. But it always ends the same.”

You sat down across from him. Close, but not too close. You didn’t speak. You let him have the silence.

“I was fine for a while,” he said. “But I—I heard something this morning. On the radio. Russian. Just a word. And it was like…”

He trailed off. Breath catching.

You waited. Patient. Steady.

“I know it’s stupid,” he muttered. “It’s just a sound. But it stuck in my head, and then I couldn’t sleep. Couldn’t—” He broke off again, jaw clenching harder. “I didn’t know where else to go.”

Those last words barely registered above a whisper.

You felt your heart ache.

“You did the right thing,” you said softly. “You’re safe here.”

His hands shook a little, just a tremor, but enough for you to see it.

You reached out—slow, careful—and rested your fingers over his. Not gripping. Just there.

“Let’s just breathe for a while, okay?” you said. “You don’t have to talk. Just stay.”

And he did.

He didn’t let go of your hand.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Morning crept into the med bay like it was afraid to disturb the peace.

You sat on the edge of the couch across from the chair where Bucky had finally fallen asleep—not deeply, but enough to soften the lines around his mouth, to let his shoulders drop a fraction. The tea sat untouched. His hand, the one you’d gently held for a while before he drifted off, had gone still in his lap.

He looked younger like this. Or maybe just less haunted.

You didn’t wake him. You just sat in silence and watched the early light settle across the floor like a blanket.

When he finally stirred, it wasn’t abrupt. No sharp startle or swinging reflex. Just a slow blink, the kind that comes after too many sleepless nights finally surrender to exhaustion.

His eyes found yours immediately.

“Hey,” you said softly.

He looked around like he wasn’t sure how he’d gotten there. Then he ran a hand through his hair and exhaled, long and low.

“I didn’t mean to stay,” he muttered. “I thought I’d leave after a few minutes.”

“I’m glad you didn’t,” you said, with a small, honest smile. “You needed the rest.”

He didn’t answer that. Just looked down at his hands. One flesh, one metal. Both trembling slightly.

You reached for your thermos on the table and offered it toward him. “There’s still some coffee left. It’s not great, but it’s warm.”

He took it like it weighed more than it should.

“You okay?” you asked, voice still low. Still careful.

“Not really,” he admitted, almost immediately. It surprised both of you. “But I’m… here.”

It was the kind of statement that sounded simple, but wasn’t.

You nodded slowly. “That’s enough for today.”

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

After that night, something changed.

Not dramatically. Not with fireworks or declarations. But it was there—in the way Bucky lingered a little longer when he came by. In the way he let his guard down in pieces.

Sometimes he’d bring you news from the field—briefings, updates, occasional sarcastic commentary on Stark’s latest upgrades. Other times, he’d just sit and read in the chair by your desk while you charted vitals or typed notes. Once, you caught him watching you with an unreadable expression when he thought you weren’t looking.

You never called attention to it. You never asked him to explain.

Instead, you built something with him in the quiet.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Week Six

You found a small packet of Turkish delight on your desk. No note. Just the candy, wrapped carefully.

He wouldn’t admit it was him, but he watched your reaction with a flicker of pride in his eyes when you opened it.

You smiled. “You know this stuff’s addictive, right?”

He shrugged, feigning innocence. “Thought you liked challenges.”

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Week Seven

He walked into the med bay with blood on his temple and a gash across his arm, and instead of brushing it off like usual, he sat down without a word and let you clean the wound.

“Wasn’t even a mission,” he muttered. “Just an accident. Barnes Classic.”

You stitched in silence for a moment, then glanced up at him. “You know, it’s okay to come here even when you’re not bleeding.”

His lips twitched. Not quite a smile. But close.

“I know.”

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Week Eight

He brought you a book. Worn cover, dog-eared pages. A spy thriller from the ’40s.

“It’s kind of dumb,” he said. “But I read it before… everything. Figured you might like it.”

You looked down at the cover, then up at him. “You brought me a piece of who you used to be.”

“Yeah.”

“You trust me with that?”

He swallowed hard. “Yeah.”

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The next night, he showed up again. No injuries. No mission. Just him.

You were surprised, but you didn’t let it show.

“Couldn’t sleep?” you asked gently.

He nodded, then hesitated. “Can I sit with you again?”

You smiled and patted the seat next to you. “Always.”

And this time, when he sat, his shoulder brushed yours. Deliberately.

He didn’t move away.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Bucky didn’t come to the med bay every night.

But when he did, it was different now.

He sat closer. Let you read over his shoulder. Once, he fell asleep on the little couch while you worked, head tilted back, arms crossed, metal hand unclenched.

You’d covered him with your spare hoodie and turned the lights down low.

You weren’t sure he noticed that you always made tea when he arrived. Or that you kept his favorite mug—the navy one with the chipped handle—tucked away in the back corner of the cabinet, just for him.

But maybe he did.

Maybe he noticed everything. Just like you did.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

You didn’t think anyone else had picked up on it. The tower had its own rhythms, its own chaos. People passed in and out of the med bay all the time, and Bucky always slipped in with quiet ease. Never too long. Never too loud.

Until one afternoon, when Natasha Romanoff walked in.

You were finishing up a routine exam—Bucky had taken a minor blow to the ribs again, and while it wasn’t serious, you insisted on checking him out. He’d given in with the usual half-sigh, half-smile that had started creeping into his visits lately.

He was sitting on the table, shirt off, arms loose at his sides. You stood in front of him, gently palpating his ribs, speaking softly.

“Any sharp pain when I press here?”

“No. Just a bruise.”

Your hand lingered a second longer than strictly necessary.

That’s when Natasha stepped through the door.

You didn’t hear her at first. Neither did Bucky.

She leaned against the doorway with her arms folded, one eyebrow arched.

“Well, well,” she said casually. “Should I come back later, or are we having a moment?”

Bucky flinched. Just slightly. His spine straightened like a snapped cord.

You stepped back, suddenly very aware of the space between you.

“Nat,” you said, clearing your throat. “Didn’t see you.”

She smirked. “Obviously.”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “It’s not what it looks like.”

Natasha gave him a long, amused look. “Sure it isn’t.”

You turned away, trying to compose yourself, but Natasha’s voice followed.

“You’ve been in here a lot lately, Barnes. Didn’t realize you were that prone to getting injured. Or… maybe the doctor’s just good company.”

She wasn’t being cruel. Teasing, maybe. But underneath it—curious. Watching.

You met her eyes, steady. “He’s been doing regular follow-ups. Standard protocol.”

“Mm,” she said, like she didn’t quite buy it. “Right. Standard.”

Bucky hopped off the table with more speed than necessary, grabbing his shirt.

“I’ll, uh… catch you later,” he muttered, avoiding both your gazes.

You watched him leave. The room suddenly felt too quiet.

Natasha’s voice softened. “Hey.”

You looked back.

“He trusts you,” she said.

You nodded slowly. “I know.”

She tilted her head. “You like him.”

It wasn’t a question.

You hesitated. Then answered, quietly, “Yeah.”

There was a beat of silence. Then:

“You’re good for him,” she said. “He needs someone who doesn’t treat him like a ticking bomb.”

You exhaled, tension easing a fraction. “Thanks.”

Natasha pushed off the wall and headed for the door.

“Just don’t let him run from it,” she added, glancing over her shoulder. “When it starts feeling real, he’ll want to.”

And then she was gone.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

That night, Bucky didn’t come by.

Neither did the next.

But on the third night, just as you were about to turn off the lights, there was a soft knock.

You turned.

There he was.

Eyes tired. Shoulders tense. But there.

“I didn’t mean to disappear,” he said, voice low.

You just nodded. “I figured you’d come back when you were ready.”

“I wanted to,” he said. “I just… I got scared.”

He didn’t say of what.

You didn’t need him to.

You stepped forward slowly, not reaching out yet—just being there.

He looked at you like he was still waiting for the sky to fall.

It didn’t.

“Come in,” you said softly.

And he did.

This time, when he sat beside you, his hand brushed yours.

And he didn’t pull away.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

It had been twenty-two minutes since Bucky walked through the med bay doors again.

Not that you were counting.

He sat beside you on the couch like he belonged there now. Like the space wasn’t sterile and cold, but safe. His knee brushed yours—barely—but it stayed there. A silent anchor.

Neither of you had said much. The TV was on low—some late-night documentary about ocean currents that neither of you were really watching.

He hadn’t met your eyes since he sat down.

You waited.

When he finally spoke, it wasn’t loud. It wasn’t confident. But it was honest.

“Nat cornered me.”

You looked over. “Yeah?”

“Said I was hiding.” He gave a wry, humorless chuckle. “She’s not wrong.”

You didn’t rush to respond. You knew better than to fill silence with fluff when something real was coming.

“She said I trust you,” he added after a pause.

You glanced at him. “Do you?”

He finally turned his head. Met your eyes.

“Yeah,” he said. “Scares the hell out of me.”

Your breath caught. Not from surprise—but from the weight of it. The truth of it.

“Bucky…” you started, then paused. “I never wanted you to feel pressure. You don’t owe me anything. Not trust. Not time.”

His brow furrowed. “It’s not pressure. It’s just—new.”

You nodded slowly. “That makes sense.”

He shifted, fingers lacing together, then unlacing. Restless.

“I’ve spent years trying to be something safe. Something stable. Something not… broken.” He exhaled, sharp. “And then I met you.”

That made your chest ache in the best, worst way.

“You don’t have to be fixed,” you said softly. “You just have to be real.”

His jaw tightened, eyes flickering down to the floor.

“Sometimes I think if someone looks too close, they’ll see it. All of it. Everything I’ve tried to bury.”

You leaned closer, not touching, but close enough for him to feel your presence like a pulse.

“I see you, Bucky,” you said. “And I’m still here.”

His eyes lifted.

And for the first time in a long time, he believed you.

He swallowed hard. “Do you ever wonder what this is? Between us?”

You felt your heart skip. Then settle.

“I do,” you said. “But I think I know.”

He blinked, expression tight with uncertainty. “And what if I can’t be good at it? What if I mess it up?”

“You probably will,” you said gently, with a small, knowing smile. “So will I. But if it’s real, it’ll survive it.”

He let out a shaky breath. Then, finally, finally, let his hand rest over yours.

Not fleeting. Not tentative.

Certain.

“You make it feel… possible,” he said, barely above a whisper.

You turned your hand, lacing your fingers with his.

“Then let’s find out.”

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

That night, he didn’t leave when the lights dimmed.

He stayed. In the chair beside you, hand still in yours.

No kisses. No confessions shouted across rooms.

Just steady breathing.

Two people who had been broken by the world, quietly deciding to rebuild—together.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The call came in at 1:03 a.m.

An extraction in Slovakia had gone sideways. Bucky had been among the team deployed—standard recovery mission, in and out. Nothing unusual. Nothing that should’ve gone wrong.

But then the report hit your console:

“Unidentified triggers. Psychological compromise. Winter Soldier protocol proximity suspected. Barnes unresponsive during comm check.”

You dropped everything.

By the time the quinjet landed, you were already waiting in the emergency wing, heart thudding with a rhythm that felt too fast for calm, too slow for panic.

When the ramp lowered, Steve was the first off, looking grim. Natasha followed close behind.

Then you saw him.

Bucky was walking under his own power, but just barely. Shoulders rigid. Gaze unfocused. His fists clenched so tightly his knuckles were bloodless—one flesh, one metal. He didn’t speak. Didn’t even glance around.

Like he was still somewhere else.

Somewhere cold.

Steve approached first. “He won’t talk,” he said quietly. “Not to us. Not yet.”

You stepped forward without hesitation.

“Bucky?”

His head turned slightly. Just enough to see you.

His eyes locked onto yours—and something cracked.

He walked straight toward you.

Didn’t speak. Didn’t pause.

Just reached for you like he was drowning.

You caught him. Arms around his shoulders, grounding him. He buried his face into your neck like it was the only safe place in the world. His breath came in ragged gasps. Shaking. Silent at first—then not.

You felt the tremor before you heard the sound. A raw, muffled sob, choked into your shoulder.

You held tighter.

“It’s okay,” you whispered. “You’re safe. You’re here.”

He didn’t answer. Just clung harder, like letting go would undo him.

Steve and Natasha backed away without a word, leaving you both alone in the hallway.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

You guided him back to the med bay slowly, his weight leaning into you more than he realized. He didn’t say a word. You didn’t ask for one.

You helped him sit on the edge of the exam table and knelt in front of him, keeping your touch gentle.

“Do you want to talk?”

He shook his head, throat working like it hurt to breathe.

You nodded. “Okay. Then just sit with me.”

Minutes passed.

Then he spoke. Just a whisper.

“He said the words. The trigger ones. I knew they wouldn’t work. I knew—but I couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. Just heard them echoing in my head. Like I was back there. Like I was him again.”

You reached for his hand. Waited for him to let you take it.

He did.

“You’re not him,” you said. Firm. Clear. “You’re here. You’re with me. That part of you isn’t in control anymore.”

He swallowed hard. “But it still lives in me.”

“So does the part that came back. The part that fought to come back.”

He looked at you like he didn’t deserve that truth. Like it hurt more than the memory.

“I don’t know how to carry it.”

“Then don’t carry it alone.”

His breath hitched.

You stood, moving slowly, and without asking, gently eased him back onto the table. He didn’t resist. Just followed your lead, eyes flickering between fear and something deeper. Something more vulnerable.

You sat beside him and curled one hand around the back of his neck. The other rested against his chest—right over his heart.

It was racing.

“You’re not broken,” you said, barely above a whisper. “You’re hurting. That’s not the same.”

He closed his eyes. And for the first time, let himself fall into you fully. Head resting against your shoulder, breathing shaky but steadying.

You stayed like that for a long time.

No words.

Just presence.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The med bay was still and quiet when you woke.

It took a moment to remember why you were even lying on the small cot near the wall—why your arm was sore, why the fabric of your hoodie was slightly damp against your shoulder.

And then you turned your head.

Bucky was there.

Curled in the recliner beside you, long legs awkwardly bent, arms crossed, eyes closed. His hair was a mess of waves against his face, one lock falling across his brow. He looked… peaceful.

And so heartbreakingly tired.

But more than that—he looked safe.

You shifted slightly, and his eyes cracked open.

There was no panic this time. No tension.

Just the quiet settling of recognition.

“Hey,” you said, voice low and husky with sleep.

He blinked once, then rubbed his face with his metal hand. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to crash here.”

“You didn’t crash,” you said gently. “You rested.”

He swallowed, jaw flexing. “I should go. Didn’t mean to—”

“Stay,” you said, before he could finish. “If you want to.”

He hesitated.

And then—slowly—nodded.

You sat up and passed him the coffee you’d poured earlier from the machine in the hallway. It had cooled slightly, but he took it anyway, cradling it between both hands like it meant more than warmth.

There was silence for a moment.

Then: “I don’t usually let people see me like that.”

You glanced over. “I know.”

“But I didn’t feel… ashamed,” he added, almost to himself. “That’s new.”

You smiled. Not big. Not smug. Just soft. “Good.”

He looked at you then—really looked. The gaze that lingered. That pressed its weight gently into your chest and made it harder to breathe.

“You make it feel… okay. Just existing.”

“I’m glad.”

Another silence. But this one had tension in it.

Not the bad kind. Not fear.

Possibility.

Bucky turned his mug slowly between his hands. “I’ve been trying to figure out what this is. What’s happening. Between us.”

Your throat went dry.

“And?” you asked, quieter now.

His eyes met yours.

“I think I care about you.”

The words hung there.

Fragile. Exposed. Heavy with truth.

You let them settle. Let them breathe.

Then you reached over and took his hand again. That same quiet gesture he’d come to recognize as safety.

“I care about you too.”

A long breath escaped him—like he hadn’t known he’d been holding it.

He nodded once. Then leaned forward, pressing his forehead to yours.

Not a kiss. Not yet.

But a promise.

And it was more than enough.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

You started seeing him in the daylight now.

Not just during late-night panic spirals or quiet graveyard shifts in the med bay, but during actual hours of sunlight. He’d knock on the door like he always had—soft, almost hesitant—but when you opened it, there was a little less tension in his shoulders. A little more light in his eyes.

Today was one of those days.

He stepped inside, hands tucked into the pockets of his hoodie. He’d shaved. His hair was damp, like he’d just showered.

“You busy?” he asked.

“Never too busy for you,” you said, not even thinking about it.

And for once, he didn’t flinch at your honesty.

He smiled.

“Can I stay a while?”

You gave him a look. “You don’t have to ask that anymore.”

He nodded, then walked over to the couch and dropped onto it with a quiet sigh. He looked tired in a way that wasn’t haunted—just… human.

You sat beside him.

Close.

Your knees touched.

He didn’t move away.

In fact, after a minute, he shifted slightly. His thigh pressed against yours. Then his arm—warm, solid—brushed your shoulder. You turned your head, heart skipping a beat.

He was looking at you. Really looking.

“You always smell like tea and antiseptic,” he murmured.

You huffed a laugh. “Occupational hazard.”

He didn’t smile this time.

He reached up, slowly, and brushed a strand of hair behind your ear. His fingers lingered for a second too long. Barely there. But enough.

The silence between you stretched and pulsed.

“I keep thinking about that night,” he said quietly. “Not the part where I broke. The part after.”

You waited.

He looked down. “The way you held me. Like I wasn’t dangerous. Like I wasn’t… a mess.”

“You weren’t,” you said, just as softly. “You were hurting. That’s not the same thing.”

His throat bobbed.

“I keep wondering if I can ask for more.”

Your breath caught.

“More?”

His hand moved—hesitating—then rested over yours on the couch cushion. His thumb brushed the back of your knuckles.

“More of this. Of you.”

You turned your palm slowly, letting his fingers intertwine with yours. “You can always ask.”

He leaned closer.

Not all the way.

Just enough that you could feel the question between you. On his breath. In the slow, deliberate way his forehead came to rest against yours again.

“I want to kiss you,” he whispered. “But I don’t want to mess it up.”

“You won’t.”

You saw it in his eyes before he moved.

That flicker of courage.

Then, finally, finally, his lips touched yours.

Soft. Careful. Like he was afraid you might vanish if he held on too tightly.

You kissed him back with the same reverence.

Not rushed. Not hungry.

Just present.

When he pulled back, he rested his head against your shoulder and exhaled shakily.

“I didn’t think I’d ever have something like this again.”

“You do,” you said, threading your fingers into his hair. “You have me.”

He didn’t speak after that. He didn’t need to.

He just curled closer into your side, hand still in yours, heart steadying against your ribs.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Bucky didn’t mean to fall asleep.

He hadn’t even realized he’d drifted off until the pale light of dawn slipped through the blinds and warmed the back of his neck. The med bay was quiet—too quiet for how often he used to wake up in places just like it, sweating and gasping, the world blurring between then and now.

But not this time.

Because he wasn’t alone.

He was on the narrow cot, one arm draped around your waist, his metal fingers resting gently over the curve of your ribs. Your hand was tucked against his chest, and your breath moved steady beneath his collarbone.

Safe.

Real.

His first instinct was to move. To pull away before he made it strange or uncomfortable. Before the fragile spell of last night broke in the daylight.

But then you shifted—just slightly—and your arm tightened around him.

“Mornin’,” you mumbled into his chest.

He relaxed again instantly.

“Morning,” he said, voice scratchy from sleep.

You tilted your chin up to look at him, your hair a little messy, your eyes soft and still half-lidded with dreams. You didn’t move away. If anything, you leaned closer.

“How long have you been awake?” you asked.

“A few minutes.”

“You okay?”

He paused.

Then nodded.

“Yeah,” he said. “I think I am.”

You smiled, and it was brighter than any sunrise he’d ever seen.

He watched you for a while in the quiet. The way your fingers traced small circles on his shirt. The way you didn’t look afraid of him—didn’t look like you were waiting for him to disappear.

“I never thought I’d get to wake up next to someone like this again,” he said suddenly. “Like I wasn’t some weapon stored on a shelf between missions.”

“You’re not,” you said gently. “You’re a person. You always were.”

He didn’t respond right away. Just leaned in and pressed his lips to your temple.

It wasn’t a hungry kiss. It wasn’t desperate.

It was home.

“I want more mornings like this,” he said, words muffled against your skin. “With you.”

You looked up at him, and the way you smiled—it cracked something open in him, something tender and unguarded.

“You can have them,” you whispered. “As many as you want.”

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Later, you sat together on the edge of the cot, coffee in mismatched mugs, your knees bumping. The tower was slowly waking up, the distant sound of Tony arguing with someone echoing faintly through the floor.

“You ever think about the future?” Bucky asked suddenly.

You glanced sideways at him. “Sometimes.”

He hesitated. “Does it ever… include me?”

You reached over and linked your fingers through his again.

“It always did.”

He looked at your joined hands. Then back at you.

And for once, he didn’t look afraid of the future.

He looked like he was ready to live it.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The sun filtered through the kitchen window, casting long golden lines across the hardwood floor. It was quiet—just the low hum of the fridge, the faint chirp of birds outside the balcony, and the occasional soft clink of a spoon against a mug.

Bucky stood barefoot at the counter, shirt rumpled from sleep, hair falling into his eyes. He was stirring sugar into your tea the way you liked it—two spoonfuls, not stirred too long, always in that chipped navy mug.

He didn’t need to ask anymore. He just knew.

He turned around and found you leaning against the doorway, arms folded, smile blooming sleep-slow and soft.

“You watching me again?” he asked, eyebrow raised.

You shrugged. “It’s a good view.”

He huffed a laugh and handed you the mug, brushing a kiss across your temple as you took it.

“You sleep okay?” he asked, voice low, gentle.

You nodded. “Yeah. No nightmares.”

“Me either.”

It still felt a little like a miracle when he could say that. And mean it.

You moved to sit at the little table by the window—the one he’d insisted on fixing himself when one of the legs got wobbly. The sun warmed your back as he joined you, sitting sideways so his knee pressed against yours under the table.

You watched him watch the light play across the surface of your tea.

“Y’know,” he said after a long moment, “for a long time I thought I didn’t get to have stuff like this. Mornings. Kitchens. You.”

You reached for his hand. His flesh hand. Warm and calloused and steady.

“You do,” you said. “You fought for it. You let yourself want it. That counts for something.”

He looked at you like you were still a little unreal. Like you were the first good thing that hadn’t slipped through his fingers.

“Every morning I wake up next to you,” he said, voice quiet and clear, “I remember that I made it out.”

You leaned over and kissed him—slow and familiar and home.

When you pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours, just like he had the first time. Only this time, there was no fear behind it. Just love.

“Stay with me,” he whispered. “Not just here. Always.”

You smiled.

“Try and get rid of me.”

He didn’t laugh. Not really. But he smiled so wide you could see the lines around his eyes, and he kissed you again like he’d waited lifetimes for this, because maybe he had.

[chiyoobaby]

DISHES

kang sae-byeok x fem!reader

summary | your girlfriend, quiet and shy never expressed her emotions through words, but instead with actions. (this Is a very small drabble and I thought about it while doing dishes this morning </3)

warnings | none <3

word count | 310

It was a mundane task.

Dishes. 

Nobody likes doing them but they have to be done. Luckily for you, you lived alone so dishes never really piled up.

It wasn’t until you started dating Sae-Byeok when the dishes started to pile. 

It’d be worse if she invited Cheol over. He liked snacking after school. 

The first thing Sae-Byeok noticed about you was your neatness. The dishes were done every night when you came home from work. Even on the longer days, when all you wanted to do was pull your weight on your girlfriend and sleep to the sound of her heartbeat, the dishes were still done. 

She appreciated that about you. She'd never say it out loud though. She never expressed her emotions with words. You knew she loved you. She didn’t have to say it. It made it feel more real. More raw.

One night, you came late, later than usual. You stumbled in the walkway, taking off your shoes in one pull with a loud sigh. Sae-byeok was laid on the couch.

“how was your day?” she got up to greet you with a hug and a kiss on the forehead. “exhausting.” you bite your lip and lay your head on her chest. 

You eventually peel yourself off of her and make your way to the kitchen. You stop in your tracks. 

Your sink, clean and washed, just like the dishes. “oh, I did those for you when you were gone so you didn’t have to worry about it.” she said, her voice was small like it was something to be embarrassed about. 

You smile softly and kiss her lips. she tasted like coconut chapstick. she held your waist tightly, as if you'd slip away “thank you.”

It was a simple task, dishes. Stupid maybe, but to you, this meant the world. 

Sae-byeok never told you in words she loved and appreciated you, she told you with actions. 

A/N | hi !! this is my first time writing on this platform even though i've been on it for almost three years now, this was lwk rushed cs I thought of it just this morning but lmk if u like it ( ˶ˆᗜˆ˵ )

[sramoonlight]

Afternoon life

What if Damian had to change his whole schedule?

Content you’ll see here: Mexican!reader, mentions of politics, friends to lovers, mlm

English it’s not my first language, so please be patient

Damian hates 2 things, well there’s more but he tells he hates just 2 things, they are animal cruelty and stupid teenagers who thinks they are better than him because their mommy said so

So maybe that’s why Bruce wasn’t surprised when the school called him to pick up Damian from school, the reason? He got into a fight with a guy who tried to act “funny” with him, but if you ask Damian he would tell he was ‘a master of petty grievances and performative fragility’ a weird way to call someone a whinny bitch.

Anyways, Bruce was pissed off, like sure he would put his face to every mistake his kid does but this could be avoided if Damian wasn’t so… sensitive? That’s not the word, he won’t bother to find it

Damian could feel it, sitting on the dinner table while Bruce tried to find the words to say this, not too hard but not too soft

— Are you aware of what you’ve done? — there it is, Damian sighed crossing his arms as he tried to look away

— He wouldn’t stop talking, it wasn’t my fault — Wrong choice of words, that only made Bruce groan in annoyance

Damian tried looking at Alfred, he avoided his eyes telling him with no words that he was on his own

— I’m sorry Damian, but I couldn’t protect you there — his full attention was now on his father, if he is talking in that tone..

A week of detention? Well he can take it, that doesn’t end late so he could have enough time to go home, do his homework and get ready for patrol, yeah he can handle that

— You are going on the afternoon session — he tilted his head, fully confused

What was that? That even existed? A school on the noons on Gotham? How does that even work? Oh god, probably that is filled with criminal’s child’s who can’t be on the morning

He never thought he would be making a disgusted expression but this place is going to suck

— You can’t do that, father, what about patrol? — great way to save it, Batman would never let Robin miss patrol.

Bruce would, a Bruce with a face filled with disappointment will do it

— You are lucky they let you go back to the mornings in a year, so we are going to take everything we could —

Crap, he is serious on this one and not hearing Alfred complaining is enough to tell him he’s in big trouble

Well! That can’t be that bad, right? He could sleep more and he’ll find a way to put his life on control again.

The truth is.. he couldn’t

Not when the sun is already itching on his skin, being on the mornings meant he could wear as much clothes as he wanted and he wouldn’t feel like a shrimp on a soup

Not everything is bad, right? He doesn’t feel tired at all, that’s a good start but oh god

This new people around him, they aren’t bad or at least known criminals, but he can see every person he thought they were out of Gotham there

— You look lost — a boy, his uniform looked messy like he just put it on

— I’m not lost — His voice sounds too harsh like he’s trying not to snap and yell at him

Maybe he could, but that’s not the best for his civilian life

— Yeah, everyone says that when they get send him, c’mon I’ll help you find your class — This guy talks like he knows everything

He knows this school, a simple changed of schedule can’t change anything, still he followed him.

3 months later, the semester is almost over and he is still attached to this kid who keeps talking about his life with him

That’s not that bad, when he studied on the mornings he didn’t have any friends and that lead to people talking about him but now everyone just see him as the friend of this guy

Speaking of friends, how can this kid have so many friends? Whenever they are sitting eating lunch a bunch of people come to talk to him and he acts like it’s nothing, is this what having a civilian life meant?

— Hey, Damian, do you have all the stamps? — Damian turned to face this boy, you

His notebook was out, he didn’t even noticed when the teacher asked for everyone’s stamps to put it on the list, what a weird system

— I think so, how many are they? — He started looking through his notebook counting them quickly

— Thirty, well at least that’s what the teacher said, I just wish Clara doesn’t have more than that — And Damian stopped himself

He started counting again, three times, oh holy fuck how could this happen?

— I only have twenty two, how? — He took your notebook checking out to find where he could failed

It turns out you only have eight, the eight ones he needed to have a perfect score, how could this be possible? He never loose any class

— Oh, you didn’t do the homeworks! Does the Damian Wayne forgot to do them? — you giggled not caring about how bad it looked on your side

— At least I’m not the idiot who barely has a quarter part — he groaned, you chuckled even harder at the way he looked pissed off

Of course, Damian can’t stand the chance of not being completely perfect

— Calm down, rich boy, I got all of them — he looked at you like you were talking bullshit, well you are, you don’t even have half of it

You do have the notes, but not the stamps and that isn’t good for you

— Watch and learn — You turned to the other side of the classroom

— Hey Jack! You’ve got the S thing I helped you get? — a guy, Damian knows him from being on the soccer team, a jackass who can’t even count to ten

He looked on his backpack before handing you an item behind the tables, when he finally got to see it he immediately covered it with his hand

A stamp machine, one identical to the teacher’s

— Are you out of you mind? How could you think about falsify something like this? — his voice sounds too harsh, completely offended that you think you could do that

It’s not like he could snitch, but he can’t believe someone close to him thought about cheating

— Calm down, Damian, the teacher never notice and don’t tell me you don’t want a few of these — that was true

He can’t stand the chance of getting a bad score, he will be a disappointment on the Wayne family for not being able to complete a simple task as that

That’s cheating, but he doesn’t have a choice

— You are Wayne and I’m Zamora, we are one of the last on the list, so start copying my homework and I’ll start putting these babies — god how he hates cheating on something this simple

He didn’t say anything else, because this thing was helping him still get the higher score on the class

That’s somehow better than on his morning classes, if he had the same problem he would’ve just resign and try to hide the problem

This friendship, it’s somehow helpful.

When the sun was down and the clock was telling seven pm, Damian was waiting outside of the school for Alfred or someone to pick him up, the usual routine since he got this ridiculous schedule

— Still waiting? — you appeared behind him, your school jacket tied on your waist like you were out of a hot day

— Still here? — He responded the same way you did, his arms crossed above his chest

— It’s disrespectful to use your uniform that way — He pointed it out, your head moved to look at yourself before giggling

A type of giggle Damian was used to hearing from you

— If I wear a fancy uniform this late I’ll get mugged and I can’t change so I just try to hide it — That’s… actually pretty good

Wait, you walk home? This late on Gotham? You’re not even a person with money so that means you live on the normal streets, that means the crime is higher than usual

— I thought your father came to pick you up — he tilted his head, you giggled covering your mouth

He is still so impressed you don’t seem to be afraid

— Mi papá has been busier this month so I just have to walk home by my own, but you señor Wayne — you walked around him, hands on your back like analyzing his posture, he hates when you do that

— You’re late to your fancy gala at the manor — he tilted his head until it clicked

Oh, yeah, his father was hosting a gala explaining why Alfred wasn’t there on time, he could just walk home but that doesn’t seem to be what he should do

— How do you know? — He leaned to look at your face, you covered the cheesy smile with your hand

— I’ve been stalking you — Damian raised an eyebrow and you burst into laughter laud as always

Of course you weren’t, he could notice it in seconds

— Mi pa, is driving his boss to the gala, that’s how I know — he tried to look for an answer, his mind wandering across the profile he has set for you even if it’s on his mind

Yeah, your father works in a company allied to Wayne enterprises, that makes sense, now he has to tell his father to make sure yours get out of work early to pick you up

— Do you mind, coming with me, Wayne? — you offered him your hand

He looked at it not so sure if he had to take it, you are not the type of friends who could have physical contact but the idea of having you out of his grasp this late, hands intertwined means an easy way to drag you if you are in danger

He took your hand, following to where it looked like an abandoned house, he knows this isn’t your house because he has seen it in records

— Where are we going? — He asked, you looked at him over your shoulder with a big smile.

The moonlight made everything look darker but enough to see where you are going, still he can recall how familiar you are with walking around there

— Watch it — you said before walking between a shrub, he was about to comply before he looked up to you

The city could be seen on this floral place, the lights of the suburban life and the beauty of the nature, a good place for you to hang out

This looks like a place you often visit, probably because it’s hidden on the woods and hidden from the crime on Gotham

— One day, this city will be mine — you mumbled turning to see your friend

Damian looked at you, his eyes shining at the image in front of him

Your slightly tanned skin glowing underneath the moonlight, and the way the city’s light get behind your body makes it all perfect

This is… like those manga he reads on his free time.

— Im going to be mayor when I grow up, and then president — your hands moved to be on your back

A big smile on your face keeping Damian dazzled, and even if he was in such state he found himself to keep listening to your words

�� Does an immigrant can be president? — he laughed on your face, your mouth changed into a pout

You were not offended, you knew Damian asked it out in pure curiosity

— Of course! Have you read about Hamilton? I’m going to be like him, but without the whole cheating story that made him fall — you walked to him, hands still on your back

He looked at your face, amused by the thought, this little social butterfly wants to be president? You do have the social battery for it but he can’t seem to figure it out how you’ll do it

— If you do, I’ll be giving you all of my money — now it was your turn to laugh at his face

Then, yours hands moved to grab his, he looked down at it before looking up at you

He can see the freckles of your face, disappearing every time you get older but still here for him to notice

— Will you be my Eliza? — and everything exploded around him, but it was just his mind sending an electric shock to his heart

Now he loves this afternoon life.

The whole afternoon system is based on my school because hi! I’m an afternoon student who is begging to be sent to the mornings, I know this will suck to Damian because now he has to wake up early to do his homework, that’s why he isn’t perfect anymore.

Yes, Damian in this au talks Spanish, he doesn’t talk it to you because well, he doesn’t want you to know because he wants to know what you are saying without you noticing.

Please, please love this story, I have so many thoughts about future parts and I HAVE to write it

Comments and reblogs are appreciated!

[simp-for-love]

Little Things

Mattheo Riddle x femReader

It’s your birthday — a day you never expect much from — but your best friend Mattheo Riddle has other plans.

Warnings: Pure fluff, friends-to-lovers, mutual pining, one perfect and caring boy

Word count: ~ 1,4k

A/N: to my sweet and absolutely beautiful angel @ur-local-wizard. I wanted to give you something warm and soft like you do every time I talk to you. Love you, be happy today and always 🩷

P.S.: Check her works. She's not only kind and sweet, but also a really talented pookie.

You had never expected much from birthdays. A few texts, maybe a cupcake from a coworker, some calls from your family. You didn't mind it, not really. You were used to being the one who planned surprises, made lists and notes, remembered everyone else's special days. All those little things made them happy. So you were glad you could bring some joy to people's lives. It just felt easier that way — safer.

But Mattheo Riddle always had other ideas.

It started with a text at 8:01 a.m.

"Happy birthday, sunshine.

Hope u got some sleep. Big day ahead."

You blinked at your screen in confusion. Big day? That sounded oddly suspicious. But you brushed it off — he was certainly just being dramatic. He always had a thing for theatrical gestures and words. Mattheo was probably going to bring you a cake with silly wish and doodle on it or sing you a ridiculously bad version of happy birthday song.

With that thought you shuffled into your kitchen to find a little white bag waiting for you on the counter with your name scribbled on it in Mattheo's awful, jagged, but heartwarming in its familiarity handwriting.

Something warm stuttered in your chest. He'd been here?

You opened the bag carefully. Inside was your favorite coffee — from the one café that managed to make it exactly right — and a note:

"I know you always say you don't care about birthdays. But I do. So drink this and don't argue. — Yours, M"

You read it twice. Then again, like the paper in your hands was just an illusion of your still sleepy mind.

You didn't know what to make of it. He was your best friend. He teased you constantly, poked fun at your bad TV taste, stole fries off your plate, send you links to the most unhinged memes with cats at 2 a.m.

But this? This was... thoughtful. Almost soft.

And it made your cheeks warm and chest tighten gently — that quiet, fluttery ache that had started happening more often around him lately. Like your heart was trying to tell you something before your mind caught up.

You didn't know when it had started. Maybe the time he shared his last bite of your favorite dessert without being asked, or when he walked you home in the rain just because.

But he kept doing things like this. Little things. Gentle things. Things that made you feel seen. And it was getting harder and harder to pretend you didn't feel anything.

You drank the coffee with a silly little smile on your lips, but still, you truly expected that to be the end of it — coffee, note, maybe a sarcastic card later in the evening.

You were wrong.

At exactly 2 p.m., Mattheo showed up at your door. His arms were full of takeout boxes, a messily wrapped gift tucked under his arm.

You blinked in surprise, opening and closing your mouth a few times before managing, "Are you—?"

"Yes," he said with a proud nod, pushing past you. "Happy birthday, beautiful. Now move. I’m setting up."

You followed him into your own living room like a confused puppy. Your eyes lingered on Mattheo as he unpacked the food, casually taking over your table like this was just a normal Thursday occurrence.

"I—, you— what is happening right now, Matt?"

Mattheo didn’t look up, too busy with setting the table up. "You're having a good day. And I'm helping with it. That's what's happening," he said matter-of-factly.

"You got me four different kinds of pasta," you exclaimed, looking at the food with wide eyes.

He just shrugged. "Couldn't remember which one was your favorite. So I got them all."

Your brain and heart short-circuited once again in his presence.

You sat beside him, the scent of garlic, basil and lemon drifting in the air, making your mouth watering. He handed you a fork with triumphant gesture and a warm container of something that smelled heavenly.

"Try the gnocchi," he said. "You'll cry."

You took a bite. And, damn him, you almost did.

Halfway through the meal, your laughter bubbled out uncontrollably. He'd gotten sauce on his shirt and tried to wipe it with a paper napkin, only smearing it worse across the fabric.

"Don't look at me like that," he said, mock-scandalized. "I made a mess for you. It's festive."

"You're a menace," you replied with a smile, not being able to stop giggling.

"And you love it."

All you managed to do in response was to blush and look away.

He let it go and didn’t comment. But his eyes lingered on you a moment longer, quiet and warm.

Later, after the food and the laughter and the truly cursed attempt at karaoke to Beggin’, Mattheo grabbed the little maroon gift box from the table.

"I debated ten different things," he said, pressing it into your hands. "This one felt right."

You unwrapped it carefully, your stomach fluttering at the idea of him thinking so much about your gift. Inside was a custom vinyl record with your name etched on the label. The sleeve was personalized with a little doodle of you — stars in hair, a gentle smile on your lips — and inside was a playlist of Måneskin songs, curated "For the softest girl with the loudest heart."

You stared at it, blinking hard, trying not to cry. "Mattheo..."

"You like it?" he asked, suddenly looking genuinely nervous.

"I— I don't know what to say," you mumbled quietly as your fingers ran on the vinyl reverently.

"Say I'm a genius."

"I'm serious."

"So am I."

You looked up at him, heart hammering in your chest.

He was so close. Closer than you expected. His knees brushed yours, and his eyes — usually gleaming with mischief — were unreadable but quietly genuine now.

"Mattheo," you whispered. "It's... Why are you doing all this?"

He tilted his head slightly, smile shifted into something softer. "You really don't know, do you?" he asked gently, almost like talking to a child.

You shook your head, small and uncertain.

He reached for your hand, thumb brushing your knuckles tenderly.

"I've wanted to do something like this for you since the day we met," he said finally. "You're always doing things for everyone else. You light up every room you walk into and never even notice. You make people feel seen — and you never ask for anything back."

Your breath caught. That quiet and gentle ache in your chest intensified again.

"I guess I just wanted you to feel special. Because you are. And not just today." His voice dropped lower. "You're special to me every day."

You looked down overwhelmed, not being able to hold his gaze that was shining with warmth and softness. The record clutched in your lap, his fingers laced through yours, your heart in your throat.

"But it's too much," you trailed off quietly. "You didn’t have to do all of this. We're just—"

"Friends?" he asked softly.

You managed to barely nod.

He smiled with a hint of sadness in it. "Since it's your birthday, let me tell you a secret. I think I've been in love with my best friend for a while now."

Silence stretched. Gentle, pulsing silence.

You looked up at him slowly, feeling your cheeks burning. "Me?" The question slipped out from your lips without thinking — surprised, hesitant, maybe a little hopeful.

He laughed softly, shaking his head a bit. "Obviously you. Who else would put up with me?"

Your cheeks burned even more now.

"I— I didn't know," you whispered, still trying to process the information.

"I guess I just didn't want to pressure you," he said, free hand rubbing the back of his neck nervously. "But it's your birthday. And I thought... if there was ever a time to tell you, it's today."

You stared at him. At the boy who remembered your favorite band, your favorite coffee, your little throwaway comments from months ago. The boy who made you laugh when you wanted to cry. Who was loud and ridiculous and impossible — and who, somehow, made you feel like you mattered more than anyone in the whole world.

You leaned in before you could second-guess yourself.

And Mattheo met you halfway.

The kiss was soft. Sweeter than you ever thought a kiss could be. A little clumsy. A little breathless. Like he'd been waiting a long time, and didn't want to rush a second of it.

When you finally pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours.

"So," he said, grinning like he'd just won in the lottery. "Best birthday ever?"

You laughed, heart full to the brim. "Yeah. It really is."

And he kissed you again, sealing your words with his lips.

[reijisteacup]

How would the diaboys react about the MC if she was exactly their type bit when they ask her what her type is its the exact type opposite of them LOL

Sakamaki's

Shu Sakamaki He’s lounging like always, eyes half-lidded, and murmurs, “Hn… You’re annoying, but I like that.” You: “Really? I like guys who are super energetic and ambitious.” The silence? Deafening. He squints at you, slowly pulling his earbud out. “...What?” The man who lives horizontal is now questioning the meaning of his entire existence. “Do you mean, like… Reiji?” Cue internal shrieking. Still, he plays it cool. “...Tch. Guess I’ll just have to keep being lazy. Let’s see how long it takes before you’re begging me to ruin your standards.”

Reiji Sakamaki You walk into the room, poised and polished — just the way Reiji likes his lovers: well-mannered, intelligent, and aesthetically refined. He smirks. “You are, quite frankly, everything I find acceptable. Perhaps even desirable.” You: “Aw, thank you! I usually go for guys who are chaotic, loud, and messy. You know, total disasters.” Reiji.exe has stopped working. There’s a dangerous glint in his glasses. “I see… And what, pray tell, is the appeal in that barbarism?” Now he’s pacing. Analyzing your past lovers like a research subject. But later? He shows up unbuttoned, hair a little messy. “You like chaos? Fine. Let’s see if you can endure it… when it’s me.”

Ayato Sakamaki “Heh, of course you like Ore-sama. I’m your type, right?” You: “Actually, I like quiet, mysterious types. The ones who don't need to yell all the time.” This man short circuits. “HUH?! What do you MEAN?! I'M PERFECT!!” He’s now doing mental gymnastics trying to figure out how being loud and obnoxiously hot isn’t the gold standard. He becomes extra loud that day, convinced he just needs to out-volume your bad taste. Still, there’s a moment later — when he’s sulking in your lap — where he murmurs, “...Oi. You still like me, though, right?” You kiss his forehead. He blushes. Victory.

Kanato Sakamaki You praise his doll-like beauty, his voice, the way he carries himself. Kanato is thriving. And then you say: “But my type is more like… tall, quiet, dependable guys. Stoic types.” He screams. “THEN WHY ARE YOU HERE?!” He’s immediately sobbing into Teddy’s fluff, accusing you of lying, betrayal, and emotional warfare. Later, while stabbing a cake with his fork: “…You say you like someone else, but you always come back to me. So… you must be lying, right? Or maybe I’ll just become your type by force.”

Laito Sakamaki He’s lounging half on top of you already, whispering sweet filth. “Nfu~ I’m everything you desire, right?” You: “Mm, not really. I like shy, wholesome guys. Nerds.” He freezes. “…Pardon?” This man has built his entire personality around being a sinful hedonist and you’re over here thirsting after virginal librarians. Now he's wearing fake glasses, brushing his hair down, and quoting poetry by the hour. “Would you like to… study together, Bitch-chan~? Nfu~” But five minutes later, he pins you down with a dark smile. “You say you like nerds… but look at the way you tremble for me.”

Subaru Sakamaki You: “I love the whole tortured bad-boy thing, Subaru. You’re totally my type.” Subaru: blushing, breaking vases internally Then you add: “But I usually fall for gentle, outgoing guys who don’t have anger issues.” He stops mid-bite. “…The hell.” He’s now spiraling in quiet rage. “Why does she even like me, then? I punched a tree this morning!” Later, he tries being soft for you — holding your hand with a trembling grip, eyes darting away. “...Is this what you like?” You kiss him and tell him he’s perfect. He turns beet red, but sleeps easier that night.

Mukami's

Ruki Mukami You: “You’re my ideal guy, Ruki. Elegant, intelligent, composed.” Ruki: nods knowingly Then you casually mention: “I’m usually into reckless, spontaneous idiots though. Ones who say dumb things and make me laugh.” You’ve triggered a core malfunction. “…Do you think foolishness is… attractive?” He’s now spiraling into a moral crisis, re-reading classical philosophy books to prove he’s still valuable. Eventually, he slams you against a bookshelf and growls, “Do clowns make you come undone like this? No? I thought not.”

Kou Mukami You’re giggling at his charm, and Kou’s already planning your next date and matching outfits. Then you say: “Usually I like introverted, brooding guys who hate attention.” You’ve just insulted his entire brand. He gasps like you shot him. “Neko-chan~! You mean to tell me you like wallflowers?!” Next day? He tries wearing darker clothes and avoids eye contact, muttering, “K-Konnichiwa…” I hope you know that meme It lasts five minutes. “Actually, screw that! I’m Kou Mukami, baby! And I’ll make you love me even if you think you want a loser with zero stage presence!”

Yuma Mukami You: “You're hot, rough, totally my type.” Yuma: smug smirk “Heh, ‘course I am.” You: “But I usually like quiet, bookish types. You know, sweethearts who bake and have like, three houseplants.” Record scratch. “…WHAT THE HELL?” Now he’s staring at a succulent like it betrayed him. But Yuma doubles down. “Fine. I’ll learn how to bake. And I’ll do it with my shirt off so you still get the real me.” You end up with a loaf of banana bread and a kiss that nearly knocks you out. “Still not your ‘type’? Too fuckin’ bad. You’re already mine.”

Azusa Mukami You smile and tell him: “You’re everything I didn’t know I needed, Azusa.” Azusa, blushing, holding your hand tightly: “...R-really…?” You: “But my type is usually loud, confident, cocky guys who talk a lot.” Azusa: </3 “…Oh… that’s… not me…” This poor baby goes silent — like extra silent. He starts trying to talk more, using awkward slang he’s heard from Kou. You have to hold his face and reassure him, “Azusa. You’re better than my type. You’re the one I chose.” Cue shy, trembling smile and a possessive whisper: “...I won’t let you… regret it.”

Tsukinami's

Carla Tsukinami You speak with reverence: “You’re everything I imagined — powerful, regal, composed.” Carla nods, as he should. Then you add: “But my type is usually clumsy, loud idiots who can’t lie to save their lives.” Pause. He blinks slowly. “So you… prefer fools?” He is so confused. Is this some human psychological paradox? “I see,” he says coldly. “Then I suppose I shall simply have to redefine your preferences through experience.” You’re now trapped in a week-long “re-education” where he proves why your instincts were wrong and he is your true king.

Shin Tsukinami You: “Shin, you’re the full package. Dangerous, wild, insanely hot.” Shin: “Heh. Finally, someone gets it.” You: “But I usually like serious, noble types who take things slow.” He barks a laugh. “Pffft—You like boring-ass, no-fun prudes?!” He’s now more chaotic than ever just to prove how un-boring he is. But later, while holding you pinned to the bed, he smirks down at you. “So... do those ‘noble types’ make you moan like this?” He gets the answer he wants. Loudly.

[calebslittlecrow]

Manifesting Physical Stuff Feels Easy, Shifting Feels Hard

Yeah, I admit I kinda vanished on y’all for 2 weeks. My bad. Life decided to kick me into a new job and I’m trying to survive on monster energy drinks and vibes. And I kinda fell into the rabbithole that is XLOV and just had to create a DR script (no template in sight, so if ya need one, hit me up. I’m actually quite generous when I’m sleep deprived).

Anyway, you’re not here for a life update from poor little Mochi. I had another one of those 4am epiphany about why it feels super easy for me to manifest stupid material crap, but shifting feels like sprinting through a locked door head first.  I tend to use manifestation for weird crap no one else would waste that many braincells on. Like gacha pulls, or money for in-game cosmetics. Why do I use manifestation for stuff like that? Because it works. And why does it work? Because I know it will work, no matter what. That’s it. That’s my secret.

There’s always a fallback, a system, something like a breadcrumb trail. Like, if I pull on a banner in Genshin long enough, the game is legally required to cough up a 5 star character I want. If I don’t get it early, I still know I will get it down the line. This knowledge makes it super easy to just tell the universe to hurry it up a bit and move on.

Stupid example: I lost my yearly 50/50 to Keqing. Again (C1 now, totally didn’t need that. Thanks RNG). But I actually wanted Shenhe for my Freminet Shatter team. And there is no way I am grinding for another 90 pulls from nowhere, I already did my time with Wriothesley - C6R1 gang, we suffer loud and proud.

So I sat down and told myself: “I get Shenhe in 25 pulls max”. And boom, got her at 24. Boom, look at that, done. I didn’t sit there, doubting and biting my nails and making sure I wouldn’t think “When I get her…”, “If I get her…” in case that would screw me up. Nah, I just knew I would get her, no matter what. And that knowing was what carried everything.

Same energy for my Dehya pulls. I heard she might actually be decent for my Lyney team, so I told myself I would get her next. Standard banner odds be damned. Got her promptly at 11. Again without hoping and begging and affirming. Just with knowing “this will happen” and going with the flow.

Even aside from gacha: I wanted the Rize skin for Kaneki in Dead by Daylight, I knew I had some fun money coming my way at the beginning of the month. But I wanted the skin now, because I am an impatient little fuck. So I sat down, knowing I would get money for the skin one way or another, and had the extra money a few hours later. Bought the skin, boom, done. Next problem please. Why does shifting don’t feel that easy for a lot of people? Simply said: no pity system. You don’t have a progress bar. No “five more tries and you’re there!”, no blinking red banner telling you your next attempt is guaranteed to work. And this absence of structure or guarantee is brutal for people like me, people who cling to their routines and need reassurance. What happens? We start doubting, maybe even spiral a bit. Wonder if we are actually manifesting or if we are just going crazy and hoping for the impossible. We can say “I’ll shift, I already have shifted” a thousand times, but if our subconscious doesn’t believe it, we get a good old 404 error. That’s where building your own pity system comes into play. It can help if you build a framework your brain can lean on if doubt sets in or you feel down from not shifting yet. Write a progress log, even if nothing is happening. Keep track of stuff you do around shifting. “Tried method X, gave me xy symptoms, visualized DR breakfast and smelled toast, vibed aggressively with my DR self in mind and felt connected and happy, wrote affirmations with fingers covered in spicy chips dust”. Treat it as your pull history, like signs you are on the way to soft pity. It doesn’t really matter what you do, what stupid little ritual you come up with, what matters is that your brain thinks “oh, this means we are shifting again, this is safe, this is working”. (because YOU decided it will work, not because someone else told you it will work. Your reality, not theirs. Your LoA, not theirs). The more you can convince yourself that there is a clear path to your goal, the easier it is to walk that path. TL;DR: Manifesting dumb little stuff (like gacha pulls or cosmetic skins) is easy because there is structure and you know it’ll work eventually. You have pity, progress, fallbacks. That kind of certainty soothes your brain and lets things happen without self sabotaging. Shifting doesn’t have that built in structure, no pull history, no “5 more tries until DR”. For some people that leads to the stupid little doubt spiral at 5am. So what do we do? Create our own little fake pity system. Make rituals, logs, track symptoms, no matter how small and stupid they look. Give your mind a clear path to walk so it can shut up about doubt. You don’t need proof, you need something your subconscious believes in and our brains love structures. Go figure. Reality bends to your primary thought system. (If you were here before I spotted all the spelling errors, you didn't saw them, k? T-T)

[thepeaklegendoffirstgen]

Yujae with a reader that always very tired and aslo very nonchalant, maybe they got into an argument or smthing (just yujae teasing reader and reader wanting to sleep) and then reader leaves, only for yujae to find her sleeping on the road with his men wondering what to do with her

Can I be 🍋‍🟩-anon? (I aslo requested that DG with reader not to long ago) love your work

Yes yes, you can be 🍋‍🟩 anon! Ah, I got 2 DG requests at the same time so which one are you talking about? And thank you 🎀

It started over something small.

Well, fuck him...he always trivializes your worries and doubts like they’re nothing. That snake.

And this time, he’s doing it again.

“Ugh, I told you the sofa needs to be shifted to the other side of the wall. Not that side.”

“Well, you’re free to do whatever you want, sweetheart,” he says, sipping tea while lounging on the very sofa you’re trying to move.

“Free to do whatever I want, huh?” you ask, deadpan, as you lift the sofa on your own. Yujae continues sipping his tea like this is all normal.

“Thank you so much the sunlight is better here,” he says with a very poilte smile, almost chuckling.

You have half a mind to ignore him because you know he’s doing this on purpose and half a mind to throw the rest of that tea on his smug head just to see if he’d still be grateful. But no. You won’t give in. Let him be. What a bastard.

“Yujae, we bought the couch keeping the wall design and direction in mind, didn’t we? So what’s this? Why do you always shift it to the other side?” you ask, arms crossed.

Oh, sweet you. He lives for moments like this—when he can rile you up. It’s rare that you show this much irritation, and once he gets a taste of it, he just can’t help himself. Like a hunter catching a rare prey.

He pulls you by the waist, burying his face in your stomach.

You try to push him away. “I’m not doing this. Answer me, or I’m going to sleep,” you say, firmly.

He notices your slumped shoulders, the exhaustion in your eyes. Just minutes ago, you were lifting a sofa like the Hulk. Now, sleep is practically knocking you out.

“Babe, it’s cardio, you see,” that polite smile again ugh.

You stare at him, utterly bored. Seriously? So he’s never going to admit he was wrong? Fine. Go to hell. You just want to lie down somewhere.

“Okay. Thank you so much for this cardio. I’ll always be indebted to your sweetness. Bye,” you say, and leave the room.

Oh.

So you really left.

You must be that tired. He can’t blame you, you’re usually a koala, after all, but he wanted to prolong the conversation. Just a little more.

Later, as he heads out to Chinatown for a meeting, what he finds outside the mansion is both baffling and hilarious.

He sees his men standing stiffly, heads lowered, like statues.

“Why did you let her sleep here, hmm?” he asks.

No one answers at first, until one finally speaks up.

“Sir, we can’t touch ma’am. We’re just standing here to make sure nothing happens to her.”

Oh. So that’s that, huh?

Well, his men are trusted, after all. But you, sleeping right there on the road just outside your own mansion? That’s not just eccentric, it’s so you. And knowing you, he bets you could fight even while sleeping.

He wants to laugh. Really. But he also doesn’t. Were you really that tired you couldn’t even climb one floor to your room?

He walks forward, gently scooping you into his arms. Carries you back inside, to your shared sanctuary.

He presses a soft kiss to your forehead and mutters, “You need to be more aware of your surroundings.”

Just then, his phone rings, his men, again, asking what to do about the meeting.

“They can wait,” he says.

Just a few minutes.

Just until he’s sure you’re not wilding out, sleeping on the road again.

[16mistypaw]

First time attempting some incorrect quotes. Featuring @skyloftian-nutcase 's HC Crew, and pieces of conversation we've actually had.

Four: We have a STICU boarder who found out getting into a MVC without a seat belt is equivalent to stepping on a pretzel

Wild: Lots of bones go crunch?

Four: Yeah, pretty much.

Wild: He's gonna be known as pretzel dude from now on. 🥨

~

Coworker: So we're doing this counciling thing at Church-

Sky: Wait, you're Catholic?

CW: Yeah, I've seen you at church.

Sky: You HAVE??

CW: I waved at you.

Sky: DID I WAVE BACK??

CW: YES!!

~

Hyrule, out in the middle of an overgrown field hunting for a patient.

Wild, sometime later: Did you find Waldo yet?

~

Wars: Of all these CEs we have, only one looks somewhat interesting

Legend: And of course the 'next' button has to have a cool down on it. Cause why would you want to make it easy.

~

Sky, just finishing a 7 night rotation: Yeah, I had a class the first day I worked, and have another all day after my last shift.

Wind: So you're up all day and all night the day you have classes? You've gotta be exhausted.

Sky: Just gotta pray and caffeinate 😃

~

Four, writing a progress note: "Pt is relatively indisposed this morning. Had a busy night pulling out central lines and raising cain"

~

Wars: Why is your arm bandaged up?

Legend: Why am I the common sense filter when it comes to health stuff?

Wars: Huh?

Legend: Ravio gave his poison ivy to me. I've been keeping medicine and a bandage on it. He's been picking at his. Like, it's raw and blistered, maybe you should do something about it too??

Wars: The struggle is real, man.

~

Sky: I remember one time we had a tornado warning, and there's nowhere in the house without windows except the hallway. So I just stuck my bird in the hall, and accepted my fate in the living room.

Hyrule: I like to stand outside and watch the swirling clouds form. They rarely turn into full tornados anyway.

Legend: I almost got struck by lightning once, standing out in the storm. Don't recommend.

Twilight: Y'all are crazy.

~

Four: You know you're night shift when you and your coworker walk outside, and their immediate reaction is "Omg, it's too bright out here"

Four: Seeing sunlight through the windows when you pick up a day shift is also really disorienting.

~

Hyrule: Yeah I worked Sunday night, had Clinical Monday day, and then picked up a shift that night.

Hyrule: My captain kicked me out of the building for a few hours though, to try and get some sleep.

~

Wild: Sure is busy tonight, we'll see how many New Year's admits we get.

Four: I'm waiting on report for a heart transplant patient from the OR right now.

Wild: New Year, new heart. That's one way to start the year off.

~

Wars, reading handoff notes: Got a pt called Animal. Not the worst name I've seen.

Legend: Animal? Like the Muppet?

~

Legend: Weren't you in class earlier when you were texting me? Was it that boring?

Hyrule: Yeah, at least the morning was. We did scenarios in the afternoon, that was interesting at least.

Hyrule: Had to fight the teacher as he pretended to be a combative patient. We had to tie him down to the stretcher.

Legend: Not everyday you get to tie up your teacher

[mifvyfilms]

── .✦ SHINJI, SHUNSUI, URAHARA: your baby .ᐟ

(a/n): not a big fan on how i wrote this bc i was lwk half awake but i hope you like it (˚ ˃̣̣̥⌓˂̣̣̥ )♡

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ IN WHICH, you’re a little cranky… but that’s just ‘cause you’re pregnant—and you have to break the news to them .

⊹ fluff ᝰ shinji, shunsui, urahara x fem! reader

──────── ୨୧ ────────

SHINJI HIRAKO ᝰ.ᐟ

── "HAHHH? why are you so mad today?" he cocked his head, studying your expression. he reached out to pinch your cheek, stretching it playfully, but you swatted his hand away.

"shut up, shinji. your voice annoying." you plopped down on the edge of the bed, the mattress sinking under your weight, and rested one hand on your forehead and the other on your stomach. "you’re making me nauseous."

the blond's smile faded into a frown. "why? what did i do to make you so upset?”

"…i’m pregnant," you blurted out, the words just tumbling out unexpectedly. at first, a smile started to spread across his face when he heard the news.

"oh? since when did you make jokes when you’re mad?" a sly smirk played on his lips as he tucked a strand of his hair behind his ear.

you shook your head. "i’m not lying. you’re going to be a dad."

his eyebrows shot up. "and that's why you're so angry...?"

"mood swings, maybe." you sighed, leaning back against the bed. "i’m just nervous."

shinji stretched out on the bed next to you and gently rubbed your stomach. "want me to cook some food for you?"

"i’m not really feeling hungry," you replied.

"good, because i didn't feel like cooking anyway—"

you gathered the last of your strength and smacked him upside the head before drifting off to sleep.

TWO YEARS LATER

“SHINJI! why are you holding our son upside down?!”

“i’m welcoming him to the inverted world.”

SHUNSUI KYORAKU ᝰ.ᐟ

── "WOAH, WOAH, WOAH, well aren’t you worked up today?” shunsui had to hold your hair back as you leaned over the toilet, throwing up.

it had been a few days since you started acting this way—and you finally figured out the reason. you were pregnant. with his child.

"tell me what's wrong." he kept his voice steady and calm while you felt like you were emptying your entire stomach. "did ichimaru pull some prank on you? or did kurotsuchi ask to run tests on you?"

you sighed, finally done throwing up. "i took a pregnancy test the other night."

his eyebrows shot up. "is this going where i think it's going?"

"if you think i’m pregnant, then yeah."

he helped you stand up, your body weak, and guided you to the bed.

"wow, i’m a dad now? i wonder how yamamoto will react when he finds out i’m going to be a dad," shunsui mused, grabbing a few pillows to help make you feel comfortable.

you chuckled softly. "you’ll always be a baby in his eyes."

"well, you're about to have one now."

"WE are.” you corrected.

EIGHT YEARS LATER

“(nameeeeee), she’s complaining that i braided her hair wrong.”

“it’s not supposed to look like an ice cream swirl, shunsui!”

URAHARA KISUKE ᝰ.ᐟ

── "I’M PREGNANT," you announced unexpectedly.

urahara blinked before giggling and changing the subject. "haha, funny joke, (name)! now, what were we saying before?"

"i’m being for real, kisuke," you whispered, fidgeting with your fingers. you didn't know what to expect—especially, his reaction.

he fanned himself with the fan in his hand. "come again?"

you facepalmed. "i said, i’m pregnant, kisuke."

"and it's mine?" he muttered. he then noticed your grumpy expression after he had said that. "I'M GONNA BE A DAD?!" he shrieked, unsure of how to react.

he would've jumped on you, but now that there's a baby growing in your stomach, he couldn't. instead, he gently rested his head on top of your belly.

"this little guy will ruin our cuddling nights," he complained jokingly. you leaned your back against the couch and ruffled urahara’s hair, now that he was on your lap.

"i have a feeling you're going to be a bad father…" you mumbled, and he caught that.

"no, i won't!”

SIX YEARS LATER

“okay son! go tell your mom that your dad is the better parent!”

──────── ୨୧ ────────

© MIFVYFILMS ( pls don’t copy my works, repost it as your own, or translate ) MASTERLIST

[kittydruthers]

College au pregnancy scare! It feels like it would be a huge moment for them, maybe the moment they knew that this relationship was going to be forever more. From then on, they start to compile a list of potential baby names. Frank keeps trying to suggest Tanner but Becca said “no way is my nephew going to be called Tanner” when she overheard him suggesting it to Mel for the tenth time one day. They both know Becca is the boss so that’s the end of Tanner and Mel is secretly glad of it, the name never felt right to her.

It would absolutely be a huge moment for them. They both have such big dreams they’re working to achieve and a baby would absolutely derail that but especially for Mel. I can see it happening the summer before her junior year, Frank about to be an MS4, things are really picking up for him. Mel realizes she’s late, she keeps meticulous track of her cycle and it’s late. She’s all panicky and rightfully scared that she actually calls Frank even when she knows he’s doing one of his clinical rotations at a local hospital. When he doesn’t pick up she still calls him three more times until she hurriedly hangs up without a message and instead cries into her pillow while clutching one of his shirts she stole.

When Frank sees four missed calls and no messages when he finally gets a break he’s spooked because that’s not like his Mel. She tells him what’s going on, always. When he calls back she doesn’t pick up and he doesn’t have time to keep trying to she’s carrying this around in the back of his mind until the end of the day. Even though he’s tired he can’t get past the idea that’s something is wrong so he drives out to Mel’s family home to talk to her in person. This time when he calls she picks up and lets him in. The worry is etched on her face be she refuses to say anything until they’re alone in her room and not anywhere near Becca or her mom because she can’t let them know she might have messed everything up when they believe in her dreams just as much as her.

They stay up half the night talking about all the possibilities and potential outcomes. What they’ll do if she is pregnant, how they want to handle it. It’s not that they don’t want kids, because they do one day but now isn’t the right time for either of them. These conversations become so vital to the foundation of their relationship.

After a few fitful hours of sleep for them both they go and grab a test (and three more just in case). It’s one of the longest two minutes while they wait for results. Ultimately every single one is negative. She’s just unusually late, her period arriving two days later.

Now it’s something they talk about in abstract, for the future when they both feel settled enough.

I am tickled by the idea of everyone but Frank hating the name Tanner. Mel trying to be nice about it but Becca saving the day by saying what they’re honestly both thinking. The name approval process by the King sisters is vigorous. Frank’s got his work cut out for him with pleasing them both because he has some weird taste that leans strangely very preppy, where Mel and Becca both like more classic names.

[hazelsoup]

Back to You

thunderbolts!bucky x fugitive!reader summary: two years after bucky disappears from your life, you find him at your door - uninvited and full of regrets. except now, you're a fugitive, and he's an avenger. valentina wants you dead. bucky says he's here to help. but trust is a luxury you can't afford - and bucky may already be too late. ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── warnings/tags: angst, mild language, brief mentions of death, tension (they want each other so bad), lowk lovers to enemies to lovers again, mention of Valentina allegro defontaine (yes she's a warning), talks of assassination, longing, mistrust, trust issues, weapons, guns, attempted breaking & entering, uhhh I think thats all idk

a/n: This is my first time EVER posting a fic anywhere ever. I'm lowk so nervous cuz idk how to do this but ummm enjoy, I guess? and lmk if u want a part 2 heh ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

I am half-asleep and buried in my sofa when I hear it. 

The soft creak of footsteps along the hardwood floor just outside my apartment door. 

The quiet is intentional. Stealthy. The person in the hall did not want to be heard. They knew I was listening. Or, maybe they were the one listening. 

I imagine my intruder’s ear pressed against the door, maybe one hand picking a lock as gently as they can, assuming I am asleep at the late hour. 

But I never sleep. Not anymore. 

I am all but quick as I tilt my head towards the noise, watching as a silhouette dances under the crack of the door. It stretches along the tiles, illuminated only by the hall outside. I exhale through my nostrils. I am not worried. I knew he would be coming. 

There is a click and the knob shifts. Creaks downward, and my intruder presses forward. They must be an idiot if they thought I only had one lock.

I suppress an only slightly irritated groan, forcing myself up from the sofa and grabbing the gun holstered into my thigh. I didn’t even bother removing it before plopping onto the couch earlier. At least it was easy to grab, now that I needed it. 

I approach the door slowly, keeping my footsteps light, my breathing slow. I hold the gun to the door, watching as the silhouette shifts through the other side. 

Quietly, slowly, I unlock the door, and swiftly pull it open. On the other side stands the one man I had been dreading to see, his eyebrows raised in sudden surprise – although I knew very well that he’d been coming. 

“Barnes.” My tone is harsher than I expected as I narrow my eyes at him, the resentment I’d forced all the way down threatening to spill back up. An unexpected tide of emotion flares at the sight of him, and I feel my throat lodge with something unspeakable. 

It’s been two years. 

Bucky says my name wearily, his tone laced with regret and exasperation all in one. I can’t tell if he’s upset with me, or with himself. All I know is that it doesn’t matter, because he’s only here for one thing. “We need to talk.” 

I don’t know why I’m shocked. I know he’s here to discuss how I’ve become a fugitive to the government–how Valentina deFontaine hired me for my assassination skills, only to try to exterminate me in the process. She wanted her slate cleaned, and I was evidence of her dirty work. I’d later discovered this had been the case for many assassins working under her wing–I’d just been the one lucky enough to survive. 

“Were you trying to break in?” I ask, stepping back so he can enter. “Because all you needed to do was knock.” It’s a bitter attempt at a joke, mostly because I am not used to him being here. Not at all. Bucky scoffs. “You wouldn’t have opened the door if I hadn’t at least tried.” 

I walk over to the sofa and plop back down, leaning my head back on the cushions. “No.” I holster my gun. “I wouldn’t have.” 

Bucky takes a moment to look around. His gaze is sharp and calculating as it skims the room. His frame is large in the midst of the small, dark apartment, and suddenly the room feels tighter. I try not to shift in my seat – Bucky will know I’m already uncomfortable. 

Tonight, I need to show him I’m not afraid of Valentina's bullshit, or whatever garbage he’s delivered on her behalf. I know that he works for her, too. Or, more, she works for him. After the team of vigilantes became the serendipitous New Avengers, it wasn’t clear who was controlling who. All I know is that they’re on the same side. Which means Bucky and I are not. 

“How…” He starts, and I am already beginning to roll my eyes. “How have you been–?” “Don’t with the small talk.” I throw him an impatient look. “I get it. I haven’t seen you in two years, you’re a part of the New Avengers, and you’re here to take me in so Valentina can have me killed. No pleasantries. Is that so hard?” 

“Well, I figured, since it’s been a while–” Bucky says after a pause, although he doesn’t seem fazed. I cut him off again. “If you cared, you would have come earlier. Before the New Avengers.” This time, he gives me a look of resignation, as if he hadn’t had any choice. 

He did. 

“You’re right.” He says, placing a hand on his hip. “Valentina sent me here to bring you in.” 

I scoff. “What else is new?”

“But I’m not going to.” Bucky crosses his arms, and I glance up at him, unsurprised. “Oh? And why’s that?” 

“Because I want to talk. I’m not letting her get you killed for something she made you do.” I avoid his gaze, because I won’t let myself believe that he cares. I eye the TV screen across the sofa, dark, just like everything else in this apartment. Bucky’s reflection is a blurry patch of obsidian next to my own, and I can see the shape of his large arms folded over his chest, reserved and calm and patient. 

“She didn’t make me do anything, Bucky.” I say, watching the blank TV screen. “I’m the one who’s getting paid for doing the dirty work.” 

“I don’t think you had a choice. Or deserve to die because of it.” 

I snort. “Tell that to the government. There’s nothing you can do to stop Valentina from getting my ass wiped off the face of this planet.” 

Bucky is silent. But it’s not resolute. It’s calculating. 

He’s thinking. 

“What’re you up to? Some sort of super secret escape plan that will get me off of this continent and into the arms of the next Allegra deFontaine?”

“I know how to keep you safe. If you’ll let me.” Bucky says after a moment, completely ignoring what I just said. 

I sit up, although my interest is not piqued. After leaving me alone for two years, I’m not sure I know the supersoldier in front of me anymore. “I don’t need you to keep me safe. I need you to leave.” I say, eyeing him as I begin to stand. I want to reach his height – show him I’m better off alone. Although, if I’m being honest with myself, I know that’s a lie. “I can’t do that.” Bucky says lowly, glaring at me. “Valentina will find you just like I did. The next time an Avenger is at your door, it won’t be me standing there. It will be someone who wants to get their job done. Someone who is willing to get you killed.” 

I hold his gaze. “Valentina sent you. She’ll know you’ve hidden me somewhere if you come back empty-handed. This is a trap.” I state, taking a step closer. 

“Valentina doesn’t know I’m here.” He says, his voice a low rumble. My breathing falters. He came here without her knowing?

“That’s dangerous.” I tell him, and I don’t let the shock I feel show on my face. 

“It’s nothing new.” He says, and there’s a familiar glint in his eye. 

I eye him for a moment. I don’t know what he’s up to. His motives have long changed since I’d seen him last – with shorter hair, less lines on his face and those strong hands hidden beneath worn leather gloves. Now he wore no gloves – his metal hand bare, and I realize it’s because he’s no longer the low-profile ex-assassin trying to return to a normal life. Now, he’s an Avenger, and everyone knows who he is – there’s no reason to hide what everyone already knows is there. I briefly recall going to the store late at night only to see his face plastered onto a Wheaties box, my chest aching and my head pounding. It was the late hour, and his face was the last thing I had wanted to see.  Ironic how that hadn’t been the case only a few years prior. 

“Why do you care if I’m killed?” I ask finally, crossing my arms defensively. “It’s not like you cared before. Before you went ahead and became the one and only Congressman James Buchanan Barnes. Didn’t even care to call or drop by uninvited until you needed something from me. Is that all I am to you, Barnes?” I glare up at him. “A convenient asset? A means to an end? Just some weapon you can rely on when all the others are old and rusty?” Bucky’s throat bobs as though lodged with everything he wants to say – as if he can’t choose which one to spew first. He exhales through his nose before speaking. “You know you’re so much more than that to me.” He says, his voice softer. He doesn’t bother with the excuses. Doesn’t even flinch at my accusations. He knows what he’s done. And that makes it so much harder to hate him. 

I don’t say anything. I’m too frustrated.

He continues anyway. “What will you do when Valentina finds you? Honestly?” 

I look away, studying the door. I wish he would leave. I wish he had never come through it in the first place. “Fight them off. Find someplace else to stay.” 

Bucky almost snorts. “Like that’ll work.” 

“Really? Why not?” I know he’s right. He knows I know. 

He grows exasperated, but his voice does not rise. “They know where you are. Val’s probably going to send Yelena or Walker over here in the dead of night–”

“–Funny, that’s exactly what you’re doing.” I comment. 

“–and the next thing you know, there’ll be a bullet in your head. And even if you do manage to fight them off–” he basically taunts me with the absurdity of my own words. “–it won’t be hard for them to find you again. It didn’t even take me twenty-four hours.”

My arms tighten around my chest. Bucky’s words hang in the air. I was an idiot to think I was ever safe to begin with. “So, then what?” I ask, because it seems a little hopeless when he puts it that way. “What would you do if I agreed to… whatever plan you have for me?”  

Bucky’s brows twitch, as though he had expected even more defiance than I had already given him. “My plan is to keep you safe. But you have to trust me. If you stay here, you’ll die.” He says my name after that, a gentle plea, as if to convince me to listen, to let him show me that he really cares. 

I take a moment to savour the sound of it on his lips without the harshness he had carried with him when he’d said it before. Then I process what he’s said after that – and, again, I know he’s right. It’s disgusting. I hate admitting that he’s right. It makes me want to throw up in my mouth. 

“I know you don’t trust me,” he says, stepping forward. There’s a softness to him now that I’ve finally caved, his eyes furrowed with more concern than frustration, his shoulders less tense now that he’s convinced me to come with him. 

“I never said that.” I say, although it’s harsh and bitter and filled with everything I never got to say to him. I may hate him, but I know Bucky. We’d spent so much time alongside each other before… everything… that it was hard not to know him. Not to trust him. 

Bucky’s face doesn’t shield the surprise at my words, although he is quick to recover. “I know someplace you can stay, somewhere safe and far away from here. But I can’t say more than that right now.” He tells me, his eyes scanning the apartment once more. “Pack your things.” He says quietly. “And I’ll tell you everything on the way.” 

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── to be continued...

a/n (again): I really just wanted to get this out of my google docs and into the open, but pls lmk if u want a part two, idk how Tumblr works so im not expecting this to get a million likes or views or whatever. anyways pls lmk what u think hehehe