#💘💖💞💕💗💓💖💗💞💘💖

[dietcokeandguitars]

HELLO TO MY WIFE 🦄🛸❤️💕💖💙💗💜💞💓💛🖤💚❣️😻🧡💘💝👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩🤎🤍🫀🩷🩶🫶💟🩵❤️‍🔥💌

Wunmi Mosaku🤎

[amamiofacciouncasinoo]

No filterzzz 💘💖💕💞💓💗

[reineyday]

btw crying over how maxwell's memory of the purest joy he could remember feeling being one of when he was a kid, getting lifted in the airplane pose by his grandfather while they both watch airships take off. i thought for sure it would be something like the feeling of a win after an intense fight, but instead it was something so pure. 😭💖 MAXWELL!!!!!!!!

[fuzziiwuzzii]

It’s the 70s, Claudia and Madeleine are at the lesbian bar… I think they’re looking at you.

[dominiccotarobles]

Nice 😍💖💘💗💞💕💓❤️💝❤️‍🔥🥰

heck hound

[nonese-random]

Spongebob lovelypants <3

[fromrory]

The Glitter Incident (Also Known as That One Date That Never Happened) !

POV: Fem!Reader Pairing: Damian Wayne x Fem!Reader Genre: Fluff | Humor | Chaos | Domestic Softness Featuring: Glitter trauma, Damian being a concerned (and lowkey entertained) boyfriend, and Fem!Reader being Very Done™️ Word Count: ~2.6K Requested by: @simpingmyassoff more damimi reqs pls. . . Taglist🏷️: @simpingmyassoff , @shootingstargirl2001 (if you want to be added,comment down below!) A/N: English isn't my first lenguage,enjoy! ! ! A/N 2: This is my frist time writing for Damian. . .l!! Hope y'all like it (don't crucify me pls) A/N 3: This happend once to me. . . when i was getting ready for my gymnastics competition. . .

The Getting-Ready Phase of Doom

There was something magical about preparing for a date.

Maybe it was the soft playlist you had on repeat (romantic pop, naturally). Maybe it was the way your lipstick matched your earrings. Or maybe it was the fact that you hadn’t blown up anything all day, which in Gotham, was basically a miracle.

You twirled once in the mirror. Soft shimmer on your eyelids, a gentle curl to your hair, the most perfect flowy dress you'd found after an hour of wardrobe warfare.

It was going to be perfect. Damian was picking you up at 7 sharp. You were ready.

Almost.

Until, of course, the Universe got involved.

The Glitterpocalypse Begins

While grabbing your phone from the dresser, your hip bumped a small table. A small, rickety, decorative table you kept meaning to fix or get rid of. On said table: a lone, forgotten glitter popper.

The plastic kind from a birthday party six months ago. The kind you meant to throw away. The kind that, right now, decided to fall and detonate on impact like a sparkly bomb from hell.

POP.

A deafening burst.

A mushroom cloud of metallic pink, blue, and gold.

“…No,” you whispered in horror.

It was too late.

Glitter rained down on you like cosmic punishment. It clung to your arms, your face, your curls, your LIPS—

Your dress was no longer elegant. It was a walking glitter nightmare.

Your makeup? Ruined. Your soul? Also ruined.

You looked like a disco ball had exploded on a very confused Disney princess.

Cue Damian.

Knock knock.

“(Y/N)?” Damian’s calm voice came from the hallway. “I’m here.”

You froze. Your hands mid-air. Your eyes wide. The glitter sparkled menacingly.

You opened the door in slow motion.

Damian stood there, freshly dressed in a soft button-up (black, obviously), hair slightly tousled from the wind, holding a single dark red rose like the romantic menace he was.

And then he saw you.

His brow furrowed slightly.

“…Are you… under attack?”

You just looked at him. “No.”

He blinked. “Did someone glitter bomb you? Was this Grayson? Brown?”

“No.”

A long pause.

“…Did you fight a craft store?”

You groaned, stepping aside and letting him in. “It’s worse.”

The Explanation (And the Panic)

Damian stared around the room. Glitter covered the floor, the furniture, the ceiling fan, even the cat (when did you get a cat?). You paced in front of him like a general who had lost the war.

“There was a popper,” you said, distressed, gesturing at the table. “It fell. It exploded. The glitter’s in my lip balm. Damian, I’m shiny. I’m a human mirror. I sparkle in low light. What if someone sees me and thinks I’m trying to join a boyband from 2008?”

Damian just watched you. “You do sparkle.”

“That’s not helping!”

He reached out and brushed a flake off your cheek. His touch was gentle, his smirk subtle.

“…You’re kind of cute, actually.”

You gasped. “Damian Wayne, this is a crisis.”

“An adorable one.”

Plan B (Glitter Recovery Mission)

Seeing your eyes start to water (and not just from glitter dust), Damian immediately switched gears.

“Alright,” he said, taking your hand. “New plan. No crowds. No candlelit restaurant. Just us, here.”

“But the reservation—”

“Screw the reservation. You need a glitter decontamination unit, not crème brûlée.”

“…That’s fair.”

“I’ll run the shower. You’ll rinse the glitter. I’ll start the laundry.” He sniffed dramatically. “Also, the air smells like sparkly trauma.”

You finally let out a laugh, slumping against him. “I wanted tonight to be perfect.”

He pulled you into a slow, comforting hug, ignoring the glitter sticking to his shirt. “It already is.”

Phase One: The Shower Battle

Twenty minutes later, you emerged from the bathroom in a bathrobe, hair damp, cheeks pink, smelling like vanilla and regret.

Damian sat cross-legged on the couch, now in sweats, with a vacuum cleaner nearby and a trash bag full of glittered paper towels.

“The floor’s safe,” he said. “Mostly. I think the couch is beyond saving.”

You eyed the spot next to him. “I’ll just sit on the floor.”

“No you won’t,” he said, pulling you down beside him with a grin. “We suffer together.”

You pouted dramatically. “I’m still glittery inside.”

He tilted his head. “...What does that mean?”

“I inhaled it. I can feel it in my soul.”

He nodded seriously. “We’ll get you a priest.”

Movie Night: Glitter Recovery Edition

You ended up curled on the couch, a blanket over your legs, watching an old black-and-white movie while you sipped cocoa through a glittery straw (the last indignity).

Damian pressed a kiss to your temple. “You okay now?”

“Yeah,” you said softly. “Just embarrassed.”

“You shouldn’t be. You looked magical. Like a chaos faerie.”

You looked up at him. “I hate how weirdly nice that sounds.”

He shrugged. “It’s true.”

You sat in silence for a beat.

“…You’re still a little sparkly,” he added.

“I will fight you.”

Bonus: The Batfam Finds Out

BATPSYCHO'S!!! (oh and Damian's girlfriend)

Steph: [sends a blurry photo of your glitter-covered self from earlier] Steph: “WHAT HAPPENED. WHY DO YOU LOOK LIKE A BEDAZZLED PIÑATA.”

Cass: “Pretty”

Jason: “Demon Spawn. Did you lose a glitter war.”

Damian: “She's fine. Do not come over.”

Tim: “So that’s a yes.”

Bruce: “No glitter in the Batcave.”

Damian: “It was ONE TIME.”

Alfred: “I’m making tea. Stay sparkly, Miss.” You: ''Thanks Alfred. . .''

The End (Probably. Unless More Glitter Happens.)

As the night wore on and the movie ended, you turned to Damian, sleepily curling into his side.

“…You really don’t mind the glitter?”

He kissed the top of your head. “Not even a little.”

“Even if it’s in your hair forever?”

“I’ll live.”

“You’re a good boyfriend.”

“You’re a sparkly menace,” he replied.

You smiled into his shoulder. “I’ll take it.”

[wolfchans]

[heyitses]

Can a sight to see, be any more BEAUTIFUL than this? I don't think so❣️😂💓💗💕💞💖💝💘❤️😘🥰😍🤩❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

[peanutsoutofcontext]

Baby Snoopy of the Day 🥺💗

[sugarpasteltmnt]

Happy ‘The Neon Void’ 2nd Anniversary!!!

I’m a few days late (it was the 26th) but that’s because I’m currently traveling somewhere I’ve always wanted to go; Japan!! I’m having an amazing time and wished I could have prepared something a bit more special, but I’ll be honest— I’m so much happier and freer now thanks to TNV and all of the wonderful people in this fandom, and I feel like this trip is helping celebrate that.

Two years ago I wasn’t exactly feeling very cowabunga about a lot of things, but while writing TNV I was able to get through some tough times and even help make some important decisions that have significantly improved my life. And I could not be more thankful for everyone’s sweet words and excitement over my silly little fanfic— seriously, you all are so amazing and I am so so so lucky to be a part of such a fun fandom. Thank you all so so much.

So thank you all again for everything, happy 2nd anniversary, and remember to enjoy the cheesy pizza pies life gives you 🩵

[I’m still traveling with a tight schedule but I see all your wonderful asks and art and I’ll be able to catch up with you all soon!! ( ´ ▽ ` )ﾉ ]

[reunitedinterlude]

phil finally getting his midriff out <3

[arcadiajope]

MY HEART 🩷💓💘💗💞💖💕

Muscle Memory

Chapter Fourteen

Pairing: CHILDHOOD FRIENDS TO LOVERS Restaurant Owner Bucky Barnes x Cardiac Surgeon Female Reader Alternate Universe

Series Summary: In a town that never forgets , she thought she could hide the bruises behind a perfect smile and life. But someone from her past sees too much—and remembers everything.

Chapter Warnings: References to physical and emotional domestic abuse , PTSD-like symptoms , dissociation , panic , and self-blame , distress , crying , mentions of childhood trauma , romantic Intimacy (Non-Sexual) , fluff , angst

a/n: second to last chapter you guys omggg im so sad but also over flowing with gratitude and pure joy! Last chapter is after this , then the epilogue! thank you @arcadiajope for the motivation to lock in and get her done!

series masterlist

<- previous chapter - next chapter coming soon ->

The sound of her feet padding  on the hardwood floor of the stairs then to the lower level of the restaurant echoed unnaturally in the now quiet building. 

The music had died out long ago. Most of the guests had cleared out and gone home after the police took Tyler away in cuffs , but Y/N still felt the weight of a thousand eyes and words on her skin. 

Her breath came and left in shallow , harsh , jittery pulses as her hands trembled clinging to Bucky's arm that held her heels , like it was the only thing tethering her to earth.

Wanda stood at the bottom of the stairs , eyes wide and glassy , her bouquet long forgotten on a side table. Her hands fluttered and reached toward Y/N instinctively, but she stopped herself before reaching her friend fully.

"I'm sorry," Y/N spoke in a hoarse whisper. “I didn’t mean—your wedding—"

Wanda stepped forward and gently cupped her face, careful not to touch the bruised side. “Don’t.” She shook her head , keeping their eyes locked together. “You have nothing to apologize for. Do not apologize for that man.”

Y/N tried to nod but it turned into more of a hiccup then a sob. Wanda just pulled her in for the softest hug rubbing a hand up and down her back.

“I gave my statement,” Y/N said as Bucky’s hand found hers again. “They asked a lot, but I—”

“You did perfect,” Bucky murmured beside her. “You were brave.”

Sam passed by with the last lock of the door, nodding to Bucky dropping the keys into his hand before nodding. “We’re all good. Place is locked down. Vision and Pietro are gonna take care of the cleanup and tear down tomorrow.”

“Thanks, man,” Bucky smiled , his voice low as he tugged Sam into a hug. After Bucky released him , Sam turned and gave Y/N a soft, reassuring look before stepping back toward the kitchen.

Bucky scooped up his leather jacket from the hook by the doors and draped it over her shoulders guiding her gently outside with a soft hand on the small of her back. Not demanding , just reassuring and leading.

The brisk night air hit her face like a cool kiss ,  cold and quiet and away from all the noise and worries. 

She inhaled slowly , eyes fluttering shut as he opened the bright red truck door for her guiding her inside.

“You okay to sit?” he tilted his head gently, already pulling his jacket tighter around her frame.

She nodded once and let him help her in.

Only once she was buckled in tight and wrapped in the warmth , did she blink slowly and realize they were not heading toward her and Tyler’s house.

She didn’t ask where he planned on taking her right away. She knew she was safe. So instead , just leaned back in the seat and watched the signs pass by , the slow curve of streetlights through the windshield, and the thud of the tires against the uneven road. 

The silence in the cab of the truck wasn’t anywhere near uncomfortable—not with Bucky. Her hand still trembled and twitched in her lap, and when his fingers found hers without his gaze leaving the road , she gripped them tightly lacing them together.

He glanced at her once at that , long enough to see the question in her eyes as he spoke up for the first time since leaving Buck’s. “I’m not takin’ you back there.”

She didn’t answer. Not right away.

“I just need to know you’re safe tonight,” he added , thumb brushing her knuckles. “I can tell you where we are going if you want , i was gonna wait till we got there but if you need me to tell you–”

“I’m not scared of you,” she whispered. Stopping him from speaking as he brought their laced hands and kissed the back of hers once more before returning his eyes to the street.

The roads got darker and darker as they left the bright city lights behind. There were no more streetlamps , just the moonlight and the occasional flicker of a porch light far off the road. 

Still, Y/N didn’t ask where they were going. She didn’t need to. Not with Bucky driving. Not with the quiet presence of him beside her and the way his hand remained lightly resting on her thigh now.

But when the truck rumbled off the paved road and onto the dusted dirt path, something inside her stirred.

“Where are we?” 

He gave her the softest look. “Somewhere he can’t get to you.”

The curve of the trees. The arch of the hills. The open stretch of sky and field.

“…Wait,” she whispered, sitting forward slightly as her eyes widened looking around quickly, not out of fear but wonder and thought. “Is this—?”

Bucky’s face covered with a  smile as the corners of his mouth twitching in that boyish way that it did when they were kids.

He parked just in front of a house. Not a shack. Not a shed. But a home. 

Tucked beneath the evergreen tree line with nothing but stars above and wildflowers dancing in the breeze beside. It had dark shingles and a large wraparound porch, two chairs swaying gently in the night breeze. Lantern lights glowed on either side of the front door like they’d been expecting her. Glowing in their light sat two large wooden flower beds , mixed seedlings like carnations , marigolds and daisies sat growing in the boxes.

“This is the clearing,” she whipped her head to face him , voice breaking just a little. “Our clearing. From when we were kids. When…when my dad would—” She cut herself off as tears pricked at her water line.

Bucky stepped out without a word and rounded the front of the truck , opening her door for her, giving her his hand. He didn’t rush. Didn’t say anything yet. Just helped her down, let her feet crunch the gravel, and then guided her slowly toward the porch with a warm hand at her back.

She paused on the first step , making his freeze beside her. And looked up at him.

“Whose house is this Bucky?”

He looked down at her, soft pride sparkling in his blue eyes. “ 'S'mine , Dolly.”

Her eyes blinked hard as the tears poured steadily down her cheeks , stuttering. “What...h-how?”

“I bought the land a couple years back when Mr. Roberts put it for sale--,” he shrugged continuing , as he rubbed the back of his neck.

“--didn’t really tell anyone. Ma and Becks know of course. Built it piece by piece , with some help from Sam and a few old buddies from college. Just wanted it to be right. Always told you I’d build a place someday, didn’t I?”

She turned her eyes and stared at the house again, speechless. The porch. The pine trees. The long stretch of grass where they used to lie on their backs, pretending the stars could answer their wishes. It had it all.

“You really did,” she whispered in disablief. “You actually made it real.”

His eyes held onto hers , lifting his hand to gently cup her cheek, swiping away the fresh tears. “I could never break my promise to you…cm’on”

He nodded to the house as they stepped onto the porch, her hand sliding into his again like muscle memory. But just as he reached for the front door, her voice broke the silence again , stopping them dead in their tracks.

“Bucky—wait.”

He turned back at her , face laced with worry and confusion. 

Her face drawn up tight , vulnerable , shadowed by the night. “I’m sorry I lied to you.”

He just looked at her for a beat.

Then another. And instead of asking what she meant—or pressing her for anything more—he just leaned forward and pressed a lingering kiss to her forehead.

“Shh,” he cooed against her skin. “Not tonight , okay?”

New tears swelled in her eyes, but she nodded anyway giving him , her best--tight lipped smile.

He met hers with one of his own , flashing his teeth and leaned back to open the door with his shoulder and bring her inside.

The house smelled like cedar and crisp apple soap with something that reminded her of old summers—the clean air of freedom, of quiet places without bruises, without shouting, without fear–something she couldn't name. 

The floors was warm under her feet as she tugged her shoes off, setting them aside gently by the door. The lighting was low and soft inside as Bucky led her through the living space, where a well worn-in couch faced a fireplace crackling with low flames he started up, and into the back room where a bed with fresh sheets waited, folded blankets and quilts already stacked at the edge.

Without a word, he opened the bottom drawer of a large oak dresser and pulled out a soft, clean red t-shirt and a pair of black sweatpants. His clothes. 

He handed them to her carefully as if an offering. “Here.”

She took them with a barely audible "thank you" --clutching it against her chest like they might get ripped right back and taken away from her.

“Can I… use the bathroom?”

“Course’ make yourself at home , first door on the left.” He pointed down the hall as she turned to follow the direction and padded out.

She disappeared for a moment, and when she returned back to him , her hair was tied up, her makeup half wiped away , and his oversized shirt hung down past her thighs.

She looked small, but steadier. Grounded by the weight of his home around her.

Bucky was now walking about in the living room , gathering a blanket from the couch and shaking it out , freeing it from any loose cat fur. When he turned and saw her, he stilled.

He didn’t say anything about how she looked in his clothes. Gosh did he want to--but he kept it to himself. For now.

“C’mere,” he murmured instead, motioning toward the couch. “Sit.”

She did. And he sunk down beside her, careful not to crowd her but slowly wrapping the thick soft blanket around her shoulders and over her legs. Like shielding something sacred.

“You warm enough?”

She nodded silently. “You always did this. When we were little. When I cried too hard to sleep in the tree house."

He smiled softly. “You remember?”

“I remember everything you've done for me James.”

His hand slipped into hers again. She squeezed it tightly.

A hush settled around them, not heavy but comforting, like a snowstorm outside strong walls. Her body finally relaxed back into the couch, head resting lightly on his shoulder.

“I feel safe,” she whispered. “I didn’t think I ever would again.”

“You are,” he promised. “And I’m gonna keep it that way.”

The fire crackled softly when she stood to look around later--when he excused himself to change and get ready for bed himself. 

She tugged the blanket more onto her shoulders, her bare feet softly hitting the wooden floor beneath her as she ventured into the open space beyond the living room.

The hallway was lined and decorated with framed photos—sunsets, a few landscapes she swore looked like the rockies, and one , shot of Bucky grinning in front of a half-finished Bucks. He was beaming with joy and pride.

It was quiet in the house, but not empty. It breathed. With warmth. With memory. With love.

And then she spun around to peer around the wall into the kitchen.

She stepped into the doorway but froze as her legs felt like jello. The walls were painted a soft, buttery yellow color. The cabinets whitewashed and weathered, as if they’d lived a full life already. And the backsplash? Blue tile. Not just any blue. Cerulean. Slightly mismatched squares. Like mosaic glass from a coast. It wasn’t sleek or cold. It wasn’t modern.

It was exactly what she’d described , what she wanted. Dreamed to have one day.

Her throat closed up.

Her hands flew to her mouth--knees buckled.

She didn’t hear the heavy thudding steps across the floor or the soft little mrrp from the bundle of fluff in Bucky’s arms , as he made his way back from the bedroom.

But he saw her the moment he stepped into the kitchen when the living room was empty.

She was frozen. Shaking. Her shoulders rising with each breath like she couldn’t catch one. Eyes red. Tears silently spilling down her face as she turned toward him when he whispered into the air with concern and brows furrowed.

“Y/N?”

She looked at him, mouth open like she was trying to say something, anything, but all that came out was a choked sound—a sob mixed with awe and grief and love all tangled together in a tight knot. Her hands dropped from her face and clutched her chest.

“You remembered,” she whispered , barely being able to speak. “All of it. Even the damn tiles, Bucky…”

He set Alpine down gently on the floor, the cat blinking up with curiosity before prancing off toward the windowsill climbing up and plopping down in her spot.

Bucky crossed the kitchen in two strides and caught her as she collapsed into him.

“I can’t—” she gasped. “I can’t believe it’s real.”

His arms wrapped around her, strong and warm, one hand splayed between her shoulder blades, the other cradling the back of her head. “Of course I remembered,” he murmured into her hair. “I built it for you.”

She sobbed harder then. Not out of fear. Not out of pain. But because for the first time in what felt like years—maybe ever—she realized she was standing in the middle of something that had once been a dream.

The yellow kitchen.

The blue tiles.

The man she loved so much who’d promised her peace.

And the life he’d quietly made ready for her, waiting all this time.

Her fingers clenched in the front of his shirt, as she let herself cry into his chest. The smell of him wrapped around her. But when her legs gave just a little more, Bucky shifted and guided her to the couch. She sat. He didn’t leave her side.

She took one trembling breath, then another. Her eyes were misted , far away, and her voice—small. 

“Why does this keep happening to me?” she whispered into him.

“What is wrong with me!?” She was angry. Hurt.

“Doll—”

“Why am I so easy to hurt?!”

Bucky's heart broke into a million pieces at how small and battered she sounded.

He shifted , cupping her face with both hands. His thumbs brushed at the tear tracks, his own eyes burning with the weight of what she was asking and the tears of —what she believed. That it was all her fault. 

“Nothing,” he said firmly, grounding her with every syllable and sound. “Nothing is wrong with you.”

She tried to look away, but he gently brought her eyes back to his.

“You are strong, and kind, and good. You save lives every damn day,” he spoke with a deep sternness , his voice thick with emotion. “But you got lost somewhere along the way. You forgot how to save your own.”

Her lips quivered , she felt nine all over again. She blinked fast. A sob was stuck behind her teeth.

He kept his eyes locked to hers and didn't stop. “Can I tell you something?”

She closed her eyes for a moment before opening them again  , and nodded a slow broken movement.

“When I look in your eyes…I don’t see the bruises. I don’t see the tears or the hurt girl sitting in a tree house wondering what’s wrong with her , or why the world is so wrong to her.”

His thumb brushed beneath her lashes.

“I see us. Together. Turning grey.”

She made a sound between a laugh and a cry, and he smiled faintly, voice softe as a lullaby.

“I see little kids runnin’ around this place… with my eyes and your nose—”

He leaned forward and tapping her nose gently, making her huff a tiny breath, the ghost of a smile playing on her lips through the tears.

“—my stubbornness,” he added, “and your bravery…your smarts. I see you bossin’ me around, showing me how to fold the damn towels the ‘right’ way.”

A tear rolled down her cheek as she shook her head, almost laughing.

He nudged her nose with his. “I see me rocking you on that porch,” he said, and gestured toward the sliding glass door just off the kitchen, where a small deck stretched toward the tree line. “Right out there.”

He took a breath and kept going, listing everything like a prayer.

“I see you barefoot in the kitchen swatting at me to stop sneakin’ bites while you cook. I see Sunday mornings slow-dancing in pajamas. I see dogs and cats that sheds on every piece of furniture we own. A house full of noise. Maybe chaos. But its safe. Its Ours.”

Her hand came up to touch his chest. 

He leaned in closer, voice a whisper now, forehead to hers.

“I still want it, dolly. Every dream we had back then, every little piece of wishing on a star. I never stopped wantin’ them. I still want them.”

She felt like she couldn't breathe , but at the same time like his words were a breath of fresh air keeping her above the surface.

“I want it all with you. When you’re healed. When you’re ready. I’m here. And I’m staying.”

His voice broke at the edges—gentle, but aching. A quiet vow, sealed in the way wax is pressed in declaration.

Y/N's face crumpled together..

“I never stopped loving you,” she finally broke out , chest heaving. “I just… I didn’t think I was enough for you anymore.”

Bucky’s brows knit tight. His heart shattered and healed all at once.

“I thought you deserved better,” she admitted, voice failing her. “Tyler—he made me believe I was the problem. That I was weak. That no one would stay. He twisted everything. Used what I loved against me. And I let him. I was so stupid.”

“Don’t,” Bucky said instantly, voice firm but tender. “Don’t you dare blame yourself for his cruelty.”

Her shoulders shook as she looked away, ashamed.

He reached for her again.

“Look at me,” he said softly.

She did.

“You’ve always been enough, Y/N. Even when you were hurting. Even when you didn’t believe it. Especially then.”

Tears slid silently down her cheeks.

He pulled her gently into his arms, tucking her to his chest like she belonged there.

“You were my home,” he whispered into her hair, “way before I ever built one.”

She broke truly broke. Not in a way that shattered, but in a way that released. Her sobs were soft and ragged, soaking into the collar of his shirt, her arms curling around his waist like she’d finally stopped running.

And he just held her.

Held her like a man.  One who would never let her go again.

-end of chapter

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[wimbledon2008]

They were halfway through the basket when Buck cleared his throat. “So,” he said. “Did you sleep well?” Eddie chuckled. “Small talk?” he asked, eyes on the jacket he was folding. “I thought we moved past that about seven years ago.” Buck huffed. “What’s small about it?” he said. “I always want you to sleep well.” Eddie felt like he was moving in slow motion as he lowered the jacket. He reached out to set it on top of Christopher’s pile and didn’t notice when he missed. The jacket toppled off to the side while he was staring at Buck. Were his ears ringing, or did the dryer need more WD-40? I always want you to sleep well. It was more than Eddie could take. Wearing only his novelty Swedish Fish underpants and his coziest hoodie, his hands hovering over their Saturday laundry and the milky winter sunlight streaming in through his kitchen windows, Eddie couldn’t not kiss Buck anymore.

Gorgeous art commissioned from @redwing, with all proceeds benefiting the Los Angeles Fire Department Foundation. Commissions are still open with a 200% employer match—more details here and here! Inspired by my fic In the Morning There Is Meaning. Read the rest on AO3 here 💛🐟❤️

[ohmyminsung]

WONWOO 💚 LALALI

[totalswag]

Love your writing! So good!! Could you do one where the reader and Rafe have not been dating for long, only for about two weeks or so, and she is very insecure and doesn´t understand why he ever approached her to ask her out in the first place. She isn´t the most outgoing and thinks she is quite plain looking, comparing herself to all the much prettier girls (in her opinion) at parties that she evidently thinks he will leave her for and so she she starts to distance herself to make it hurt less

unworthy doubts — RAFE CAMERON

authors note first off, thank you so much. you don’t know how much that means to me. to all of you reading this right now; please know how important you're in this world. youre beautiful on the inside and outside in your own unique way 🤍.

summary questioning and comparing yourself to other girls while wondering why your boyfriend, rafe cameron, chose you.

warnings insecure, comparing, mentions of parties, crying, doubt.

Rafe Cameron and you started dating for almost a month; it’s everything you’ve ever wanted in a relationship. Although it’s in the early stages of your relationship, you haven’t felt this way.

However, your insecurities felt like they'd been with you forever.

Rafe's confidence and charisma seemed to effortlessly command whatever room he entered. You felt invisible; blending into the background. Comparing yourself to other girls at parties; pretty smile, makeup, etc.

What could rafe see in you?

The worries had recently gotten stronger, a constant voice in the back of your head. When you saw Rafe taking to someone or laughing too hard at someone’s joke, the voice whispers became louder.

You stood against the railing of Tannyhill watching at the sunset in your own thoughts. The breeze felt nice and it felt like good time to enjoy the moment.

"Hey," Rafe's voice interrupted your thoughts, making you jump slightly. He joined you at the railing with a troubled expression on his face. "You have been quiet recently. Is everything alright?

Rafe noticed your change in attitude in the previous three days. He had asked if everything was fine, but you refused to talk about it. Tonight, he wants answers. He's concerned about you.

You forced a smile, but it did not reach your eyes. "Yeah, I am fine." Just... exhausted, I suppose."

Rafe did not appear convinced. He stretched out and carefully tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear. "You know you can speak with me, right? If something is bothering you, please let me know.”

Your heart sunk as you heard those words. Deep down, you want to open up to him and express your feelings. You don't want to come across as undesirable and make him think differently of you.

You felt words spilling out, but you remained silent.

"Y/N, I feel like you're pulling away from me." "Is it something I said or did?" He creaked "Please let me know, baby."

"It's not you, Rafe," you eventually confessed, the words rushing out before you could stop them. "It's me." I just don't understand why you chose me. I am not like the other gals. I'm not as attractive, outgoing, or—"

Rafe cut you off, his eyes wide with disbelief. "Is that what you think? That I don't realize how magnificent you are?"

Rafe's thoughts were all over the place. Seeing tears gather in the corner of your eyes caused him to cry.

You shrugged your shoulders, feeling tears form in your eyes, and down your cheeks. Not bothering drying them off.

"It's difficult for me to not to think about that when I'm constantly comparing myself to these girls" you ramble on when Rafe cuts you off.

Rafe approached, holding your face in his hands. "Look at me," he murmured quietly, waiting for you to meet his eyes. "I asked you out because I like who you are. You are nice and intelligent, and you make me laugh like no one else can. You are attractive to me both inside and out. And if you can't see it yet, I'll spend as much time as necessary to show you."

His words struck you like a tsunami, removing any doubts and anxieties that had been building up. You took a nervous breath as tears finally poured over.

You bury your face against his chest, letting out your sobs and putting your arms around his body; Rafe gently strokes your back, rocking you both side to side and whispers nice words into your ear to calm you down. 

"I can't afford to lose you," you whine against his chest.

"Baby, you will not lose me; I will be with you every step of the way," Rafe says before kissing the top of your head several times.

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