wolvietxt

[wolvietxt]

Hiii, i was wondering if you could write something of Dean?? Don't really have any clear ideas, so fell free to write anything really. I just really miss your Dean fics 😔

helloooo i totally loved writing for dean but i haven’t watched supernatural in sooo long SO once i’ve started again then yes i’ll try and do something for dean

[wolvietxt]

JOELLLLLL

The first season of the show is great but the second season is very disappointing. I love Pedro but Game!Joel does not get enough love

oh i fear pedro fatigue has hit me hard💔💔 BUT game joel is everything to me i love those games so much🥹

[wolvietxt]

hello this is a longshot but do you know of a logan fic where him and reader get flustered in a kitchen facing each other?? this is SO vague but i read it like over a year ago and haven’t been able to find it again ;;_____;; it was so cute and they were oblivious tho????? IDK YOU SEEMED LIKE THE BEST SOURCE ILY

THIS IS SO OLD really sorry but i have not read😕😕

[wolvietxt]

Are you still alive? x

yes🙂🙂

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ur old daryl fics keep me sane

so sweet thank you🥹🥹🥹

[wolvietxt]

come back we miss you

i never left 👩‍💻

[wolvietxt]

you are the best logan fluff writer!!!! please come back to feed us again!!!!

hello thank you this is so sweet🥹

[wolvietxt]

Love you but do you ever answer asks… even if they’re not requests😭😭😭 because i send like several a week and i’m not sure if i’ve ever even seen a single one answered by you😭😭😭

sometimes i do😕😕😕

[wolvietxt]

fever

pairing : clark kent x fem!reader warnings : hurt/comfort, fever symptoms, soft petnames, clark being stubborn, reader fussing over him, totally not comic accurate😅, established relationship, fluff-heavy recovery, happy ending summary : kryptonian fever isn’t something clark faces often, but when it hits, it hits hard. you fuss, you scold, you soothe - and despite his stubborn protests, clark lets you love him through his weakest days. wc : 1.3k a/n : i really don’t like this but hope you enjoy anon 🥹✌️

the first time you notice something’s wrong, it’s so subtle you almost miss it. clark is sitting at the kitchen table, glasses sliding down his nose, typing away at his laptop like he always does. but his hands are slower than usual, movements sluggish, as though every keystroke is pulling something out of him. his shoulders sag, and when you call his name, he blinks at you like he’s wading through water just to hear.

“clark?” you cross the room, pressing the back of your hand to his forehead before you can think twice. he flinches slightly under the touch, warm skin burning hotter than you’ve ever felt on him. “you’re on fire.”

he shakes his head, muttering, “i’m fine,” in that low rumble of his, but there’s a hitch in the words. fine doesn’t look like this. fine doesn’t look like clark kent swaying in his chair like he might tip over.

“baby, you’re burning up,” you insist, sliding the laptop out of reach before he drops it. “what’s going on?”

his jaw tightens, like he hates admitting it. “kryptonian fever. comes around every few years. nothing to worry about.”

nothing to worry about… except his skin is blazing hot, his pulse thrumming weakly under your fingers, sweat beading at his hairline. you’ve seen him walk away from bullets and explosions, seen him take hits no one else could survive, but this? this reduces him to trembling hands and a pale face.

“get up,” you tell him softly. “bed. now.”

he starts to argue, because of course he does, but the effort fizzles halfway through his protest. you help him stand, one arm slung over your shoulders, his weight heavier than you expect. normally he makes himself feel light when he’s near you, like gravity doesn’t apply, but now every step drags. you guide him to the bedroom, easing him down onto the mattress, pulling his shoes off, fussing with the blankets until he’s tucked in.

“you don’t need to - ”

“it’s okay.” you smooth his damp hair back from his forehead, trying not to panic at how hot his skin is. “just let me...” you trailed off, concentrating on trying to get his hair out of his face.

his eyes soften a little at that, the fight in him dimming.

he drifts in and out after that. sometimes he’s burning, shivering despite the fever. sometimes his skin cools and he looks almost normal again, only for the cycle to repeat. you sit by his side through it, wiping him down with a damp cloth, coaxing him to sip water, murmuring reassurances every time his hands search for you blindly.

at one point, in the middle of the night, he startles awake, eyes glazed but panicked. “did i - hurt you?” the words are broken, terrified.

“no, baby. you didn’t.” you take his hand, pressing it to your chest so he can feel your steady heartbeat. “you’re safe. i’m safe. everything’s fine.”

his breathing slows, but he doesn’t let go of you, fingers curled around yours like an anchor.

by the second day, you realize how much he hates being weak. every time you adjust the blankets or press a cool cloth to his forehead, he tries to mumble that he can handle it, that he doesn’t need fussing over. but his hands are shaking, his voice is raw, and you can see how hard he’s fighting not to collapse completely. you kiss his knuckles to quiet him.

sometimes he manages a half smile at that, sometimes he just closes his eyes and pretends he didn’t hear, but he always leans into your touch.

by the third day, he’s worse. the fever spikes higher, his voice barely a rasp when he tries to speak. you coax medicine down his throat, even though you’re not sure how much it helps a kryptonian body. you cook broth, hold the spoon steady when his hands tremble too much to lift it. he’s embarrassed, cheeks flushed, whispering, “don’t baby me.”

“too late.” you smile softly, bringing the spoon to his lips again. “you’re stuck with me.”

his lips twitch at that, the ghost of a smile before exhaustion pulls him under again.

that night, you’re woken by his body twisting against the sheets, fever dreams gripping him tight. he mutters under his breath - words you don’t understand but tone you do. fear, loss, grief. you press your forehead to his, whispering, “it’s okay, baby. i’m right here.” eventually he stills, clutching your shirt with surprising strength even in his weakness.

on the fourth day, you find him half sitting up, trying to read. his glasses fog with heat, and the book trembles in his hands. you slide it away gently. “not yet, clark. rest.”

“don’t want to waste time,” he murmurs, stubborn even now. “too much to do.”

“the world can wait.” you kiss the corner of his mouth, tasting the salt of sweat. “you’re more important.”

his eyes soften, something unspoken flickering there. he doesn’t argue again.

and though it terrifies you to see him so weak, there’s something strangely intimate in it too - this invulnerable man reduced to his most fragile, and trusting you completely to hold him together. he doesn’t hide it, doesn’t try to put the mask back on. he lets you see every tremor, every crack, every bit of need.

by the fifth day, the fever finally breaks. you notice it in the stillness first - the way his breathing evens, the heat radiating from his skin cooling to something almost human. when he stirs awake, blinking at you through damp lashes, his voice is clearer. “still here?”

“always.” you lean down, kissing his temple, tasting salt and relief. “how do you feel?”

“like hell.” his lips curve faintly. “but better, because you’re here.”

you laugh, shaking your head, brushing your thumb over his cheek. “you scared me, clark.”

he pulls you down then, arms weak but insistent, tucking you against his chest. “sorry, baby. didn’t mean to.”

“don’t do it again,” you murmur into his skin, breathing him in, alive and whole and warm. “no more fevers.”

“i’ll try,” he says, and you can feel the smile against your hair. “but if it happens again… guess i’ll just have to let you spoil me.”

“you already do.”

he chuckles, the sound rumbling faintly in his chest, and presses a lazy kiss to the top of your head. “damn right. best thing i ever did.”

later that night, when he’s steady enough to stand, you find him in the kitchen with a blanket still wrapped around his shoulders, sipping water. you scold him gently, ushering him back to bed, but he only grins sheepishly. “missed walking.” you tuck yourself under his arm, guiding him, and he leans down to kiss your hair. “missed you more, though.”

and for the first time in days, you let yourself relax, curled safe in his arms, knowing he’s yours to take care of - and he’ll let you, every time.

CLARK KENT : @arthurmorganswifexx

taglist linked in pinned post

[wolvietxt]

hey girl i saw clark on your maybe write for list soooo can i request clark getting some kind of fever and reader having to take care of him all sweaty and gross. could be smallville clark or the new one!!!

helloooooo here you go🙂🙂

[wolvietxt]

stormy nights

pairing : benjamin poindexter x fem!reader warnings : hurt/comfort(?), try not to cringe challenge, established relationship au, dex doesn’t like storms, reverse comfort, a bit (a lot) ooc, happy ending🙂 a/n : based on this request ALSO ib this by @vigilantekisser🥹🥹 wc : 1.4k~

the rain was loud enough to rattle the windows, fat drops smacking against the glass like they had a personal vendetta against you two. thunder rolled in the distance, the kind that made the whole apartment hum, and you knew dex wasn’t going to sleep well tonight.

he tried - god, he tried - stretched out flat on his back, arms crossed over his chest like a soldier waiting for orders. his jaw was tight, eyes open and fixed on the ceiling, following every shadow the lightning tossed across it.

“you’re gonna burn a hole in there,” you murmured from your side of the bed, rolling over.

“not tired,” he muttered. he didn’t even try to make it sound convincing.

“you mean ‘can’t sleep.’” you shifted closer, propping yourself up on an elbow to look at him. his eyes flicked to you, brief, then back up like he didn’t want you to catch him caring.

“same thing,” he said.

“nope.” you poked his shoulder. “one means you don’t need me. the other means you definitely do.”

he huffed through his nose, the closest thing to a laugh he gave when he was trying not to give you one. “you think you got me all figured out?”

“mhmm. and it’s stormy nights: one, dex: zero.” you curled against his side before he could stop you, chin resting on his chest. he went stiff for a second, then let out another breath, heavier this time, and wrapped an arm around your waist like he always did when you insisted on being his human weighted blanket.

he was warm, solid, all sharp lines and quiet tension. your hand slid over his shirt, tracing a lazy circle. “want me to tell you a story?”

“what kinda story.”

“something ridiculous. so your brain stops counting thunder claps.”

he angled his head to glance at you, suspicious. “like what.”

“like… the time i tried to microwave soup in a bowl with a crack and almost started a fire.”

you felt his chest move under your cheek - barely, but enough. “you already told me that one.”

“fine. the one about the time i tripped over my own shoelace in front of a cop and he thought i was drunk.”

this time, he snorted. “sounds about right.”

“rude,” you said, but you were grinning, satisfied you’d coaxed something out of him.

another boom of thunder rattled the room, and dex’s fingers tightened just slightly on your side. you tilted your head to look at him. “hey. i’ve got you.”

his jaw flexed, eyes fixed on the ceiling again. “don’t need - ”

“ - me, yeah, i know.” you cut him off gently, pressing a kiss to his collarbone. “good thing i’m selfish, then. i need you.”

his throat worked as he swallowed. he didn’t say anything, but his hand smoothed over your back, fingers curling in the hem of your sleep shirt like he was anchoring himself.

later on, when you got up to go grab some water, your phone buzzed on the counter. you frowned, half-expecting some weather alert, but when you glanced down, the name on the screen made you laugh.

dex: Can’t sleep

you carried the glass back into the bedroom, holding it out to him. “you know, you could just tell me instead of texting from ten feet away.”

he sat up a little, taking the glass like he hadn’t been caught. “…habit.”

“a cute one,” you teased. “though i expected at least four deleted drafts before you settled on that.”

the corner of his mouth twitched. “maybe there were.”

he was restless even after that - turning onto his side, then his back, then sitting up like he was debating whether to start pacing. you finally grabbed your phone again, thumbs tapping quickly.

you: dex. stay still.

he looked down when his phone buzzed on the nightstand. you watched his brow crease as he picked it up, then slowly typed something back, staring at the screen for a solid thirty seconds before sending.

dex: Ok

you giggled. “god, you’re adorable.”

he groaned, dragging a hand over his face. “don’t call me that.”

“adorable.” you leaned in and kissed his temple, and when he turned his face toward you to argue again, you kissed the corner of his mouth. “adorable.” another kiss, this one to the bridge of his nose. “adorable.”

“you’re impossible,” he muttered, but the tension had bled from his shoulders, his mouth curving just barely under your persistence.

“storm’s already passing,” you whispered against his skin. “you made it.”

he finally let out a low laugh, quiet and almost disbelieving, and pulled you back into his chest like he couldn’t stand another inch between you.

taglist linked in pinned post

[wolvietxt]

hiya jay🫦🫦 okay hear me out on this one….. i know you don’t write for him yet but i KNOW you’d like him we have the exact same types. benjamin poindexter (from daredevil)!! okay if i can just squeeze a little request in there (feel free to write this for whoever you want to i’ll love it either way) dex is scared of storms so you comfort him and yes just fluff fluff fluff really, he’s so adorable but he’d get sooo embarrassed hearing that. ok no one really writes for dex but you’d do it so well FINE i’ll stop meatriding you now.

yeah so you type exactly like my little sister🙂 and also yes you predicted my future after a daredevil rewatch i’m #fiending for that thanks a lot anon please pop in again whenever. i never forget an ask, after my benjamin poindexter realisation i came straight to dig around in the inbox for this… also i am like 90% sure that you’ve sent a few other requests so i’ll get to them too👩‍💻

[wolvietxt]

already home 1.9k ↳ summary : after a tough patrol with tommy, joel’s the only person that can ever really make you feel okay again ↳ warnings : hurt/comfort, blood mentioned, reader and tommy’ve known eachother a long time, for context joel and reader aren’t dating they’ve got a wierd mysterious fwb thing going on, reader cries, injury

[wolvietxt]

already home 

pairing : joel miller x fem!reader summary : after a tough patrol with tommy, joel’s the only person that can ever really make you feel okay again warnings : hurt/comfort, blood mentioned, reader and tommy’ve known eachother a long time, for context joel and reader aren’t dating they’ve got a wierd mysterious fwb thing going on, reader cries, injury wc : 1.9k a/n : hi guys🧍‍♀️

you hadn’t said much after the second body dropped.

just nodded when tommy told you to reload, swallowed back the sharp breath stuck in your throat, and kept moving.

there’d been five of them. raiders, maybe smugglers, maybe just desperate. but they weren’t there to talk. shouting first. then gunfire. the snow’d gone red faster than you could think, and now your fingers were trembling, your jacket soaked through with melted ice and sweat.

“that’s the last of ‘em,” tommy said, pulling his coat tighter as he walked up beside you. he kept his voice low. careful. “you alright?”

you nodded again. not a lie, but not the truth either. your heartbeat hadn’t slowed yet.

you had a deep gash on your cheek - just along the edge of your jaw - from when someone tackled you into the frozen brush. your side hurt where you’d hit the ground, ribs bruised under your layers, and the knuckles of your left hand were scraped raw from swinging the butt of your rifle at someone’s face.

but you were alive.

and more than that - tommy was too.

“come on,” he said gently, gesturing toward the horses. “let’s get you home.”

he didn’t ask for details. didn’t need them. you’d known tommy longer than you had joel, and he knew how you tended to get after patrols, withdrawn and tense. he’d never been able to get out of that headspace, having to usually just wait for it to pass, wait for sleep to take you and hope you’d be a little more yourself in the morning. tommy hadn’t had to worry about that since joel. of course he still felt concern for you, you were his partner after all, and had been for years, there for him when joel wasn’t - his fretting over you caused sleepless nights, maria having to reassure him constantly you were more than able to handle yourself.

he always kept close while you rode, staying to your left where the trees got thick. his posture was loose, but his eyes didn’t stop moving. you noticed him glance back at you more than once. checking.

it was quiet between you, but not heavy. not uncomfortable. tommy never pressed when you got quiet like this - always treated it like it wasn’t strange, like it didn’t worry him that you went half-silent after encounters like that. you were beyond grateful for it.

about a mile from the gates, you shifted in the saddle, breath catching.

tommy looked over.

“you good?” his tone soft, as not to spook you.

“yeah,” you said, voice small. “just… sore.”

“saw you hit the ground back there,” he said, frowning. “you’re not bleeding out anywhere, right?”

you managed a soft smile. “no. promise. just my cheek.”

he craned his neck while you turned to show him, “fuck…” he muttered under his breath. 

“i’ll patch you up soon as we get back, promise you.” he said, frowning.

“thank you, tommy.” he could tell by your tone you weren’t really in the mood to speak.

not wanting to fully ice him out, you shot him another soft smile, though he could tell it took effort, and his shoulders relaxed just a little.

jackson’s watchlights were a hazy yellow glow in the distance. you didn’t think you’d ever been so relieved to see them.

“you want me to take you to the clinic as well?” tommy asked.

you shook your head. “no. can you - just… joel’s.”

he nodded understandingly. “figured.”

your voice went even softer, and your eyes grew wider. “you think he’s gonna be mad?”

tommy looked at you with a kind of gentle disbelief. “mad?”

“i don’t know. i didn’t…” you shrugged. “i froze up for a second. might’ve slowed you down.”

“bullshit,” he said flatly. “you kept your cool. you always do. don’t talk like you didn’t hold your own out there.”

you bit your lip and looked down at your reins.

“besides,” tommy added, a smile tugging at his mouth, “if joel’s mad, it’ll be ‘cause he wasn’t out there with us.”

that earned a small laugh. barely more than a breath. but it was something.

by the time you reached joel’s place, your hands were stiff from the cold and your legs felt shaky. maria had met you both in the middle, between joel’s and jackson’s gate. she’d ridden quietly with you, but you didn’t miss the falter in her stony resting face and the crumple in her brow at seeing tommy’s sheepish expression. you admired the both of them so much. tommy dismounted first and moved to help you down, his touch careful at your waist. you winced when your boots hit the ground, hand drifting toward your ribs.

“hey,” he said, his brow furrowed. “you sure you don’t want me to-”

“i’m okay,” you said. then, quieter, “thanks, tommy. and you maria, thank you both.” you said, looking over his shoulder.

he gave a small nod.

you stepped up onto the porch, pausing at the door. the house was warm behind it. safe. it smelled like woodsmoke and cedar, like him. the smell already making tears jump to your eyes.

your knock was soft. you didn’t have it in you to be louder.

it opened almost instantly.

joel stood there, hair mussed from sleep, flannel wrinkled, boots half-laced. his eyes landed on you first. scanned your face, your posture, the way your hand hovered near your ribs. his jaw tensed.

then he looked past you. saw tommy lingering by the steps. something passed between them - a brief nod, nothing more - and joel stepped out onto the porch.

you stiffened when his hand found your arm. he didn’t tug. didn’t pull you forward. just touched, lightly, like he was making sure you were real.

you were cold. stiff. tired.

and you didn’t expect him to pull you into his arms like that.

not here. not in front of anyone.

but he did.

one arm around your back, the other hand sliding up to the back of your neck. he drew you in close, his chin resting above your temple, your face pressed to his chest. he was warm. smelled like soap and leather and sleep.

his lips brushed your forehead once.

“you’re okay, baby.” he murmured into your hair.

you didn’t react. couldn’t. your eyes just shut, throat tightening.

joel didn’t say anything. didn’t move. he held you there, steady and sure, until he felt the wetness on his shirt and the hitch in your breath.

tommy didn’t speak. just watched from the steps, something unreadable in his face.

“i’ll check in tomorrow,” he said, voice low. “let you two rest.”

joel’s only response was a small nod, barely more than a tilt of his chin.

you didn’t look back.

he guided you inside with one hand on your back, door closing behind you with a soft click. the warmth of the house settled against your skin, but it didn’t chase the cold from your chest.

you still hadn’t said anything.

joel didn’t ask.

he turned you gently, holding your face in both hands now, his thumbs brushing beneath your eyes. his gaze dropped to the gash on your cheek, now stitched up by tommy. however, he missed the smudge of dried blood near your jaw. joel frowned.

“who did that?” he asked.

you blinked slowly. “i don’t know. someone grabbed me when i was reloading.”

his fingers brushed the edge of the bruise on your side. “and this?”

“hit the ground hard.”

he made a quiet, steady sound in his chest - something frustrated, something helpless. then he took your hand and led you to the couch.

you sat down slowly, the ache settling into your bones now that you were still. joel crouched in front of you, opened the small kit he kept by the hearth. he worked in silence - gentle hands, clean cloth, steady pressure on the scrape.

you watched his face. watched how his brows furrowed when he dabbed at the wound, how his jaw clenched when you winced.

“you should’ve seen the other guy,” you tried.

your voice came out smaller than you meant.

joel’s lips twitched. almost a smile.

“probably can’t see much of anything now.”

you blinked, and something stung behind your eyes again.

he noticed. joel always noticed. he shifted closer. rested a hand against the side of your neck.

you didn’t mean to cry.

it just happened.

slow at first. then sudden. your shoulders shook, breath catching, tears spilling over. you tried to turn your face away, to hide it, but he stopped you with one hand against your cheek.

“hey,” he said softly. “don’t do that. jus’ let it out.”

you did.

no words. just the weight of it, the panic, the cold. the way the snow had gone pink around your boots. the way your fingers still felt numb.

joel eased onto the couch beside you, pulling you gently into his lap. you curled up slow, careful of the sore spots, your head resting just under his chin. his arms wrapped around you tight. his hand moved in slow, soothing strokes along your spine.

“you’re alright,” he murmured. “i’ve got you, baby.”

you nodded against his chest.

he stayed like that for a long time, holding you through every shaky breath.

when the tears finally slowed, you realized how quiet it was. the snow outside had dulled the world to a hush. the fire crackled softly. joel’s heartbeat was steady under your ear.

he shifted only once - just enough to grab a blanket from the back of the couch and pull it over your shoulders. then he kissed the top of your head.

“you warm enough?”

“mmhmm,” you said, voice raw.

“good.”

you stayed curled up like that, legs drawn into the blanket, your cheek pressed to his collarbone.

“tommy okay?” he asked after a while.

you nodded. “he looked out for me.”

joel’s hand moved slow against your arm. “he’s good like that.”

you glanced up. “you’re not mad?”

his brow furrowed. “mad?”

“that i… panicked. or… didn’t shoot fast enough.”

he pulled back just enough to look at you. 

“you’re not supposed to be made for this,” he said quietly. “you still made it home. that’s all i care about.”

you swallowed. “but what if-”

he cut you off gently. “don’t start that, baby.”

you nodded, eyes dropping.

his thumb brushed your cheek again, slower this time.

“just glad you’re here.”

you leaned into him.

joel helped you up eventually, though he didn’t let go for long. brought you into the bedroom, helped you change into dry clothes, guided you under the covers. he settled behind you, one arm wrapped around your waist, his nose tucked behind your ear.

“get some sleep,” he murmured. “i ain’t goin’ anywhere.”

your hand found his where it rested against your stomach, fingers curling around his.

you didn’t answer.

you didn’t need to.

you were already home.

JOEL MILLER : @person-005

taglist form linked in pinned post :3

[wolvietxt]

probably going to start writing for joel miller soon i’ve just played tlou again after about five years…… send in requests i beg…

[wolvietxt]

can you write something for bucky where after some awkwardness he just straight up admits he wants reader…. or maybe she does? up to you thank you so much , love your writing❤️

here, hope you like it💗💗💗

[wolvietxt]

ᰔ i want you !

↳ bucky barnes x female reader

you’re sitting on the couch with your knees pulled up, cradling a chipped mug between your hands, steam curling up past your cheek. it’s late — later than either of you meant to stay up — but neither of you have moved. neither of you have said a word about heading to bed.

bucky’s across the room. not far, not close. his elbow is braced on the armrest, fingers pressed to his mouth like he’s thinking. or hiding something. the soft light from the kitchen cuts across his face, all shadow and bone. his hair’s tucked behind one ear, a little messy, a little damp. he must’ve showered an hour ago. maybe more. you can still smell his soap from here. warm, cedar and clean linen. it makes your chest tight.

he watches you sometimes when he thinks you won’t notice. quiet glances. slow ones. like he’s memorizing. like he’s not sure how long he’ll be allowed to look.

you notice every time.

you shift your weight, your knee brushing the blanket thrown over your lap. bucky’s eyes flicker down to the movement, then back up. caught again. you give him a small smile, soft and tired. he doesn’t smile back. not because he’s upset — he just looks… stuck.

“you tired?” you ask gently, breaking the quiet.

his voice is low. hoarse. “nah.”

you wait. he doesn’t offer anything else.

the air feels thick between you, but not in a bad way. more like something waiting to happen. something that’s been waiting. you sip your tea and look at the tv, even though nothing’s playing. just the home screen. you haven’t touched the remote in an hour.

he shifts, and you glance at him again. he’s still watching you, eyes softer now. a little worn down. like the edges of a well-loved book.

“you okay?” you ask, barely above a whisper.

he exhales. slow. heavy. his metal fingers twitch on his thigh. “yeah.”

it’s not really an answer, but it’s bucky, so you don’t push. he never says what he’s really feeling until it’s too big to hide.

you wonder if he knows how obvious he is. how your heart stumbles every time he walks into the room. how sometimes, when your hands brush, you think you’ll burn from it. how you fall asleep thinking about the way his voice gets low when he says your name.

you wonder if he feels it too.

his gaze drops to your mug. “that tea?”

you nod. “chamomile. helps me sleep.”

he hums, quiet. “you haven’t touched it much.”

“haven’t really been tired,” you admit.

“me neither.”

there’s another silence, this one heavier than the last. you feel it settle in your chest. maybe it’s now or never.

you look over at him. “can i ask you something?”

he nods. slowly. “course.”

“what’re you always thinking about when you look at me like that?”

he goes still.

his hand falls from his mouth. rests in his lap. you watch the way his throat bobs with a swallow, the way his jaw tenses. he doesn’t answer, not right away.

you don’t take it back. you don’t fill the silence.

finally, he says, “it’s not something i should say out loud.”

“why not?”

he shifts again, leaning forward now. his elbows on his knees, head bowed slightly. he looks tired. he looks like he wants to say something so badly it hurts.

“’cause if i do,” he murmurs, “i won’t be able to stop.”

your heart thuds.

he looks up, and this time, the weight in his eyes knocks the breath from your lungs.

“you ever want something so bad you think maybe you imagined it?” he says. “like… if you even say it out loud, it’ll vanish. or maybe it was never real to begin with.”

you blink slowly. your fingers tighten around the mug.

“yeah,” you whisper.

he nods, eyes never leaving yours. “that’s what it feels like with you.”

your breath catches.

you set the mug down, hands suddenly useless.

bucky’s still watching you, like he’s waiting for you to pull away. to say he got it all wrong. that he crossed a line.

you don’t.

you slide your legs off the couch and stand. slowly, so he can stop you if he wants. he doesn’t. you walk the short distance between you, and he tilts his head up to keep his eyes on you.

you sit beside him. close. close enough your knees brush, close enough you can feel the heat radiating off his skin. his hands are curled into fists.

you reach out and gently unfold one.

his metal fingers are cool against your palm, but they twitch like they’re trying not to grip back.

“you didn’t imagine it,” you whisper. “i feel it too.”

his eyes fall shut like the words knock something loose in him. and when he opens them again, he’s looking at you like you hung the stars. like he’s been starving for this.

he still doesn’t kiss you. he doesn’t even move. just stays still, breathing hard, staring at you like he’s afraid if he blinks you’ll be gone.

you squeeze his hand.

“you can say it,” you whisper. “if you want.”

he swallows again. then, so quiet you almost miss it:

“i want you.”

his voice cracks on the last word. like it’s too full. like it’s been buried too long.

you lean in, your forehead brushing his. his hand tightens in yours.

“then you have me,” you whisper.

and for the first time in what feels like forever, bucky exhales like he can breathe again.

BUCKY BARNES : @v3lv3tf0x, @dugiioh, @whxtewolf, @lemoanaid, @spideysimpossiblegirl

@yvespecially, @hhiggs, @darlingsoulbeautifulthoughts, @seasonofthenerd, @superlegend216

@withasideofmeg, @pvndomi, @flamin-hot-cheetos, @hazydespair, @winchestert101

@aoi_targaryen, @person-005, @corvuscattus, @uncertified-doc, @hits-different-cause-its-you

@sreidmia, @10ava01, @tinyminxie, @tcddszn, @Blu-jays

@chaoticcoffeequeen, @frankies-girl, @person-005, @wkhannah

taglist form linked in pinned post :3