#tell him everything he needs to hear like he told you everything YOU needed to hear!!!!!!!!!!!!

[bruisedboys]

dead of the night — bucky barnes

bucky calls you, his loyal assistant, in the middle of the night, asking for your help. he’s got four assassins with him and they need a place to hide. you’re too in love with him to say no. SPOILER WARNING!! set during thunderbolts so big plot spoilers

note: I’m honestly not sure how good this is but I’m posting it anyway we ball! disclaimer I totally made some stuff up to make the scenario make sense lol hope u can forgive me

thunderbolts!bucky x fem!reader, fluff, kissing, one bed trope, 4k words

You wake to the shrill sound of your phone ringing. At first you think it’s your morning alarm, and wonder why it feels like you’ve only been asleep a few hours. It takes blinking yourself awake to realise it’s still dark out, the street outside your apartment dead quiet. Your phone continues to ring, piercing through the quiet of the night, the screen lit up and flooding the corner of your room in white. You groan. Who on earth is calling you in the middle of the night? 

You sit up dizzily and grab for your phone. You stare blankly at the bright white screen, blinking hard until your eyes adjust and you can see the name that pops up. 

Bucky Barnes. 

You blink at your phone. Your boss? Well, he’s not really your boss, but you are his assistant, and you’re not really sure whether you’re friends or something else entirely, so he might as well be. 

You hit the answer button. 

“Bucky?” You’ve long passed the stage of calling him Congressman Barnes. Besides, any ounce of professionalism left between the two of you has probably now turned to dust, given the ungodly hour of his call.

“Hey.” He sounds tired, his voice strained. “Hey, I’m so sorry, doll, I know it’s late.” 

No kidding. You ignore the fact that he’s called you doll, ‘cos if you think about it too long you’ll be here all night. ”What’s the matter?” You ask. “It’s one in the morning, Bucky.” 

“I know, I’m sorry, but it’s urgent. I need your help.” 

His words make you sit up straighter. Bucky’s been, for lack of better words, distracted lately. On edge, like he’s been waiting for something to happen. He’s been continuously disappearing at important events, and he keeps taking mysterious calls in hushed tones. You hope this has got nothing to do with the call he got from Valentina’s assistant (Mel, you think her name is) last night. He only told you about it because he’d wanted you to cover for him today while he “took care of something,” in his own, ominous words. He’s been MIA all day and you haven’t heard from him until now.

Somehow, you think this has got everything to do with the call from Mel. 

“Are you okay?” You ask on instinct.

“I’m okay, yeah, I’m fine,” he says, brushing you off. “We, uh.. we just need somewhere to hole up for the night.” 

Your brain ticks. “Hold on, we?” 

You can almost hear him wince on the other end of the line. As if on cue, you pick up some muffled voices in the background. A man’s rough voice followed by a woman’s smoother one — and is that a Russian accent? What has he gotten himself into? 

“There's, uh, five of us,” Bucky says, like that makes it any better. 

There’s a long beat of silence. You sit in the dark, still half foggy with sleep, waiting for your brain to catch up with what he’s telling you. He … wants to bring strangers to your place? To what, hide? From who? You’re dumbfounded.

“I— what?” Is all you can manage. 

There’s another short silence, and then Bucky must realise how ridiculous he sounds, because he starts to backtrack. “I’m sorry,” he says suddenly. “I shouldn’t have called, I’ll just—“ 

“No, wait,” you interrupt before you can stop yourself. For reasons unbeknownst to you, you find yourself wanting to help. You trust him, and know he’d never do anything to hurt you. Whoever these people are who’re with him must really need your help. And who else can he call, anyway? “It’s alright, I can help. Come over, okay? How far away are you?” 

Twenty minutes, as it turns out. You spend the time making your apartment and yourself look somewhat presentable, less for your visitors’ sake than your own, and because it’s Bucky.

Bucky, who’s been to your apartment three times now. Once when he got you flowers for your birthday. Another time when you’d mixed up your laptops, and accidentally come home from the office with his instead of yours in your work bag. (He’d come round to pick it up and you’d cleaned the whole place, even though he only stood in the doorway for five minutes.) And the most recent time, when you’d gotten too drunk at the bar after work, and Bucky had walked you home, deposited you in your bed, and locked the door behind him. You don’t remember most of it, but you do remember feeling so so in love with him it made you feel sick. Or maybe that was the whiskey. You doubt it. 

You’re tossing the trash from your takeout dinner in the bin, and trying not to think about how you felt that night, when there’s a knock on the door. Your phone dings on the counter, a text from Bucky. 

It’s me. 

You laugh to yourself. He can be so accidentally ominous sometimes. You cross the living room to the door and open it. 

Five people stand behind it, all in varying states of disarray. Bucky’s at the front, probably the least beat up looking, though his jacket seems to be torn in some places. Two women (girls? They don’t look very much older than you), one with a blunt blonde bob, and one brunette with pretty eyes, both looking a bit worse for wear. One very tall, older man in a red getup that makes him look like Santa Claus - it’s absurd, but somehow you feel even more absurd in your plaid pajama pants. And bringing up the rear is… John Walker? 

“Um, hi?” You say to the group at large. When Bucky said we, you didn’t expect John Walker, of all people, to show up. You try not to stare. “What can I do for you?” 

The blonde girl opens her mouth, looking amused, but Bucky beats her to it. “Funny,” he says bluntly. Then, softer, “Can we come in?” 

You share a look. Bucky has a very intense default gaze, but it seems to soften whenever he looks at you. And right now, he’s looking at you like I’m tired, I need help, just let us in please and I’ll explain. 

You step back with little objection. Something about the way he seems to say trust me with just one look — it gets you every time. If he was a serial killer, you’d surely be dead by now. 

“Alright,” you say. “Wipe your shoes, please.” 

Everyone files into your living room. It’s not a huge space but it’s enough. Walker closes the door behind them. No one sits down. 

“Who is this, again?” The brunette girl asks Bucky, breaking the silence. You assume she means you. 

“We work together. She’s my assistant,” Bucky explains, throwing you an apologetic, somewhat strained, look. “Y/N.” 

“Hello,” you say awkwardly. 

They all just stare at you. You know what they’re thinking. Why on earth would Bucky, former winter soldier, avenger, and now congressman, bring them to his assistant’s place in the middle of the night as if it was a safe house? You’re asking yourself the exact same thing. 

“Y/N, this is Ava, Yelena, Alexei, and John.” Bucky names them off, pointing them out to you as he does. “They— I mean, we just need a place to stay until morning.”

“Remind me again why we couldn’t just go to yours?” Walker pipes up, addressing Bucky. You hate to agree, but you were just about to ask the same question. 

“Valentina’s watching my place,” Bucky explains. “She knows by now that I’ve got you guys with me, she’ll have her people on us in no time if we go to mine.” 

This only confuses you further. Valentina is … watching his house? This is not what you signed up for when you applied for a job as an assistant — it seems both you and Bucky are in over your heads. Though maybe you should’ve expected it, Bucky being a former Avenger and all.

The others seem to understand Bucky’s explanation far better than you do, and they all look to you expectantly. 

You look at the group of strangers, then at Bucky, then back at the strangers. They’re all standing there rather awkwardly. At their best, they’d probably be the toughest looking group you’ve ever seen, but right now they look dead beat, covered in bruises, dark bags under their eyes, and you suddenly feel very sorry for them.

“I— yeah, okay,” you say. They’re already in your living room, already know where you live, what’s it matter now? “You can stay for the night. Make yourselves at home, guys. There’s water in the fridge and the bathroom is down the hall to the left.” 

The brunette — Ava, Bucky called her — gives you a tight smile. “Thanks,” she says, and collapses on your sofa. 

The others follow suit, though Walker stays standing with his arms crossed. 

Pleasantries over, you grab Bucky’s arm and tug him down the hallway. He follows willingly, though you don’t give him much choice. You end up in your bedroom, where you corner him. 

“Bucky, what’s going on?” You whisper harshly.  “Who are those people? Why would Valentina be watching your place? And why is John Walker here?” 

You’re so busy bombarding him with questions that you don’t notice the way he’s holding his arm, not until you’ve finished speaking. Your eyes drop to his forearm. The fabric of his jacket has been slashed open, and there’s blood all over the sleeve. 

“Oh,” you say stupidly, then even more so, “Bucky, you’re bleeding.” 

Bucky grimaces. “I know, doll.” 

You grab his arm, forgoing politeness, and hold it up to your face. 

“It’s looks bad,” you say, forgetting you’re not supposed to care about him as much as you do.

You look up and find your face inches from his, his arm clutched between you. You suddenly feel very hot.

“Let’s, um,” you flounder for a few seconds, flustered not only by everything that’s happened in the last half hour but also his closeness, and the look on his face. “I have a first aid kit in the bathroom, I think. Come on.” 

You guide him out of your room and across the hallway into the bathroom. You forget to ask why he’s bought a hoard of what look like trained assassins into your home, and force him to sit on the lip of the bathtub, pushing him down by the shoulders. He scrapes hair out of his face with his metal arm and looks up at you where you’re rummaging through the cupboard above the sink. 

“Y/N, I’m—“ 

“Don’t say you’re fine,” you interrupt. He shuts his mouth and you go on, “Are any of your friends hurt?” 

Bucky pulls a face. “They’re not really my friends,” he says. “And no, none of them are hurt, they’re just tired.” 

You nod, accepting his answer for the meanwhile, even though it only opens up about a million more questions. A moment later you finally find what you’re looking for, a red and white first aid kit tucked away at the back of the cupboard, collecting dust.

You move to stand in front of Bucky, opening up the kit and setting it on the toilet lid. 

“Show me?” You stick your hand out for his wounded arm and he gives it to you with no objection. 

You hold his wrist and carefully push his sleeve up over the wound, revealing a harsh cut across the length of his forearm. On closer inspection, it’s not horribly deep, the blood only makes it look that way. 

Still, you frown. “How did you manage this?” You ask him. 

Bucky looks for a second like he’s reliving whatever happened to cause such an injury. He searches for the words, then, “I sort of flipped a truck?” he says. “Long story.” 

Flipped a truck? Whose truck? You raise your eyebrows at him but ultimately decide it's fruitless to keep asking questions, at least until he decides to explain what’s going on. 

“Right… I’m gonna clean it, okay?” You drop his arm to pull out a bottle of rubbing alcohol from the first aid kit, unscrewing the lid and dabbing the liquid onto a cotton pad. “It might hurt.” 

Bucky looks like he’s trying not to roll his eyes. “I’m tough, doll.” 

You clean his wound as best you can. You only sort of know what you’re doing, a half remembered first aid course you took in college sitting at the back of your mind, but Bucky doesn’t protest. Actually, he doesn’t make a sound at all, just watches you with those dark eyes. It makes you nervous, like he’s looking right through you and reading all your inner thoughts. The worst part is, he’s always looking at you like this, like he can read your mind, to the point where you’re pretty sure he knows all your secrets. Like how you’re desperately in love with him and have no idea what to do about it. 

You continue your work, quiet. The silence is heavy, a sort of unspoken feeling floating between the two of you like a white hot star. You want to reach out and grab it, see if Bucky will follow, but you keep your mouth shut. 

You’re unraveling a roll of bandage to wrap his arm when you finally speak. “So, are you gonna tell me why you brought a bunch of assassins into my home In the dead of the night?” You laugh at your own joke, but the look on Bucky’s face stops you short. “They’re… they’re not assassins, are they?” 

Bucky purses his lips. “Well, you’re not very far off…” 

He launches into an explanation, finally. First, of what Valentina’s really been up to. Project Sentry — putting a gold ribbon and a promise of a better life on a special super serum, and testing it on the most vulnerable subjects she could find. Then, how she rushed to eliminate all proof of the project, including the four people in your living room (who turn out to actually be trained assassins, though Bucky promises none of them will hurt you), and Bob, one of the test subjects. 

Then he tells you about how he tracked Mel’s phone to a site in the middle of nowhere, where he found Yelena, Ava, John and Alexei in a “predicament,” and “saved their asses,” as he puts it. He spares you the details, but it's how he sliced his arm open, and why they’re now retreating to yours to regain their strength before going after Bob. Bob, who’s vulnerable but much stronger than he probably knows, and who Valentina now has in her clutches. 

By the time he’s done explaining, you’ve realised how much bigger this is than just you and Bucky. For days this has all been happening without your knowledge and Bucky has been dealing with it all. You’re not annoyed, you get why he didn’t tell you. Still, you wish he’d asked for your help earlier. 

“So, you’re going after Bob?” You ask, carefully tucking in the end of the bandage. You spent half of his explanation just staring at him, hardly believing what he was saying, and the other half wrapping his arm, trying to believe what he was saying, no matter how ludicrous it sounded. 

Bucky nods. “I guess so. He could be dangerous in Valentina’s hands, you know?” 

You nod back. “Yeah, I get it. Won’t it be dangerous, though? Going after him? 

You say it before you’ve thought about it. You realise right after that it makes you sound like you care far too much about the man sitting in front of you, who’s really just the guy you file documents for. You don’t owe him anything. 

Bucky smiles. “Don’t worry, doll. We’ve got four assassins on our side, five if you count me.” 

You frown. “You’re not an assassin.” 

You don’t care what he’s done in the past, you can’t see him as anything else but lovely. He’s brave, kind, and so thoughtful it aches. 

Still, Bucky shrugs. “Used to be.” 

You pack up the first aid kit and put it away. Bucky watches you, his gaze like a burning fire on the back of your head. When you’re done cleaning up, he stands up and crosses the room, meeting you by the sink. 

“Thank you,” he says, earnest though his voice is rough from exhaustion. “You make a good nurse.” 

For some odd reason, butterflies erupt in your gut at his words. You look up at him. He’s very close now, only a step or two away from being chest to chest. You manage a grin. 

“That’s me,” you say, faux casual. “Best nurse and assistant you’ve ever had, huh?” 

You might be imagining it, but you’re pretty sure Bucky’s eyes flicker to your lips. He’s distracted as he murmurs, “Uh huh.” 

A beat of silence, and then Bucky takes a step closer. Your chest burns. He raises his vibranium arm, and you watch as his silver fingers close around your forearm. You can’t feel it through your sweater, but you can imagine how smooth the metal would feel on your skin. 

“Bucky,” you whisper. 

“Mm,” he hums back. He’s definitely looking at your lips now, and moving closer by the second. “What, doll?” 

You blink rapidly. He’s so close now you can smell him, sweat and dust but underneath that something heady, a bergamot cologne you’ve smelled on him before. 

“I— what are you doing?” You whisper, starting to panic. 

Bucky looks at you, this intense look of yearning in his eyes, like he’s being pulled towards you and can’t stop, and you almost melt into the bathroom tiles. 

“I want to kiss you,” he murmurs, so quiet it’d be impossible to hear him if he weren’t this close. “Can I?” 

You sort of guessed as much, but to hear the words coming from his mouth is something else entirely. You find yourself nodding. You don't know why. Well, actually, you know exactly why. You like him a lot, and you’ve imagined this moment a million times over in your head, though in your imaginations he certainly wasn’t bleeding out in your tiny bathroom.

“Okay,” you manage, heartbeat turning frantic. 

You see a flash of his smile before he’s pulling you gently forwards by the wrist and then kissing you. It’s chaste, gentle, but you can almost feel him holding back, his grip on your wrist tightening as he moves closer still, almost like he can’t help himself. The pressure of his kissing pushes you backwards a half inch — your back hits the edge of the sink and you don't care, you really don’t, because Bucky is kissing you and his thumb is rubbing a rough circle into your inner forearm, and his lips are so warm they leave yours buzzing.

Too soon, Bucky pulls away. 

You blink at him. He’s still agonisingly close to your face, and still looking at you like he wants to eat you. Your heart’s a riot, worse when he reaches up with his freshly bandaged arm and tucks a rogue piece of hair behind your ear. 

His hand lingers at your jaw. 

“Sorry,” he murmurs. His hand is warm. His fingers are calloused and rough, but he touches you like you’re made of starlight. “Is it okay that I did that?” 

You nod. “Yes,” you manage. Even to your own ears, you sound breathless as anything, but you’re so dizzy that there’s no space to be embarrassed about it. “I— yeah.” 

Bucky smiles, but it’s not smug. If anything, it’s achingly fond. “I’m sorry I called. I shouldn’t have roped you into this. I just … didn’t have anyone else I could call.” 

You shake your head. You won’t say it, but right now you’re infinitely glad he called. Even in the dead of the night. “It’s okay.” 

Bucky strokes your jaw with his thumb, slow and intentional. “No one will hurt you while I’m here, okay? And we’ll be out of here before you even wake up, I promise.” 

You nod around his hand. It’s hard to digest anything he’s saying while he’s touching you like this, and looking at you like that. You think you get the gist, though. 

“Okay,” you say. You desperately want to kiss him again, but you’re much too shy to ask. Before you can work up the guts, he’s moving away. 

“I think you should get back to bed,” he tugs his phone from his jacket pocket and checks the time. “It’s past two.” 

“Right,” you nod, not wanting to, but you’re too dizzy and too tired to protest. 

You and Bucky leave the bathroom together. You follow him still half in a daze, not understanding how he can be so nonchalant when you literally feel lightheaded as a direct result of the kiss. You suppose he’s just better at hiding it, or maybe you’re just very sick in love. 

You and Bucky step into the living room to find probably the most absurd scene to ever grace your living space. Yelena and Ava, both knocked out on the couch, Ava’s head on Yelena’s shoulder, drool falling from the blonde’s open mouth. Alexei sprawled out on the floor in front of the TV, snoring like a bear. And Walker sitting at your kitchen table, bent in half with his forehead resting on his crossed arms, fast asleep.

Both you and Bucky seem to realise at the exact same time that there’s nowhere other than a much too small chunk of floor for him to sleep. You turn to each other. 

“Do you want to—?” You start. 

“I can sleep in the—“ he says at the same time. 

You both pause. 

“Sleep in the what?” You ask him, incredulous. 

Bucky grimaces. “The car?” He at least has the decency to look guilty as he says it. 

You roll your eyes. “You’re absurd. Come on, you can sleep in my room.” 

It’s ridiculous, you know, but the words leave your mouth before you think about it. The truth is, you’re both dead tired and you’ve got no other option. Besides, you don't see how this night could get any more ludicrous. What’s it matter if Bucky sleeps in your room? He’s just kissed you, hasn’t he? 

You start to pull him towards your bedroom, but he stays put. 

“Y/N—“ 

“You said you wouldn’t let any of them hurt me,” you say firmly. “How’re you gonna do that from the car?” 

Bucky opens his mouth, closes it, then opens it again. 

“I… don't know,” he mumbles lamely. Then, at your I told you so look, “Are you sure?” 

You resist the urge to roll your eyes. He’s too gentlemanly for his own good. “Yes, I’m sure. Come on.” 

You pull him towards your bedroom, much too tired now to be flustered about it. In the dark of your room, Bucky insists on sleeping on the floor. You let him, because he’s stubborn, and because you think if he were to sleep in your bed, no matter the distance you know he’d put between you, you’d be much too consumed with nervous energy to even shut your eyes, let alone sleep. 

It’s half past two when you finally crawl back into bed, Bucky lying on a stack of pillows on the floor at the foot of your bed. Though you can't see him, you feel his presence like a weight over your chest. 

You settle down on your pillows, already feeling the tug of sleep behind your eyes. Before you can fully succumb, Bucky speaks up. 

“Y/N?” He sounds just as tired as you, but you can't ignore the way he says your name like it's something special. 

“Yeah?” You hum back. 

“Thank you,” he says earnestly. You suppose he’s thanking you for everything from housing a bunch of strangers, to letting him kiss you. “I’ll make it up to you, I promise.” 

A pause in which you think about how to respond. Then, 

“With a pay raise?” You joke weakly. 

Bucky sighs loudly, but the smile in his voice is evident when he murmurs back, “Whatever you want, doll.” 

You grin to yourself. Now that’s something you can fall asleep to. 

-

thank you for reading! please consider reblogging if you enjoyed 🤍

[gayeddiejuice]

🚨🚨 boots on the ground reporting 🚨🚨

ok just got off the phone with my friend, she is the mvp called me as soon as she clocked out while she walked to the train.

ok. first things first i asked. we’re they nice? and she said YES she said they were probably the easiest table anyone had she felt bad for everyone else cause she kept seeing all the handlers running back and forth and she was just chilling pretty much. she said they dinner was pre ordered but they didn’t eat much of it cause they probably ate at the pre party event. she was also like “did you know oliver is vegan?” LOL anyways. as the main handler the job is to make sure the vips have everything they need, so for example she would take all their food orders and then send it to the kitchen and then there’s a team of waiters who bring the food, the handler never leaves the table you have to be there in case they need anything.

she said since their team preordered most of the food it made her job so much easier, she basically just stood by their table all night just in case they needed anything. she did order lots of drinks tho she said they drank A LOT 😂😂 but it was mostly for all the people that kept coming over to their table, apparently they were super popular people from other shows kept coming over to talk to them. also lots of the other guests which is mostly just the advertisers, that’s the whole point of the party abc/disney has all these celebs there to mingle with advertisers to get them to sell stuff on their network. and she said everyone wanted to come to the 911 table!!

after the dinner portion the actual party starts and that’s when things get hectic cause the vips always scatter and if you’re their handler you gotta know where they all are at all times. i do not miss this job btw it gave me major anxiety.

during the party they pretty much stuck together which made her job so much easier and she said they all remembered her name when she only told it to them once when she introduced herself. listen she doesn’t know anything about this cast she kept calling them the girl and the asian guy or the two hot guys. which. yall. she said they were all extremely beautiful she said she kept blushing cause ryan (she fell in love with him btw) kept calling her by her name and asking her questions and he kept organizing the plates and glasses on the table to make it easier for the wait staff to pick up.

other than that she said later in the night she kept losing track of them cause again they were so popular 😂😂 mostly aisha, she said she seemed to be friends with EVERYONE and she said, i repeat she knows nothing about rpf she didn’t know what her words would mean, she said ryan and oliver (the two hot guys) hung out together the whole night especially once kenny left, she said he left at like 8 right after dinner, and aisha kept going to talk to other people but ryan and oliver stuck together all night. I said oh im so sure. 🤭

that’s pretty much it, i asked if she could hear their convos and she could but she didn’t really pay attention cause she didn’t recognize any names. she did say that they were all cracking jokes all night and they laughed a lot which idk warms my heart 🥹🥹

btw ryan and oliver did leave together and i think they were going to either go somewhere else with other people or they were having like an after party at the hotel? cause they kept telling people yeah we’ll see you “after” she didn’t really catch where “after” was but when they said bye to aisha ryan said “see ya at the hotel” and oliver told her to not take too long 😂😂 so idk I guess they’re still partying.

[seitmai]

Many thoughts

Bucky didn't need medical attention. That was what he told himself, and he said the same thing to the team after he took a hard hit to the head. But he made the mistake of telling Bob that he admittedly felt a little dizzy, who then told Yelena, who then demanded that he go to the hospital. Not only did she demand that he go, they all went and were currently hanging out in the lobby to make sure he was okay. 

Of course Bob told Yelena and them all waiting there is just so cute 🥹

He took a hit to the head. So what? He experienced much worse when it came to his head and he was a super soldier for God's sake, so he’d heal just fine. It was a bit cocky to think like that but others needed help more than he did and he wasn't in the mood for anyone to inspect him or ask questions. At least he wasn't until he saw your face. 

How quickly the tables turn 🤭

He opened his mouth to say he hadn't waited long at all, but no sound came out. Thank God he wasn't hooked up to a heart monitor because it would've picked up on the accelerated rate when you smiled at him again. He almost forgot to breathe before his body reminded him that he needed oxygen. No one should look as beautiful as you in medical scrubs or under the harsh hospital lighting. He wondered if he looked okay despite the blood and dirt on his clothes. 

Ahhh he is instantly smitten 🤭🥰

With a deep breath he thought instead of his wonderful treatment in Wakanda and reminded himself that he was safe, free. It helped the next breath come easier. He then looked at your face where he only saw concern and compassion. You weren't going to hurt him. You were there to help. 

He needs a friendly face in a moment like that

“And I appreciate that you're thinking of my time, but it’s my job and I wouldn't feel comfortable with you leaving without completing my exam,” you said, taking a closer look at him. It wasn't concern he saw in your eyes now, but understanding. “You're not exactly a fan of hospitals, are you?” The question took him by surprise. How did you guess? “Not exactly,” he replied, choosing not to elaborate on that and you were thoughtful enough not to push. Just a sympathetic nod, which he appreciated. “But the work you and everyone else in the medical field does? It's incredible. Thank you.”

They are both so thoughtful 🥰

“As long as everything is stable and there are no new or worsening conditions, you’ll likely be discharged within an hour or two,” you replied. He almost argued that he healed from injuries faster thanks to the serum, but that wasn't too long. Better safe than sorry. At least it wasn't a headscan. “Would you like some water? I can get you a snack, too.” The snack and drink were likely to make sure he could keep them down. “Sure, thanks,” he whispered. 

I juat know he loves a snack, especially from a pretty and nice nurse

“Sorry that you’re stuck with me checking on you for the next hour or so,” you said. Bucky’s smile grew before he chuckled. “You won't hear me complaining,” he promised. 

I'm sure he won't 🤭

Hell, he'd probably fake an injury just to see you again, or at least ask for you if he ever had to come back to the hospital for any reason. He wondered if you were single. You weren't wearing a wedding band or an engagement ring. That didn't necessarily mean-

Hahaha there is no denying in him having a crush is he is willing to get injured 😅

“I’m single,” you said quickly. He glanced at you before his eyes went wide. Shit, he said some of that out loud? “Oh, well, that’s…” He wasn't sure what to say. Should he apologize? “Nice.”

I love that they are both so out of it and random in saying these things😂

“Were you a sarcastic guy before the hit to the head, or is this a new side to you?” you teased back.  “Oh, the sass has always been there,” he said, taking a sip once you handed the drink over. “Better to be smart-ass than a dumbass, right?” Why was he talking so much?

Maybe because he wants to keep talking with her, just a thought 🤔🤭

“Why don't I walk you back to the lobby?” you offered. “Oh, you don't have to do that,” he said, regretting it since it sounded like a brush off and that wasn't his intention. “But if you wouldn't mind?” Your face lit up, at least he thought it did. “I don't mind at all.”

She doesn't just mind, she would love to 🤭

He smiled to himself when he spotted his teammates sitting in the waiting area. None of them looked particularly comfortable, but they stuck it out for him. It meant a lot. 

🥹🥰🥹🥰

Of course Yelena and Ava instantly clock his crush 🤭 and Alexei obviously had to chime in 😅

“Hello?” Yelena asked, snapping her fingers in front of his face. “What are you staring at?” He blinked a few times. “Nothing.” “Nothing? Oh, I think he was staring at that pretty nurse,” Ava answered.  Bucky shot the entire group a glare, his cheeks hot. “No, I wasn't,” he grumbled. Except he was. He stared at you. And by the amused looks on their faces, they all saw it.  “It’s okay to stare or have a crush. She’s a beautiful woman.” Alexei clapped a hand on his shoulder. “She would be lucky to date the Winter Soldier.”

“Ask her out! I drive you for your date!” Alexei offered, rubbing his hands together. “I’ll set the mood. You see.” Yelena pinched the bridge of her nose and muttered, “Dad, stop.” Bucky shook his head and shut his eyes, wishing he could teleport himself out of there. “Yes, please, stop.”

😂😂😂

“Is your head okay?” Bob asked, making him open his eyes. Of course he was concerned with his pain, and Bucky was glad for the change of topic. 

Oh Bob, he is just the cutest 🥹

John stretched his back once he stood up. “If you really want to see that nurse again I can make sure you get another hit to the head.” Bucky’s eyes turned cold. “I’m not a killer anymore, but I may make an exception if you try anything.”

Hahahaha John just like Bob want to be useful, but he really has to work on reading the room 😂

I would love to read if they reunite 👀

Hit to the Head

Pairing: Thunderbolts!Bucky Barnes x Nurse!Female Reader

Summary: Bucky doesn't think he needs medical attention after a hit to the head, but he's glad he met you.

Word Count: Over 3k

Warnings: Meet cute (of sorts?), possible concussion, mention of HYRDA, team dynamic, humor, Bucky's POV, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?) and he's smitten.

A/N: A new AU (as if I need more) inspired by this wonderful nonnie. ❤️ Beta read by the lovely @mumbles411 (and thanks for the assurance on the medical discussion), but any and all mistakes are my own. Divider by the talented @saradika-graphics. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

Bucky didn't need medical attention. That was what he told himself, and he said the same thing to the team after he took a hard hit to the head. But he made the mistake of telling Bob that he admittedly felt a little dizzy, who then told Yelena, who then demanded that he go to the hospital. Not only did she demand that he go, they all went and were currently hanging out in the lobby to make sure he was okay. 

It was a sweet gesture, if not a wasted one. 

He took a hit to the head. So what? He experienced much worse when it came to his head and he was a super soldier for God's sake, so he’d heal just fine. It was a bit cocky to think like that but others needed help more than he did and he wasn't in the mood for anyone to inspect him or ask questions. 

At least he wasn't until he saw your face. 

“Hi,” you smiled, pulling back the curtain to give him some privacy. “Sorry to keep you waiting.”

He opened his mouth to say he hadn't waited long at all, but no sound came out. Thank God he wasn't hooked up to a heart monitor because it would've picked up on the accelerated rate when you smiled at him again. He almost forgot to breathe before his body reminded him that he needed oxygen. No one should look as beautiful as you in medical scrubs or under the harsh hospital lighting. He wondered if he looked okay despite the blood and dirt on his clothes. 

Wait, why did it matter what he looked like? He wasn't there to flirt with or impress you. There was no reason for him to sit up straighter or flex his right arm. There sure as hell wasn't any reason to run his fingers through his hair to get the tangles out. It was a hospital visit, not a date. 

You wore a name tag, but introduced yourself before taking a look at his chart. “I understand you took a pretty hard hit to the head, Mr. Barnes.”

His voice came out huskier than he anticipated when he said, “Call me Bucky.” Clearing his throat he added, “If you consider a slab of concrete to the head hard, then yeah, but at least my head didn't split open.”

He felt the need to assure you he was fine when concern crossed your beautiful features. “I’m very thankful your head didn't split open, Bucky.” He liked the way you said his name. “But a concrete slab to the head is no joke.”

“You should see the other guy,” he joked, making you giggle. Was he funny or were you only laughing for his benefit? “But seeing the other guy wouldn't matter anyway since you won't let me leave without an exam,” he guessed. Even if he didn't believe he needed one. 

It wasn't just his belief that he was fine. Most didn't know it, but every now and then hospitals made him feel like he was back at HYDRA, ready to be strapped to a chair to await his next form of torture or to be experimented on. He wouldn't say he was afraid, but there was discomfort. Enough to make it feel like the walls were slowly closing in. 

With a deep breath he thought instead of his wonderful treatment in Wakanda and reminded himself that he was safe, free. It helped the next breath come easier. He then looked at your face where he only saw concern and compassion. You weren't going to hurt him. You were there to help. 

“Well, I wouldn't be a very good nurse if I just let you walk out, would I?” you gently smiled. 

He managed a smile for you because you weren't just doing your job. You also seemed kind. “I guess not.”

He could get through a simple exam. 

Bucky inhaled, detecting a hint of something sweet under the sterile surroundings as you checked his heart beat. It was so subtle that he wouldn't have been able to pick up on it if it weren't for his heightened senses. He almost leaned into you before you pulled away, and thank God for that. Would he have been able to blame it on his head if he did?

“I don't have a concussion,” he blurted out. 

“Is that right?” He swore there was amusement in your tone when you shone a light in each of his eyes. “I imagine you're somewhat familiar with them in your line of work.”

“You can say that,” he said. He had his fair share of hits to the head, and helped his teammates get through injuries. “No nausea, no stiffness or imbalance.”

He didn't mention the dizziness since he didn't want to stay longer than he needed to. 

“Any issues with your memory?” you asked. 

He smirked a little. “That's a bit of a loaded question.”

“Can you tell me what day it is and what hospital you're at?” you asked. 

He answered the questions with ease. He also spelled “world” backwards when you asked him to. “See? I’m fine,” he said. 

“Your vitals are normal. Pupils reactive. But-”

“Look, I appreciate you checking me out,” he cut you off, keeping the bite out of his voice because he refused to snap at you. “But I don't want to waste your time.”

Bucky hated that he was trying to rush out when you were only trying to help, but he could hear people in the other rooms even as he tried to block it out. They were in pain, struggling. They needed you more than he did. 

“And I appreciate that you're thinking of my time, but it’s my job and I wouldn't feel comfortable with you leaving without completing my exam,” you said, taking a closer look at him. It wasn't concern he saw in your eyes now, but understanding. “You're not exactly a fan of hospitals, are you?”

The question took him by surprise. How did you guess? “Not exactly,” he replied, choosing not to elaborate on that and you were thoughtful enough not to push. Just a sympathetic nod, which he appreciated. “But the work you and everyone else in the medical field does? It's incredible. Thank you.”

In his eyes, people like you were the real heroes. You didn't just face battles, you faced pandemics and life changing events. You risked your lives, saw the best and worst of people, and how many thanked you in return? And from the little time he knew you he could sense the love and dedication to your job and patients. He respected that. 

“Thank you. And thank you for all that you do, too,” you said sincerely. The compliment had the corner of his lip tugging in a smile. “I know you want to get out of here, but I am here to help. If you're fine, great. If not, please, let me help you.”

He tried to look anywhere but at you. It unnerved him that you got under his skin with so few words and he wondered for a second if that hit to the head did more damage than he thought. “I feel a little dizzy, but that’s all,” he admitted, and he felt better by doing so. 

You put a hand over his, little currents of electricity shooting up his arm. “Thank you for telling me,” you whispered, like it was your little secret. “Since you are feeling dizzy, I would like you to stay for observation.”

Bucky sighed. “How long do I have to stay?”

“As long as everything is stable and there are no new or worsening conditions, you’ll likely be discharged within an hour or two,” you replied. He almost argued that he healed from injuries faster thanks to the serum, but that wasn't too long. Better safe than sorry. At least it wasn't a headscan. “Would you like some water? I can get you a snack, too.”

The snack and drink were likely to make sure he could keep them down. “Sure, thanks,” he whispered. 

“Sorry that you’re stuck with me checking on you for the next hour or so,” you said. 

Bucky’s smile grew before he chuckled. “You won't hear me complaining,” he promised. 

Hell, he'd probably fake an injury just to see you again, or at least ask for you if he ever had to come back to the hospital for any reason. He wondered if you were single. You weren't wearing a wedding band or an engagement ring. That didn't necessarily mean-

“I’m single,” you said quickly.

He glanced at you before his eyes went wide. Shit, he said some of that out loud? “Oh, well, that’s…” He wasn't sure what to say. Should he apologize? “Nice.”

He grimaced. Nice? What was wrong with him? Maybe he had a concussion after all. 

You looked at him, your smile soft and easy. He either wasn't the first patient to make a fool out of himself like that or you were being nice. “I’ll be back shortly, but buzz if you need anything.”

“I will,” he said, his finger itching to push the remote the second you left him alone.

He leaned back in the bed and tried to make himself comfortable while he slowly looked around. How was it that the room seemed darker, as if you took a bit of the light and warmth with you? He shook his head slowly and carefully. It was a ridiculous thought. 

“Observation for an hour or two. You okay sticking around so you can drive me back?” he messaged Yelena. 

Yelena messaged back almost immediately. “Everyone is staying. Even Walker.”

He scoffed, but there was a smile behind it. “Not that you need my permission, but you can punch him if he steps out of line.” Yeah, John was still an asshole, but they did work together and he was trying. Some days. 

He perked up when you came back with a cup of water and a snack. “You doing okay?” you asked. 

“Since you left a minute or two ago, yeah,” he teased. 

“Were you a sarcastic guy before the hit to the head, or is this a new side to you?” you teased back. 

“Oh, the sass has always been there,” he said, taking a sip once you handed the drink over. “Better to be smart-ass than a dumbass, right?”

Why was he talking so much?

“So much better,” you smiled, going to the small computer to type something in. He tried not to stare as your fingers flew across the keyboard. He could always blame it on his head if you caught him. “I’ll be back in just a bit, but-”

“Buzz if I need you. I know,” he smiled. 

“At least there isn't too much sass in your tone,” you joked before you left him alone once again. 

If he didn't know any better he would think you were flirting with him, but you were just being a friendly nurse. 

He also tried not to eavesdrop when he heard you assisting others, but your voice drew his attention and he hung on your every word. You were professional, yet personal, showing each patient expert care. You lightly scolded an older gentleman who hadn't listened to you, which brought a smile to Bucky’s face when the man apologized and didn't give you any trouble after that. It was a delicate balance to be kind and assertive and you did it well. 

“You are something,” he said to himself. 

For the next hour or so Bucky didn't say much when you checked on him, but you had his undivided attention, his eyes following you wherever you went. He wanted to find excuses to keep you there and possibly make small talk, but it felt wrong when there were other patients who needed your attention. He caught that sweet scent again whenever you were close to him. Alluring, captivating. He tried to figure out if it was a body wash or just you. 

Something he noticed and tried not to was that your heart raced faster when you were near him. Maybe there was a slight chance that you were attracted to him? Beyond being a friendly nurse, maybe the possible attraction was why you kept smiling at him. He wanted to believe so. He wanted to feel your hand on his hand again. The brief touch had him wanting more, which was crazy. 

And before Bucky knew it, it was time to leave. 

“Vitals still look good. No change in symptoms,” you confirmed after he said the dizziness had subsided and he didn't feel at all nauseous after the snack. “Do you have someone to drive you home?” you asked. 

“Yeah, I have some friends here,” he answered. Even if he wasn't dizzy there was no way they'd let him drive after that. 

“Try to take it easy for the next 24-48 hours. If there are new symptoms or if the dizziness gets worse, you should return to the hospital,” you told him. “Other than that, I think you're good to go,” you smiled, but it didn't look as bright as before. 

Were you disappointed that he had to leave? Bucky was disappointed, but what could he do? He had no excuse to stay. Ironic how he was itching to leave when he got there when he now wanted a reason to stick around. 

“Thanks.” He grabbed his jacket after slowly getting to his feet, your gaze lingering on him when he slipped it on. 

“Why don't I walk you back to the lobby?” you offered. 

“Oh, you don't have to do that,” he said, regretting it since it sounded like a brush off and that wasn't his intention. “But if you wouldn't mind?”

Your face lit up, at least he thought it did. “I don't mind at all.”

Keeping a respectful distance, but not too much of a gap as you walked together, he stole a couple of glances at you. The quiet confidence in which you carried yourself was beautiful and you turned a few heads from nearby patients. He wondered if you noticed. 

He smiled to himself when he spotted his teammates sitting in the waiting area. None of them looked particularly comfortable, but they stuck it out for him. It meant a lot. 

“That group right there is my ride,” he said, not wanting you to go any closer. If they got the slightest hint that he enjoyed your company for a short time, they’d pounce. “Thanks again.”

“I’m glad I could help," you said, gazing at him. “Havd a good night. And don't forget to take it easy for the next 24-48 hours, hero.”

Hero. The nickname almost made him smile. “You have a good night, too.”

You lingered for just a moment, almost as if you expected him to say something else. When he didn't, you offered him one last smile and scanned your card to get back through the double doors. His shoulders dropped once you were out of sight. He should've said something. 

“Hello?” Yelena asked, snapping her fingers in front of his face. “What are you staring at?”

He blinked a few times. “Nothing.”

“Nothing? Oh, I think he was staring at that pretty nurse,” Ava answered. 

Bucky shot the entire group a glare, his cheeks hot. “No, I wasn't,” he grumbled. Except he was. He stared at you. And by the amused looks on their faces, they all saw it. 

Yelena exchanged a look with Ava before they both smirked. “Yes, you were. Do you like the nurse?”

Bucky’s fists curled. He was not having this conversation after a hit to the head. “Can we leave?”

“It’s okay to stare or have a crush. She’s a beautiful woman.” Alexei clapped a hand on his shoulder. “She would be lucky to date the Winter Soldier.”

A growl escaped before Bucky could stop it. Yes, you were beautiful. Did he need Alexei to point that out? And he didn't have a crush. How could he? 

“When was the last time you went on a date?” Ava asked. 

Bucky took a deep breath. He really didn't want to talk about this. “Does it matter?” he asked. 

“Ask her out! I drive you for your date!” Alexei offered, rubbing his hands together. “I’ll set the mood. You see.”

Yelena pinched the bridge of her nose and muttered, “Dad, stop.”

Bucky shook his head and shut his eyes, wishing he could teleport himself out of there. “Yes, please, stop.”

“Is your head okay?” Bob asked, making him open his eyes. Of course he was concerned with his pain, and Bucky was glad for the change of topic. 

“I’m fine,” Bucky assured him. There was nothing for him to worry about. “I just need to take it easy for the next day or so.”

John stretched his back once he stood up. “If you really want to see that nurse again I can make sure you get another hit to the head.”

Bucky’s eyes turned cold. “I’m not a killer anymore, but I may make an exception if you try anything.”

John held his hands up, but still had a smirk on his face before Yelena shot him a look. “A small injury could bring you back here.”

“No one is injuring me to bring me back here,” he announced. Everyone looked disappointed except for Bob. “What, you all want me to get hurt?”

Why did he decide to join this team again?

“No, we just want you to see the nurse again,” Ava said.

“Let’s go,” he ordered. 

As the group left, Bucky snuck one last look over his shoulder. You were a good nurse, and you made his night better. A small part of him hoped he made your night a little better, too. And while he certainly didn't want more injuries, a part of him did if only to bring him back to you.

So, what injury is Bucky getting so he can see you again? sebastian stan x reader, james bucky buchanan barnesLove and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[melwnst]

────── ⋆⋅☆ JET BLACK HEART, ROBERT ‘BOB’ REYNOLDS

summary. You walk into the void to try and save Bob, and for once, danger might help you more than harm you.

now playing ↬ jet black heart- 5 seconds of summer

⭑.ᐟokay I know I said I was gonna go back to Dean but I had this idea and I needed to post it lol. He drives me insane. Spoilers for thunderbolts*. Please send requests if u have any and interact :)

Word count. 983

my masterlist

──────────୨ৎ──────────

The second time is heavy. It’s full of fear, uncertainty. Chills run up your spine, your body goes cold, almost frozen because you just stepped into what could be death. You’re not sure why- maybe you didn’t mind. Or maybe you’re hopeful this doesn’t mean death, this means saving Bob from himself, saving New York, and saving yourself.

You don’t want to be here. You’ve been in the void once, although it was quick, that was enough for you. But Bob needs you. You didn’t think- you don’t think. You could’ve told them, made a plan, but you knew the moment he needed you, there was no stopping you, so you walked. You walked with such force it almost pushed the void back like it didn’t want you- like it was scared of you.

The moment the darkness engulfs you though, you know that you’re surrounded by your worst fears, your worst nightmares.

You waltz through the rooms, you know exactly what’s around you, who’s around you, but you don’t pay attention. You don’t look around, you’re determined to just find Bob.

When you walk into an unknown bathroom, you make the mistake to look into the mirror.

Your reflection makes your heart break. Because it’s not you. Rather it’s the old version- the broken one. The one who thought she’d be better off dead- gone. The one whose heart was so broken she barely had one anymore.

It’s only then that you truly realize it’s not a reflection.

It is her.

‘Not even a hello? That’s a bit rude don’t you think?’ She smiles at you. It’s psychotic almost- it’s a sinister smile that tells you everything you need to know.

‘He’s not here.’ She speaks again, as if she knows exactly who you’re looking for.

‘it doesn’t matter, you know? You’re here now. And if you think you can save each other from the pain, you’re deluded.’ She tilts her head, still wearing the smile.

You close your eyes and sink into the floor. Except after just a few seconds- it’s not just a metaphor. You feel the floor beneath your crumble- slowly. You’re actually sinking.

The moment you open your eyes, you see him.

It’s Bob.

‘You shouldn’t have come.’ He speaks but his voice is barely audible. Like he’s afraid- like he’s about to crumble completely, because the darkness has swallowed him whole.

He doesn’t look up at you though. His eyes burn holes on the ground while he plays nervously with his hands.

‘I’m here to bring you back Bob. You have so much out there and I’m sorry that you don’t see it but I can’t let you do this to yourself.’ You slide yourself to rest right next to him.

When you go to lay your hand on his, his demeanor changes. He flinches- like he’s afraid you’ll disappear completely if he dares touching you.

‘It’s so dark here. I can’t get out.’ His voice breaks a little.

That’s when you hear the shouting. The smashing. And you know exactly what it is.

You look at him, and he knows he doesn’t have to explain.

‘It’s been like this for hours. I can’t seem to leave this room.’ He laughs humorously like he can’t believe this is happening.

‘Look at me. I’m right here. I’m gonna get you out of here.’ Your hand touches his still after knowing it might hurt you, but this time he doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t move. He just looks at you. Tears in his eyes, hands shaky, heart beating out of his chest for you.

Then the room starts to shake. Before you have time to think, objects starts flying around, and soon enough you find yourself entangled in curtains, not the romantic way. The way that chokes the life out of you. Both you and Bob stare at each other in fear while the curtain wraps around your neck.

It feels like hours before someone cuts the sheets and saves you.

The thunderbolts.

It’s a long time before you end up finding the real source. You fight against whatever’s in bob’s void, you even fight against his old self.

Then you get to it.

Him.

The void.

Bob’s worst enemy.

It’s only after long minutes of being stuck against the wall and watching Bob losing it and taking the darkness that your body finds a force it’s never had before and you manage to get free and run to him.

‘It’s okay, I’m here.’ You hold him, trying to make him stop, the darkness swallowing his figure.

‘We’re here.’ Hands latch to your arms, to bobs.

Maybe they know it’s not just him they’re saving.

It’s you too.

The air’s thick. It’s scary, it’s tears falling out of everyone’s eyes.

Then the floor swallows you again.

Except when you open your eyes, the darkness quickly fades, your hand still latching to him desperately, yelena’s hand on your stomach. Everyone grunts, and you soon realize you’re back in New York. The void isn’t there.

The city’s regaining its sunlight, and apparently so is Bob.

You’re on your feet in seconds, everyone is.

And Bob’s smiling.

He’s looking around like he doesn’t have a single clue what just happened.

‘What happened?’ He speaks up the moment his eyes lay on you. His hand finds itself in your forehead gracing the gash.

‘I’m okay.’

You hear the others whisper.

Maybe him not remembering it isn’t such a bad thing.

He’ll just have to know that you were there for him.

When the team hears Valentina speaking on the phone, they’re after her in seconds.

‘C’mon’ you don’t hesitate to grab his hand and pull him along with you.

Bob’s confused.

Bob’s always confused.

He doesn’t know where this affection is coming from but he’d be lying if he said his stomach didn’t flutter the moment your hand touched his.

Bob’s confused, but he’s very, very happy.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Taglist: @tinas111 @blossomingorchids @bluemerakis @l0v33-rey @mostlymarvelgirl @that-stanford-girlie @sunnyteume @bohoooitsme @beelzebzb

please comment if you want to be added to/stay on the everything taglist OR be removed from it:)

💋comment this for everything taglist

🎵 this for supernatural taglist

🦸this for the Bob/mcu taglist!!!!

[lightsoutmatthews]

please an auston matthews with the “because i know you” prompt!

"Because I know you." - Auston Matthews

summary: a collection of things he does just shows how well Auston knows you.

pairing: Auston Matthews x female!reader

word count: 1.8k

warnings: none, just fluff

authors note:

since the request didn’t specify if you wanted angst or fluff I decided to make it sugary sweet :)

-----------------------------

It started with a cup of coffee being delivered to your office on a random Tuesday afternoon right at the second you were thinking about getting one for yourself from the coffee station down the hall.

You didn’t particularly like the coffee from there, it was cheap and the machine somehow managed to make it worse by brewing it, but it would have held you over for the rest of the day while you continued to read through emails and write responses like your life depended on it.

The cup from your favorite café in downtown Toronto was handed to you by one of your co-workers who raised her eyebrows at you. “I didn’t order that,” you told her outright, but she handed you the cup regardless. “The delivery guy said it´s for you,” she replied with a shrug of her shoulders.

There was no message on the cup, but you could guess from who it was. There was only one person who could know exactly when you could use a little pick me up at work.

He was smart by not putting a message on it. Your relationship not something really known to the public even though you had been together for over a year at this point.

You weren’t making a big deal about dating one of Torontos biggest athletes, especially around the office where his team was a topic of conversation on the daily. Not even your closest work friends knew who exactly you were dating. And it was good that way.

I Thanks for the coffee, exactly what I needed x

----------------------

The week after that lunch from your favorite restaurant was delivered in the same manner as the coffee was. No name on the order but yours, making your co-workers once again wonder if you were lying to them about not ordering it for yourself or if you actually didn’t.

You were knee deep into the finishing touches for one of the biggest projects of the quarter and barely had time to go and grab lunch from the cafeteria, much less to make the trip to any restaurant more than five minutes away from the building.

The delivery was godsend and like he knew, he sent enough so you had something to keep for the evening, since it was almost sure that you had to stay longer than usual and would only arrive home late, way after dinner time.

You hummed contently when you took the first bite, almost letting out a moan at how good the food felt after hours of working without taking a break.

He once again knew exactly what you needed at the right time, like he was a psychic that could read your mind all the way from his road trip across the country.

I thanks for lunch and dinner, exactly what I needed. Can´t wait to see you tomorrow. x

----------------------

The third time it happened was a week later when you finished the big presentation, and everyone gathered for a small party to celebrate the success, and that the client was happy with everything you had come up with in the weeks of hard work.

You were a little bummed because most people invited their significant others to the bar you were gathered at, unfortunately you couldn’t. Firstly, because your boyfriend wasn’t even in the country and secondly because still, no one knew who he even was.

A few of your co-workers asked about him but you kept telling them that he was away for work. Sometimes you wondered if they even believed you that he existed because you never mentioned him by name or brought him to any work functions that warranted bringing a plus one.

When a delivery person entered the bar, shouting your name for everyone to hear, you froze. “Sign here,” the guy rushed out, putting the tablet in front of your face quicker than you could react to anything.

You scribbled your signature before he handed you a box, a beautiful bouquet of flowers peeking through a hole at the top.

When you opened it, a bouquet waited for you, alongside a card.

One of your co-workers snatched it directly from the box before you could react. “Hey,” you laughed. “Congratulations on finishing your big project, sorry I can´t be there to celebrate. A.” she read.

You blushed at the message, he once again knew exactly what you needed from him in order to feel better about him not being there with you.

“Woah, we know mystery man is in fact real, and his first name starts with an A? We´ve been waiting for this confirmation for months!” you shook your head laughing. “That´s some expensive flowers, he´s got money.” Someone else chimed in.

“Give me that,” you laughed, snatching the card back before they could ask about it even more.

“One day you will introduce us to him,” someone chuckled. “Who knows, maybe you already know him,” you teased which only raised more eyebrows.

I The flowers are beautiful, thank you so much. x

--------------------------------

When you arrived at Auston´s place that night you were exhausted. The months leading up to this day catching up with you, swallowing all the energy you had left in your body, almost making you too tired to get out of the car and walk up to his door.

When you finally mustered up enough strength to make your way, he was already waiting in the frame. An easy smile on his lips, Felix next to him, excitedly wiggling his tail at your arrival.

“Hey snuff,” you greeted the dog, quickly patting his head before standing up straight again to greet your boyfriend, the flowers firm in one hand.

“Hey,” you greeted the tall man, a shy smile on your lips. “Hey,” he chuckled, opening his arms so you could slip right into his comfortable embrace.

Tension left your body as soon as he wrapped his arms around you. The familiarity of his arms taking every ounce of stress away for the moment.

“Long day?” Auston whispered in your hair. “Long month,” you replied chuckling. “Come on, I ordered some food and when were done I can set you up a bath before we go to bed.” You let out a loud sigh. Exactly what you needed.

---------------------

After eating on the couch, chatting about your days in hushed voices between laughter and shared bites, he made his way to the upstairs bathroom to set up a bath while you cleaned up the plates and made sure Felix got another snack before heading upstairs to join him.

The bathroom was lit up with a few candles he pulled from God knows where and it was smelling like your favorite bath salt. The one that you usually kept for special occasions because it was expensive.

“Since when do you have my favorite bathing salt in your bathroom?” He just laughed and shrugged his shoulders.

Raising you eyebrows at him you decided to let it go without questioning it any further and to just enjoy that he was paying enough attention to actually know what to buy.

While you were enjoying the warmth of the water relaxing your muscles and taking your mind off things Auston rumbled around downstairs doing something you didn’t care enough about to question. Every now and then you heard clinking, but it wasn’t worrying enough to go and check out.

A few minutes later he came back and handed you a glass of wine. “How did you know?” you questioned with another raised eyebrow, but he once again just shrugged and smiled before leaving you alone to soak and relax for as long as you wanted.

When the water started to get cold you got out. On the toilet laid a navy-colored hoodie. The exact one he was wearing earlier when you were sitting on the couch.

He knew one of you favorite things to do after a long day was to wear his hoodies, especially when there were worn and smelled like him.

You slipped the soft fabric over your head and inhaled deeply before putting your stuff away and making your way back to the living room after a quick detour to the bedroom to grab your phone and drop off your bag that you discharged in the hallway on your way.

Auston was snuggled up with Felix on the couch, your favorite movie already cued up, a warm blanket draped over him, the other half waiting for you to cuddle under and relax for the rest of the evening.

“You´re spoiling me today,” you mumbled after cozying up under the blanket, one arm placed on his chest, while your head rested on his shoulder.

“You deserve some relaxation after the month you had. I know how hard you worked.” A soft kiss to the crown of your head followed before the room was filled by only the sound of the movie and your soft breathing.

When you opened your eyes the next time the credits were rolling and Auston was playing on his phone. “Good morning,” he chuckled lightly before putting the device away.

“Hey,” you mumbled quietly. “Slept well?” he asked, an amused smile spreading on his face. “Yeah, but I need to go to bed, otherwise I won´t make it up,”

A soft laugh left his mouth. “Come on,” he said, getting up and holding out a hand for you to grab. When you stood at your full height he bent down and swept you off your feed, carrying your bridal style up the stairs.

“I can walk on my own, you know?”

Careful to not drop you he laughed. “I know, but sometimes you deserve to be carried.”

You shook your head but laughed at his remark.

When you were nestled in bed together, his arm lazily slung around your waist, your hand softly drawing the patterns of his tattooed arm you sighed. “What´s up?” he whispered.

“This evening was all I needed, from getting the flowers all the way to now,” you sensed that he felt a but coming. “no but, I promise, just a question,”

He nodded his head in a motion for you to go on. “How do you always know exactly what I need? Not that I´m complaining but it is a little scary that you sent me coffee the exact moment I was craving some, or sent me lunch on a day where I did not have time to get some myself?”

A quiet laugh left his mouth. “Easy question. It’s because I know you.”

“Thank you, for knowing me and for taking care of me.” You mumbled, already half asleep again. “That´s what I´m here for,” he laughed, which was the last thing you heard before you drifted off into sleep again.

[lovelybucky1]

dad!matt discovering you have degradation kink by accident and you're all embarrassed and tell him to forget about it but he's stubborn and honestly the fact that you're embarrassed only makes it easier to use that discovery against you. why is he so mean 😔

btw i'm in love with your blog, honestly as someone raised in a catholic environment even though i know it's okay to like a lot of things, i do sometimes feel idk... guilty? and places like your blog make me feel valid and i wanted to thank you for that

this warms my heart so much. i know im just a faceless smut writer on tumblr but im so glad that my writing has an impact on people. i appreciate you reading!! 🫶

even if you had a convincing poker face, it’d be useless against matt. he can tell when you’re lying before you even do so. honestly, there’s no point in him even asking you questions other than wanting to hear you say the answers out loud.

“c’mon, you can tell me. what are your deep, dark fantasies?” he asks, chuckling as you lounge on the couch together. your feet rest in his lap and his hand covers your shin, rubbing small circles over your skin.

“i don’t have any,” you say, matching his laughter.

matt’s smile shifts into more of a smirk and he looks at you with his head tilted to the side. “yes, you do.”

“no, i don’t,” you insist.

“i know when you’re lying, sweetheart.” he shifts so he’s facing you and he grabs your hands, holding them gently. “you know you can tell me anything.”

“it’s really not a big deal, i swear. just forget it.”

“you told me you wanted to call me dad in bed. how could this be any more embarrassing than that?” he teases, and in retaliation, you attempt to kick him in the chest, but he catches your ankle. “i can start guessing if you want.”

“dad,” you huff, pulling your foot back.

“let’s see… you want me to tie you up?” your heartbeat remains steady. “no. you want to have a threesome?” steady. “no. you want me to walk you around on a leash?” still nothing. “hmm…” you feel matt getting closer to the truth and your heartrate increases with anxiety. “you want me to be mean to you?”

your heart skips.

“that’s it,” matt says with a satisfied grin.

you whine as you hide your face in your hands. “please stop.”

“was that so hard, baby? i can be mean to you if you want,” he laughs. “i didn’t think you’d be into something like that. i guess i should’ve known,” he says as he pulls you closer to him by your ankle. “i’ve got myself a kinky little girl, don’t i?”

he takes ahold of your wrists and moves your hands away from your face, removing the only protection you had from facing your embarrassment. he makes you look at him and when he does, he can feel your pulse quicken even more.

“i can do this for you, you just have to tell me what you want me to say,” he says.

“i don’t know,” you shrug.

“don’t lie to me,” he says. “tell me.”

“like…” you trail off.

“like?” he mocks.

you rip the bandaid off. “whore and slut and dumb and pathetic,” you blurt out. “just be mean.” you said it so quickly that the embarrassment of your words doesn’t hit you until they’re all out. that’s when you realize that matt is doing this on purpose. “you asshole,” you huff.

“don’t be mad, sweetheart,” he chuckles. “i’m just doing what you want, right? making you all flustered and embarrassed is mean, isn’t it?”

you cross your arms and attempt to turn away from him, but matt anticipates it and stops you by pinning your arms at your sides. he moves to hover over your body and places his knee between your spread thighs.

“and you like it, don’t you?” he asks, this time more serious. when you don’t answer, he says, “tell me.”

“yes, i like it,” you whimper as he tightens his grip on your wrists.

“yeah, you do,” he smirks. “now tell me, do you want me to bring you to bed, or do you want me to fuck you on the couch like a slut?”

you don’t have to say a word. your rapidly beating heart tells matt everything he needs to know.

[mistressofthemanor]

masterofthemanor: Surprisingly, it took so little for him to finally make up his mind and reveal what he was most ashamed of- and he was so close to getting rid of that burden when suddenly, someone intervened. After all, it wasn't the right time, it seemed. Shutting his eyes tighter, he'd listened to the tone repeating, almost taunting him for his inability to speak his mind... his inability to focus and ignore everything, but what was important. He couldn't tell right away whether she'd told him that 'it was alright' because she wanted him to ignore the sound and go on or she was actually letting him know that it was okay that he had something to say he refused to do already, however, he didn't respond to her immediately, so she ended up sliding her arms down along his sides and standing back with an apologetic look. Just as moments prior, he'd hesitated for too long again. "I don't...*clears his throat* I doubt she'll tell you what she'd stumbled upon" He assumed, not having a clue on what exactly she wanted to discuss with her mother, however, he knew that she wouldn't say a thing about his new 'relationship' to Narcissa, but keep it a secret for his sake. "Go ahead... She needs to tell you something" He advised upon seeing her being torn, feeling down from yet another failure, but not wanting Celeste to feel let down by Narcissa because of him. He could have selfishly taken the moment and insisted he'd share what he wanted to first, however, putting someone else's needs before his felt more right to him, especially as the moment had already passed and he crawled back into his shell. "It's okay" He reassured her when the phone started ringing again after she'd declined the call, sounding weak even to his own ears, but he'd managed to give her a rather sad smile.

Narcissa didn’t move immediately after he gave his quiet permission. She simply watched him and the way his posture had changed, the flicker of sorrow in his eyes he tried to mask with a smile that didn’t quite reach them. He’d shut the door again and she knew it. However, what had struck her most was that he had been ready. Truly. She’d felt it in his arms, heard it in his voice just before the ring shattered everything. And now? Now he was tucking it all away again like the moment had never existed. The phone buzzed again, louder in the silence. Narcissa let out a breath, quiet and poised, and reached for it with a calm sense about her. She glanced down at the screen, then back at him. Then, she stepped forward again to touch his face lightly, cupping his cheek with her palm. Her thumb moved once, slow and deliberate, across the line of his jaw. Her eyes held his, steady and luminous, though there was a flicker of sadness behind them now. Not disappointment but rather just quiet grief for what had been lost to bad timing. She lowered her hand and stepped back just enough to answer the call. Her voice shifted easily into something softer, warmer, for Celeste’s sake. “Hello, darling,” she said into the phone, her tone smooth but her eyes never leaving Lucius. “Yes, I can hear you. Is everything all right?” And with that, she pivoted into the hallway, giving him a moment to breathe while she spoke to their daughter.

Bones of Contention

[halfway-happyyy]

sunday morning vignettes {frank castle}

who doesn't love a little morning sex? felt inspired to whip this up. it's short and sweet, and slightly smutty.

"I like my scrambled eggs and bacon, served by someone that I love." - 'give me that simple life', lorez alexandria

Her favourite mornings were the ones where she awoke to the feeling of his gaze already on her. When she couldn't be sure if he'd just woken up or if he'd been watching her for a while. She had asked him once why he did it, and after a long period of silence, he simply murmured - “I'm trying to memorize every inch of you just in case…” he never told her what the just in case was, but she knew. 

She turned on her side to view him fully, and decided that she liked him best like this. Alive, and warm, and so strong, next to her. She reached forward to trace a fingertip down the crooked bridge of his nose, and watched him smile into her touch. 

“You're something else, you know that?” she asked. 

Frank scoffed. “Somethin’ else is right. More rough road than man, most days. Don't know why you stick around, sometimes.” 

It hurt her heart to hear him speak that way about himself but she forced a smile regardless. 

“I think it’s mostly because you make a mean kimchi fried rice.”

The laughter that rumbled from him was low and warm, the mere sound of it akin to her favourite song. 

His brown irises glittered brilliantly in the warm sunlight pouring through their bedroom window, and she noticed that they were a lighter shade of umber than normal; his biggest tell that he was content. 

“Your mama ever tell ya it was rude to stare?” He simpered. 

“Course she did. But she also had an affinity for devastatingly handsome men, so I think she'd give me a pass.” 

They let the silence collect between them before she confessed that she wanted him. She was playing it coy. It was absolutely more of a need than a want, but she was sure he already knew that. 

He happily obliged her, shifting her onto her side, and easing himself to the hilt inside of her. He pressed his lips to the nape of her neck, and stayed anchored in her for longer than usual, reveling in the feeling of her all-encompassing warmth. Reveling in the notion that like this, they were two halves of a whole entity. 

“Missed this, baby.” 

So did she. He could be gone a day, a week, or months on end, and it would never take her long to miss the closeness. They fit together like he was made for her, and on mornings like this, she truly believed that he was. 

She reckoned she could live in this moment for the rest of her life; the sharp sting of being fully filled by him, blunted by the repeated brush of his lips against her neck. There was the person she was when Frank wasn't around, and then there was the person she was now - her favourite version of herself. She had no choice but to bloom like a flower under his devotion. 

His hand snaked around the front of her body, to the spot just below her belly where it rested while he continued fucking into her. 

He gently pressed down against her and whispered, “God, I can feel myself right in here,” The pressure was enough to cause a string of nonsensical curse words to spill from her slack mouth. “You take me so well, sweetheart… feels so damn good.” 

She knew then that she wasn't long for this particular world; could tell by the pleasure unraveling deep in her belly like a ball of yarn out of control. She tightrope walked the precipice of her release, knowing Frank would be the one to get her there. 

“You're close, sweetheart,” His husky voice as it traveled across her neck and left goosebumps in its wake, caused her to tremble against him. “and I want you to let go when you're ready. Want you to give it all to me, yeah?” 

She nodded earnestly, for the only sound she was capable of making was a desperate, mewling whimper. 

“Attagirl- that's it, keep going. Breathe through it with me, and ride it out. Feel everything.” 

More often than not, his voice and the words that flowed along with it, was the catalyst for her orgasms. This morning was no exception. She felt every inch of his cock as it moved inside of her, and suddenly she stilled against him, arched her back, and came around him with a series of breathless, high-pitched sighs. 

“Jesus,” Frank groaned, as he continued fucking her through it. “So beautiful like this, sweetheart.” 

She couldn't speak; could only focus on the delicious push-and-pull of him inside of her - so good it bordered on painful - “want you to come for me, Frank.” 

He didn't have to be asked twice. He pressed a last scorching kiss to the nape of her neck and stilled against her, allowing the waves of his orgasm to consume him whole. He stayed pressed against her long after he'd finished, and when he did eventually pull away, she felt his loss keenly. 

“Is it strange that I only feel completely whole when we're together like that?” She breathed. 

Frank waited a beat before kissing the rounded curve of her shoulder. 

“No, because I feel the same way.” 

While he drifted back into a shallow sleep, she rose for the day, in search of caffeine and some food. She settled on bacon and eggs, queued up her current favourite playlist, and got to work. It didn't take long for the scent of percolating coffee and frying bacon to rouse Frank, and he appeared in the doorway of the kitchen, wordlessly. 

“Hello, you.” She turned to beam at him from her stance in front of the stove. 

He pushed himself from the doorway to wrap his arms around her. 

“Hi, baby.” 

She gestured to their small wooden table. “Go sit down, hm? I'll make you a plate.” 

He pecked at her cheek and did as he was told. 

When she went over to pass him his plate, he caught her wrist in his hand. “I know I don't say it enough, but I wanted you to know that I love you, sweetheart. In case the sky falls on our head.” 

She caressed a palm to his cheek and smiled. “Love you too, Frank.” 

Love you always.

[vampz1re]

pairing: Vil x Yuu, Idia x Yuu, Malleus x Yuu, (All onesided)

cw: angst, hurt NO comfort, rejection, reader is called yuu, GN reader, one sided from yuus side then swapped! (tell me if there's anything else..?)

note: Heres part 2 of the last post ! Sorry for the really late posts :( . I swear i'm working on some more there's just been a lot going on ! This might be rushed, disorganized or just like not written good enough 😞💔

word count: 1.2k approximately

VIL SCHOENHEIT —

i

"Yuu. May I have a moment?"

His voice was polished as ever, but something about it trembled. You turned, finding Vil standing behind you in the corridor outside the ballroom, his usual poise fraying at the edges.

You nodded, although slightly hesitant. "Of course."

He stepped closer, not quite looking at you. "I owe you an apology. For that day. When you confessed."

You swallowed but said nothing, allowing him to continue

"I thought I was protecting myself. My career. My image. But the truth is, I was afraid of the way you made me feel. Vulnerable. Seen."

His eyes finally met yours, and there was no mask this time. Just honesty.

"I care about you. I think I always did. But I was too proud to admit it. And now I am standing here hoping it's not too late."

It was everything you had once wished to hear. But the ache that used to burn in your chest was long gone.

"I did love you, Vil. But I had to let that go. I couldn’t wait forever for you to look at me the way I looked at you."

Vil's breath hitched, and for a brief moment, the ever-composed actor looked heartbreakingly human.

"I understand," he said softly. "And I’m sorry. For not seeing you clearly until now."

You gave a small smile. "You always did have perfect timing. Just... not the right one."

This time, the loss was all his fault.

IDIA SHROUD —

“Yuu. Um… Could I… talk to you?”

You turned from your book slowly, surprised to see Idia standing just inside the library door. His usual hoodie was wrinkled, his hair a faint, unsure flicker of blue. He wasn’t fidgeting like normal. He looked… still. Intentional.

You marked your page. “Sure. What’s up?”

He hesitated, shifting from foot to foot, then walked over like he might bolt at any moment. But he didn’t.

“I’ve been thinking,” he began quietly. “About that day. When you told me you liked me.”

You felt the familiar ache stir in your chest, but you waited, unsure.

“I said something stupid. No — worse than stupid. I told you that you shouldn’t like me. Like I knew better than you. Like I had the right to decide that.”

His voice cracked slightly. He didn’t meet your eyes as he looked around as if the walls were more interesting.

“I was scared. I thought you were too good. I thought… if I let you get close, you’d see everything that’s wrong with me and leave anyway. So I figured I’d just do it first.”

You said nothing. You’d imagined this conversation before, too many times to count.

“I was wrong. I know that now. I liked you then. I still do. And if there’s even a tiny chance…”

You gave him a soft smile, and it stopped him cold.

“Idia. I waited. I hoped. I wanted so badly for you to say what you’re saying now. But eventually, I had to let it go.”

He looked like he’d been unplugged from the world. No glitch. Just grief.

“I get it,” he whispered. “Too late. As usual.”

You nodded, but gently. “It doesn’t mean your feelings don’t matter. They just… came after I needed them most.”

He understood. He had waited to long and the deadline for the ssr moment had long been gone.

MALLEUS DRACONIA —

“Yuu. I have been seeking you.”

You looked up in confusion to find Malleus standing beneath the cherry blossom tree, bathed in moonlight, looking every bit the prince he was. But his eyes were soft, uncertain.

“I wished to speak. If you will allow it.”

You nodded slowly. “Alright.”

He approached, each step deliberate, each word careful.

“When you confessed your heart to me, I did not respond. I let the silence between us speak in my place. I did not understand my own feelings, nor the weight of your vulnerability.”

You remembered. That long, still moment. The cold breeze. The way his gaze had drifted away as if he hadn’t heard.

“I now know what that ache in my chest was. What it still is. I love you, Yuu.”

The world was quiet for a moment, but inside, you felt only stillness. No flutter, no pain — just clarity.

“I loved you,” you said, voice gentle and holding a certain weight. “I waited for something. Anything. But when none came, I learned to stop hoping.”

He bowed his head, as if the air itself had become heavier.

“Another has found your heart.”

You gave a soft nod. “And they gave me what I needed when I felt invisible. I’m sorry.."

“There is nothing to forgive,” he said quietly. “I only regret that I did not speak sooner."

You reached for his hand and gave it a light squeeze, smiling softly - the smile not fully reaching your eyes.

“Thank you for coming. I needed to hear it. Even if it’s too late.."

He nodded once, his expression unreadable, then turned toward the trees — his figure blending into the quiet night as gracefully as he had arrived.

[asce-of-hearts]

repair man toji...

You remember that one time someone told you that before living alone, you should get a small tool kit and learn the basics of repairing electrodomestics.

Well, that clearly is shit advice, because now you're sitting in front of your broken kitchen sink, pieces everywhere. So, with your pride torn to shambles, you finally decide to call a repair service. Fortunately, the lady on the phone is sweet enough to understand your urgency, and sends someone right away.

As soon as you hear the knock on your door, you're running towards the door. You expect to find a regular plumber, instead, you're faced with two pecs the size of your face. And you look up, up, up, feeling smaller and smaller as you finally find the face of the guy the agency sent. He's big, no, big is an understatement. He is enormous, gigantic, barely able to not hit himself on the head as he looks down at you. His hair is messy, black bangs that cover his forehead. The uniform is too tight on him, you can tell by the way it almost pleads for you to free it of its suffering as it tries its hardest to stay together while gripping his enormous arms. And his eyes, mossy green. He has that look that he's done with everything, maybe he is, the way he cocks a brow and that scar over his lip stretches as he speaks.

"Did you need the service or...?" His words almost make you jump. With a quick nod you apologize and let him in, guiding him to the kitchen and showing him the little mess you made.

"I- I tried to follow a tutorial on youtube but... that clearly didn't work." You mumble, a sheepish smile over your face. He smirks, gently pushing you aside as he crouches down to examine your previous work.

"Don't worry 'bout that. I'll take care of it." He says, and gets to work immediately. Your eyes zero on his broad back, the way you can almost see the muscles as he loosens and fastens and does stuff to the intricate machinery of the pipes underneath your sink. How the veins in his arms pop up.

"So, uhm... you like your work as... as a repair guy..." You awkwardly try and make small talk, he only gives you a small hum in response.

"Not particularly." He says, and you have to force yourself to not look further downwards at where his pants seem to be stretched to the limit.

"Ah. That- That sucks?"

"Pays the bills. Couldn't strive for anything better anyways."

You're frozen in place, not knowing what else to do or say to distract yourself from the thoughts that plague your mind. The angel and the devil over your shoulders both screaming the same thing.

FUCK HIM. FUCK THIS GUY. FUCK HIM!!!!

His work ends sooner than you would've liked. And he leaves as soon as you pay him. His eyes lingering on places they shouldn't enough for you to notice, just a bit. Slightly disappointed, you make your way to the kitchen sink. Now working perfectly.

But you can for sure manage to break it again. Can't you?

The next thing to misteriously break after his service is your shower. You call the same agency, and plead for them to send the same guy. Toji, you got his name through the phone, and he will quickly be on his way.

Strangely, a pair of lacy, black underwear is left on the bathroom floor. Oh, how clumsy on your behalf, really. He gives you a playful smile that tries to disguise the lusty intent behind his eyes, and you can see the bulge that has you salivating. Surely it won't do no harm to have him stay for lunch, right? After all he has been just so good, and coming two days in a row must be an exhausting task.

So, when it's the fourth time this week that something has broken inside your apartment, and you have gotten his personal phone to have him come aid you. He decides to teach you himself.

"You wanna know how to repair a bed?" He grins, predatory. And your eyes widen, confused.

"My bed isn't—"

Those words have died long inside your mouth long ago as Toji pounds your little hole with the force of a man who hates you. Even when it's quite the opposite, he hates the little games you have played, when you could've had him in your bed since the very beginning. He would've never refused a slutty little thing like you.

"You were sayin'?" He grunts in your ear, slapping your ass hard as he forces your face further into the mattress with his hand. Ass up, face down, just how he likes it. And he continues, the incessant plapping and slapping of wet skin against wet skin making everything around you spin in circles that have you oh so dizzy. And his hands, they rest on your scalp, pulling you to force your back into the lewdest arch as he makes you squirt over your already soiled sheets. Cum leaking from your pretty cunt in industrial quantities. "Maybe I'll hafta fix you this time. You're so stupid and cock-drunk already." Another smack to your ass, and you're howling as your insides constrict his cock with force, not wanting him to pull out ever again.

The rough pads of his fingers come to toy with your clit, to squeeze and pull and pinch at your pretty nipples. He's grinning, he's a wolf, he's ruthless.

"You like ex-convict cock that much, dirty girl?" He croons, and you nod, drooling as he continues to ravage you at a fast and hard pace. "Say it, mama. Tell me how much you love my dick."

"I- I luv— So good, Toji—!" You manage to slurr out, making him thrust harder if that was even possible. Pumping another load inside your womb. The tip of his cock smooching your cervix time and time again.

And then you hear it, and you scream when the bed gives in to his force and finally collapses on the ground. At least you're safe and secure in Toji's arms. Breathing heavily, sweaty, sticky, and his.

"This... this service is on the house." He murmurs, staring at your pretty, fucked out face.

TAG LIST

TOJI M.LIST

TAGGING: @sunnymmoon  @lilithlunas    @eroscastle @goldenglow149 @lurexin @stranger00001 @kitzusune @mizzhellsingsstuff @lakxcpsta @coolnekochan9961 @notreallyablogger @lilyalone @oliviathatgirl @hannas16 @mimihaitani @raxshall @ayn-yurbestie @janeisnotonline @architectofsuffering @mrstraffy @thatoneweirdkidattheplayground @poopooindamouf @samstrav @yutterfly @staarflowerr @nanamiswife @majissunshine @privthemis @starberryzos @waywardfanwinner @darlingken @tenaciousavenueavenue @l-lailiy @bluemailhiot @kaylarilla @snowsilver2000 @blackbangs @nutz4nainaiiii @mallowryblog @whatsupbishs @vex-ria @amayaaaxx @sofi4dsam @moemeowsalot @lazypostfandomer

[nadvs]

the power play (part eight) (end)

pairing hockeyplayer! rafe cameron x tutor! reader

rating mature 18+

summary rafe is your complete opposite. the only thing you have in common with the hockey player you tutor is that he’s also recently had his heart broken. in a last-ditch effort to make the people who hurt you regret it, you agree to pretend to date.

Time folds into itself as you lie in Rafe’s bed, slipping in and out of a tired daze, lulled by the sound of his heartbeat.

When he shifts and exhales a sharp wince, you don’t know how many minutes have passed, but you’re sure it’s time to leave, to give him all the space he can get in his bed.

“I should go,” you whisper, sitting up slowly.

He’s in a trance, his shoulder aching, exhaustion seeped into his bones.

Your warmth is gone.

He sees your figure in the dark.

You leave as quietly as possible.

════════

The next day, Rafe walks out through the campus gym doors after meeting with his coach and physical therapist. Turns out the tear isn’t nearly as bad as it could’ve been, but as expected, there’s no chance in hell he can play for a while. He’s out of tournament.

He’s lost. It’s like he forgot his own name. Hockey is the constant in his life, or it was, and it’s messing with his head that he won’t be spending hours training or practicing or playing anymore. Instead, he’ll either be in physio or resting, and the closest he can get to the ice is on the bench.

His coach had said that at least it happened at the end of the season, that he’s only a sophomore with so much ahead of him, but all Rafe can feel is disappointment ripping through him.

His phone buzzes with a text from you.

I hope you’re ok. Guessing you can’t make it today?

Right. It’s Thursday. He’s supposed to meet you for tutoring in an hour.

If he never hurt himself last night, if today was a normal day, he’d be in class right now, his morning workout done, his body buzzing with the hot anticipation that he feels every time he’s about to see you.

But today’s far from normal. You said nothing after he kissed you last night. He’s an idiot for making a move on a girl who’d told him so many times that she doesn’t want a boyfriend.

But you’re the one who curled up next to him, who cried over his pain as if it were your own, who told him you care about him.

It’s insane what you do to him. He never runs in circles like this, never dwells on what a girl might be thinking, because he doesn’t have to. In any other situation, he’d cut to the chase and tell you that he wants you.

But the embarrassment from what happened last night still stings. He wouldn’t survive it, hearing you say you don’t see him like that, that you’re not looking for a relationship. When he’s so sure it’d end in an awkward rejection, what’s the point?

After everything that happened in the last 24 hours, it’s a loss he wouldn’t be able to cope with.

════════

You’re writing in your agenda as you wait in the study room, your pen smoothly gliding over paper. Your phone is sitting beside your notebook, and you unlock it to reread Rafe’s text from half an hour ago.

I can make it.

You’re tense about seeing him after last night.

You don’t know what to do. There’s no misinterpreting it. He kissed your forehead and there’s no way he would do that if he didn’t feel something deeper than friendship for you.

Still, it’s sad how hard it is to believe that a guy sees you like that, all because of the mark that Beck left on you. Rafe had once called you clueless about this stuff, and he was right.

The memory of how he’d snapped at you in the car that night serves as a reminder of how cold he can be, and how you’re not entirely confident you could handle loving someone like that.

You’re carrying too much baggage. So is he. You’d thought Rafe came into your life at the perfect time, but if anything, the timing couldn’t be worse.

You’re still working through your heartbreak and you don’t know if you can be with someone when you need to work on yourself. Especially when that someone distances himself from you whenever you ask the wrong question.

You’re scared. If you gave Rafe your heart, truly, all the way, there’s no telling if it’d be in good hands.

His broad figure appears in the doorway, his expression guarded.

“Hey.”

“Hi,” you say. You motion to your own arm, immediately noticing that he’s not wearing the sling you saw him in last night. “You don’t need the…?”

“It’s not that bad,” Rafe murmurs, nudging the door shut with his good elbow.

“I thought you tore it,” you say, your voice laced with concern. He sits down with his elbow bent, his injured arm tight against his body.

“I’m not going to need surgery or anything,” he repeats what he discussed earlier at the gym. “Few months of physio and meds and I’ll be good.”

“And rest, right?” you say. “You forgot to mention rest.”

“What do you know?” he says with a small smirk.

You mirror his smile, glad that although something so awkward is weighing over both of you, you can share a lighthearted moment.

“A lot,” you reply. You hold up your pen. “Do I need to give you another reminder tattoo?”

He scoffs, but he’s not sure he could tell you no if he tried, especially if the offer includes you touching him.

To your surprise, he lays his forearm on the desk. You chuckle, leaning forward, gently writing rest! on the inside of his wrist, right where you’d written your study room number on him all those nights ago.

“I think I have a future in this,” you say, admiring your work. He gazes at you as you tilt your head and blow cool air over the wet ink. “How are you?”

“Good,” he answers, in a melancholy daze. “You?”

“I’m good,” you reply. You meet his eyes again. “So, only a few months until you’re better? What’s the healing process going to be like?”

“The physio gave me a whole list of crap I gotta do,” he answers with a sigh.

“Do you have it with you?”

He hands you the sheet of paper jammed at the side of his backpack. You read over the instructions, tips on managing pain, on the importance of nutrition and rest, on avoiding rigorous activities.

You skim over one of the bullet-points in the middle. Sleep on your back with the injured arm supported.

“They even tell you how to sleep?” you try to joke. “So, you shouldn’t have someone else on top of you. Lesson learned.”

What happened last night is out in the open now, the atmosphere strained with tension. Your eyes are still on the page. He can see you’re uncomfortable and he respects that you’re addressing it.

“I shouldn’t have…” He grimaces, embarrassed all over again. He has no choice but to brush the kiss off, to lie his way out of this. “I was on a lot of painkillers last night.”

He wants you to look disappointed so badly that it makes him ache, because then he’d take his words back and call bullshit on himself. But when you glance up at him, the look on your face is one of relief.

“Don’t worry about it,” you say, looking back down at the paper. You’re alleviated of your anxiety. He either didn’t mean the kiss, or he doesn’t want it to turn into something, and it’s better this way. Safer. “How often do you have to do therapy?”

Rafe tells himself he can deal with the hurt later, that now’s not the time to lose it, even though he’s on the edge. He pulls his laptop out of his bag, finding it so much harder now that he can’t use both arms.

“Twice a week,” he answers, his words stiff.

“And exercises you have to do on your own,” you murmur sympathetically, reading over the page. “This is a lot. I bet you can get accommodations for school. Deadline extensions at the very least.”

You put the paper down, smoothing out the wrinkles, trying to make sense of why your heart is racing right now. Rafe throws you for such a loop that you don’t even know how it’s possible to be both eased and troubled by him shrugging off what happened last night.

“I’m really sorry you can’t play anymore,” you tell him.

“Nothing I can do about it now.”

His scowl is hard as he logs in onto his computer, typing with one hand.

“I’m not just saying this,” you tell him. “The team wouldn’t have made it so far without you.”

He doesn’t need the reminder of what he’s lost, the agony of how much work he put in just to spend the rest of the school year behind the boards.

“Those guys will be fine,” he says with a sardonic chuckle.

It hurts you to see him so sure of it.

“No way,” you reply. “They’ll miss you.”

His throat is raw and he wishes he could just disappear right now, because he’s seconds away from breaking down. His eyes burn and he swallows it down, forcing everything he’s feeling away.

“Let’s not do this, okay?” he says sharply, his gaze still off you.

And with that, Rafe proves your point. That it’s not just you who might be emotionally unavailable, but him, too. Even after what you’d done last night, even after you’ve shared so much with him, you’re kept at an arm’s length, good enough to kiss, but not good enough to be honest with.

“Did you finish the book?” you ask.

“No,” he states, stoic and disinterested.

You’d normally call him out for his bad attitude, but after what he’s gone through, you’d just feel guilty for it.

You compel yourself to just be his tutor right now – not his friend, not the girl he pretended to date – but his tutor, tasked with one job and one job only.

Rafe finally lets his eyes land where they want to be most, on you, when you ask if you can take his laptop to start working on the next assignment.

But you won’t look at him back. He can tell that you don’t want to.

════════

The moment Rafe gets to his dorm room after your tutoring session, he feels like he’s stalling with nothing left to drive him. His thoughts are tangled together, his body aches, and he has no idea what to do next.

He sits on the edge of his bed. He should probably look over those recovery instructions again, email his profs and teaching assistants about accommodations, do some school work to keep himself busy, but it’s like he’s frozen.

He looks down at the floor, his vision going blurry. The only person, if anyone, he could talk to about this right now is you.

But he can’t even do that. Especially not when you’re mad at him. He snapped, and then you were distant and talked only about his schoolwork for the rest of your hour together.

He feels like shit for how he treated you. He didn’t expect to do it, but you can be so stubborn, forcing him to talk about shit that he can’t talk about.

He lies in bed, still in painful disbelief of how quickly things can change, and how he has no control over any of them.

════════

It’s nearing six p.m. when Rafe wakes up. He checks his messages, hoping you texted him like he always does when he picks up his phone. But of course, there’s nothing from you.

He reads over the team’s group chat texts that he didn’t get to answering. After a few messages asking Rafe how he is after Coach told everyone he’s out for the season, some of the guys texted about a party tonight.

Being surrounded by noise and getting a break from reality sounds like just what he needs. And because he misses you and has no willpower when it comes to you, he texts you: Down to go to a party tonight?

You reply minutes later: Look at your tattoo.

He smirks to himself, glancing down at the word you’d written on his skin, and texts you again: I’ll just be standing there. That counts as rest.

You’re walking through campus to grab dinner, staring at your phone as you weave through crowds, your stomach in a knot.

It’s been that way since Rafe left the study room earlier today. You hate that you’re back in this headspace, overanalyzing, wondering what a man really feels about you.

You did it for years with Beck, going back and forth between being sure he liked you and feeling sad that he didn’t.

It shouldn’t be this complicated. You have fun with Rafe. He gets you, and you think you get him. He’s flawed, but so are you, and that doesn’t mean things can’t work out.

But it feels impossible. You’re not sure you can give each other what you both need. And you’re still hurting from the way he’d brushed you off today yet again, refusing to let you in.

With an aching heart, you text back: Sorry, I can’t tonight.

════════

Rafe’s limbs are heavy and hot as he leans against a wall, surrounded by his closest friends on the team. He’s letting them do the talking, too in his head to even think about having any real fun.

He wishes you were here.

He heads towards the kitchen to grab a drink. He spots a familiar face. And it’s the last thing he needs.

“Hey,” Emma says, leaning over the counter as she fills up a cup. “Where’s your little girlfriend? Not hanging onto you like usual?”

It’s the first words she’s spoken to him since their breakup. That night feels like a lifetime ago.

“What the fuck are you doing talking to me?” he mutters.

Her eyebrow raises in that infuriating way that tells him she’s enjoying getting a rise out of him.

“Warning you,” she laughs. “She’s kind of twisted. I don’t know if a normal person would hear all about your red flags and then like, cling onto you.”

“What’d you say to her?” he asks, his jaw tensing.

“She didn’t tell you?”

“We don’t talk about you.”

Rafe hates that it’s a lie, that he wasted so much of his limited time with you talking about someone else.

“I just told her the truth,” she says.

His nostrils flare as he glares down at her, at a loss for how he ever thought he saw any good in her. After he’s gotten to know you, after he’s seen what it’s like when someone treats him like he’s not a burden, he could never want someone like Emma again.

“I’m sure it’s nothing she hasn’t seen for herself by now,” she says when he doesn’t respond. “Obviously, she heard what an asshole you are. That must be her type. Or it could’ve been the part I said about how pathetic you were, crying to get back together. Maybe she wants to fix you.”

So, that was your first impression of him. That’s what you’ve kept from him.

Rafe heads back to his friends without saying another word. There was a time he was dying for Emma to talk to him. Now, he can’t waste another second around her.

He got what he wanted. She’s jealous. And that guy he saw her with before isn’t around.

He won.

But the victory is hollow.

════════

“It’s not pretty,” Isaac tells you, one foot outside the locker room, “but I got everybody to write something.”

“Thank you,” you say, taking the card. You look around the hall again, as if Rafe will catch you, even though you know he wouldn’t be in this part of the arena right before the semi-final game.

“I did say I owe you,” he replies.

“He’s watching from the bench?” you ask.

“Yeah,” Isaac answers, wincing. “How is he?”

“Fine, I guess,” you reply with a sad shrug. “He won’t really talk about it.”

You haven’t heard from Rafe since last night after you texted him back. But based on how Isaac’s acting, you can tell he hasn’t told anyone about your breakup, saving you from having to come up with any explanations.

“The guy’s a vault,” Isaac half-chuckles.

You nod, glancing down at the card, opening it up to see messy, scribbled messages from the guys on the hockey team written across the inside.

You’d bought the blank card at an on-campus convenience store after asking Isaac if the team did anything to commemorate Rafe after his forced departure. When he told you everyone was too preoccupied with the tournament, you took it upon yourself to do something.

You’re not upset with Rafe anymore. Not after you’ve taken time to reflect that he doesn’t have to tell you anything he doesn’t want to, no matter how much you wish he would. Not when you recall how heartbroken he was when he insinuated that his teammates won’t miss him.

“It’s nice of you to do this for him,” Isaac offers.

“Thanks. I think he needs to hear that people care about him.” You take a step back. “Good luck tonight.”

════════

It’s difficult for you to even imagine watching the semi-finals. You tell Lyla you’re too swamped with studying to attend.

The truth is that you know sitting in those stands will just make you feel the lack of Rafe, the wrongness of him not being on the ice, the gap in your chest that he left.

It’ll break your heart to see him on the bench, instead of in the game where he belongs.

You stop by his dorm room to slide the card under his door. And then, you go home to distract yourself with schoolwork, hoping that with enough time, you can finally feel like yourself again.

════════

You send the text a few minutes after you check to see that the team won, left with one more game to potentially win the championship.

Can you come over?

Nerves stitch your stomach when you receive his response that he’ll be there in twenty minutes.

Eventually, there are soft raps on your door, and when you open it, Beck looks exactly how you expected him to. Confused.

“I’m going to talk,” you tell him, “and I want you to listen and be honest with me, got it?”

He nods, brows furrowed as you step aside. He walks into your room, leaning against your desk as you sit on your bed.

You take a deep breath, nervous but already relieved that years of pressure will be off your shoulders after you say this.

“You know what you did to me,” you say, “and I don’t want you to pretend like you don’t. You strung me along. For years. You knew I liked you, didn’t you?”

Beck glances to the side, adjusting in his haphazard seat.

“It's not like I…” he mumbles.

“What?”

“I liked you, too,” he says, looking like it pains him to admit it. “I – I do like you. Still.”

It’s not what you expected.

“Since when?” you say in a huff of disbelief.

“It’s been a long time,” he answers.

You can only scoff. He sighs, clearly uncomfortable.

“You’re my sister’s best friend,” he says quietly. “Can you imagine how weird it would be if it didn’t work out?”

It’s a sudden, overwhelming realization, hitting you like an ice cold wave. The only reason he never acted on his feelings was because he was afraid of a mere possibility. Maybe it wouldn’t end well, so he saw no reason to even try.

“That’s why?” you say. “Why not just tell me?”

“Because of this,” he says tensely, motioning between you.

“Because of an awkward conversation?” you say. “How is that any better than what happened after your final? You stopped talking to me after that.”

“I thought… with time, we’d go back to how it was,” he mumbles. “And that maybe, we’d both just lose feelings. But then you started dating Rafe and… I can’t handle seeing it. You shouldn’t be with him.”

You hate how he said Rafe’s name, as if it was a swear word. It’s the only thing you can focus on. Not that he just told you what you’ve been wanting to hear for years. Just that he speaks about Rafe like he’s bad.

And Rafe isn’t bad. He can be difficult and short-tempered, but he can also be warm. Passionate. Funny. Caring.

And you love him.

Damn it. You love him.

“I don’t need you worrying about who I’m dating, okay?” you say sharply. “Maybe if you were a friend, sure, but you’re barely even that anymore.”

“Why are you talking like this?”

Beck seems jarred by your contempt. You’re surprised yourself. You always thought you’d sugarcoat your words with him, that you’d care about his feelings too much to ever be brutally transparent.

But this is necessary. And you realize you couldn’t have gotten here without Rafe.

“Because I deserve honesty,” you say. You let out a shaky sigh. “I know you didn’t want to have a hard conversation, but avoiding it led to this. An even harder one. You weren’t wrong to worry that we would never work out. We wouldn’t. I just want things to be civil from now on. Like you said, Lyla’s my best friend.”

Beck shakes his head slightly. It almost looks like he had some semblance of hope that this conversation would go another direction.

“You know he’ll just hurt you, right?” he says. “I saw him fighting with his old girlfriend all the time. He’s a jerk.”

“You don’t know him,” you mutter. “And you’re in no place to call him that. Not after how you treated me. You expected I’d always be on the sidelines, waiting for you, and then got mad when I started seeing someone else. It isn’t fair.”

Beck shakes his head in frustration and walks to the door, but stops himself before he turns the doorknob.

“I’m sorry,” he says, his back still to you. “You’re right. Let’s… be civil.”

It’s a glimpse into why you once liked him so much. He has a soft heart, desperate to run from conflict. But conflict is inevitable. And you can’t be with someone who doesn’t see that.

“Okay,” you say to his back.

The door shuts behind Beck with a hard thud, closing a chapter you’re glad to see end.

════════

You eventually text Rafe: Are you going out with the team? I’m free. Just saying.

Now more than ever, you miss him. It feels silly to distance yourself, to do exactly what Beck did with you and stay away from someone just because there’s a chance that it’ll end badly.

Every part of you longs for him, for the feeling you get when you’re around him, and you can only hope he wants to see you tonight, too.

He responds that he’s on his way to pick you up.

════════

Rafe pulls up to your building, unable to stop his mind from stumbling down memory lane. He idled here for the first time so long ago, with only revenge on his mind, waiting for a ridiculously cheerful and talkative girl to sit in his passenger seat.

When you open the car door and flaunt your bright smile as you climb in, it’s like his heart found its way back to him, like you hold onto it when you aren’t together and parade it around when you are.

“Was it you?” he asks.

“Was what me?” you say.

“The card.”

You grin, glad he got a chance to go back to his room before coming to pick you up. You don’t need the recognition. You’re just glad he seems happy about it.

You notice both of his hands on the steering wheel, recalling how he could only type with one a few days ago.

“Nice,” you say, buckling your seatbelt. “Your pain meds must be working. That’s great. I have to tell you something. I finally talked to Beck. I kind of… told him off, I guess. And… you can say you told me so. You were right. He did like me. Or actually, he does. It was a lot to take in.”

Rafe grimaces, hating to hear that the guy you once said you loved told you he wants you, too. He drives out onto the road, his body tense.

“I told him that it’ll never happen,” you continue. “And he was bitter. And he’s convinced things are going to end badly with you and me. I wonder how we should tell people we’re broken up. Do we just… mention it if they ask? I haven’t told anyone. You haven’t either, right?”

You finally look over at him, gazing at his profile.

Rafe is relieved that you really are done with Beck, that you’re acting like yourself, that you’re in his car again, rambling, filling his life with a light he never had before.

He’d rather not talk about your fake breakup. And definitely not about Beck. He doesn’t have it in him to waste any time with you focusing on someone who hurt you.

“Just admit it,” he murmurs.

“Admit what?”

“The card,” he mutters playfully.

You sigh, realizing he won’t let you get away with not taking credit for it.

“Did Isaac tell you?” you ask.

“Nobody told me.”

“If you want to call me corny, just do it,” you laugh. “Never stopped you before.”

Rafe smiles sadly. Admittedly, it felt good to read the messages from the guys, seeing that they really will miss him. But he doesn’t deserve you doing that for him after the way he lost his cool on you.

“I thought you were pissed at me,” he says.

“I was, a little,” you confess.

“Sorry I snapped,” Rafe says regretfully. “If you were mad, then why’d you do it?”

His voice is soft, just like it was when he’d asked you why you came to his room the night he injured himself.

“That’s why,” you say. “You always seem so surprised that people care about you. I just wanted to give you proof that they do.”

You interlace your fingers together, glancing out the window.

“And it’s okay. I’m not mad anymore,” you say. “I think at some point, I started to take it personally when you don’t want to talk to me. Sorry. I don’t mean to force you. I’ll stop.”

Rafe taps his thumb on the steering wheel. For once, he doesn’t want you to stop.

“It’s because it’s new for me,” he mumbles, giving in.

“What?”

“Someone caring as much as you do is new for me,” he replies. “That’s why I seem surprised. It throws me off.”

Your lips part, but the words won’t form. You’re in shock that he’s opening up, especially when you didn’t ask him to, when you just told him you’ll stop pushing.

“And I’m not used to getting asked so many questions,” Rafe says. “You never stop.”

“I am kind of relentless,” you say, crinkling your nose and smiling. “You make me curious, though.”

“I can tell,” he mumbles, earning a chuckle from you. “We’re good now, yeah?”

You’re touched that he worries this much about you being upset with him. Some time in the last few months, throughout your tutoring sessions and the events you attended as a fake couple and all the moments in between, he really did start caring about you.

It’s nice, because you feel the same way about him. How deep those feelings go remains unspoken, and you’re not sure you can face them yet.

“We’re good,” you reply. “I can’t stay mad at you. You’re too charming. In like, a really grumpy, always mad at everything type of way.”

“Wow,” Rafe huffs, pretending to be offended while flashing the smile you always get hypnotized by.

“Was that rude?” you quip. “You’re rubbing off on me.”

His smile widens, certain now that if he only has you like this, as a friend, it’s so much better than not having you at all.

════════

“How’d that presentation go?” Rafe mumbles in your ear.

You’re standing on the bar’s back patio with the team and the rest of the usual social circle, surrounded by music and chatter floating through the warm late spring air.

You’re right next to him, but not touching in any way, because there’s no reason to fake affection anymore. But knowing this doesn’t make it any easier to stay away from him.

“For my group project?” you clarify. “Picture me and three guys in front of a full lecture hall. They’re taking turns reading off of Wikipedia and I’m trying to pretend that I’m not losing my mind.”

Rafe chuckles, enamored.

“I got a good individual grade, though,” you say. “Wait. Did you ever check what you got on your midterm?”

“No.”

“Please do,” you say, bringing your clasped hands to your chin.

He sucks his teeth, a little nervous as he pulls his phone out of his pocket. He feels your cheek against his good shoulder as you lean in to look.

“An A,” you say proudly, leaning against him, your hand curled around his bicep. You did it without thinking, the closeness feeling more natural than anything you’ve felt before, a hard contrast to how hesitant you’d once been to touch him.

“Thought we broke up,” he murmurs, glancing down at your hand on his arm. It’s his way of testing why you’re touching him like this, aching to hear you say you’re doing it because you want to.

You look up through your lashes, eyes trained on his, silence sweeping over you. You have to feel it, too. He’s sure of it.

“Right,” you reply with a chuckle, hoping to smile your way out of the split in your chest. “Yeah. We are.”

You let go, crossing your arms as you awkwardly look away. You should have known your instincts were wrong, that Rafe is just another guy leading you on, confusing you, whether it be on purpose or not.

He can’t take what it feels like when you pull away like that. He once thought he could handle not acting on his feelings for you, but he can’t. He needs to know what’s so wrong with him, if Emma’s words poisoned you before he even had a chance with you.

“Is it because of what she said?” he says, squaring his shoulders to face you, to try to separate both of you from the rest of the group.

“Is what because of-”

“Emma told me what she said to you,” he interrupts.

You gaze up at him, wide-eyed.

“You talked to her?” you ask. Imagining it wrings your heart out, jealousy pooling through you.

He nods, his jaw tight, looking at you like you’re the one who needs to explain something here. Your forehead crinkles, your face falling with disappointment.

“I thought you didn’t care what she thinks,” you say.

“I don’t.”

You look down, as if you can find the answer somewhere on the ground. Your heart is racing, your mind spinning.

“Are you okay?” you hear.

Rafe looks over his shoulder to see that Beck has walked over, staring at you.

“I’m fine,” you answer.

“I told you this would happen,” Beck says to you.

Rafe meets your eyes again to see that they’re glossed over with tears.

“Fuck off,” he mutters to Beck.

“I’m just looking out for her,” Beck says.

“I look out for her,” Rafe says angrily. His raised voice earns a few side-eyes, the conversations around you silencing.

“Do you?” Beck asks.

Rafe breathes a humorless chuckle, rage coursing through him as he turns around, his back to you, his fists clenched.

“Don’t,” you say. “You’ll get hurt.”

There’s a hole in Rafe’s chest when he hears the concern in your voice for Beck. But when he turns around, you’re gazing up at him instead.

“You’re already in enough pain,” you say to him, your eyes drifting over his aching shoulder. He stares at you in awe, again, like he’s in shock that you worry about him. “Let’s talk out front.”

You don’t wait for him to agree. You storm back into the bar, darting through the throngs of people, pushing the heavy entrance door.

Your shoes pad over the concrete, your breaths unstable as you pass by the small crowds outside the bar.

You round the corner, finding a quiet pocket of privacy in the dark parking lot, next to the wall. You turn to see Rafe right behind you, facing you, his chest heaving.

“What’d she tell you that she said to me, exactly?” you ask, crossing your arms.

Rafe is in disbelief that he led himself back to doing this, talking about his past relationship with you again, letting it bleed into whatever it is that he has with you.

“That I’m a pathetic asshole,” he begrudgingly answers, his features shadowed in the darkness. “That I – I cried.”

“Her words don’t mean anything,” you tell him.

“She’s right, though, isn’t she?” he asks. “You agree. Just be honest with me. Tell me all of it. No more bullshit.”

Tears continue to sting your eyes, afraid you’re going to hurt him, but too worn down to fight.

“She said you were moody and mean,” you relent, “and yes, that you called her crying when you wanted to get back together. And you know what? The only person I thought was an asshole was her. She’s the pathetic one, okay?”

Rafe searches your face, his features hard, in pain.

“She was horrible to you,” you say. “You deserve someone better.”

What’s left of his composure burns away. He drops his head, his breaths barely escaping his mouth. He’d do anything to be what you want. Who you need.

“Why can’t it be you?” he asks through a ragged exhale.

You still, your heart pounding in your ears. A tear escapes past your bottom lashes, a result of one of the most overwhelming days of your life.

“What?” you whisper. You brush the wetness off of your skin, silently begging him to look at you again.

“What is it about me that’s so wrong?” he rasps, his voice starting to strain, putting sound to the question that he’s asked himself his whole life.

Rafe finds it in him to meet your gaze, all too acquainted with the sinking feeling of begging someone to love him.

Your eyes sweep over his face, your lips parted in silent shock.

He’s tipping over the edge, in slow, splitting agony, waiting to hear the words he knows you’ll say so he can finally let the hope that’s still somehow living in him die.

“What are you...” you say quietly, needing to hear it, to be sure. “What are you saying? You want me?”

Rafe pinches the bridge of his nose, sending a frustrated, pained exhale towards the starry sky, your name laced in a groan.

“Yes,” he says clearly, staring at you again, frustrated and afraid. “So bad that it fucking hurts.”

You’re able to feel every inch of your body, yet you’re numb all over. It’s an overwhelming, euphoric rush, looking up at the man you’ve given your heart to and knowing for sure that he’s given you his.

You blink as you step a little closer, taking in every inch of him, his messy hair, his handsome face, unable to believe that there was a time you didn’t see the warmth behind his eyes.

You can’t find the words, and for once, you stop trying to. Instead, you follow your impulse and take one more step, your body brushing against his, tipping your chin up.

Rafe swallows hard, his veins tight and hot as your gaze flutters down to his lips.

“You said you wanted it to be real,” he says, a note of disbelief in his voice.

A smile tugs on your lips. In a moment like this, he’s considering what you’d told him about how you wanted your first kiss to be real, showing you how much he listens to the things you say, how much he cares about your comfort.

“It will be,” you say softly.

After wanting you so badly for so long, Rafe can’t be still for another second. He brings his hands up to cradle your face, ignoring the pinch of pain in his shoulder. His heart thumps as he leans closer and gently leads you towards him.

His lips press against yours and every piece of you melts away. You were wrong when you thought his kiss would either be rough or gentle. It’s both, the pressure perfect, the urgency just as present as the tenderness.

He kisses you deeper, his lips hot and soft. When he smiles beneath the kiss, you smile, too, hooking your arms around him, hands splayed over his firm back, because you can’t possibly have him any closer.

He gently guides you backwards, pressing you against the cool brick wall, your face still in his hands, holding you as if you could slip away.

Rafe is warm against you, shifting to kiss the corner of your lips, your cheek, your jaw, the side of your neck. His breath is warm on your skin as you try to catch yours, squeezing him.

He’s never been so sure that he’s where he’s supposed to be. It’s like you’re grounding him with how tight you’re holding him, ensuring him that he’s wanted.

He shifts to kiss your lips again, panting. He pulls back just enough to lock eyes with you, never having felt so lucky before.

But he’s unsure of how to even navigate this when you’ve told him you don’t want a relationship.

“‘I’ll wait,” he murmurs, his thumbs stroking your cheeks. “Until you’re ready.”

“Ready?” you ask.

“To date,” he says.

You smile up at him, your lips still warm from his. You know you both have work to do on yourselves, but you’re confident you can do it together.

“We already dated, didn’t we?” you tease. “I’m ready. If it’s you.”

He sighs a breath of relief, kissing you once more.

════════

You haven’t done much since you made it to Rafe’s dorm room.

You’ve been lying in bed together with your heads on his pillow, his desk lamp blanketing the room in a soft light, facing each other and talking.

“We didn’t tell anyone we were leaving,” you realize, even though you left the bar about half an hour ago.

The way your eyes widen in worry is so adorable to him that he can’t help but kiss you, and he loves that he doesn’t have to hold himself back from doing it anymore.

“Should we go back? Say sorry to everyone?” he murmurs, a smirk on his face.

“Don’t mock me,” you laugh.

“But it’s so easy.”

You scowl at him, although you’re hardly able to stifle your smile.

“Don’t be mad,” he chuckles, planting a kiss on your lips again. Your cheeks burn, still reeling from how intoxicating it is getting touched and kissed by him now that you know it’s real.

“Right, that’s your job,” you joke, nuzzling in, your forehead against his chest.

A pinch of shame digs into him, his hand running up and down the curve of your spine.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, all the happiness from his voice gone.

You shift back to look at him again.

“I was kidding,” you say, your voice thick with worry.

“Nah, it’s true,” Rafe says.

You bite your lip, studying him.

“Is there a reason?” you ask.

“I just… I’ve always been like this,” he admits. “Sometimes, I can’t feel anything but pissed off.”

“It’s an easy emotion to feel.” You gently trace shapes over his chest, your finger skimming over soft cotton. “They say anger is hurt’s bodyguard.”

“You read that somewhere, huh?”

“You know me so well.”

Rafe’s smile is sad. He had no reason to hold back, not anymore.

“Nobody’s ever tried to understand me like you do,” he admits, “and it was shitty of me to get mad at you for trying.”

“Being mad is comfortable for you,” you empathize. “I get it.”

He takes in a slow, deep breath, trying to ignore the tightness in his chest.

“I grew up around a lot of fighting,” he tells you. “It was a relief when my parents split up.”

Rafe’s stomach twists with discomfort, the memories rushing back, the pain of being at that damn birthday party and seeing such a happy family still cutting into him. Seeing a proud father. Seeing a mother who stays.

And he can’t believe he’s saying it out loud, and that he wants to, and that you didn’t even have to ask.

“But then my mom… stopped trying to be a mom,” he continues. “And I was left with my dad and my sisters and it was like to him, they could do no wrong and I was nothing but a fuck-up.”

You look into his eyes, unable to believe that he holds such a deep, painful wound. Earlier tonight, he asked you what was wrong with him. You can see now that he must have been asking himself that since he was a child.

“I was always trying to make him happy and it never stuck,” he tells you. “Then I started playing hockey and… I could let out how mad I was. And people liked me for it. I finally had a place to go and – and I hate not having it anymore.”

The puzzle pieces click together. Your instincts were right when you’d assumed he was much more sensitive than he let on, hiding behind anger when all he’s ever wanted was love.

Knowing he was in a relationship where he was pressured to hide those types of things makes the pang in your heart even sharper.

“It’s temporary,” you remind him. “You’ll get back out there. But there’s so much more to you than what a good player you are.”

“You think I’m good?” he says. “You didn’t write anything in the card.”

You breathe a chuckle, gently gripping his wrist, the ink you’d etched washed away now.

“I prefer to write on you,” you tease, then gaze up at him again with sincere adoration. “I’m so sorry that happened to you. Thank you for telling me. There’s nothing wrong with you, okay?”

He stares at you in concern, as if he’s afraid you’ll take it back.

But you don’t. You just brush a kiss against his hand, squeezing his fingers with yours.

And this is so much better than the doses of temporary happiness he used to find to fill the gaps. After feeling empty for so long, this is real, complete wholeness.

════════

“Last book on the syllabus,” you say happily, already seated like usual. “We made it.”

Rafe smirks at you as he shuts the door behind him. It’s been almost a week since the night at the bar, and he’s only falling deeper for you, missing you even more when you’re not around.

“Don’t tell me you’re actually tutoring me today,” he answers.

“What’d you expect?”

He drops his backpack on his seat and stands behind you, leaning over to wrap his arms around you.

“Somethin’ more like this,” he murmurs, his lips against the side of your neck.

You smile, squeezing his forearms as you breathe in the crisp aroma of his cologne, remembering when you’d noticed how good it smelled at the first party you went to together.

“You think you can get away with this?” you say, although you feel weak all over. “Did you read the book?”

He kisses the side of your neck, sending a warm tingle through you.

“Rafe,” you sigh. “We have work to do.”

“Oh, shit,” he chuckles. “Your serious voice. I’m scared.”

“You should be,” you laugh. “How was physio?”

“Fine,” he replies, giving you one last kiss before he heads to his seat. Then, he remembers he doesn’t have to lie to you, that you’re the one person in his life that would never give him shit for telling the truth. “Brutal, actually. How are you?”

“Not ready for finals,” you reply.

“You’re already thinking about finals,” he scoffs as he unpacks his things.

“Of course I am.”

You can’t believe that the exam season is just three weeks away and that in two days, the hockey season will be finished and that before you know it, your freshman year will be over.

Rafe pulls out a paper bag from his backpack and places it in front of you, the logo stamped on it familiar.

“Did you..?” you say with a smile. He must have driven to the cafe you’d once met him at right after class, the one you said had the best treats. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“Just take it,” he murmurs.

“Thank you,” you sing-song, putting the bag in your lap, sneakily opening it. “Food’s not allowed in here, but this is worth it.”

“Nobody’s going to care,” he teases. “And the door’s closed.”

“Did you miss the windows?” you reply with a laugh. You take a bite and then reach for your copy of East of Eden that you’d lent him and fan through the pages.

“There’s some beautiful prose in this one, isn’t there?” you say.

“Sure,” he says, staring at you with an enamored glint in his eyes.

“You’re just saying that,” you chuckle.

“When do I just say things?” Rafe challenges.

You shrug in agreement.

“So, the discussion question is about the changes of perspectives between both families and how it…”

You trail off as you notice a circle around a paragraph in blue pen, standing out from the yellow highlight and pencil you’d previously etched throughout the book.

“Did you mark something in my book?” you joke. “Who gave you permission?”

“Permission?” he asks amusedly. “God, why do love rules so much?”

He watches as your eyes skim over the page. He only marked one thing in the book and he’s aware of exactly what you’re reading.

You tilt your head, your smile fading, your heart weightless as you read.

A kind of light spread out from her. And everything changed color. And the world opened out. And a day was good to awaken to. And there were no limits to anything. And I was not afraid any more.

“Why did you circle this?” you ask.

“Why do you think?”

Another smile ghosts over your lips as you look down at the passage again, brows furrowing.

“What?” Rafe says, afraid you’re actually annoyed he marked your book.

“I guess I…” You clear your throat. “I used to read stuff like this and imagined someone thinking it about me, but never thought it would actually…”

You meet his eyes, your voice faded into silence as you exhale. He’s never seen you like this before. Uncertain. Afraid to speak.

You spent so long wanting to be loved just like he has, and while he spiralled into anger, you fell into insecurity, convincing yourself that someone would never care about you the way he does, questioning every sign.

Rafe sits up, reaching forward. You put the book down and take his hand. He gazes at you, feeling so damn fortunate that he walked into this room all those weeks ago, and even more fortunate that you see something in him.

He’ll have to prove to you that he sees something in you, too. He knows there’s work for him to do here. It’s work he wants to do.

“It’s true,” he says, glancing down at the book. “You changed everything for me, you know that?”

You breathe a soft, appreciative laugh, offering a small nod.

“Like your grades?” you joke.

He bites his bottom lip, smirking as he leans closer. You meet him halfway, sharing a soft, slow kiss, your eyelashes overlapping.

“Everything,” he repeats, inches away from your lips. “Thank you.”

You’re dazed, lost, and finally, a little less afraid.

════════

“Get as many as you want,” Rafe says, putting his car in park.

You stare ahead at the shop he just pulled up to, your mouth agape.

This morning, you’d asked him if he had to sit on the bench for the final game of the season this afternoon, or if he could sit in the stands with you. He’d told you he’d rather not watch it at all and that he had something else in mind, refusing to elaborate.

Your eyes travel over the sign hanging above the small bookstore, boasting its collection of old and rare books.

He pulls out his key, then chuckles when he sees that you’re frozen, staring ahead in awe.

“Really?” you say.

“No, I just wanted to show you the front of the store,” he mumbles. “Yeah, really.”

You laugh, excitedly getting out of the car. It’s a surprise, seeing just how much he likes to give you things to show he cares. He might not be great with words all the time, but his actions show you what you need to know.

Rafe follows you as you browse the shelves, picking up books, taking some with you and leaving others behind. He doesn’t understand how this could make you so happy that your smile hasn’t left your face, but he’d do it for hours for you.

He starts to take the books out of your hands, holding them for you as you search, but you don’t let him carry them for long, worried about his injury acting up.

He’s glad this is how he’s spending the afternoon. His coach and his friends on the team were cool with it when he told them he wasn’t going to attend the last game of the season.

It’s too hard to watch from the bench, wishing he could be on the other side of the glass. He’d rather be where he feels best: with you.

At one point, you’re reaching for a book on the top shelf, on the tips of your toes, and the sight warms his heart so much that he takes out his phone and snaps a photo.

“A little help?” you giggle, your voice strained. You look over your shoulder to see him smirking with his phone directed at you.

Rafe pockets his phone and steps forward to face you, his chest brushing against yours as he grips the book you’re trying to reach.

Your gazes stay locked as he hands you the book, looking down at you with a pure smile.

“Can we do this all the time?” you ask.

“You like it?” he says. “Bet there’s lots of places like this between us.”

A look of apprehension flashes across your face. You’re weeks away from the end of the school year, when you’ll both be moving back to your hometowns for the summer, three hours apart from each other.

“Do you mean it?” you ask.

You’re uncertain, needing to hear that he wants to keep this going over the summer, and after, that he’ll keep making an effort to see you.

“Three hours is nothing,” Rafe says.

You beam. You don’t need any more words, entirely comforted.

════════

“You made the right call not coming today,” Isaac says as you and Rafe enter the common room an hour later, the team dispersed across the small space. “That was embarrassing.”

“Shit,” Rafe replies, their hands clapped in greeting. “Was it that bad, man?”

“Never got my ass handed to me like that before,” Isaac says, a few of the other hockey players nodding in agreement. “Meanwhile, you’re on some cute little date.”

You share a smile. It’s clear he’s seen the photo of you that Rafe posted.

“It was cute,” you laugh. “Sorry about the loss.”

“Crappy way to end our season,” Isaac tells you. “But there’s always next year. Rafe’ll be back throwing punches.”

Rafe catches your frown.

“Thanks for the help with my essay, by the way,” Isaac tells you. “Got an A.”

“Great,” you say sweetly. “No problem.”

“You think Lyla’s coming?” Isaac asks. You nod, having texted with your best friend on your way here.

“She is,” you say.

Isaac grins when he looks up at the door. You turn to see Lyla come in. He steps away, eager to greet her.

You smile to yourself. After everything you’ve heard from Lyla, you’re pretty sure they’re only a few days away from becoming official.

“What was that look?” Rafe asks quietly.

“What?”

“When he said something about throwing punches, you looked mad.”

You adore it about him, how much he picks up on, but at the same time, it hurts to remember that the reason he knows how to do it is a result of his lonely childhood.

“I’m protective of you,” you say. “I know you’re healing well, but I don’t like the thought of you getting hurt. Is that so crazy?”

Rafe smirks, stepping forward, putting his hands on your hips, gazing at you with half-lidded eyes and a wide grin.

“What?” you whine with a soft laugh.

“It’s cute that you’re worrying about me, baby,” he answers, revelling in the feeling of touching you in public because he wants to, not because he’s supposed to be making someone jealous.

“You think I’m cute?”

His grip tightens, holding you like he always does, like you’re too good to be real, like someone might take you away.

“All the time,” Rafe murmurs, earning a gentle nudge from you. “Gonna miss you when you get too busy for me during finals.”

“You know I’m going to want to read all those books you got me, right?” you say. “I need you to keep me in line and study with me. Make sure I’m not getting distracted.”

“I thought you said I distract you.”

You chuckle, still in awe of how affectionate he is, of how much he loves to touch and kiss you whenever you’re close. He absolutely does distract you, and you love it.

“I mean, yeah, but everyone needs study breaks,” you say with a shrug. “And I don’t like it when you’re not around.”

“Yeah,” he says. “Me, neither.”

Rafe takes a second to just stare at you. It’s impossible to get enough of you. He never really looked forward to life in general, but since you made him yours, he looks forward to everything.

You press your cheek against his chest in a hug, listening to his heartbeat. And you love the feeling of knowing, with absolute certainty, that part of it beats for you.

(the end)

epilogue >

author’s note this was such a fun series to write!! thank you to everyone who supported the story. the epilogue is pure fluff and smut, so for the readers who don’t like spice, def skip it!! ily all!!

[momotonescreaming]

8x18 coda, set post episode . Bucktommy. No character bashing, but I wanted to explore Buck and the 118's strained dynamic a little.

"Hey! Buck!" Chimney calls — Captain Han now — lightly jogging across the station floor towards him. "I haven't seen anything come across my desk, but I need something in writing that you're not transferring anymore soon, or it'll be too late."

He looks lighter. Happier. Starting to settle into the role of Captain, into the shoes Bobby left behind. Figuring out the paperwork, his legacy, how to run a team. He's doing well, Buck has no problem admitting. He'll be a good Captain. Just maybe not for Buck.

He takes a deep breath.

"I-I'm not rescinding my transfer request." Buck says, trying to keep his voice steady and not to waver. He tries to remind himself that he's not being selfish. That he isn't being mean. That this isn't a personal attack. That he's not taking this back just because Chim gave a speech. "It was a nice speech, but, uh, I need to do this."

He adjusts the weight of his duffel bag on his shoulder, breath stuttering in his chest, and tries not to falter.

When Chim gave that speech, addressed to everyone but very pointed at him and a little bit at Eddie — he felt guilty. That sickly coil of guilt and shame writhing in his gut. He was making everything about him again. He tried to follow Bobby's last wishes for him — look after the 118 — but it turns out they didn't need him. They didn't want him. And only now, once they're healing and piecing the crew back together that they need him to fill the gap.

But he stays strong. The 118 is just a number, it's just a station. Chimney will always be his brother-in-law, he just won't be his captain.

He's not going to rescind his transfer request.

"Buck, c'mon," Chimney starts, sighing, gesturing with his hands. "We're a team, we can honour his legacy together, all of the 118. Together means everyone."

"Sure hasn't felt like it," Buck mutters, low enough that he doesn't care if Chim hears him or not. He barrels on, voice louder. "I've made my decision Chim, so don't try to change my mind."

"What's this really about, Buck?" Chim asks, exhaling. Buck's fingers fidget and tap against the strap of his duffel bag, and he hopes he doesn't look as uncomfortable as he's starting to feel. That Chim can see him struggling against retreating into himself. "That we didn't do your little grief assessments? That Eddie left? That we were grieving? Come on, what happened to being a team sport?"

"Me?" Buck replies, the word falling out automatically. His heartbeat starting to race, brow furrowing. "I tried to be there for you all because Bobby told me to. Down there in that lab, he said the 118 would need me."

He can feel his face heat, anger lacing his words. He doesn't want to do this, but first they don't want him around, he's exhausting — and now they won't let him leave. Buck takes a deep breath, and a step back. Lets himself calm. "But apparently Bobby was wrong. You don't need me. So I'm doing what's best for me. The 118 will never be the same, I-I'm not stupid, I know without Bobby things have changed and have to change. But I want a fresh start."

Buck takes another deep breath. "So thank you, Cap. I expect to hear back about my transfer soon."

And then he ducks into the locker room.

---

"Do you think I'm making the right decision?" Buck asks, voice slightly muffled from where he's pressed into Tommy's side. Tommy, his not quite ex, not quite boyfriend, but one of the only people who's been there for him. They're talking, working towards something, both in agreement about where they want to head. So Buck's curled up on Tommy's plush couch, leaning into his side, crocheted throw blanket over their legs. "About transferring?"

"I can't tell you what to do, or what to think," Tommy starts, and Buck's stomach sort of drops before Tommy starts absently rubbing his thumb in calming little circles. He shifts — only slightly — and rests his head on top of Buck's. It's nice. He takes a slow breath, breathing in the scent of Tommy's detergent and that daily cologne he wears. "But do I support it? Of course I do."

And oh, Buck didn't realise how much he needed — or wanted — to hear that until he did. He was always going to transfer, once he set his mind on it, once he put through the request that was it — but it's nice to be supported so outright. Tommy says it so casually, so plainly, as if supporting Buck is the best and easiest thing he's ever done.

"The 217 was my fresh start, maybe this will be yours." Tommy says with a small shrug, trying not to jostle them too much.

Buck turns, and presses a gentle kiss to Tommy's clothed chest. He feels, more then he hears — Tommy's breath hitch. He hopes Tommy gets what it means. Thank you, I love you, I needed this. Thank you for letting me be selfish.

"Did you miss it?" Buck says, turning back and adjusting his hold in Tommy's arms. "The 118?"

"I did, yes. Bobby had started family dinners, had started to open himself up a bit and bring us all closer together." Tommy starts, sounding a little wistful. "And I knew no other station would have that. But I knew before I left that it already wasn't the same."

And oh, doesn't that sound familiar.

"My partner had been suspended and reassigned to another station — he's captain of the 122 now, by the way." Tommy continues. "—and I was coming to terms with the fact that I was gay, and I was trying to be less of an asshole. In the end it felt like I had too much baggage there. I needed a fresh start. So I asked for a transfer. I also wanted to fly again, so it worked out well."

"Thanks for telling me," Buck starts, voice low as he gently squeezes Tommy's side. They've been doing a lot of that now too — opening up, acknowledging it, thanking the other for it. It was working for them. They didn't want to rush it. "It helps. I-I'll always miss the 118, what Bobby built, but I think I need to do this. I want that fresh start, where people don't have the image of probie-Buck hanging over their heads."

"Exactly," Tommy says, pressing a kiss to the top of his head, lips soft against his curls. Buck relaxes into it.

[augustwinesworld]

in love with “I look in peoples windows”

if you’re willing to share do you have any headcanons about Noah 🥹 since he’s also kinda unconscious, what kind of kid is he? What type of relationship does he have with his mom? What is he obsessed with/are his interests ?

i just want to know more about these characters you’ve created!!!

𝐢 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐢𝐧 𝐩𝐞𝐨𝐩𝐥𝐞'𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐬—𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧

What if your eyes looked up and met mine one more time?

series description: 

pairing: dr. michael robinavitch x  female ob/gyn attending! reader

genre: hidden pregnancy…maybe?

notes: Hiiiii, omg I am so sorry it took so long to answer this! I had a lot of shit going on last week, so I didn't write anything (and wasn't planning to tbh). Between exams, a three day opening event at the gallery, my birthday, and some other things I was very much overwhelmed. But finally, this headcannon is complete and I hope you like it<3<3

NEWS FLASH! : NEW CHAPTER WILL BE COMING OUT THIS SUNDAY, 18/05

word count: 2.1 k.

extra: moodboard | playlist | ☆:**:. 𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐞 .:**:.☆ 

Feel free to #𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐦𝐞 (◕‿◕✿) *:･ﾟ✧ if you have any scenarios in mind! I might not write everything but I’ll respond to everyone.

series masterlist: 𝐢 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐢𝐧 𝐩𝐞𝐨𝐩𝐥𝐞'𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐬

Noah used to be obsessed with Dinosaur King:

The cards, the DVDs, the battered Nintendo DS game with the cracked hinge. His room is still a shrine to it: plushies arranged like sentries on the bookshelf, the limited-edition holo cards in a binder under his bed. Legend has it the only thing that soothed him as a colicky baby was the sound of Jurassic Park playing in the background—Mom swears by it, even if he now covers his eyes during the T. rex scene (but peeks through his fingers).

But that was, you know, a year ago. Back when he was a kid. Now he rolls his eyes and says things like “I outgrew it,” but the second someone gets a dinosaur fact wrong—like claiming Velociraptors were the size of humans—he’ll practically combust. He’ll start with a scoff, then a “That’s not even close,” and launch into a very serious correction, complete with citations. Then he’ll go back to pretending he doesn’t care, cheeks a little pink.

He plays junior hockey, has from a very young age, but only started playing in a team three years ago. The ice is the one place where all the noise in his head seems to hush. He wears his Pittsburgh Penguins every game day, knows the team’s stats better than his times tables, and can name every position on the ice. 

Noah plays center, because of course he does—he’s the kind of kid who needs to know where everyone is, what’s coming next, and how to quietly keep things from falling apart. Center demands focus, balance, foresight; it gives his overactive brain a job and his anxious heart a place to breathe. He’s not the fastest on the ice, but he sees things—reads the play like a puzzle, always thinking three moves ahead. It’s the one place he doesn’t feel too much--it’s just enough.

The rink smells like cold rubber and somebody’s gross old socks. It’s loud, too—like whistles and stomping and parents yelling even though no one can really hear them over the buzz of the ice machines. 

Noah squints under the bright lights as he adjusts his helmet. It’s too tight. Again. “You’re gonna squish my brain,” he told Mom this morning, wrinkling his nose while she buckled the strap. She just kissed his forehead and said, “Squished brains make better decisions.” Dumb. A bit lame. But still kinda funny. He laughed.

Logan skates up and shoves him, grinning. “Race you to the bench after,” he says.

“Last time you tripped.”

“Did not.”

“Did too.”

They bump shoulders. No one's mad. Logan makes a gagging noise.

“Ugh, dude, you smell like syrup.”

Noah shrugs. “Had pancakes.”

“Yeah, I can tell. You’re like, sticky through your gear.”

“You’re just mad 'cause your mom made oatmeal again.”

Logan scowls. “That was private.”

They both start giggling, helmets clacking as they lean into each other, the kind of laugh that gets stuck in their throats.

Coach then shouts something about spacing and lines from the other side of the ice, but it’s kind of whatever. Noah just nods. He knows the basics: chase the puck, don’t fall, pass to Milo if he’s waving his arms around like crazy. He wipes his glove across his mouthguard and spits onto the rubber mat. Feels cool doing it. Like a real player.

The ref drops the puck.

He goes.

The ice makes that squeaky sound under his blades. His lungs burn, in a good way. He doesn’t see Mom, but he knows she’s watching. She always is. She claps louder than everyone, even yells his name sometimes—Noah hates that part—but today, when he glanced up at warm-ups, she was smiling with her hand over her mouth, talking to Logan’s dad. Mr. Harper. He’d laughed at something she said and leaned in a little. He’s standing kinda close. Like...close.. Noah doesn't know why he noticed. Or why it made his stomach feel weird. He just skates harder.

He wants her to watch. Just her.

LOOOOOVES boardgames. Especially the ones with many rules that his mom can’t understand so he has to explain with the utmost patience.

His routines. He likes knowing that every Friday night means takeout and a movie, or that Mom will play with his hair, leaving one or two braids hidden behind his hair after a bath if he’s tired. These things soothe the low hum of anxiety he doesn’t always have words for. Also, pancakes for dinner every Sunday. Chocolate chips for him and blueberries for mom. 

He shuts down emotionally under pressure. Especially if he’s scared or feels like he’s disappointed someone. So he might say, “I’m fine,” and then refuse to make eye contact for the rest of the night.

He gets jealous. Especially when it comes to his mom. If someone takes up her time—whether work, or even a friend—he might act out in subtle ways. Maybe he interrupts more. Maybe he pretends to “need” something he really doesn’t.

Milo’s sitting at the kitchen island, feet swinging, watching Noah’s mom slice apples like she’s doing magic.

“That smells so good,” he says, wide-eyed as she pulls cookies from the oven. “You should open a bakery or something.”

Noah stiffens. “She’s just making snacks,” he mutters.

His mom laughs, brushing flour from her cheek. “Milo, you’re sweet. But trust me, no one would buy cookies shaped like blobs.”

“She’s so nice,” Milo whispers to Logan, who’s already elbow-deep in the cookie plate.

Noah hears it. Hears all of it. And suddenly he’s on the verge of dying. “Mom,” he says loudly, climbing onto the stool beside her, “my throat kind of hurts.”

She turns to him, brow knitting. “Oh? Do you feel sick?”

“No,” he says, too fast. “But maybe you could make tea? Like the one with the honey and the—” He pauses, glancing at Milo.“—the kind you only make for me.”

There’s a beat. His mom looks at him for a second too long. Then she nods, brushing his bangs from his forehead. 

“Alright. Tea for the patient.”

Milo tries to ask her another question—something about the cookies—but she’s already moved to the kettle.

Noah shoots him a look. Not mean. Just... his. 

Like: mine.

Logan, clueless, stuffs another cookie into his mouth. “You’re so weird, dude.”

Noah shrugs, smug now. His mom's back was to Milo, and that’s what mattered.

He can be bossy with other kids. Especially younger ones. He thinks he’s just being “helpful,” but really he hates chaos and wants everyone to do what makes sense to him. This is when his dad’s rigidity shows up.

He’s prone to catastrophizing. He once got a B on a math quiz and whispered, “I’ll never get into a good school”—and he was only nine. A stomach ache? “What if it’s cancer.” Therapy’s been helping him name the spirals when they start, but they’re still real: fast, quiet, and hard to steer once his brain starts running.

A mildly anxious, overthinker. He overthinks, he spirals sometimes, but he's learning. He doesn’t always say it out loud, but it shows in the way he chews his sleeve or double-checks things that don’t need checking. And when he does speak up, he might say, “You should’ve called,” instead of “I missed you,” but the meaning still lands.

The house is quiet when you open the door—but not quiet enough. The TV is still on, humming low in the living room, and the lamp beside the couch casts a low glow. Your mother is passed out under a blanket, one slipper dangling off her foot.

You step further in, careful not to wake anyone. Then you hear it: the soft shuffle of bare feet on tile.

“Noah?”

He appears in the hallway, pajama pants wrinkled, hair flattened on one side. He’s holding his stuffed raptor by the neck, thumb pressed to the seam where the stitching came loose last week. His eyes are wide, but not upset. Just…watchful.

“You were gone a long time,” he says. Not accusing—just stating the facts. His voice is quiet. Even.

“I know, baby,” you say, setting your bag down by the door. “There was a delivery. Complications. I got stuck longer than I thought.”

He nods, like he’s tucking that away somewhere—filing it, the way he always does. You can see the questions lining up behind his eyes—how bad were the complications? did the baby make it? what if it happens again?—but he doesn’t ask.

He glances at the clock. “It’s really late.”

“I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“I wasn’t scared,” he says, chewing the edge of his sleeve. “I just thought maybe something happened.”

You cross to him and crouch down, brushing his hair gently back. He leans into your hand, just a little, like something in him finally lets go.

“I’m okay,” you say softly. “You can always call me. Even if Grandma’s here.”

He nods again. A pause.

“I checked the front door twice,” he says. No smile, just the truth of it. A quiet ritual. A way to feel safe.

You kiss his forehead. “I’m proud of you.”

And he holds your hand all the way down the hall.

He picks up on things quickly—tones, looks, when something’s off. He’s the kind of kid who’ll go quiet when a room turns tense, or who’ll suddenly say, “Are you mad at each other?” when no one’s said a word. It’s not precocious, just… tuned-in. Like someone who’s had to watch carefully, who’s learned to read the air before stepping into it.

Kind but grounded. He has his mom’s warmth and sense of care—the kind of kid who offers his snack to someone who forgot theirs, or comforts a crying classmate—but he also knows when to draw a quiet boundary. He might say, “I think we need space right now,” the same way his mom would calmly de-escalate a tense room.

Funny in a dry, observational way. Robby’s sarcasm filtered through a 9-year-old’s lens. Not mean-spirited, just blunt. He might deadpan when someone tries to fix something with duct tape, then go help anyway.

The pizza place smelled like garlic and the floor was sticky in some spots, but Noah didn’t mind. He liked this kind of busy—clinking plates, soda fountains hissing, Logan talking with his mouth full across the table. He liked it even more when his mom was here, sitting next to him, her jacket still zipped halfway up from the cold outside.

She was smiling politely. Again.

Logan’s dad had been talking for what felt like forever—mostly about the game, a little about his job (something boring, Noah couldn’t remember), and now about how impressive it was that she managed to come straight from work to the rink, and still had energy to take the boys out to eat.

“I’m just saying,” he added, leaning back in the booth like he’d landed a punchline. “If there were a Hockey Mom Hall of Fame, you’d be in it. With a statue and everything.”

Noah stared at him. Then turned slowly to his mom. She looked like she was trying not to laugh—or maybe trying not to roll her eyes. Hard to tell.

“She’s not even a hockey mom,” Noah said, voice flat. “She doesn’t even know the rules.”

His mom choked on her water. Logan giggled into his Sprite.

Logan’s dad blinked. “Well—I mean, she shows up. That’s the important part, right?”

Noah didn’t answer. He just took a bite of pizza, deadpan. Chewed. Swallowed.

Then: “Statues are weird.”

There was a pause. The kind adults make when they’re trying to figure out if a kid just insulted them. His mom reached under the table and squeezed his knee gently.

“You okay?” she murmured.

Noah shrugged. “Mhm.” He took another bite.

He wasn’t mad. Not exactly. He just didn’t like the way Logan’s dad kept looking at her, like she was extra impressive for being tired and kind and good at things. Like that was rare. Noah already knew that. He didn’t need someone else pointing it out like it was a surprise.

Across the table, Logan slurped from his straw way too loudly before adding, “Dad, are you trying to be embarrassing, or does it just happen naturally?”

His dad raised his hands in mock offense. “Hey, I’m charming. This is peak dad charisma.”

Logan snorted. “You sound like the car guy on TV. The one who yells and wears too much tanning lotion.”

Noah, still chewing, finally cracked a smile.

Logan’s dad looked over at Noah’s mom like see what I deal with? but she was just sipping her water, amused and entirely unsurprised.

Noah leaned into her side a little, just enough to feel her shoulder against his. Statues were weird. But this? This was fine.

Protective, especially of his mom. He doesn’t always understand what’s going on between her and Robby, but he feels it. If he thinks someone—especially his dad—is upsetting her, he doesn’t lash out; he just gets quiet and watchful. He notices everything, even when he doesn’t say it.

taglist: @snowflames-world, @nosebeers, @midnghtprentiss, @delicatetrashtree, @thestrals-and-firewiskey, @rosiepoise88, @miss-me-jack, @jojodojo02, @whimsicalfungiforager, @whos6claire, @melsunshine, @foolishseven, @misshoneypaper, @iceb1ink1uck, @kmc1989, @vlightning95, @girl-who-loves-books, @qardasngan, @madprincessinabox, @equallyshaw, @memoriesat30, @justobsessedwithyou,

© AUGUSTWINESWORLD : no translation, plagiarism, or cross posting.

[crowsofdarkness]

Pairings: Thunderbolts!Bucky Barnes x FemaleHydra!Reader

Bucky finally decides to honor his promise to you.- a part two to THIS blurb. There will eventually be a part three if people are interested!

18+ CWs below the cut: angst, someone being frozen alive, mentions of blood and torture.

The darkness loomed in front of Bucky, mocking him as he continued to tentatively step through the abandoned laboratory. There was a lingering smell of staleness in the air, tangled with something old and moldy. The bright beam from his flashlight illuminated the decaying walls splattered with the mold he smelled and something red. Once he stepped closer, it was evident what that substance was. 

Blood. 

Very old and dried blood. 

Bucky rounded his shoulders to steady himself, telling the negative voices in his head that it wasn’t your blood. He spent the last twelve months looking for you and he promised it would be alive. Yet along with everything else he promised you, Bucky wasn’t so sure this one he could keep. It took him nearly a year to find you, using all of the new resources that came with being one of the New Avengers. 

At first, Bucky kept searching for your whereabouts a secret from everyone else because he didn’t want their looks of pity when he told them the truth. 

“I left her behind because I was too afraid to go back.”

But there was one late night in the tower where Yelena found Bucky sitting in the common area, scanning through all of the files he had on you. It was only two and he’d gone through them at least three times over, hoping some sort of new info would jump out at him. 

“What are you still doing awake?” Yelena asked him, sitting on the couch across from him. 

“Couldn’t sleep,” he muttered. 

She made a noise that sounded like a hum before nodding towards the array of papers on the table in front of them. “Doing some light reading?” 

Bucky hesitated at that moment, wondering if he should tell Yelena about what he’d been doing in his private time. They’d all grown close the last few months and he knew that she wouldn’t judge him for his past transgressions. Not when she had her own. 

So he spent the rest of the night telling Yelena everything and when he was finished, she gave him a smug smile. 

“Why didn’t you say anything? I have a few buddies that owe me a favor. They used to work in Hydra so I can ask around.”

Not even a week after Yelena asked, Bucky was given new information that nearly let out a sob. The last location you were held. It was an underground location in Romania, far off in the woods where no one had been in years. He nearly missed the door in the ground because it had been covered with debris and leaves. 

The other members of his team offered to come with Bucky but he politely declined. If he found you, his solnyshka, he didn’t want to scare you by bringing a bunch of strangers. 

If? No, not if. When he found you. 

Kicking over the long forgotten medical equipment and other trash, Bucky came to a halt at the end of a hallway. He could go either left or right but wasn’t sure which way he needed to take. Yelena said that even though this place was long abandoned, every two hours, a group of guards would come check the premise to make sure no one was breaking in. 

Or more so, making sure something wasn't breaking out. 

Bucky had less than ten minutes to find you before the guards came to do their rounds. So, he stopped and listened, all outside noise fading away as he did his best to focus on the sound of a heartbeat. Bucky began growing agitated when all he could hear were the sounds of the old building nearly caving in. His hands shook at his sides as he tried so hard to focus his super soldier hearing on parts of the building. 

Before he left the tower, Ava had a small heart to heart with Bucky, making sure he knew there was a possibility you weren’t alive anymore. You could have died shortly after he escaped Hydra, there wasn’t any proof you were still alive. Bucky had this exact conversation with himself, he was prepared he would be walking onto a corpse or a bag of bones. But he couldn’t give up hope just yet. 

“Solnyshka,” he breathed with his bottom lip trembling. 

Suddenly, Bucky’s ears picked up on a faint sound down the hallway to his left causing his vibranium fingers to twitch at his side. It wasn’t a heartbeat but the sound of something moving. 

No,  not moving. Something rippling, almost like the waves from a raging storm .

Very quickly, Bucky ran down the hallway getting closer and closer to where the sound was coming from. He had less than six minutes now to complete this promise otherwise the guards would find him and undoubtedly kill him. It had been ages since The Winter Soldier had come to the surface, Bucky doing whatever he could to keep that side of him buried deep, but for you he would risk it all. 

When he reached a room at the end of the hallway, a familiar chill wrapped around his bones making him come to a sudden halt. The memories of him being locked in a cage with those frigid temperatures were nearly debilitating. His heart began to beat wildly in his chest, damn near bursting through and falling to the floor at his feet. 

Focus, Buck. Don’t let those memories drag you down to the depths again.

Pushing through the darkness in his mind, Bucky stepped into the room and let out a gasp. This had to have been a prison at one point with the cages that lined the wall yet what kept his attention was the large tub in the middle of the room. Slowly, Bucky walked towards it, noticing the various tubes that were running from inside of the tub to a large monitor on the side of it. It was evident the chill in the air was coming from whatever this contraption was. 

A cryo chamber.

“What the fuck?” He muttered while staring at the monitor. 

It was showing a xray form of a body with a very slow, nearly there heartbeat and a clock showing how long whoever was being kept in the chamber had been asleep for. 

Seven years, twenty four days, sixteen hours, three minutes, and twelve seconds. 

Laying a gentle hand on the edge of the tub, Bucky let out a deep breath before gazing down into the frozen water to see those familiar bright eyes starting up at him, void of all life. 

“Solnyshka,” Bucky sobbed, tears burning at the corners of his eyes. 

There was some contraption covering your mouth as your body floated in the ice water. All that was covering your body was a thin tank top and a pair of underwear. Your skin that he spent countless hours kissing was so pale, it looked like you were fading away into the water. 

His sunshine had turned into a pale moonlight. 

Bucky reached his right hand into the water to reach for you but reared back with a hiss as the frigid temps almost burned his skin. When he glanced at the computer that was keeping you frozen, he thought about how long it would take to defrost the tub so he was able to pull you out until a voice spoke in his ear; Bucky always wore an earpiece even when he was working solo missions, just in case. 

“You have less than two minutes to get her out before a group of guards find you. It would take at least four hours to completely melt the water.” 

Bucky jumped in his skin. “Fuck, Yelena. You scared the shit out of me. How long have you been there?” 

“Since you got on the jet,” she stated before the sound of someone slurping a drink came through the com. “I’m seeing six heat signatures on the edge of the perimeter.” 

“I can take them out,” Alexi’s eccentric voice yellowed into the com, causing Bucky to wince. 

“Are you guys here?” Bucky asked. 

There was silence for a quick second before Ava spoke. “This is important to you, Bucky. We wouldn’t let you do this on your own. You need support incase-.” 

“It’s her,” Bucky interrupted, staring down at his left hand. “She has a heartbeat, it's really slow, but there.”

“I’ll prepare the warmer,” Walker said. 

“One minute, Buck. Were parked on the west side of the building. There’s a staircase twenty feet to the right when you walk out of the room. Take it and you will walk up into a hidden section of the woods where there’s currently no guards. They’ll be too busy checking on Y/N to look for you,” Bob said. 

“Until they realize she’s missing, find out the Winter Soldier took her, then kill you both,” Yelena said. 

“Thanks, Yelena,” Bucky grumbled before turning off his com. 

Taking a deep breath, he submerged his vibranium arm into the water to rip out the contraption that was inside of your mouth then very quickly lifted you from the water. Very loudly, alarms began to go off as lights all throughout the room flashed red making Bucky cursed. He should have counted for an alarm system but he’d been too lost in his thoughts about finally finding you. A year of searching led to this moment and he’d be damned if it all went to shit now. 

Instantly he was soaked as he pressed you to his chest. You were so fucking cold, ice clinging to your skin, and Bucky stared down at your face. Your eyes were still wide open, void of any emotion, and he placed his lips to your cold forehead. 

“I’m here, solnyshka. I’ve got you and I’m going to take you home,” he let out a broken sob before running out of the room, just as voices yelled down from the other end of the hallway, followed by rapid gunfire. 

[firewasabeast]

So He Waits

a little tommy/bucktommy (sort of) fic. tags: implied child abuse, a terrorist attack, blood/injury, mourning/grief, Buck and Tommy are still broken up, Tommy is reaching out. Read below or on ao3.

Tommy is eight when he moves to a new city with his parents in the middle of the school year. He’s anxious on his first day. He’s been going to the same school all his life. But this one is bigger, and scarier, and kids look at him funny.

After he’s introduced by his teacher, he takes a seat, pulls out his math book, and listens as the teacher starts the lesson.

He ignores the snickering happening behind him. Pretends he doesn’t hear the whispers.

He’s known kids can be cruel since kindergarten. He tripped and fell on his first day, his chin bled, and kids called him Trip from that day on.

But he’s Tommy here, and that’s exciting! The kids might be whispering about him now but, once they get to know him, they’ll like him.

That’s what his mom told him anyway.

When it’s time for recess, he follows behind the rest of the class. He thinks about heading for the swings, but when he sees a group of boys running toward the field with baseballs and bats, he smiles and runs to catch up.

“What are you doing?” one of the boys, he thinks his name is Matthew, asks.

“I know how to play!” Tommy exclaims. “I love baseball!”

Matthew looks back at the other boys. Tommy spots a few of them roll their eyes.

“We’ve already got enough players,” Matthew says. “You can just go and sit over there. We’ll tell you if we need you.” He uses his bat to point to an old, rotting tree stump at the edge of the field.

Tommy licks his lips, then hides his disappointment behind a smile. “Okay,” he says. “Just let me know when you need me!”

He walks over to the stump and sits down.

The splinters poke through his pants, right into his skin.

He doesn’t move though. They might need him soon!

So he waits.

*

Tommy is fourteen when his dad pulls up to the house in his truck, a beat up Honda Accord in tow. It looks like a piece of junk.

Scrap metal at best.

But Charles Kinard smiles wide, gives Tommy a smack on the shoulder, and tells him, “We’re gonna put this thing back together, piece by piece.”

“R- Really?” Tommy asks. He’s been wanting to learn about cars for a couple years now. He’s been excited about starting auto shop class next semester. He’d always hoped his dad would teach him; Charles had been a mechanic since he left the marines. But the interest to teach had never been there before.

Maybe, Tommy thought, maybe that was changing.

The car sits untouched for two weeks.

Tommy’s been doing research though. He went to the library and checked out books. Even rented a VHS tape called Auto Mechanics 101. He’s pretty sure he’s watched it ten times over the last few days.

Another week goes by.

He comes home from a friend's house to see the Accord being towed away. His dad is standing just outside the garage, counting cash.

“What… What’s going on?” Tommy asks.

“I just made three hundred dollars, that’s what going on, Tomboy.”

Tommy can smell the booze, strong on his breath. It seems to seep through his pores more and more each day.

“I thought we were gonna fix it?”

Charles scoffs. “I can’t let something like that just sit here, you idiot! I’m the only one working in this damn house! We needed the money, I got the money!”

Tommy knows there’s no point in talking about it right now. It’s not worth the pain.

He walks into the house, goes straight to his room, and scoots his dresser in front of the door.

Just a precaution, in case his dad decides to drink more tonight.

He takes a look at his calendar. Counts the days.

It’s a little under two months until auto shop class starts. Then he’ll learn everything he’s been wanting to know.

So he waits.

*

Tommy is twenty-one and he’s pretty sure he’s not going to make it to twenty-two.

He decided to fly in the army because he loved the freedom of being in the sky.

He didn’t think about the fact that he couldn’t live in the sky.

He’s asleep, on base in Iraq, when there’s an explosion so loud he goes deaf before the world starts to cave in on him and he falls unconscious.

He’s not sure where he is when he wakes up. Doesn’t remember what happened either.

Was he in California?

Did he get in a car accident?

Was there an earthquake?

There’s a grumbling sound beside him. He blinks a few times, wipes the dust from his eyes, looks over to see Warrant Officer Daniels a few feet away from him, eyes wide as he gasps for breath.

It takes Tommy a few more seconds for his brain to come back online. When it does, he flips over onto his belly and starts to crawl closer to Daniels. That's when he sees that his legs are gone. Sees that blood is gushing out of his body.

“Dan-” he coughs, his throat feels like sandpaper. “Daniels. D... Daniels, hey-”

Daniels takes his last breath before Tommy’s able to get out another word.

There’s noises, yelling. In the distance he hears the sound of a language he doesn’t understand.

He takes a radio from Daniels’ lifeless body and keeps crawling.

He ignores the way his leg burns. The way he can feel something thick and wet soaking his socks.

He doesn’t know how, but he makes it through the rubble and outside.

He keeps going and going until he reaches a bunker, a good distance from the base.

His hands are shaking when he turns the radio on.

“Colonel Franks, do you copy?”

There’s a few seconds of silence, then, “Kinard? That you?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Your barracks took a direct hit. Where the hell are you?”

Tommy takes in a short, stunted breath. It hurts like hell.

He gives the colonel his position.

“You hurt?”

Tommy looks own at his leg. Notices for the first time that the bone is popping through his skin. He’s pretty sure some ribs are broken too. “Ye- Yes, Sir.”

“You stay put, you hear me. We-” there’s static, briefly, "-et to you as soon as we can. Until then, keep quiet. Radio silence.”

Tommy sits there, thinks about Daniels, tries not to take a breath.

He listens to the screams in the distance, hands clench into fists with each new explosion.

But there’s nothing he can do.

So he waits.

*

Tommy is thirty-four when he decides to blow up his entire life.

He’s just transferred stations, a change he knew he needed for a long time, and he thought that would be enough.

But it wasn’t enough.

Because changing stations doesn’t change who you are.

And what Tommy is, is very, very, gay.

He’s waiting for his fiancée of two years at their favorite restaurant, going over the conversation he’s about to have as soon as she gets there.

“Abby, I need to tell you something. I know I’ve been stalling, since we got engaged. And you- you’ve been so patient with me. Thank you for that. I know you didn’t want a long engagement from the start, and I keep making excuses, but there’s… there’s a reason. Not another woman! It- No, it’s not that. It’s… I- Abby, I’m gay.”

His phone vibrates in his pocket and he nearly jumps out of his chair. He pulls out and stares at the message.

Sorry, running a little late. Work was crazy. Sally gave me a few bridal magazines though and I thought we could look through them during dinner. Start making plans, you know? Be there soon! Love you!

Tommy takes a deep breath, swallows down the bile in his throat.

He takes the opportunity to order himself a second beer.

Goes over the speech again, omits some unnecessary parts that are only there to waste time.

When Abby arrives she’s a ball of excited energy, flipping her hair and pulling the magazines out of her purse to set them on the table.

And he’s ready to do it, ready to tell her the truth, but he also knows what's going to happen as soon as it’s his turn to speak.

So he waits.

*

Tommy is halfway to forty-two when Captain Nash dies.

It hits him harder than he thought it would.

Miraculously, he doesn’t get in any trouble for stealing another helicopter.

But, after the funeral, he does take two weeks off.

He doesn’t trust himself in the sky.

He doesn’t trust himself on the ground either.

He sends Buck a text that doesn’t get a response.

He sends another.

He tries for a phone call instead.

Nobody picks up.

He doesn’t stop trying, not for awhile at least. He’s not sure if it’s more for Evan or for himself.

But when it gets to the point that seven texts have gone unanswered, and four phone calls have gone straight to voicemail, well, he’s not sure what else to do.

He leaves a message.

“Evan, I- I don’t want to keep bothering you. I know this has been hard and I… I feel like I’m just making it worse by calling and texting. I want you to know I’m here for you though. I know what it’s like t- to need people and I-”

“I need you,” he wants to say. He doesn’t.

“I just want you to know that I’m here. I won’t keep bothering you. I… Yeah, I get the hint. But I’m here. Whenever you need me, Evan, I’m here.”

He hangs up the phone and drops it down on the couch beside him.

He closes his eyes, the image of Buck collapsing on the ground still fresh in his mind.

A tear falls down his face, then another. He needs someone to talk to.

He doesn’t have anyone else to call.

So he waits.

[neowonderland]

hiii could i request some stalker jaem (with smut ofc heh 🫣) if youre okay with that 🥺🥺

tysm in advance!!

Of course! Here's the fic, sorry it took so long to come out <3 I'm glad you enjoy my writing, thank you for interacting and supporting me!

Stalker || n.jm

Pairings: Stalker! Jaemin x Reader Warnings: 18+, smut, noncon, overstimulation, kidnapping, stalking, unprotected sex, Wc: 1.2k

Dark Content, Minor please DNI

Disclaimer: this is a work of pure fiction. I do not condone the actions of any characters in this story and the actions do not reflect the idols in any way

You swear someone’s stalking you.

You can tell from your old toothbrush disappearing, your pairs of underwear missing. Your room often looks messier than when you left it, clearly rummaged through. You can tell from the footsteps that follow you at night, a vague hooded figure standing underneath the lamplight, across the corner of the street, behind the trees at the park. 

You’ve told everyone around you, your best friends Jaemin and Jeno, your family, even the police, but they only shrugged you off, telling you that it was all in your head. 

If only they’d listened. Then you wouldn’t be in this situation.

Tears soak into your blindfold as you struggle against the rope binding your body. You’re terrified and anxious, your stomach churning as you try to find any clue of where you were. You assumed you were bound to a chair, the chair plush and comfortable, a stark contrast to the ropes tightly bound around your body. It didn’t smell damp or musty in the space you were in; instead, it smelled nice, smelling faintly of honey and strawberries. It didn’t feel too cold or too hot, and you could hear the faint noise of the AC turning on and off. 

But despite the seemingly comfortable environment, a deep sense of dread filled your body. You weren’t supposed to be here, especially not blindfolded and tied up. You could hear movement, probably footsteps, close by. 

So, you scream for help, and you immediately hear a door opening and someone rushing in. 

“Is everything okay? What’s wrong, princess?” 

You freeze in your chair. Your body feels like ice.

“Jaemin?” You whisper meekly. You hear shuffling, then you feel a warm hand cup your cheek, as if comforting you. Their hand goes higher, thumbing the tear stains on your blindfold. 

“It’s Nana, remember? Nana’s here now, no need to cry.” Jaemin reassures you, reaching to the back of your blindfold and untying it. 

The blindfold falls, and you finally see Jaemin. Jaemin seems unbothered by your current state, opting to smile at you, eyes even crinkling in the corners. A genuine smile. You rip your eyes away from him as soon as possible, whipping your head around to take in your surroundings. 

It’s a cute room, walls painted a pastel pink, filled with shelves lined with stuffed animals and dolls, complete with a large wardrobe and a large, seemingly comfortable bed in the middle with pink sheets and ruffles.

“Do you like your new room?” Jaemin asks, gesturing to the room, smile still on his lips, looking proud of his creation. “I designed it just for you.” 

You feel sick to your stomach.

You turn to Jaemin and beg him to let you go. Pleading with him for your freedom, telling him that what he’s done is not right, that you belong at your home, not at this artificially designed space filled with things Jaemin had put in for you. 

Jaemin stares at you blankly until he’s heard enough and cuts you off with a kiss. 

You jolt as you feel his soft lips touch yours, gently melding into yours. It’s sweet and disgustingly intimate. You try to pull back or turn your head to the side, but Jaemin’s hand reaches for your jaw and locks your head in place. 

Jaemin pulls away and pulls out a pocket knife from his pocket. 

“I’m going to untie you now, but you have to promise to be good. Don’t run from me, you won’t get very far anyway.” Jaemin utters, giving you a chilling look. 

So, you stay still, eyeing the pocket knife as Jaemin cuts you free. As soon as you’re free, Jaemin grabs your wrists, locking them together as he pulls you up and to the bed. Your eyes widen as you realize his intentions, protesting and begging him not to do anything to you. 

“I understand that you’re scared. Don’t worry, Nana will take care of you. Let yourself enjoy our first time together.” Jaemin assures, trying to console you and soothe your fears. 

And at least Jaemin keeps his promises, his hands running up and down your body, soft and gentle, touching you as if you’re made of glass, that you might shatter under his touch. Jaemin’s gentle when he starts pleasuring you, his lube-covered fingers rubbing soft circles on your clit as he kisses you. Jaemin’s kisses trail down to your chest, and he takes your nipple into his mouth, laving his tongue hungrily against it. He teases it, softly grazing his teeth across your nipple, then pulling away with a pop and blowing air on it. His fingers dip lower to your entrance, circling your glistening hole. 

Jaemin starts with one thick finger first, curling his fingers, attempting to find your sweet spot, and adding a second one once he finds the gummy spot within your walls. Jaemin has to fight the urge to take you when you cum for the second time, your cute moans spilling freely from your mouth. So, Jaemin adds a third finger, splaying his fingers out in an attempt to prep your walls to accommodate him. 

You’re on your fourth orgasm when Jaemin deems you ready to take him. You look adorably fucked out, your legs trembling from the overstimulation caused by multiple orgasms, your hair messy from thrashing around on the bed. Your eyes are watery as pleasure melts into pain and you beg for him to take a break, to let you rest before he fucks you. 

But Jaemin can only smooth your hair back and shush your cries as he frees himself from his pants, his eyes locked on your face as he pushes into your spasming hole.

You scream as you feel him pushing into you, his length far too big, stretching out your guts and bumping your cervix. The overstimulation was too much, and it felt like your insides were on fire, too sensitive, too sore, and puffy from the previous orgasms. 

Jaemin’s gentle when he begins to move, shallowly thrusting into you, his hand coming out to entwine with yours as he fucks you. 

“Just a couple more times, princess. You can cum a couple more times f’me.” Jaemin slurs, drunk on your heat. 

You shake your head profusely, your pleas of being to stop due to being too sensitive fall on deaf ears as Jaemin speeds up his pace. 

Jaemin folds you in half, legs pressed into your shoulders as he fucks into you at a punishing pace, chasing after his release as your cunt tightens around him, preparing for yet another orgasm. He’s directly atop of you, and he feels much deeper like this; you swear you can feel him in your stomach. 

The buildup is painful, the knot in your stomach too tight before snapping, gushing around Jaemin’s length while Jaemin groans and and buries himself to the hilt, cumming deep inside of you. It’s only when you feel him filling you up that you realize he never used protection. Jaemin pulls out, using his fingers to scoop out the cum that oozes out back into you, propping a pillow under your legs. 

A wave of exhaustion hits you as Jaemin lies down next to you, dragging his arm over your waist and pulling you close in a possessive grip. There’s no use in protesting. 

Because, after all, begging is futile when your stalker finally has you in his grasp.