#gotta keep a roof over my head

[always-is-always]

Traveling for work this week

That means I’m a little off line here on this platform... I just checked in and see that there’s tons of posts that I have missed since Sunday night... more followers and such...  

So, I’m not gone, just having to be super focused on the work side of life this week.  Just letting ya’ll know.... 😘

Hopefully, I won’t miss anything BIG, lilke a Kookmin selca, Kookmin vlive, or any other earth-shattering Kookmin event!  lol!  If the world tips on its axis, I’ll know something happened.  

ps... the GIF below is one of my favorite moments!  I just LOVE them! 💜

[toastsnaffler]

been wanting to work out all day so I did when I got back even tho it was just for 20 mins bc i still have period cramps but all its done is make me jittery + on the Brink of extremely angry

[ikiprian]

Tim swears Phantom could’ve been a Titan. Maybe he should be, at this point. They have enough in common to justify it.

“Jeez,” Phantom groans. Abruptly, he drops the levitation and hits the roof without sound. He stretches out on his back like a cat, sore muscles straining in a way Red Robin deeply relates to. “Fighting the living sucks. At least with ghosts I can swing as hard as I need. Already dead means they get back up! But mortals? Way too squishy.”

Red Robin huffs in agreement. “Yeah,” he says. After a moment’s consideration, he lies down, too.“It’s a hundred times harder than people realize. Batman’s always going on about perfect control in training. About how to have it, you gotta be twice as skilled as the other guy. Even without your super-strength, I worry sometimes.”

“How do you do it?” Phantom asks. In a move only achievable to those without bones, or perhaps Dick Grayson, he twists himself over. Gloved hands cup his cheeks. His legs kick back and forth, like they’re gossiping at a slumber party. “I mean. You said you train, so obviously there’s the physical ‘how.’ But how do you keep your emotions nonlethal? How do you keep yourself in check, make sure you’re pulling back?”

“I mean,” says Red Robin. “Murder is illegal, so.”

Phantom sighs. “Yeah. Maybe it’s easier for you.”

… Hm. Maybe Red Robin should redo Phantom’s risk assessment.

Before he can raise too high an eyebrow (though even moving that muscle smarts, ow), Phantom elaborates.

“Ecto-based entities have trouble with their emotions,” he explains. “It’s easy to get lost in an Obsession, or a big feeling like grief. The rest of the world… it bleeds away. Helps to have another emotional anchor to keep it at bay. I use fear.”

“Fear?” Red Robin glanced over.

“Sometimes sheer stubbornness,” Phantom admits. “But a lot of it is fear.”

With a considering frown, he drops his head atop his arms. Exhaustion, regret, reluctance play out on his face. For someone the Bats know next to nothing about, Phantom’s body language is an open book.

“I saw, like, an alternate future version of myself once where I become evil and try to take over the world? So now I gotta be good to keep that from happening. The fear of that future keeps the pressure on me. Makes me focus up. Y’know?”

Tim sits up. “Seriously?”

Phantom nods. “Uh-huh. Kinda bizarre, I know—”

“What the hell,” says Tim. Three consecutive days together and a concussion must loosen his lips, because holy shit, no way. “Dude! Me too!”

“Huh? Seriously?” says Phantom.

“Yeah! I totally saw myself turn evil. Like, Batman but with guns. Guns Batman. I had to fight him and everything. He tried to kill my friends and erase my memory to make sure I couldn’t un-invent him by going back to change the past?”

“Oh my god.”

“What?”

“Oh my god, me too!”

happy wips wednesday!

[starstruckmiraclekitty]

Simon hadn’t been this nervous since his baby girl was born nearly two years ago now. His palms were sweating as he glanced over at his daughter, who was waiting with excitement by the window.

“Are you okay, Si?” You asked, flashing your husband a warm smile, before wiping down the kitchen table for the fifth time that afternoon. “You seem nervous.”

“Think we both are.” Simon gave you a half smile, his eyes softening as he took in the sight of his precious family. “Just nervous for the boys to finally meet my girls.”

You walked over to him, and were about to press a reassuring kiss to his lips before the doorbell rang, signaling the arrival of your guests.

Your daughter squealed with excitement, and ran to open the door, her little arms barely able to reach the handle. “Daddy! They’re here!”

The door swung open revealing the 141 boys, each of them wearing matching smiles. Your daughter beamed up at them, and each of the men noted how similar she looked to her father.

The boys filed in, and it took all of a few seconds before your daughter was chatting away, clearly very excited to be meeting her daddy’s friends.

She had Johnny and Kyle’s full attention, showing them her newest collection of toys her daddy bought her, while John made his way over to you.

“It’s wonderful to meet you, Mrs. Riley.” John smiled, politely pressing a kiss to your cheek. He extended his hands to you, revealing a bouquet of flowers. “I would’ve insisted on meeting you sooner, but your husband has done an impeccable job of keeping you and the little one a secret from us.”

Simon wore a proud smile as he watched the encounter, suddenly very much liking you being referred to as “Mrs. Riley”. “For good reason, didn’t want to put them at risk.”

“Nonsense, Simon. I’m so happy to meet all of you. It’s about time I’ve met the men who my husband trusts with his life.” You waived away your husband’s concerns, prompting John to chuckle. “I’m glad you all could make it tonight. These flowers are beautiful by the way, thank you!”

Johnny and Kyle eventually made their way over, each of them greeting you with bone crushing hugs.

“Daddy! Uncle Johnny said that he’d babysit me one day!” Your daughter exclaimed, moving to hang onto Johnnys leg tightly.

“Did he now?” Simon asked, quirking a brow as he looked in Johnnys direction. “Uncle Johnny, eh?”

“Thought it was fitting, no?” Johnny laughed, petting your daughter’s head playfully. “Gotta say, L.T, she’s a spitting image of you.”

Simon felt a flush rise to his cheeks, the sentiment causing a warmth to spread through his bones. “I’d say she’s got her mother’s looks.”

When dinner rolled around, your daughter insisted on sitting in between her uncle Johnny and Kyle, relishing in all the stories they could tell her about her daddy.

You took note of the permanent smile etched onto Simon’s lips- though he was relatively quiet you could tell that he was enjoying himself. You only wished you had done this sooner.

As he looked around the room, Simon felt his heart flutter as laughter filled the air. Any nervousness he had felt before was gone, and Simon felt undeniably happy. He had everybody he loved and cared about, finally under one roof.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: not super happy with this one- so planning on doing another version shortly☺️❤️ (ideas are welcome!!)

[heavysighing-dreamyeyes]

Places We Dance

AKA Kitchen Dances Part Two. Shout out to @jjenthusee for breaking my heart so much with their angst fic it kick started my desire to write. You're truly an inspiration. ~1.3k words

Jason finds himself dancing with you a lot now. It's almost funny, how easily spinning each other around has become a part of his life.

He loves it almost as much as he loves you. The way either one of you can hold out a hand and the other just knows, music or not. It makes him smile every time, the way you twirl each other, even if he has to bend down to get under your arm.

He loves swaying with you. He really loves lifting you up and spinning you around. It's magical, the way you tilt your head back and laugh, trusting him completely to never drop you. He never would, wouldn't dream of it.

Telling you that he loves you is always on the tip of his tongue, especially in moments like this. He doesn't need anything more, would never ask for anything better than this. But he wants you to know, you deserve to know, how much you mean to him. He just still hasn't figured out exactly how to tell you.

It almost slips it when you drag him out from under the overhang of your favorite bodega, into the drizzle of rain.

He doesn't mind getting wet, not when you're spinning with him through Gotham's barren streets and smiling like there's no place you'd rather be. His socks are wet, and his hair is matted to his face, but you're so, so beautiful like this. You're happy, and he's still surprised every time that he's a part of your happiness.

It almost slips out again, the fact that he loves you, at some charity event Bruce is throwing. His suit feels too itchy, the air to stale, but suddenly you're there, eyes bright as you hook your arm with his and pull him towards the dance floor.

"You've gotta get me away from these people, Jason, spare me dance?" You ask, and your fake smile melts into something real when your gaze meets his.

He nods, more than happy to guide you along the dance floor. He listens to you poke fun at Gothams elite, how they wouldn't know how to hold a conversation even if you gave them a script, and he feels butterflies in the pit of his stomach over your smile.

He wants to tell you right now, and he almost does, until the lights dim and Bruce walks on stage to talk about the charity he's sponsoring tonight. The moment passes, but it's not all bad. It's not bad at all, when as you're both turning towards the stage, you lean into his side and he gets to keep his arm around your waist, holding you flush against his side.

The words always seem to threaten to rush out of his mouth. He has you in his arms on the rooftop of your apartment building, swaying back and forth to the distant music playing throughout Gotham. It's Gothams anniversary tonight, and the whole city seems alive, brimming with excitement over the fireworks show. (Paid for by The Wayne Foundation, but that's neither here nor there.)

He's off from patrol tonight, and he's never been so grateful that Dick insisted he spend tonight with you instead. Your head rests under his chin as he traces his thumb over your hip. It's warm, soft, and perfect. Jason opens his mouth to tell you, says your name just as the first fireworks start to go off. You pull away in excitement, grabbing his hand to drag him closer to the edge of the roof.

Another opportunity passes, but he doesn't mind. The way the colors and light from the fireworks dance over your face are too pretty to let anything bother him.

Jason's swaying with you in his favorite place to dance, your kitchen, just the two of you. You just finished cleaning the dishes, him washing, you drying, and he didn't fight the urge to pull you to his chest as the music changed to something soft and slow.

You're humming along to music, lazily moving back and forth in the same spot. His heart skips a beat when he realizes this is it. There's no one to distract him, nothing to steal your attention. He hesitates, because it doesn't seem good enough, big enough, to tell you here.

He should have said it in the rain, it would have been romantic, a scene right out of a movie. He should have said it at the charity ball, gone up on stage and declared how he felt for all of uptight Gotham to hear. He should have said it on the roof, when your eyes were shining and he thought his heart was going to burst out of his chest.

How could he tell you here? When his feelings could ruin everything, destroy the best relationship he's ever had. When he could lose his best friend because he went and caught feelings.

How does he say he loves you?

Jason says your name carefully, he hates the shake on his voice.

You give a soft hum in response. He hates himself a little, in this moment, for wanting to ruin something that feels so safe and secure and comfortable with something that might not ever be.

You pull back a little when he doesn't respond, peering up at his face, his fingers twitch against your back. "What's up, Jason? Everything okay?"

"I-" Jason starts, swallowing his words when they get stuck in his throat. "I love you."

"Oh," you respond casually, already resting your head back against his shoulder, "I love you too."

He stiffens, he knows you misunderstood. Knows you took his words in a way that wasn't romantic. He knows he should leave it here, not try to cross the boundary between friend and more, but the words keep falling from his mouth.

"No," he chokes out, says your name almost desperately when you look back up at him. He needs you to understand, "I love you. I love you and I know I should tell you better- you deserve better than this- than me-"

He's rambling. Jason knows this, he also knows his hands are tightening on your waist, that he's scared you'll pull away and tell him to leave and say you never want to see him again. You'd be right to. You'd be right when you're everything he's ever really wanted to keep and he's just Jason Todd, second-rate vigilante.

"I love you," he says again, because it needs to be clear, "I love your smile and your laugh and your eyes and I love how everything is easier when you're next to me. I love dancing with you, I love-" He stumbles over your name, "I'm in love with you."

You blink at him, gaze darting between his eyes. Anxiety seeps into the lines of his face. But now you know. There's not a secret left of his that isn't yours as well.

But then you lean up to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth, and his world freezes, "I'm in love with you too, Jason."

He looks down at you wide-eyed as you settle your head back against his shoulder and slowly start guiding him back into dancing to the music, coaxing him to relax into the rhythm of the song.

It sounds so simple when you say it. Like there's nothing to worry about. His muscles lose the tension he didn't realize he was holding. You love him.

You love him, and he loves you. It's clear in every step you take to the music, in every note you hum along to as you rest against him. Jason Todd is in love with his best friend, and his best friend is in love with him. You'll remind each other of that with every song you dance to, every beat you sway to, even if it's only to the beat of your own hearts.

[bucky-bucky-bucky-bucky]

The Rain is Always Gonna Come if You're Standing With Me | Bucky Barnes x Reader

Hi, friends. This one took me approximately 100 years to finish because school is eating me alive. This one is based on Peace from folklore, which is an underrated song, in my opinion.

Word count: 12.3k

Warnings: Bucky's negative self image, harassment, slight reader injury, people being assholes

"But I'm a fire, and I'll keep your brittle heart warm If your cascade ocean wave blues come All these people think love's for show But I would die for you in secret The devil's in the details, but you got a friend in me Would it be enough if I could never give you peace?"

“Oh, you don’t have to do that, doll-” Bucky said as you swiped the dirty dishes from the table. He made a grab for them, but his enhanced speed was no match for you. You expertly evaded his capture, slipping away from his grasp with almost no effort. You knew him too well, knew his movement patterns and habits. Anticipating his every move was easy. With a cocky laugh, you turned on your heel and headed for the sink. 

“Sweetheart, really,” he called after you, “I’ll clean up.”

“But you made breakfast.” You set the two bowls that once held yogurt, fruit, and granola in the sink and turned on the water. “It’s only fair that I do the dishes.”

Bucky rolled his eyes and gave a laugh, “that wasn’t breakfast, baby. It was just a… a morning snack.” In only a few long strides, he met you at the sink. His large hands snatched yours and pulled them to his broad chest, halting your efforts to clean.

You cocked your head to the side, “A morning snack, huh?”

“Yeah. I mean, I know we’re going out for breakfast, but I didn’t want you to be hungry.” He added a fraction of extra pressure to your hands, pulling them closer against his body. “I gotta take care of my girl.”

“Well, that’s very thoughtful of you,” you placed a quick peck to his lips. “And because you are so thoughtful and sweet, let me do the dishes.” With a playful tug, you tried to free your hands from his grasp. But Bucky held firm. 

He shook his head, “Nope. Not gonna happen.” Suddenly, he released your hands, spun you around, and landed a light slap to your ass; it happened so fast it left you giggling. “You go get dressed, I’ll take care of it.”

Your giggly “sir, yes, sir” floated down the hall as you marched toward the bedroom. This was to be the perfect day. A trip to your favorite bookstore, followed by what you swore was the best chicken and waffles the city had to offer. After breakfast, the two of you were set to visit the new shark exhibit at the science museum, eat lunch in the park, and grab an ice cream from your favorite spot. 

Bucky planned it all out, ensuring a flawless blueprint. And while you appreciated his attention to detail, you would’ve been happy with a day at home. All you wanted- all you needed- was to spend time with him. 

And time with Bucky was lacking as of late.

He stood at the sink, drying the now clean dishes as emotion overcame him. He couldn’t believe he was here- home- with you. He waited for this day. He hungered and ached for a day without danger, without bloodshed. He waited for a day spent with you. And only you. 

He’d just been so busy lately- too busy. Over the past few months, he’d been dragged around the world more times than he could count. His missions only seemed to grow longer. And each time he got the call from Hill, she sent him farther and farther away. 

He found himself struggling under the weight of severe, mind-numbing exhaustion. Anxiety. His body threatened to give out with each new wound he received, each drop of blood he lost. But he didn’t mind the constant paint or fatigue. What upset him most was spending so much time away from you.

The two of you lived together now. You shared an address, a roof, a bedroom. The universe somehow allowed Bucky to have a home- a safe, comfortable home- with the person he loved most. But he’d spent so little time there lately that he feared it wasn’t his anymore. That he had no claim to the space. He always felt like a mere passerby upon arriving home, like more of a wanderer than a resident. He always had to stop himself from knocking, had to force himself to use his key. 

But who was he to waltz through the front door after being gone for so long? Who was he to act like he owned the place? He thought maybe he didn’t deserve it, this home you shared. And he knew he didn’t deserve you.  

Over the past few months, he spent only a handful of nights at home while you held down the fort. You kept things together. He missed out on so much of your life; what if you didn’t want him to be a part of it anymore?

When Bucky did come home, he always showed up in the middle of the night. Sore. Exhausted. He’d drag his body into the bed you shared and pass out before he even got the chance to pull you close. He’d sleep late, his body too fatigued to wake before the afternoon. When he finally stirred, the two of you did your best to catch up. He wanted to hear every detail of your life, and you his. But without fail, the emotion won. You’d cry together, wrapped in the other’s arms, whispering “I love yous” over and over. 

And without fail, some world ending threat would interrupt. Danger always found a way to force the two of you apart, isolating you from one another. And only twenty-four hours after arriving home, Bucky would leave. Again. 

But over the last few weeks, things started quieting down. It was slow at first. Subtle. But Bucky sensed a shift in the air. He could almost feel the world settling. At first, he thought he’d lost his mind. But Sam, too, felt the earth calming. As did Hill. Whatever sweeping, overwhelming chaos that sent the entire planet into disaster so many months ago seemed to finally lose steam. Fewer calls came in, fewer alerts woke Bucky in the middle of the night. 

And three nights ago, Bucky came home for good. 

The adrenaline that kept him going for so long evaporated as soon as he made it through the front door. The anxiety melted from his body. It was the only thing, he realized, that kept him upright. And with it gone, his body gave out. He crumbled and collapsed to the floor as sweet relief flooded his every cell. He didn’t care that he was hurt, that he was worn out; he was just happy to be home.

But a sharp shriek flooded his system with fear once again. 

You stood frozen in the doorway of your bedroom, just a few feet away, with your hands clasped over your mouth. Tears welled in your eyes. Your chest rose and fell as sharp breaths dragged into your lungs. The sight of his limp body sent you jumping to the worst, most tragic conclusions. 

“No, I’m- I’m okay, baby.”  With great effort, Bucky pulled himself to his feet. 

It was then that you snapped out of your horrified trance. You rushed to Bucky’s side, throwing your arms around his neck, and pressing your body to his. You needed to be as close to him as possible, needed your souls to touch. His arms wound around you and pulled you closer still, desperate for you.

“You’re okay…” you whispered against his neck. It wasn’t a question, but an affirmation.

“I’m okay,” he said. “I’m home.” 

That night, after he took a shower and let you clean his wounds, he planned this perfect day. And though you told him it wasn’t necessary, he wanted to make things up to you. He wanted to apologize for being gone so long. For breaking your heart over and over and over again. For disappearing. 

He knew how his absences affected you. Knew you worried about him constantly when he was gone. He noticed the way you bit your nails down to the quick. How you picked at your cuticles till they bled. Your tired eyes looked bloodshot, and your bottom lip chewed raw. He knew your anxiety gave you stomach pain and headaches. Knew that you could barely eat or sleep when he was away. 

His constant disappearing act put you through hell. And he hated himself for it. All he wanted- all he ever wanted- was to make you happy. To bring you calm and ease and tranquility. And now that he was home, he swore to himself that he’d give you peace. 

Bucky finished with the dishes and headed into the bedroom, hoping to soak up as much time with you as possible. But just as he made his way into the en suite bathroom, your grumbled, aggravated voice caught his attention.

“Oh, what the fuck?” You let out a deep huff, staring down at your phone with a sharp seriousness.

Bucky popped his head into the bathroom, “Everything okay?” 

A look of surprise splashed across your face; you hadn’t heard him come in. “Oh- hey. Yeah. Everything is-” you gestured to your phone, “everything’s fine. My friend just sent me a stupid gossip article.”

“Anything good?” Bucky shot you a wink, knowing damn well he was clueless about the latest reality tv drama. 

“No.” The word carried a hefty weight and fell to the ground with finality.

Bucky clocked your tone, your expression- both struck him as too serious for a gossip rag. His muscles stiffened ever so slightly at sight of your displeasure. 

“Just dumb shit. People writing whole articles over things they have no idea about.” You rolled your eyes and slipped your phone into your pocket. A deep breath acted as a reset to your system, clearing the fog of frustration from your mind. “And it doesn’t even matter, cause we have a perfect day planned.” 

Bucky, too, took a deep breath. He relaxed into a smile and leaned against the door jam. “We sure do, doll.”

He was too accustomed to disaster. Always prepared for the worst. The slightest change in your demeanor sent him hurdling toward the worst possible conclusion. His body was home, but his mind remained stuck in a never-ending battle. 

“I’m just gonna put my shoes on- I’ll be ready when you are.” Bucky stepped away and did his best to shake it off. ‘Everything’s fine, it’s all good’, he said to himself as he laced up his boots. ‘It was just an article about Vanderpump Rules or whatever.’ His palms dragged up and down his thighs, his chest rose and fell rhythmically. He learned how to self-regulate, to talk himself down, long ago- before he ever met you. It was his only option back then.

The sound of your footsteps bounding down the hall commanded Bucky’s attention. He snapped out his dimly lit world and stepped into your technicolor atmosphere. A comforting sigh of relief spread though his body as he noticed the bright smile on your face. Any evidence of the upset your gossip rag caused was long gone, replaced by an all-encompassing warmth. 

“Alright, Barnes,” you grabbed your purse from the hook by the door and slung it over your shoulder,  “let’s do this.” 

The warm summer air greeted the two of you as stepped out of your apartment building. The busy city pulsed with the possibilities of a perfect Saturday. People passed by with dogs in tow. Cars honked. Birds sang. And finally, things felt right. Everything fell off its axis when Bucky was gone. The world turned in the wrong direction, the sun set on the opposite side. And only his return could set things properly in motion.

“Okay, to the bookstore,” Bucky weaved his fingers with yours and gave you a gentle tug in the right direction, “here we go!” 

Bucky never had an affinity for going out in public. He didn’t particularly enjoy the crowded sidewalks or busy subways. Throngs of strangers surrounding him from every angle only ever served to put him on edge. But he’d improved. He’d worked through his anxiety and his fears- all to be with you. It seemed, though, that his paranoia threatened to creep in again. After so much time away, surrounded by danger, he found himself scanning every face on the street, assessing possible threats. 

He always experienced some level of recognition in public, sure, but today felt different. Every pair of eyes seemed to bore through him, every mouth whispered his name. His muscles tensed, his jaw locked. 

“You okay?” you pulled Bucky to the side, out of the flow of people, “you seem a little on edge.”

“Oh-” Bucky snaked his hand out of yours, realizing all at once the force of his grip. He watched you rub at the sore spots he created and silently cursed himself. “No, I’m good, I’m okay. I think I’m just-” He eyed the area once more, “I think I’m just being paranoid. Is it me or is everyone staring at me?”

Your heart stopped. “Um, no, I don’t think everyone’s staring,” A casual shrug and a shake of your head punctuated your thought. “I think you’ve got some residual adrenaline or something, you know?”

Bucky nodded. “Must be it. I’m sorry about your hand, baby.” He pressed his lips to the indentations his fingers left behind. 

“I’ll survive,” you threw him a wink, “but the kisses help.”

The two of you continued your journey with Bucky’s worries only slightly assuaged. It seemed to him that hundreds of eyes raked over him with each passing second, but he forced his anxiety behind a wall. He wasn’t going to mess up this day with you- he couldn’t. He didn’t know how many chances he had left, and if this was the last one, he couldn’t afford to ruin it.

Block after block passed as you and Bucky got closer to the bookstore. Sure, there was a similar shop only a few minutes from the apartment- but it wasn’t as cute or as special as the one in the village. And Bucky wanted this day perfect. He’d do anything to make you happy. And so, he sucked it up and vowed to make the trek with you, no matter how nervous the public made him. 

But with only a few blocks to go, you pulled him to the side once again.

“Hang on, shoe’s untied,” you attempted to bend down and tie your loose lace, but Bucky refused to let you. He, instead, knelt on the sidewalk and gave your shoe a proper double-knot. 

He stared up at you with adoration in his eyes and a warm smile on his face, “this is almost like a Cinderella moment,” he joked. “Except I-” 

Something caught his eye. 

And before you had the chance to intervene, he was gone. He forced his way past cyclists and families with children, his body seemingly drawn in by a magnet toward whatever grabbed his attention. He stood with his back to you, examining a newspaper box. 

“Come on, Buck, no one reads the paper anymore,” you laughed, attempting to sway his focus. But he didn’t move. 

His gaze remained on the grainy photo of the two of you holding hands outside your building. For the second time that day, you scanned the headline: ‘SERIAL KILLER’S PR RELATIONSHIP: The Winter Soldier’s Attempt to Win Over the American Public’.

“What- what is this?” Bucky looked to you for help, for context. “Why did someone wrote about us?”

A haunting sense of hopelessness filled his eyes, leaving you gutted. And though he wanted to look away, he couldn’t seem to pull his eyes from the page. Each second spent examining the harsh headline caused him more pain, more anguish. 

He truly couldn’t believe what he saw. And he couldn’t believe he’d dragged you into the crossfire. 

“Hey, don’t pay it any mind, okay?” You fought to meet his eyeline, “It’s just stupid gossip-”

A realization flashed across his face, “is this what you were reading this morning?”

A slow nod confirmed his fears. “I wasn’t trying to hide it from you, I just-”

Bucky snatched a paper from the box and began reading at lightning speed. With each sentence, the dread filling his chest grew heavier. “Hydra’s deadliest weapon has a new victim,” Bucky read aloud. “though she hasn’t been bloodied or brutalized…yet. We’ll see just how long Barnes’s new PR ‘girlfriend’ survives.”

The words cut him deep. They wormed their way into his brain and unearthed the fears he’d long tried to put to rest. He knew he was wrong to be with you. He was wrong to indulge in his feelings for you. Dating you meant putting you in danger, and he’d known that all along. But you were never scared of him- and if you were, you didn’t show it. This article, however, cemented his belief: your relationship was a ticking time bomb; being Bucky’s girlfriend meant signing your I love you’s in blood. 

“Wait-” he dragged his eyes upward and met your anxious stare. “What does this mean- what’s a ‘PR relationship’?”

You rolled your eyes at the phrase, just like you had earlier that morning, “’public relations relationship’. It’s a fake relationship that’s been arranged by a PR firm. People usually do it to get publicity or fix their public image after a scandal.”

Bucky knew there was more to your answer, and he had enough questions to last till dinner. But the article was long- too long. He knew it had to be full to the brim with the most brutal, vile rhetoric possible. Reading it would hurt, yes. But he needed to know exactly what the article said about him, about you. 

He buried his face in the paper once more, only surfacing to share a line or two with you. “They think you’re being paid to date me? That we’ve been doing something called-” he double checked the article, “‘pap walks’? What’s a pap walk?”

Even in times of crisis, Bucky’s lack of modern knowledge still managed to pull a smile from you. “It’s where you call the paparazzi so they can take pictures of you, but you pretend it was spontaneous.”

Bucky looked stunned, “Why would anyone do that?”

You shrugged, “you’d be surprised.”

People took pictures of Bucky without his permission constantly- it happened all the time. They snapped photos at the grocery store and on the subway. And no matter how subtle they tried to be, Bucky always clocked it. He could almost feel the lenses on him. But he didn’t notice the person taking this picture on the front page. Maybe if he had, he could’ve stopped it. Maybe he could’ve saved you from being exposed like this.

He shook his head and disappeared once again into the disgusting story written about the two of you. He didn’t care much what they said about him. People hated him- that wasn’t knew information. And though he didn’t love being one of the most reviled men in history, he’d come to terms with it. But now that someone dragged you into the fray, the fire within him reignited.

“His new ‘girlfriend’ functions as a means of improving the public’s opinion of Barnes and humanizing the ex-Winter Soldier. It’s a PR strategy we’ve seen a million times- one that could possibly salvage Barnes’s reputation,” Bucky read aloud. He eyed the people who passed, waiting until they crossed the street to continue. 

“But what if she herself is no angel?” He rolled his eyes at the thought. “Surely, no one in their right mind would risk their life to date a proven serial killer. So, it’s entirely possible that she herself may not be in her right mind. Maybe she, too, is a criminal. Acting as Barnes’s new love interest could possibly knock time off her sentence or hours off her court mandated community service.” 

Bucky stared at you, aghast. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I- I can’t believe they’d say that about you…”

“Buck, it’s okay,” you shrugged. “We both know I’m actually in love with you for real. I don’t have a prison sentence to shorten or community service hours to perform. And the last time I checked, no one is paying me to date you.” You cut a glance to the newspaper box, full of papers with front page coverage about you and Bucky, “I’m not worried about their bullshit.”

Bucky’s grip on the paper tightened, crinkling the edges. “But why’d they have to drag you into it? You haven’t done anything wrong-”

“Neither have you,” your tone was insistent, steadfast.

“We both know that’s not true…” Bucky loved your support, your assertions that he was an innocent man. But he never believed them. He knew he had blood on his hands even if you couldn’t- or refused to- see it.

“We both know you had no choice,” your rebuttal didn’t waver. “But, speaking of things that aren’t true,” you gestured toward the paper, “they also dropped Sam’s name.”

Bucky scanned through the article until he found the paragraph in question. “Why put in the effort to clean the blood from Barnes’s tarnished reputation? Two words: Sam Wilson,” Bucky paused his reading and stared up at you with wide eyes. All you could do was nod. 

“Barnes and Wilson have been seen together on many occasions and have even been photographed on Wilson’s family boat in Louisiana. But Barnes’s association with Sam Wilson, AKA the New Captain America, only hurts the Captain America brand. Even if the two did take down the Flag Smashers as a team, Barnes is a bloodstain on the brilliant red, white, and blue of Wilson’s Cap.” 

Hearing the words aloud twisted the knife. Sure, skimming the article hurt, but listening to Bucky read every last disgusting word hurt you in ways you never imagined. He deserved better. He deserved a world that loved him. A world that welcomed him home and celebrated his life. He deserved a fucking medal of honor for simply surviving what Hydra put him through. But he didn’t get medals or high praise; he, instead, got spit on by people on the subway. 

“But if this new woman improves Barnes’s image in the public eye, his destruction of Wilson’s mantle may be mitigated.” 

Bucky balled up the paper and crushed it into the nearest garbage can. His hands shook with anger, with anxiety. 

“I hadn’t even- I didn’t even think of that…” he leaned against the newspaper box, dejected. “I didn’t realize I was ruining Sam's reputation just by being friends with him.” Despair darkened his expression. He knew getting close to people was selfish- he just never realized how selfish. And in one fell swoop, he ruined the lives of the two people he cared about most.

“You’re not- you’re not ruining anything,” you took Bucky’s face in your hands, cradling his cheeks. “These kinds of stories are all made up, baby. There’s no sources or actual information for them to work from, so they just write whatever will get them the most attention.”

Bucky’s gaze fell downward. “I don’t know, doll…”

“But I do. I know.” Your words came out desperate, pleading. Something inside of you shook with a frantic need to mend Bucky’s broken heart. You’d never seen him this despondent, this torn apart. “And I’m not gonna let you doubt yourself because of some low budget, piece of shit gossip article.” Regardless of the emotion holding you hostage, your voice didn’t waver. You stood firm in your conviction, determined to help Bucky find his way out of the spiral. “I love you. I love being with you. I missed you so much- I hate when you’re gone. And Sam- Sam loves you, too. I mean, not as much as me…” you shot him a wink. “But he is your best friend. He cares about you. And I can guarantee that he’s never- even for a second- thought that you were ruining his reputation.”

Bucky gave a shake of his head.

“Hey, you know Sam doesn’t care about that kind of stuff- he doesn’t give a shit what people think.” Sam knew Bucky as the ruthless assassin, the broken fugitive, and the rehabilitated man seeking amends. He’d seen the darkest, most twisted version of Bucky created by Hydra- even fought against him. But he didn’t see Bucky as a villain anymore. He saw only his friend, the tortured soul who tried his best every day.

Bucky lifted your hands from his face and held them to his chest instead. He gave a deep, heavy sigh that vibrated under your palms. He didn’t know what to do, what to say. Part of him wished to go back into cryo and escape the stares of the world. 

You could see him crumbling, collapsing in on himself like a dying star. He was drowning in his own mind, and you offered him a life preserver. “Hey, I know it must feel fucking awful to see a story like this about yourself. And I know you hate that Sam and I are involved. But it’s not your fault.” You gripped his t-shirt in your fists, desperate to get your point across. “This whole thing is so predatory and evil- it’s killing me to see you hurting like this. But I swear to you that this does not matter to the rest of the world. they won’t even notice.” Bucky’s stare sliced through you. Something in his eyes appeared hopeful- but only for a moment. The brightness died suddenly, replaced by despair.

“Seriously, Buck, people these days don’t even have the attention span to read an article this long.” Bucky didn’t laugh at your attempted levity. You dropped your joking tone and grew serious. “I don’t want you to think that this changes anything- it doesn’t. This will not have any ramifications. It will all blow over. The news cycle moves so fast now- by tomorrow, this same shitty paper will publish something that’s, like, ‘Elton John is secretly an alien.’”

Bucky didn’t answer. He simply rested his shoulders against the cool, brick wall and let his head fall back. He wondered if the fear people held for him would ever subside, if he’d ever be seen as anything other than a monster. His legacy was soaked in blood. It hung over his head every day, dripping crimson onto his skin. No shower could undo the stains- no matter how hard he scrubbed, he’d always be the stuff of nightmares.

“Okay, hey, how about this,” you reeled Bucky back in, saving him from the dark recesses of his mind. “Let’s just go home, alright? We can hole up and hide out. Watch movies, order takeout. We’ll just stay out of the public eye until this bullshit blows over.”

The offer enticed him. Escaping the stares of strangers, their horrified expressions- it sounded idyllic. The thought of just the two of you snuggled together on the couch, marathoning all of What We Do in the Shadows with Chinese takeout in hand was tempting. Bucky could feel the ‘yes’ forming on his lips. But at the last second, he refused with a shake of his head.

Bucky made a promise to you. After being an absentee boyfriend for months, he planned out the perfect day and swore on his life to deliver. He couldn’t break any more promises- not after he was gone for so long. And he had so much to make up for. So many date nights and lazy weekends fell by the wayside while he was away. He racked up a stack of debt in your relationship, and if he didn’t start paying it off soon, he feared you’d cancel his account.

But he knew you- knew you didn’t care about these things. You didn’t consider him accountable for the time he missed or hold a grudge against him. You were gracious- too gracious- of him. And if he rattled off his reasons for refusing your offer, he knew you’d sweep them aside. He knew you’d lead him home without hesitation and stay cooped up inside until the world eased up on him. And you’d miss out on your perfect day. 

Bucky wasn’t going to let that happen.

“I think it’s actually better if…” he eyed the people passing, certain they were shooting the two of you dirty looks. “I think it’s better if I just go about my day. If we go home and hide, I’ll obsess, you know? I’ll get trapped in my own head.” He quickly tacked on an addendum, “but if you’re not okay being out in public right now, I understand. They involved you in this mess, too.”

You shrugged, “it doesn’t bother me. I know our relationship is real. That’s all that matters.” 

And for a split second, Bucky’s worries disappeared. You were so sure of your love for him. So unbothered by what everyone else had to say. You didn’t let the opinions of others get to you; you loved Bucky, end of story. You adapted to every hurdle and challenge brought on by dating the ex- Winter Soldier. And you did so with a smile.

“Okay, good. Then I guess our next stop is the bookstore,” he said with a small smile. You tried to turn and head in that direction, but Bucky caught your hand, stopping you. “And hey- if anyone on the way there gives you trouble, you just say the word, okay?” 

But no one gave you any trouble. The walk to the bookstore was quiet. Unremarkable. No one hollered close-minded comments at Bucky. No one gave either of you venomous glares. The calm shocked Bucky. He’d been so sure that this day would fall apart. That everyone who read that article would converge on the two of you all at once, harassing and degrading you until you retreated home. But no one said a word. The two of you simply strolled hand in hand, soaking in the warm summer sun. And Bucky’s hope for a perfect day renewed.

“I thought it would be in this section…” Bucky scanned the ‘fantasy’ section of the bookstore, searching for a specific novel. He took the high shelves, and you took the low, meeting in the middle after a fruitless search. 

“Yeah, I didn’t see it, babe,” you rose from your squatted position, two mystery novels under your arm. “Maybe you should ask an employee? I can stay here and keep looking, just in case we missed it.”

“Yeah…” Bucky gave the area another cursory glance, to no avail. “That’s a good idea. I’ll be right back.” He dotted a kiss to your forehead and set off in search of a clerk, leaving you behind to double check the shelves. 

The hundreds of books lined up in perfect rows put you at ease. This shop was the coziest place in the city, a peaceful paradise free from the noise. And spending a Saturday morning with Bucky, wandering amongst the many titles, felt like home. Your fingertips brushed over a few of the spines, tracing the ornate lettering in search of Bucky’s book. 

“Excuse me?” An unfamiliar voice brought you back to reality, halting your hunt. 

“Oh, sorry,” you took a few steps out of the stranger’s way and continued your search, only for her to interrupt once again. 

“No, I want to talk to you!” her intense energy was out of place in the small, quiet bookshop. The eagerness in her voice rubbed you the wrong way. “Is it true?”

You stared at her, a blank expression on your face. “Is what true?”

“The whole PR relationship thing!” She pulled out her phone and shoved the article in your face, “I read about you two this morning.”

Your hands tightened into fists. Your jaw tensed. And though you wanted to wring this woman’s neck, you kept your cool; Bucky wouldn’t want you to get into a fight on his behalf. With a deep breath, you quelled the rage building inside you. You set down your books and relaxed your shoulders, forcing your breathing to steady.

This stranger had no right to ask invasive questions about your relationship, and no right to ruin your favorite bookstore. “Our relationship is none of your business,” you said, and turned back toward the bookshelves. This stranger didn’t deserve your eye contact, your attention, or your mental space. “Please, leave me alone.”

“Oh, duh! I bet they made you sign an NDA, didn’t they? I get it,” she threw an all too friendly chuckle in your direction. “Can you at least tell me what they’re paying you?”

With that, you brushed past her and attempted an escape. All you wanted was to find Bucky and put this whole interaction behind you. But she followed, phone in hand, recording the whole thing. 

“Are you a criminal, too? Are you getting time off your sentence or something?” she called after you. 

You let it go.

“How’d they get you to agree to this arrangement?”

You ignored her.

“Aren’t you scared? I could never do what you’re doing,” she said. “No amount of money could ever get me to be near that man- he’s a serial killer. He’s a monster!”

Something inside you snapped. You whipped around, rage burning behind your eyes. She crossed the line. She didn’t know anything about Bucky, only what the papers and tabloids said about him. And she

deserved to pay the price for speaking about him so harshly. But just as you opened your mouth to tear her to shreds, a large hand rested on your shoulder. 

“Hey, doll,” Bucky stared down at you, “What’s-”

Your harasser’s eyes widened. “Oh my god,” pure terror rendered her white as a sheet. “It- it’s him…” Clumsy steps carried her backward as her phone slipped from her hand. She scrambled for it, desperate to run in the opposite direction. Breathless, horrified sounds fell from her lips. Her hands shook. You watched with a smile as she snatched her phone from the floor and tripped over herself as she high tailed it for the door.

Bucky eyed the woman as she knocked over displays and ran into other customers. “What was that about?”

You gave a shake of your head, “nothing. She was just hounding me about the article.” 

Bucky’s shoulders slumped forward ever so slightly. Hit brow grew furrowed. “Oh, baby…” he sighed, “I’m sorry.”

“Why are you sorry? You didn’t follow me around and ask me invasive questions.” You stretched up on your toes, planting a kiss to his cheek. “It’s not a big deal. I just hope I don’t end up on her Tik Tok.”

Bucky’s mouth fell open, “she was filming you?” 

You nodded. Bucky’s face fell. 

A rushed “Don’t worry about it, though” pushed its way past your lips. It had an over-the-top cheery tone and a thick affectation of reassurance. You could practically hear Bucky’s heart splintering and shattering with each passing second, and you had to stop it. “I’m sure she’s gonna watch it back later and delete it when she hears her own panicked panting,” you shot him a wink.

And you waited. Waited for the gears in Bucky’s mind to turn. To grind. The devil and angel on his shoulders fought one another, bare knuckled, to convince him of their arguments. The devil told him to spiral, to jump headfirst into a dark sea. He told Bucky this was all his fault, that you’d been harassed, followed, and filmed all because of him. The angel, however, urged him to listen to you. To take a deep breath. To hold your hand. To understand that the article wasn’t his fault- none of this was his fault. 

And after a long moment, he slipped his hand into yours. The gesture was a bit reluctant, sure, but you didn’t care. He’d resisted the urge to plummet into guilt and shame. And that’s all that mattered. 

You let loose a deep sigh as relief spread through your every cell. “Let’s get outta here, okay? We can head back home and-”

“What about breakfast?”

You eyed Bucky for a moment. “You still wanna go?”

“Yeah, absolutely,” he gave you a small smile. “I know how excited you were about it.”

Of course, all he cared about was you. Your happiness. Your enjoyment. Your love for this diner’s chicken and waffles.

“We can just go another time,” you assured him. “It’s no big deal.”

Bucky sensed the disappointment, no matter how slight in your voice. He couldn’t ruin this day for you. He couldn’t let you down again.

But he thought about the walk to the diner, the hordes of people you’d encounter on the way. And just like that, he felt his manufactured mask of optimism slip.

A sudden rush of what if’s pummeled his psyche. He imagined more harassers filming you, more unhinged strangers following you. He heard them yelling the most despicable things in your direction, hurling insult after insult your way. The voices grew into a loud, almost violent cacophony that rattled inside Bucky’s skull. 

He couldn’t let you be exposed to the cruel world like this. He couldn’t take you to breakfast when an angry mob threatened you at every turn. You didn’t deserve to be yelled at, to be disrespected. And what if they turned violent? What if someone followed the two of you home? He couldn’t risk your safety like that.

But he still had to make up for all his time away. All the lonely nights you spent awake, wondering if he was still alive. All the weekends you spent alone, missing him until it hurt. And he’d made a promise- to himself and to you- that he’d rectify the pain his absence caused. 

Plus, he had to be over-reacting, right? Assuming the worst out of people he didn’t even know- it wasn’t fair. Sure, a stranger followed you around and gave you a hard time. But she didn’t hurt you. She didn’t even try to get violent. It was all in Bucky’s head- he was sure of it. He made a conscious effort to release his shoulders from their tension-locked position and forced a deep breath into his chest. 

“No, doll, really. It’s okay,” he gave your hand a squeeze. “I can tolerate a few dirty looks.”

The second the two of you stepped out of the bookstore and onto the busy sidewalk, you clocked the way hung his head. The way he hid from the eyes of the city. He tried to shrink himself, to protect himself. The confidence, the self-esteem he’d worked so hard to build came crumbling down in an instant. This wasn’t your Bucky, but the Bucky of years before. The Bucky who hated every fiber of his being. The Bucky who took every harsh word spoken about him as gospel. The Bucky who punished his innocent body to make up for his tortured mind. 

The reemergence of this Bucky twisted the knife with which the article stabbed you and rubbed salt in the wound.

The walk to the diner brought out your chatty side. Filling the air with lighthearted anecdotes and silly jokes seemed to you like the only way to keep Bucky afloat. If you could distract him from the pain, from the potentially hateful onlookers, maybe this day could be salvaged. But, much to your surprise, not one person harassed the two of you. No one asked questions or followed you around. Not a single errant camera flash dotted the street. Hope rose in Bucky’s chest. Maybe this perfect day could still go as planned. Maybe he could still keep his promise.

When you arrived at the diner without issue, Bucky found himself almost laughing at his own dramatics. He knew he worried too much, that he always considered the worst possible outcomes. He saw the world through a dark and stormy filter, always casting shadows over reality. But to his delight, he’d been wrong this time.

The bell atop the diner door gave a delicate jingle as the two of you made your way inside. The place had an old-timey feel that brought Bucky a sense of comfort, a sense of home. Large families sat packed like sardines in every booth. Tray after tray of French toast and eggs benedict passed by. The smell of bacon and golden-brown pancakes instantly pulled his lips into a smile. It seemed to Bucky that this joint was the real deal. He couldn’t wait to try the chicken and waffles you raved about. Couldn’t wait for a syrup-sweetened kiss. 

“For two?” the hostess asked when you made your way to the front of the line. You gave her a nod. 

She eyed the section to her left, appraising the area for an opening as a busboy waved in her direction. “Okay, this way,” she grabbed two menus from the host stand and gestured for you to follow. 

But just as you attempted to trail her through the sea of tables, a booming voice caught your attention. 

“Hey!” 

The restaurant quieted. Heads turned in the direction of the outcry.

A large, gray-haired man with a soiled apron stepped into the hostess’s path, blocking her way. A deep crease formed between his furrowed brows. Sweat dotted his bright pink cheeks. This was the face of a man who stood over a hot grill for twenty-five years. He was familiar, but only vaguely so. You could’ve sworn you’d heard that voice before- though with a kinder intonation. And then it hit you.

During your last visit to the diner, he stopped by your table to ask how you liked the food. He was so kind, so even tempered. He thanked you for choosing to spend your Sunday morning at what used to be his father’s restaurant. He was so proud of the old place. So compassionate for its time-worn booths and outdated wallpaper. He told you how he worked in the kitchen for so long that now, even as the new owner and manager, he couldn’t stay away from the griddles. 

But the kind-hearted man you met last time was long gone.

“Not in my restaurant!” He ripped the menus from the hostess and dismissed her with a sharp wave of his hand. He glared at Bucky, his eyes brimming with hate. “We don’t serve murderers here!” 

The lighthearted chatter died out altogether. Forks stopped clinking against plates. Children halted their laughter. Hundreds of eyes locked on Bucky as his cheeks burst into a red flush.

“Get out before I call the police!” The man took a step toward the two of you, “You’re not welcome here, you psycho.”

“You can’t talk to him like that!” you barked back. “He isn’t-” 

“Baby, don’t,” Bucky cupped a hand around your upper arm and tried to gently pull you toward the door. “Let’s just go.”

“No,” you cut your gaze back to the manage, “not until he apologizes.”

Bucky gave your arm another tug, “please.”

The desperation in his voice nearly made you crack. His eyes swept across the room and back again, taking in each and every horrified stare. With each taunt the manager threw his way, the weight of the public eye grew heavier. More suffocating. Their stares pushed Bucky’s shoulders forward and his head down. He was crumbling.

Not one person stood up for Bucky. No one- aside from you- called the manager out. No patron even gave a disapproving shake of their head. It sickened you.

With a small nod, you obliged Bucky’s request, and let him lead you out of the restaurant. The stares followed him the entire way.

Bucky wanted to disintegrate. He wished to, once again, turn to dust and evaporate into the breeze. If he ran, he could put a few miles between himself and this godforsaken diner in minutes. But he found his feet rooted into the ground. He was frozen. Trapped. Running wasn’t an option.

He leaned against the cool glass window of the diner and let himself process. He heard you talking a mile a minute, reassuring him until you ran out of breath. But he couldn’t pick out more than a few words. It wasn’t until a defeated apology fell from your lips that he snapped out of his trance.

“Wait- you’re sorry?” 

You nodded. “I’m so sorry, Buck. You didn’t deserve that.”

“Baby, you don’t have anything to be sorry for.” His gaze fell into a strange middle distance, landing on everything and nothing all at once. “I should apologize. That article… it ruined everything. I feel like I-” His eyes met yours, “your life is never gonna be the same after this.” 

You gave him a shrug, “who says I want it to be?”

His eyes met yours as an exasperated laugh left his chest, “You’re kidding, right? This is going to affect everything for you: jobs, housing, friendships. When people look you up online, all they’re gonna see is that article. They’re gonna see me.”

“Good. I want them to see you,” you said with a wink. “If I’m gonna date the hottest guy in the universe, I want everyone to know about it.” Bucky didn’t laugh. “Babe, I’m not worried about that kind of stuff right now. I’m worried about you.”

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he let his gaze fall to the sidewalk below. “I’ve been through worse.” 

The worn-out, beaten down quality of his voice was enough to make you weep. Bucky didn’t deserve more pain. He didn’t deserve to be treated like a monster. But society cast him out and labelled him a vicious predator. They abandoned him, left him in a corner to rot and wither. All alone. 

And you weren’t going to let them do it again.

“Fuck that article and fuck all these people who wanna disrespect you.” You tilted his chin upward until his eyes met yours, “we’re gonna go home and order take out. We’re gonna watch some movies. And we’re gonna get through this bullshit together.”

Without another word, you slipped your hand into his and started off in the direction of home. But Bucky didn’t move. 

You turned back to him, an expectant look on your face. “You coming?”

“But…” he gave the diner another look, “You didn’t get your chicken and waffles.”

“What?”

“You should go back inside and eat,” Bucky pulled his hand from yours. “I’ll head home and-”

“Buck, I say this with love, but-” you cupped his face, “are you nuts?”

He let out a deep, genuine laugh. 

“I’m not gonna eat here ever again,” you spied the manager through the window, “fuck that guy.”

Bucky just wanted you to enjoy the breakfast you’d been dreaming of. He hated that you were willing to deprive yourself. That he’d ruined your special breakfast spot. But your fierce loyalty filled him with warmth. In that moment, he made a mental note. He planned to scour the internet and find the best chicken and waffles in the city to make up for today’s mess.  

“I don’t know why I’m surprised,” Bucky said. “You were ready to fist fight that guy.”

You put up your dukes and landed a few faux punches to Bucky’s chest, “hell yeah I was. No one is allowed to treat you like that.” Your hands fell to your sides. A sudden seriousness eclipsed your joking tone. “Ever.”

Bucky pulled you in for a hug, holding you close to his chest. He never thought he’d have someone like you in his life. Someone who loved him. Cared for him. Supported him. But, without fail, you had his back every time. You were his safe harbor, his soft place to land. 

Sometimes, he thought that maybe you were with him by accident. Maybe he was never meant to experience your gentle kind of love. Maybe he interrupted you on your path to someone else. Maybe he somehow got tangled in fate’s thread. But he didn’t care. 

You took Bucky’s hand once again, prepared to lead him in the direction of home, “Ready?” 

Bucky gave you a cheery nod, “let’s-”

“Fuck you, murderer!” a passerby shouted. He disappeared in a flash, bold enough to insult Bucky but cowardly enough not to hang around for the consequences. 

Bucky thought the man might’ve said something else as he bolted from the scene, but he didn’t quite catch it. He was too distracted by the vague sounds of discomfort grumbling out of your chest. 

“Doll? You alright?” 

Slowly, carefully, you turned to him. A look of shock yanked his features upward as he came face to face with the massive coffee stain covering your body. It splashed over the entirety of your chest, streaking down the front of your shirt. Steam still wafted from the drips running down your neck. Rogue droplets dotted your arms.  

“Oh my god…” Bucky didn’t know what to do. He didn’t know how to help you. 

The boiling tidal wave seared through your skin, setting each nerve alight. You could’ve sworn it hit bone. The sudden rush of pain forced a trembling into your hands, an unsteadiness into your voice. A stinging rush of tears brimmed against your lash line, but you wouldn’t dare let them fall. Not when you could practically see Bucky choking on his guilt.

“Wow, I wish that asshole was more of a cold brew guy,” you joked. “And he ruined my favorite shirt with his shitty aim.”

Bucky’s chest seemed to fold in on itself. It shuddered and shrank, collapsing against his thundering heart. Each inhale was shallower, greedier than the last. Oxygen leeched from his lungs as the crushing panic set it. An ever-darkening shadow clouded the edges of his vision- but he couldn’t succumb. Not when you needed him. 

Before he knew what was happening, he used his body to form a protective shell around you. He ushered you toward the diner door, scanning the area for oncoming threats. No one else was going to get to you- not today, not ever. 

A deep sigh of relief left Bucky’s chest as he ushered you inside. Sure, it was only coffee. And you weren’t even the target. But every passing second brought a new, horrifying ‘what if’ to the forefront of Bucky’s mind. 

What if you’d been thrown to the ground? 

What if you’d been shot? 

What if vengeful people wanted to spill your blood as payment for Bucky’s crimes?

He thought he might throw up. 

But the second he made it to the hostess stand, his nausea dissipated. The fog clouding his mind cleared. You were his priority- everything else could wait. 

“Someone just threw hot coffee on her,” Bucky said to the hostess. His words came out quick, firm. “She needs ice now.”

The hostess’s features sunk with a heavy guilt. “Oh, shit. I-” She glanced across the room at the manager and watched him with narrowed eyes as he schmoozed with the regulars. “I’ll go grab some right now, give me one second.”

The seconds dragged. Anxiety coursed through Bucky, prickling at his every cell. He clenched and unclenched his fists. Bit down on the inside of his cheek. Anything to calm the worry. But he couldn’t help it; you were attacked- because of him. And he needed to remedy it as quickly as possible. 

“You doing okay?” He stared down at you, worry creasing his features.

You nodded, “yeah. Doesn’t hurt that bad anymore. I think all of my nerves have gone numb, ya know?” You attempt at humor sunk like lead. 

“Baby, I’m so-”

“What the fuck did I say?!” the manager stomped over to Bucky, his wrath on full display. “I’m calling the cops! I already kicked you out once-”

Bucky held up a hand in surrender, “We just need some ice- the hostess went to get it. As soon as she gets back, I’ll go.”

The manager rolled his eyes, “No- you don’t get anything from us. Leave! I’m calling the police!”

It was then that the hostess appeared with a large plastic bag full of ice. She looked at you with kind eyes, apologizing silently for her manager’s behavior. “Here you go. Is this enough? I can get more-”

“It’s plenty, really,” you hastily grabbed for the bag and pressed it to your scorched skin. The cool sensation flooded your senses, doing away with any remaining discomfort. “Thank you.”

“Great, you got your ice,” the manager spat, “now get out.”

Bucky thanked the hostess a hundred times over as guilt settled in his stomach. He knew she’d get in trouble for helping him. He knew the manager would scream at her- most likely in front of everyone. But she’d shown the two of you kindness. She did her best to help you in a moment of need, regardless of what others said. And it renewed Bucky’s faith in strangers- if only for a moment.

“How does that feel? Is it okay?” Bucky eyed the dripping bag of ice, the shivering in your fingers. “I can ask her for-”

“Hey! Do you speak English, or just Russian?” The manager yelled, “GET. THE FUCK. OUT. You understand?”

Part of Bucky wanted to disappear into a cave for a while. Wanted to hide from the ridicule. But he couldn’t check out. He couldn’t evaporate and leave you to fend for yourself. No, he’d made a promise to himself the day he met you; he swore he’d always protect you. And though he couldn’t stop the public from treating you with malice, he could at least get you home safely.

“Woah, hey- where are you going?” Bucky put a hand over yours, halting your attempt to open the diner door.

“Well, I don’t know if you heard the lovely manager of this fine establishment,” you said, “but he wants us to, and I quote, ‘get the fuck out’. So that’s what I’m doing.”

Bucky gave a fervent shake of his head, “No. You wait in here. I’m gonna get us a cab, and-”

“It’s okay, I’ll come with you.” You gave the door a tug, but Bucky kept it from budging.

“Don’t,” a dark seriousness clung to Bucky’s words. “I don’t want anything else happening to you.”

Bucky’s protective nature was always sweet. Always made you feel special. You couldn’t help the tiny grin that pulled at your features. “Babe, it was just coffee-” 

“This time,” a grave look ghosted over his face. “It was just coffee this time.”

Bucky let his eyes drift to the busy sidewalk outside. Every stranger, every passing face posed a threat to your safety. Anyone could have a knife. A gun. And while Bucky was certain that the hot coffee had been meant for him- that you were simply collateral damage, an unintended target- he feared how the city might treat you. You’d already been followed, harassed, filmed, attacked. People saw you as fair game, as a token of retribution. An eye for an eye that made the city blind with hate.

“Can you just-” He dragged his gaze back to you, “will you please wait inside?”

Bucky couldn’t remember ever being this scared. Not on the train, not at Hydra. This was different; this was your life at stake. Your vulnerabilities exposed to the world. It was as if a magnifying glass sat posed above you, giving anyone and everyone a detailed look into your life. Bucky knew there wasn’t much time before the rays of the sun burned you alive.

“Okay, yeah,” you released the door handle, “I’ll stay in here.” It was the least you could do. 

He was deathly pale, his hand shaking with anxiety. He worried about you so intensely that you sometimes feared he’d get sick. And though no part of you wanted to send Bucky out there alone, you agreed. 

His shoulders relaxed ever so slightly; the whisper of a smile crossed his face. “Thank you,” he dropped a kiss to your forehead and headed outside to the world that hated him.

And hate him they did. You watched from the diner window, the scene that played out filling you with anguish. Not a single cab even slowed down for him. Vacant taxis turned off their lights as they approached- only to turn them back on once they’d passed. Bucky’s shoulders grew more slumped with each unsuccessful attempt at hailing a cab. His head drooped; his expression grew pained. This wasn’t fair. After his pardon, he’d worked so hard to earn the public’s trust, to reenter their good graces. He made his amends, went to therapy, even did a few interviews at Sam’s suggestion. 

One poorly written article in a shit-rag paper, however, was enough to send him back to square one.

All Bucky wanted was to get you home safely, and he couldn’t. He couldn’t even provide something that basic, that simple. He cursed himself relentlessly as taxi after taxi flew by. He was supposed to protect you, to take care of you. And yet, he was the reason for your pain. Your peril. It made him nauseous.

After countless failed attempts at securing a ride, Bucky turned to face you. He stared at you through the dirty glass, shame and disappointment dragging his features downward. For a long moment, he just stood there. Completely still. Passersby bumped into him every now and again. People muttered under their breath about him being in the way. But he didn’t move. He just looked at you, the person he loved most. You, the person he cared for above all else. You, the person he couldn’t protect. Couldn’t provide for. 

Part of him thought it best to just walk away. His absence would make your life easier, less chaotic. Safer. If he left you alone, maybe you’d find someone else. Someone normal. Someone better. Someone who could take you out to breakfast without putting you in harm’s way. Someone whose mere existence didn’t prompt strangers to scream at you in public. 

But he couldn’t leave you- ever. He was bound to you from day one. 

One last fruitless attempt at catching a cab sent his heart sinking down, down, down to the soles of his feet. And as he approached the diner with his tail between his legs, he felt himself stepping on it with each pace. He was so embarrassed, so ashamed. With a quick wave of his hand, he beckoned you to the door and popped his head inside. 

“Baby, could you…” he was almost too downtrodden to speak. “Could you get us a cab? No one will-” he cleared his throat, “No one will stop for me.”

The look on his face hurt worse than your scorched skin.

“Of course, Buck. Yeah. Don’t worry about it.”

It wasn’t lost on Bucky how quickly a cab stopped for you. It took less than a minute, maybe less thirty seconds. He stood on the sidelines, as far away from you as he could possibly get without leaving you defenseless. You looked good out there on your own, free from his burden. 

The cab ride home was quiet. Uncomfortable. The driver eyed Bucky in the rearview as though appraising a threat. He gripped the steering wheel until his knuckles lost all color. You swore you heard the gas pedal hit the floorboards more than once. The car sliced through traffic and screeched to a halt outside your building, throwing you forward in your seat. The seatbelt tightened against your scalded skin, pulling a groan from your throat.

“Thanks. Um,” Bucky handed the driver a wad of cash, “keep the change.” He kept his focus trained on you but couldn’t pretend he didn’t notice the way the driver flinched. The way his muscles yanked his body in the opposite direction. The way his hands shook as he took the money. Bucky wished to evaporate.

But he couldn’t, not yet. Not when you needed him. And so, he walked you upstairs and ushered you into the small apartment you shared. He double and triple checked the deadbolt, even pulled on the door to ensure your safety. He couldn’t let anything else happen to you- he’d rather die. 

“Alright, well, I’m gonna go take a shower,” you broke the tense silence. “I reek of cinnamon soy latte.” The laugh that punctuated your sentence did nothing to brighten Bucky’s stormy expression. 

“Sounds good, doll,” he nodded. “You can just drop your clothes in the hall, I’ll throw them in the laundry for you.”

“You don’t have to do that,” you frowned down at your coffee-stained shirt, appraising the damage done. “I don’t think this thing can be saved.”

Bucky shrugged, “It couldn’t hurt. I’ll give it a try.” He dropped a kiss to the top of your head, “it’s the least I could do.” And with a light tap to your ass, he sent you off to shower. The gesture wasn’t as lighthearted as it was just a few hours earlier, but he was trying. Trying to appear less dejected. Less broken.

But you saw through the façade.

When you emerged, free from the smell of coffee, you found Bucky in the kitchen standing over the kettle. He stared down at it, his hands resting on either side of the stove top, his shoulders nearly reaching his ears. You knew that look- he was lost inside his own head. 

“You know, I don’t think you’re supposed to watch that thing…” you said, snapping him out of his train of thought. “Otherwise, it’ll never boil.” 

His head snapped up. The darkness clouding his eyes parted. He smiled at your lame joke, letting your lighthearted tone lift his spirits. “I was just gonna make you a tea, I know you haven’t had the easiest day.” He just wanted to right the ship, to steer the two of you out of the dark, choppy waters in which you found yourselves. Maybe, this small, kind gesture could make up for your ruined Saturday. Maybe, it would keep you from leaving. 

“How was your shower?”

Just thinking about it made you wince. “It was fine, I guess. I had to use the coldest water possible- any warmth at all made my skin hurt.” 

Bucky’s eyes flicked from your face to the kettle and back. Worry creased his brow. “Should I not…” He sighed, “Are hot beverages out of the question?” He couldn’t believe how absentminded he’d been. 

“No! Definitely not,” you pressed a kiss to his cheek, “you know I’ll always take a tea. Thanks, babe.”

A small, proud smile spread across Bucky’s face. For once, he didn’t disappoint you. For once, he didn’t ruin the moment. After such a nightmarish day, he finally breathed easy, knowing that he’d done one thing right.

“I was thinking I could run out and grab us something to eat,” Bucky said when he got you settled on the couch with your tea and a fresh ice pack. “I know you’re probably starving. And I could-”

“Baby, no,” you shook your head. “I don’t want you out there- I don’t want you getting harassed or attacked. We’re in hermit mode for a few days until this whole thing blows over. Okay?”

Bucky barely mustered a nod. 

“Let’s just order some take out. What sounds good?” You dropped your ice pack to the side, grimacing at the loss of the cool sensation. But comfort could wait. You opened your laptop and sat up, poised to take Bucky’s order. But he didn’t answer. 

He remained silent for a long while, eyeing the floor with a blank stare. His nails dug into the palm of his hand; his jaw tensed. Something deep within him fought tooth and nail to claw its way out. It scratched at his insides, screaming for release. Bucky didn’t want to say it, didn’t want to even chance upsetting you. But the words slipped out of his mouth before he had a chance to stop them.

“Do you ever regret this?”

You cocked your head to the side, “Regret what?”

“This-” Bucky gestured to himself, and then you. “Us.”

The words hurt worse than your scorched chest. “No. Why would you even say that?”

Bucky shrugged, “Because you’re covered in second degree burns and it’s my fault.” Never before had he ever sounded this broken, this hopeless. Not even after Steve left. 

“Buck, it’s not your fault,” you shut your computer and inched closer to him. “You’re not the one who threw hot coffee on me-”

“But the person who did was aiming for me, and you got caught in the crossfire,” he choked out. “That’s my fault.”

“It’s not-”

He stood suddenly, his anxiety forcing him to move. “Can you deal with this for the rest of your life? All the staring and the harassment? And the hiding at home because everyone hates me? Is that the kind of life you want?” He paced with a fervent drive, fearing that if he didn’t burn through the nervous energy, he’d suffocate under it.

But, even in the face of his frantic movements, you remained seated, remained calm. Talking to Bucky in this state was like coaxing an injured animal into your home. One wrong move, and he’d bolt. Every move, ever word, had to be slow, measured. With an even tone and soft words, you refuted his sentiments. “I want whatever kind of life lets me be with you-”

“You want people throwing coffee on you forever? You want-” He paused, only to place your icepack on your chest once again. “You want to be kicked out of restaurants and denied cabs? Just to be with me?”

One small nod. “Yes.”

Bucky stopped in his tracks. He turned to you, his expression blank. “People used to vandalize my apartment, you know…”

“What?”

He nodded. “After I finally came back to New York and tried to settle in…” The memories of those uncomfortable, disjointed days filled Bucky with dread. He’d never been so lonely, so lost. He pulled away from you, fearing he’d complicated your life. He forced himself into isolation. And to make matters worse, his community turned their back on him. They didn’t welcome him home or celebrate his survival. They made him wish he’d never made it back. “They broke my windows, filled my mailbox with pictures of my victims, used animal blood to write ‘KILLER’ across my front door-” He let out a heavy sigh, one that came from deep within his bones. “That’s why I moved so often. My landlords- no matter how sketchy they were, no matter how much illegal shit they did to their tenants- kept kicking me out. I was too much of a liability, even for those shithole places.”

It left you reeling. Images of Bucky coming home to find his place completely trashed hurt you in a way you didn’t know was possible. You could see him, covered in blood, scrubbing his front door in the middle of the night. Wiping tears from his eyes as he looked through piles of photos of the people he hurt. Taping pieces of cardboard over his broken windows in the hopes of keeping out the severe, violent winters. He didn’t deserve any of it.

With a deep breath, you forced yourself back to the present. “Buck, I don’t care about things like that. They can vandalize our place if they want. They can throw coffee at me.” Slowly, carefully, you rose from the couch. “As long as nothing happens to you, I’m happy.”

A rough scoff launched out of Bucky’s throat, “Come on-”

“No, you come on,” Your words came out too intense, too hard. But you couldn’t maintain your even keel anymore. Not when Bucky was moments from unraveling. “I have been in this with you since the day we met. I knew- almost immediately- that you were the person I wanted to be with. Even when you didn’t know where- or who- you were. Even when you went back into cryo. Even when you turned to dust and disappeared for five years.” Dredging up the past hurt. It sliced you open and tore your heart into pieces. But you didn’t dare fall apart- not yet. “Even when you pushed me away,” your voice wavered, “I have been with you- and I always will be. Because I know who you are. I know you’re a good person.” A few tears dripped down your cheeks, “I don’t want anyone else. I want you.“

“Why?” Bucky shook his head, “I don’t- I can’t understand that.”

“Because you’re just- you’re you, baby,” you couldn’t help but smile at the thought of Bucky’s existence. “You’re kind. And you’re thoughtful. And you’re compassionate. You care about everything. Everyone. I’ve never met anyone with a heart like yours…” You shrugged, “I love you. So much.”

“I know you do. And I love you, but…” His eyes dropped to the floor, “I feel like being with me is a waste of your time. A waste of your love. You know? You should be with someone good. Someone with less baggage, whose hands aren’t stained with the blood of innocent people.” He dragged his gaze up to meet yours, desperation in his eyes. “I want to give you everything- I want to give you the world. But I can’t. I can’t give you what other people can. I can’t give you what you deserve.”

“I don’t want any of that- I don’t want the world,” you shrugged. “I want you.” To you, it was simple. Completely uncomplicated. But Bucky didn’t see it that way.

“Is that- am I enough, though? I mean, the quality of life I’ve given you so far has been…” He thought back on all the terrors and trials you’d face together. All the disasters to which he subjected you. He shuddered. “Everything I put you through is so fucking messed up. And scary. And painful. And-” 

He shook his head. Since the day he fell for you, he knew one simple truth. And for years, he did his best to deny it. Hide it. Run from it. But it came spilling forward all at once.

“There’s always gonna be something with me. Some problem, some mess. I’m either gone for weeks, fighting god knows who, completely unable to talk to you until I show up at home covered in blood,” he said. “Or I’m here with you while strangers to accost you on the street because they hate me.” He shook his head, disappointed in himself. Why did he allow you into his dumpster fire of a life? Why would he subject you to the heartache and the misery he knew lurked around every corner?

He fought the tears gathering in his eyes, the emotion that attempted to block his airway. “The waters are never going to be smooth. Not with me. And I don’t want you to have to deal with the fucking tidal wave of bullshit that is my life. You deserve better- you deserve better than me.”

“Buck-”

“I want your life to be safe. Peaceful. Comfortable. Not-” he gestured to the icepack on your chest, “whatever it is now.”

Without a word, you took him by the hand and led him to the couch. And for a long moment, he refused to sit with you. He didn’t want to give in, to lower his defenses and allow himself to get comfortable. But your red-rimmed eyes, glassy with tears, forced him to take a seat.

And when he finally rested beside you, you ditched your icepack and took his face in your hands. “Everything you said that you want for me? I already have it. I have all of that.”

He shook his head, “Doll-” 

“You make me feel safer and more comfortable than I ever have. Being with you is like being wrapped in a warm blanket made of bullet proof bubble wrap.”

Bucky couldn’t stop himself from letting out a quiet laugh. 

“I’m serious. You can talk about how the life I lead with you isn’t enough and how you’re not enough, but this,” you gestured to yourself and then him, “is everything I’ve ever wanted. Being here with you in our home is… it’s the most peace I’ve ever known. Even when we’re just sitting in silence, it’s- it’s warm. It’s comforting.” You inched closer to him and rested your head on his shoulder, “It’s like we’re the only two people on the planet. And we can just exist in the other’s atmosphere without pressure or fear. We understand each other. And it’s perfect.”

A rush of pink colored Bucky’s cheeks. Sometimes, even after all the years he’d spent with you, he didn’t know how to handle such loving sentiments. But there was no pressure to perfectly articulate his thoughts or express himself without flaws. A simple “I love you” did the trick. He leaned into you, allowing your warmth to soothe his aching soul.

“All that shit that happened today didn’t even bother me much,” you told him. “The lady in the bookstore, and the staring, and the coffee thing- I can deal with that kind of stuff. I can take that every day as long as I get to be with you.”

He pressed a kiss to your hair and caught a vague whiff off coffee but didn’t bring it up. 

“The only part that really upset me,” you continued, “was seeing people be so mean to you. And watching you get so down on yourself.” Reliving Bucky’s heartbroken expression at the diner almost made you tear up. “I can handle a rogue Starbucks, but I’ll never accept anyone treating you like that. You're everything to me- you always will be.”

Bucky handed you your icepack, begging you to put it back on your scalded skin where it belonged. “Well, I appreciate your support," he smiled to himself, "and your fierce loyalty.”

A mischievous laugh rumbled out of your chest. “Good. Just remember than when I call you from the county jail after I get arrested for burning that fucking newspaper to the ground.”

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

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[steventhusiast]

STWG prompt 23/5/24

prompt: kiss in the rain

pairing/character(s): steddie

. . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

They’ve just left Skull Rock when the downpour starts and, ironically, they’re in the middle of saying goodbye after a date. Just like all the romance movies Steve loves.

Well, almost just like them.

Being queer kids in the middle of nowhere in the midwest means they can’t quite do the whole walking each other to their door thing at the end of dates. Instead, Eddie tends to walk Steve to his car at the end of their dates, and vice versa.

“You gonna kiss me in the rain or what, Eds?”

“This is way too cliche for me, sweetheart. I feel like John Hughes is about to pop out from behind one of those trees.” Eddie says.

Steve chuckles at how his words contradict his actions, because as he says that Eddie shucks off his jacket and holds it up to cover Steve’s head and stop his hair getting wet.

“Liar. I know you love Sixteen Candles.”

“Kind of have to with how often you force me to watch it. I’ve been brainwashed, really.” Eddie concedes.

They smile at each other for a moment, and Steve’s just waiting for the moment Eddie gives in and lets him have his romance movie moment. It only takes three seconds for Eddie to sigh and drop his head to look at the floor.

“Don’t tell Gareth.” He says quietly, then looks up and stops holding the jacket over Steve’s head. Instead, he puts it on the roof of Steve’s beemer and then cups Steve’s face with both hands, “I gotta keep my scary drug dealer reputation.”

With that, he leans in and finally Steve gets his moment.

It is nowhere near as nice as it looks in the movies, without the emotional music in the background and closeup in soft focus; it’s damp, and cold, and he can feel his hair getting ruined. But it’s real, and he’ll remember it for a long time.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

All In 6

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, age gap, power imbalance, low self esteem, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: you meet a mysterious man on a night out with your sister. (petite!reader)

based on the winning option for this poll

Characters: casino owner!Bucky Barnes

Note: sleepy af

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

“You need a box, doll?” Bucky flutters his fingers toward your plate, “you don’t gotta finish all that.” 

You look down at the untouched half of your sandwich. You’d barely poked at the pesto salad on the side either. You can’t help it; your stomach is swirling like a storm. Aside from that, you’re so self-aware that you make certain each bite is tidy and small.  

You bring the napkin to your lips before you answer, “oh, sure, I guess. Um, thank you.” 

“You have a big breakfast?” He wonders as he lifts his glass, squinting at its emptiness. 

“I...” you sniff. You didn’t eat at all. “I’m too nervous.” 

You cringe as your honestly flows free. You don’t know why you said that. Maybe it’s the similarly empty glass in front of you. He smiles, his dimples showing handsomely on his bearded cheeks. 

“You don’t gotta be,” he sets the glass down, his forearm across the table. “Is it me? I make you nervous.” 

You look away and cup your chin. You purse your lips and inhale slowly. You dare to face him again. You nod into your hand. 

“What about me makes you nervous?” He wonders, his eyes sparkling. It has to be obvious. So obvious that he must be teasing you. 

“You know,” you murmur. 

“Genuinely curious,” he clears his expression and sits back, “we’re having a good time. Good chat. So... you’re nervous, why?” 

“Because you’re...” your brows squiggle, “you. I’m just me.” 

“And what’s so bad about being just you?” 

You scoff, “I think... maybe you made a mistake. I’m not... anything.” 

“What does that mean?” He prompts. 

Before you can answer, Hailee appears. The slim server offers you a refill. Bucky waits for you to answer first. You decline and he puts his hand over his own glass. 

“We’ll take the cheque,” he says and she flits off to do his bidding. He returns his attention to you before you can shrink further, “well... what do you mean?” 

Your eye drift evasively. He just latches on and doesn’t let go. It’s overwhelming. You watch Hailee as she taps the tablet on the bar top across the roof. You glance at Bucky again. 

“I’m not tall or thin or a supermodel,” you say quietly. He leans in as he tilts his head thoughtfully. 

“If I wanted that, that’s who would be sitting here with me. I don’t mind that you’re a little small. It’s... I like it, actually. And a supermodel? Doll, those types got nothing on you.” 

You touch your cheeks then drag your hands away, “thanks, but...” 

“But?” He echoes. 

“Nothing. Nothing,” you assure him meekly, “I just... I’m not sure about all this.”  

Hailee once more returns. She hands Bucky the bill and he doesn’t even look at it as he slides his wallet out of his pocket. He hands her his card and the slip of paper. Once more, she’s off. 

“Not sure?” He says. 

“Sorry, I just...” once more you look at the server as she swipes his card. When you look back, Bucky’s watching you intently, “please keep your money. You paid for lunch, that’s enough.” 

“But doll--” 

“Please, I don’t feel right taking it,” you put your palms out and drop your hands, “thank you for lunch but I’m not cut out for this.” 

“Hm,” he clicks his tongue and leans his chin on his knuckles, “don’t decide right now. I get it. It’s a lot at once. So think about it and get back to me.” 

“I... I’m telling you,” you wilt, “I don’t think... I’m not what you think I am.” 

“I have no idea what you are, doll,” he extends his fingers under his chin, “but I like what I see and I want more.” 

You shakily bring your hand to your neck. He can’t mean it. He can’t want you. No way. If you say yes, how long does that last? You didn’t come here for lunch or an ‘arrangement’. You need a job. You need something sustainable. 

Besides, you never thought you’d ever consider being a prostitute. That’s what he’s suggesting, isn’t it? You’re pathetic but you have some standards. 

You sigh. You said no once, maybe more, maybe not firmly enough, but he’s not hearing you. So you will ‘think about it’ and repeat yourself later. 

“Alright,” you agree as you lean back and pull your hands into your lap. 

“All I’m asking for is a chance,” he says. Your heart pulses tightly. He’s asking you? “Let’s get your leftovers packed up and I'll take you home.” 

“Oh, uh, I can get a cab--” 

“Nah,” he waves you off, “I’m here. Merv’s gotta get me back to the casino as it is.” 

🃏

“You’ll call me, won’t you, doll?” Bucky asks as Merv stops outside the curb of your mother’s house. 

You peek up through the tinted window and back at the man beside you. He shamelessly has his arm stretched over the seat above your shoulders, the scent of his cologne invading your nostrils. You nod dumbly before you process his words. 

“Yeah, I will,” you assure him as you undo your seat belt and untangle your purse from the strap. 

“Don’t leave me hanging,” he pulls his arm away and brushes your shoulder then down your sleeve. 

“I won’t, like I said... I’ll think about it,” you reach for the handle and he hums. 

“I had a good time. I like talking to you, doll.” 

You stop yourself from fleeing like you so desperately want to do. You turn back to him. You’re struck by him, not for the first time. Someone like him noticed you and did all this. It feels like you’re drowning. You can barely think straight. 

 “Me too. It was really nice,” you breathe. 

He stares at your, almost expectantly, and his lips curve slightly. Are you forgetting something? Heat speckles over your cheeks. Is he leaning in? 

“Hey, don’t forget your leftovers,” he sits back and reaches to the other side of the seat, picking up the box. 

“Oh, thanks,” you take it, your fingers touching his. 

“Don’t let me keep you, ‘cause I will,” he winks, “I’m sure you got someone waiting for you.” 

“Uh, yeah, my mom won’t be home yet but...” you suppress your irrelevant thoughts. You’ll give the sandwich and salad and to Roxie. She never complains for free food. “Yeah, er, thanks.” 

He chuckles and claps his hand down on your leg, “too sweet, doll. It’s my pleasure and there’s a lot more where that came from.” He squeezes and removes his hand, “just making a last-ditch case for myself.” He inhales and his shoulders rise and he fixes his collar, “have a good one, alright? Take it easy, think...” 

“I will,” you affirm once more, “er, bye.” 

You open the door and barely keep from tripping onto the curb. You peer back one last time and attempt a smile, trying to hide the sinking pit in your chest. You don’t need to think about it. You simply cannot give him what he wants. 

You shut the door and back up. You stand cluelessly and wait. When the car doesn’t move, you spin and scurry away. God, how much more awkward can you get? 

You resist the urge to look back as you let yourself in through the front door. The TV babbles from the next room as you twist the lock. Roxie lazes across the couch as the fan oscillates over her. The summer heat has the space stuffy and sticky. The rented house doesn’t have central air and the portable AC crapped out last year. 

“Hey,” you come up to the back of the couch, your anxiety still buzzing behind your ears. You feel different and you feel like she’ll sense it in an instant. You almost want her to say something. 

She doesn’t look away from the screen as she grumbles back at you. 

“Um, mom’s not home yet, right?” 

“Don’t think so,” she yawns, her arm draped above her head against the arm rest. “It’s like three. You sleep all day?” 

You frown. She usually sleeps later, granted, she works until sunlight most nights. 

“No, I had an interview.” 

“Huh, Wendy’s?” She asks. It’s probably an innocent question and a fair assumption, but it still cuts like an insult. 

“No, uh, whatever, I don’t think I got it.” 

“Too bad,” she says. 

You leave her. She’s too enraptured with her reality TV binge. You suppose if you were just waiting to start working, you might just want to shut off too. That’s exactly what you want in that moment. To stop thinking about everything. 

It’s not just Bucky and his offer or whatever you should call it. It’s about your mom and Roxie and being the resident disappointment. You don’t like being dead weight but it seems like it’s all you’ll ever be. There’s more than just yourself to think about in this and yet you just can’t see yourself saying yes. 

You don’t really know what you’re saying yes to. What is it exactly that Bucky wants from you? Sunny lunches and conversations about disco music? You don’t think that’s it but you’re too afraid to think about the implication behind his proposition. 

So you won’t. You won’t-- you can’t accept it. You can’t bring yourself to do... that for money. If you did and your mother ever knew the truth, you shudder to think. No, you can tell an easier lie. 

Sorry, mom, didn’t pan out. Again. But I’ve been applying all around. I’ll get something. 

🃏

The first text Bucky sends, you respond to. It’s the same day as your interview. No, that’s not what it was. He sends a good night and you echo the sentiment. It’s easier to pretend behind a screen. 

You don’t sleep well despite his tidings. You toss and turn and don’t drag yourself out of bed until noon. Your mom’s already at work and you can’t stand to face her. Not since you told her it was another dead end. Roxie’s snoring in her room. 

You go out on the back steps and sit in the sun. It’s all muddled. You know you shouldn’t. You won’t. That’s not you. And even if you could find the courage to say yes, you’re just not that girl. You aren’t the one to be flaunted on a rich guy’s arm. Or the kind to go for manicures and to wear layers of contour. And that’s what he’ll want, even if he says now, it isn’t. Men just want pretty things and you’re not. 

The days pass in a similar idle daze. Every night, he texts. A little back and forth but you say you’re tired and check out after his usual, ‘sweet dreams, doll.’ Two days, three days, four, five, six. A whole week and you know that you have to say it. No. It’s almost as hard as a yes would be. 

When the ‘good morning’ pops up in your notifications, you’re frozen. You can’t even fake it. You can’t hit the automated reply generated by the app. You just lock your phone and put it in your nightstand drawer. You’re a coward, just like you’ve always been. 

You scroll through the job boards. You’ve been spending most of your waking hours trawling them. The postings don’t come as quickly as you apply. Some, you’re sure, you’ve submitted your resume to at least twice. Well, that shows dedication, right? 

You hear your mom come home just after five. You finally sit up from your chronic hunch and groan at the pang between your shoulders. Ugh, that’s not good. You get up and come out as your mother sighs and drops her purse on the table. 

“Hey, I took some drumsticks out,” you say, “I’m gonna do the buffalo sauce.” 

“Oh, hon, that’s amazing, I’m so tired,” she drops into a chair and props a foot on her knee, rubbing her arch, “I need new insoles.” 

You watch her guiltily, chewing your lip. Even if you’re not going to say yes, you almost wish you’d taken that thousand dollars. She wouldn’t have to do overtime so much. You cross your arms. 

“What do you want with it? We got some of the crinkle fries or--” 

The doorbells chimes and you hesitate. It isn’t often it rings. Not for anyone by the landlord on an impromptu visit. You peer over at the same time as your mom. She sends you a curious look as she stands. 

She hobbles away and you feel guilty for letting her. You shy away and wait by the counter. You listen to her footfalls and the schlock of the front door latch as she slides it back. It opens with the usual squeak and you hold your breath as you listen. A low drone meets your mother’s exhausted hello. 

Oh. It wouldn’t be... It can’t be. You assure yourself that you don’t recognise the timbre but even your denial isn’t that strong.  

Slowly, you make your way to the hall and creep down towards your mom as she keeps the door half-way shut against her. It’s him. You hear him say your name. Oh gosh. 

“I’m just following up on her interview. I called but maybe her battery died?” Bucky says. 

You wince and near your mom. 

“Uh, yes, she’s here, I’ll just go--” 

“Mom,” you interject and she jumps in surprise. 

“Oh,” she trills with laughter, “there she is.” 

She lets the door open as you step up next to her, your chest fraught with dread. You stare at Bucky as his blue eyes bore into you. Your mom touches your elbow gently. You’re suddenly overly conscious of your pajama pants and baggy tee. 

“I’ll let you two... chat,” she retreats and leaves you there to his mercy. You can’t beg her to stay without giving yourself away. 

As she heads back down the hall, you step outside and draw the door shut. You know better than to trust her not to eaves drop. How many times had she listened through the doorway when Roxie had one of her boyfriends over. 

“Hey, doll,” Bucky crosses his arms. Is he mad? Does he know you were ignoring him or does he really think your phone died?

“Hi, uh...” 

“You didn’t answer my texts,” he intones. 

“Um, yeah, I... I’ve been... distracted.” 

He nods, a skeptical wrinkle in his forehead, “sure. It's been a week, lots of time to think.” 

You gape up at him. He wants an answer. Now. You have one, but you just can’t say it. You’re silent as tension roils in the humid air. He swoops back a dark lock but doesn’t break his gaze. 

“Look, I... I appreciate your offer and everything else but what you’re asking... if my mom knew...” 

“Hm, yeah,” he puts his hands on his hips, “I thought of that too. You’re a sweet thing and I can see she loves you. It’s unorthodox but I only wanna take care you. Not everyone will understand that.” 

“Right, so I don’t think--” 

“Well, I think she’d be more suspicious if you walked in there and told her I came all the way here not to offer you a job,” he insists, “don’t you?” 

“Y-yeah, but--” you sputter. 

“So, she doesn’t need to know why I’m here, does she? You can tell her you’re working at the casino.” 

“Sure, but I don’t...” you shake your head and look down. He’s right.  

If you tell your mom you missed out on another job, you don’t think you could ever look her in the eye again. It wouldn’t just be another let down but an actual lie. You have an opportunity here. Maybe not the one you thought, but it’s money. After years of living off your mom’s hard work, you owe her. What’s a secret to her not having to work twelves? 

“We get along, don’t we?” He asks. 

You nod. He’s been less than unkind. You can’t really name a single fault on his part. 

“So, I don’t get it. The money, it’s just a bonus,” he explains, “don’t think of it as me paying you to spend time with me, so much as us enjoying each other and both getting the perks from that.” 

“But... but...” you wet your lips with your tongue and clamp them tight. 

He’s cornered you. If you had a few more hours, you could’ve found the strength to take your phone out and type out your rejection but face-to-face? You’re hopeless and you think he knows that. He watches you expectantly. He isn’t hoping, he knows. 

You blow out between your lips and turn your head away, “she can’t ever know.” 

“Doll, for you, I'll keep my lips sealed,” he says, “whatever you want, you got it. That’s the deal.” 

[zvdvdlvr]

Your Hotchner blurbs are so fantastic I've read them all twice now! I was wondering if you have any thoughts on hotch collecting his drunk girlfriend from the bar? Xoxo

you’re so sweet, angel!! thanks for the love :)

— The One with all the Alcohal (and Jack)

“Honey?” Aaron asked, holding the phone up to his ear.

He heard high-pitched giggling in the background and knew it had to be something relating to you.

“Tell him I love him!” He heard your voice say, quiet im contrast to the voice that crackled through the phone next.

“You need to come pick y/n up,” your friend said, laughing at something.

“Yeah I’m- I’m on my way. What’s the address?”

“Hi Aaron!” You called. “I miss you, baby. Like, a lot. Almost as much as the… what’s that book you used to read to Jack?”

“I love you to the moon and back,” Aaron answered, opening the door for his son to climb into the vehicle, repeating the address your friend gave him in his head.

You giggled on the other line. “I love you more,” you said.

Aaron shook his head and smiled. “You ready, buddy?” He asked Jack.

Jack nodded. “Can i say hi to y/n?”

Aaron nodded. “Y/n, honey. Jack wants to say hi.” He handed the phone to Jack and climbed into the front seat.

“Hi, y/n/n!” Jack greeted cheerily.

Aaron started up the car and peeled out of the driveway. “Tell her we’re on the way.”

“Daddy says to tell you we’re on the way,” Jack repeated. Aaron heard you talking to Jack and then Jack’s little giggle. “Do you really think he will?”

Aaron looked at his boy through the mirror and couldn’t help but soften at the way he kicked his feet in excitement to talk to you- to go pick you up. The ring in Aaron’s desk had been heavy on his mind as of late. “Tell y/n we’re almost there, kiddo.”

Jack did as he was told and kept up the comversation. “I miss you too! Do you think you and Daddy can make some french toast tomorrow? Actually… can you make it for me? You make it better than Daddy. He burns it.”

Aaron heard you laugh through the phone and heard you say something that sounded like “I’d love to, Jackie-boy.”

Aaron pulled up to the bar your friend had said you were at. “Okay buddy. You keep talkin’ to y/n. I’m gonna lock the doors. I want you to wait until I knock on the door to unlock them, okay?”

Jack nodded. “Daddy’s coming in to get you,” he said as Aaron handed him the car keys.

Aaron kisses Jack’s head before shutting the door and hearing Jack lock the door.

— 🧠

Pushing through the sweaty, lewdly dresses bodies, Aaron was glad he made sure Jack stayed in the car. Luckily, Aaron was tall enough to see over most of the heads of people getting hammered.

Then he heard a laugh. It was most definitely your laugh. He pushed through even more people wondering how many people could possible fit under one roof.

“Y/n,” Aaron sighed in relief to himself. You were sitting at the bar, still talking to Jack; your girlfriends taking down shots by the second. Damn.

“Hey, you,” Aaron greeted, a hand on your shoulder. You turned and faced your boyfriend, not recognizing his voice.

“Aaron!” You squealed lunging from your chair into his arms, phone discarded on the bar.

Your boyfriend smiled. “Hi, honey.” Rubbing your back as you clung to him, fingers fiddling with the hair at the nape of his neck. Aaron reached for the phone. “Hey Jack. We’ll be out in a second, buddy. Are you okay in there?”

“Yeah!” The little boy answered, growing antsy.

Aaron hung up the phone and tucked it into his back pocket. “You ready to go, sweetheart?” He asked, turning his attention to you.

“Yeah, A. I-“ you paused and looked up. “Where’s Jack?”

“He’s in the car-“

“Ohmygoodness Aaron. You can’t leave him in there! He might get kidnapped! He’s- Aaron he’s too cute and sweet to get kidnapped. We gotta go make sure he’s safe,” you blubbered, emotional over the fact that Jack’s all alone.

“Okay, honey. Whatever you want,” Aaron said, guiding you through the crowd. Secretly, Aaron felt his heart swell at every interaction you had with Jack; he’d never really seen someone other than Hayley dote on him and love him like their own flesh and blood. Aaron had even asked Jack what he thought Aaron should do. Aaron remembered Jack looking up from his Captain America coloring book and his little voice saying “I won’t be upset if she’s gonna be my new mommy”. That really struck a chord for Aaron.

“Be careful, honey,” Aaron said, wrapping his arm around you waist to ensure you didn’t fall on the sidewalk.

“You know,” you began, liquor destroying any kimd of self control you still had left. “You’re way too good for me. You an’ Jack… both are the best things that’ve ever happened to me.”

Aaron stopped and swept you off your feet, delighting in the giggle you let out and the way you clung to him just a little bit tighter. “If anything… you’re too good for me, y/n. The way you love Jack as your own, make sure I get abreality check when I need one… the way you love us… you’re too good for me, honey.” Aaron said.

But you didn’t hear a single word because you were too busy admiring Aaron’s features, lightly brushing a pointer finger across his features. “Wow,” you breathed.

That made Aaron chuckle. “Hold on, honey. I gotta have Jack unlock the door.”

You didn’t really hear that either, still giving Aaron that star-struck look you do so well.

And then you heard Jack’s happy voice say hi.

Aaron didn’t say anything as he drove home. He had his hand on your thigh to make sure you didn’t move around too much, but was quiet. He listened to you talk with Jack and how involved in the conversation you were, even if he was just a little kid. Your kindness and passion would always knock the wind out of Aaron’s lungs- in a good way.

Just as he had ushered Jack inside the house and gotten you onto your feet, you had yawned and all but melted into Aaron’s side.

“Come here, honey,” Aaron cooed, picking you up bridal style. You relaxed in his arms, even if your pretty dress was growing increasingly uncomfortable by the minute.

“Jack, buddy, I’m gonna help y/n take off her makeup and get her all tucked in before reading your story,” the father explained to his son.

Even though you couldn’t really keep your eyes open, you knew Aaron was doing your skincare routine right because of how observant and thoughtful he is.

And then, when Aaron tucked you into his (!!) bed, he kissed your forehead, believing you to be asleep. “I’ll be right back, honey. I love you,” he whispered, pulling away to watch you curl up and get comfortable in his (!!!!!!) bed.

A sleepy smile painted your face as he padded out of the room: you heard him drop the ‘L bomb’.

[cute-sucker]

hi babe i’m offering my first born in return for more cowboy rafe?? 😩

note: you ask i deliver!! i'm begging for cowboy!rafe pls girl send me more asks about him, and also keep ur kid babe ily <3

˚❀༉‧₊˚.˚❀༉‧₊˚.˚❀༉‧₊˚.˚❀༉‧₊˚.˚❀༉‧₊˚.˚❀༉‧₊˚.˚❀༉‧₊˚.˚❀༉‧₊˚.˚❀༉‧₊˚.˚❀༉‧₊˚.˚❀༉‧₊˚.˚❀༉‧₊˚.˚❀༉‧₊˚.

cowboy!rafe first met you when your truck broke down.

 it was an old red thing that you had to curse at before it started, kicking the damn thing with your boots. the hazy afternoon had taken a toll on you, as you cursed under your breath. 

you were waiting "patiently" in traffic, little embedded jewels in your hair, honking your horn as hard as you could. it sucked. you hated traffic, and you hated even more when you were waiting to hang out with your girls, wearing your silver and black shimmery dress which had graceful bows at the top. 

but here you were. practically marinating in your stupid truck. finally it felt like forever when the way freed. you yelped in happiness, raising your hands to the air, and then pressed the pedal. it was nice, the breeze in your hair, lana del ray cracked up on the toggle, and the jangles on your shimmering in the light. you sang along with the song until you felt your car stop. 

desperately you stepped at the pedal groaning at your luck, as you slowed down. quickly you pulled to side, before grabbing for your cell, pouting as you dialled the number. "guys, i don't think i'll make it on time, my stupid fucking truck won't take me anywhere and unless," you lowered your voice, giggling, "i meet some hot guy that can fix my car, i'll be out!" 

"ya alright?" 

suddenly you made eye contact with steely blue eyes, a slight smile pulled on his mouth, and hands jammed in his blue jeans. you found yourself blushing, your strawberry pink gum stuck on the roof of your mouth. it was as if your little confession at the dial had come true, and you couldn't help but feel flustered before your instincts kicked in. 

"no, i need help," you quickly professed, groaning as you struggled to turn over to look at him properly. it was as if the more you looked at him, the more the butterflies in your stomach intensified. 

here rafe had grinned, quirking an eyebrow your way, "how old is your truck?" here you rolled your eyes, snapping your gum with a pout. it was as if he liked you even more when you did that, all bratty and proud, as he tilted his head your way. you ignored now his question, trailing your manicured hands on the wheel.

"well, it kinda stopped, and i have no idea what to do." you blurted, "please help me." 

the man laughed at your desperation, a death-pan expression on his face as he lit a cigarette, his biceps flexing. he was relaxed you felt almost ignored.

 "nice to meet you. 'm rafe." 

"um," you paused, "great, could you help me out now?"

"you're a real princess aren't ya? no please or anything like that." 

you groaned, before easing your pedal, puppy eyes wide as you leaned over at the window. he seemed to bask in your attention, his finger grazing your jaw, as you scooched closer to look him in the eye. there was something about him, so old, so much more that made you want to stare at him longer. but that was quickly a problem. 

"please. please help me." 

finally, a smirk spread across his face, before he flickered the cigarette off, and knocked on the door of your rusty truck, "gotta get out of the car first, pup. " and you quickly scampered out of the car, jumping out with a 'hurrup.' sometimes even getting out of the goddamn car was a struggle, and when you got out, you looked up at him with defensive eyes-he was trying not to laugh. 

"alright, now do you have a kit of some sort?"  

you looked up at him with confused wide eyes, "i'm not sure," you whispered, shivering. 

"damn, you really need me to fend for you. open that truck of yours." 

within five minutes he had done everything possible, laying down on the ground, tinkering with things, and by the time he got up, there was grime on his face as he handed you the wrench with a wink. his white shirt had been marked by the dirt on the road, and you sat there all dolled up watching him grunt while trying to fix your engine. 

you resisted the urge to reach out and wipe away the grime on his cheek, knowing it would be too forward. instead, you smiled, hoping it conveyed your gratitude and a bit of the fascination you felt.

you smiled at him, all sweet as you put it back into your trench. "thanks rafe!" you found yourself murmuring when back in your truck, as he gave you an easy smile. you felt so shy, holding onto your purse, as he stood there. yet before you drove off, you gave him a tiny wave thinking that was the last time you would see him.

suddenly as you started your truck you heard a whistle behind you. glancing in the rearview mirror, you saw rafe standing there, his hands cupped around his mouth.

"hey, princess! see ya next time," he called out with a wink, his voice carrying over the distance.

you couldn’t help but laugh, your heart skipping a beat.

little did you know rafe cameron would be in your life for a long time. 

[1800classiccherries]

Spider-cat!

⚘ Miguel x fem!reader

⚘ fluff

⚘ I don’t think there are any warnings?

⚘ summary: Y/n spends all her time with Spidercat, causing Miguel to feel little jelous.

⚘ wc: 960

“Sorry, Miguel, Spider-cat is back from a mission. Gotta go!” Y/n states, giving Miguel a quick peck on the cheek before swigging off the monitor platform and out of the room.

Recently Y/n had made a new friend amongst the spider crowd, Spider-cat, and this cat had her wrapped around his furry paw. Miguel sighs, not wanting to admit to himself that his girlfriend is spending more time with a cat than him and that he is jealous.

As Y/n roams around looking for her furry friend, she spots him down the hall, and she quickens her pace. “My baby!” she calls out, holding her arms open for the cat to jump into, “how was the mission?” Y/n inquires, getting a content meow in response. “I’m glad to hear it,” she nods, setting down Spider-cat so he can walk beside her.

~

Y/n and Spider-cat step out of the orange portal, now on Y/n’s earth. In their downtime, the two would go for swings around their Earths for as long as they could before having to go on a mission. Today was no different.

“Ready to go?” Y/n asks, looking down at the cat, who replies with a happy meow.

With that, the two swing off the fire escape they were previously on and begin their swing around the city. They were showing off their tricks and finding interesting new locations around the city. A while into their adventure, Y/n notices a hologram of a certain someone show up on her watch, causing her to pull over to the roof of the nearest building. Spider-cat follows suit, making himself comfortable, and begins making biscuits on Y/n’s lap once she sits down.

“Yes, Miguel?” she prompts, not too happy about her time with Spider-cat getting cut short.

“Are you busy?” Miguel asks, knowing she’s probably with the cat.

“Kinda off...” Y/n trails off, holding Spider-cat up for him to see. 

“I-” he starts, almost at a loss for words, “I’ll just get someone else to do it.”

Before Y/n could even say anything, the hologram disappeared. With a sigh, she looks down at the cat, who’s looking back up at her. 

“I guess that’s my queue to leave,” she gets a disappointed meow in response.

“Yeah, I wanted to keep swinging too. But I have to spend some time with my boyfriend now,” she explains, standing up and opening a portal for her and Spider-cat to go back to headquarters.

~

Now back at headquarters, Y/n makes her way to Miguel’s locations thinking as to how she can smooth things over. It’ll be fine; she says to herself as she arrives at the room.

“Heyy, spider-bae~,” Y/n says, dragging out her words as she walks toward the (painfully) slowly descending platform.

Miguel raises an eyebrow as he turns around to face Y/n, clearly unamused. She opens her mouth to defend herself but promptly stops. She opens her mouth once more to try again, but she stops. ”I have nothing to say.”

“Typical,” he deadpans, shaking his head and returning to his work.

“Aww, don’t be like that,” she pouts, taking a little swing onto the platform to stand next to him.

Y/n tunnels her way under Miguel’s arm so that his arm is over her shoulder. She leans into him, looking up with apologetic eyes, hoping he looks down at her. 

“Y’know you my boo thang, right, Miguel?” she says with a slowly spreading smile.

“Boo thang?” Miguel repeats, slightly amused, looking at Y/n.

“You heard me.”

Y/n moves from under his arm to in front of him, taking hold of his hand and leaning slightly against the control panel under the monitors. Looking up at him with a look that says, ‘I’m sorry.’

“I’ve missed you, mi amor,” Miguel voices, resting a hand on the side of Y/n’s face.

Leaning into his touch, the corner of her lips turns up slightly, “I’m sorry about ditching you for spider-cat.”

Miguel shakes his head a bit, chuckling softly, “It’s not your fault; he is pretty cute.”

“Yeah, but you’re cuter,” Y/n flirts tilting her head.

“I don’t know how I feel about getting called cute...”

Thanks for reading!

[scholastic-dragon]

Happy birthday! Ok so correct me if I'm wrong but you write for hellboy right? If so, could you please do 2008 hellboy smut. Like maybe some jealous rooftop sex with a plus size s/o? (If not you can totally ignore this!)

Yes yes yes

Just watched the first movie last night cause it's on Netflix and I am ready for this

Jealous Fuck

Hellboy x Fem!Plus-sized!Reader

Warnings: fingering, jealously, jealous fuck, dirty talk, praise, p in v, no condom (please wrap before you tap), semi public sex, spelling mistakes,

"Who was he?" Hellboy shrugs, trying and failing to hide his annoyance and jealously.

"Hb..." You sigh, pulling your coat tighter around your form.

"You guys seemed pretty close," He continued, a hand on his hip.

"He was a new agent, HB, I was just showing him around town, it wasn't anything to be jealous of," your hair blows widely in the late October wind.

He sighs, looking at the gravel floor on the buildings roof. "You promise?"

You walk up to him, taking both his hands in yours, your thumb brushing over his knuckles. "I promise. It was just friendly. I only have eyes for you, baby,"

You could tell he wanted to believe you, but some insecure part of his gut wouldn't let it go.

"It's friendly 'Cause you're all mine right?"

Letting go of his stone hand, you cup his cheek, turning him to meet your eyes.

"I'm all yours, Red,"

Something flashes in his eyes, you've seen it before and it makes your face flush. He lunges, pressing his lips to yours. Slanting his lips he steals the breath from your lungs and makes you moan against his lips.

His stone hand reaches around to grope your thick ass, his human one tangling in your hair.

You squeeze his biceps, feeling heat pool between your thighs. "Let's go back to HQ, baby," You whisper against his lips.

"No time," He pulls away, tugging your hair back, making you tip your head up, exposing your throat. "I'm gonna fuck you right here, right now,"

You moan, his mouth sucking deep dark bruises onto your neck, a clear marking as his.

He pushes you to the roof ledge, spinning you around and bending you over the wall.

"Red..." You whisper, becoming bashful.

Hb tugs at your leggings, ripping them down your legs and pooling them at your boots. The cold spread goosebumps across your skin.

Your eyes flicker all around the empty streets and alleyways around you. You thank God it was the middle of the night and not day.

He dips his fingers into your folds, and you buck and moan, rolling your hips.

"So wet, baby," He parts them, moving his fingers around and coating them in your wetness.

He bends down, kissing at your ass cheek, he sucks a hickey into you skin then bites. Hard.

You yelp, but it turns into a moan as he plunges a finger into your sopping depths. You bite your jacket sleeve to keep quiet, only allowing harsh breaths and grunts.

His slips a second finger in, moving them fast, the sound of your slick filling the silent air.

"Red baby, I need you," You moan, looking at him over your shoulder.

"We gotta wait, hot stuff," He pulls his hand from your pussy and smacks your ass, making you yelp loudly. "You're not stretched enough for my big dick,"

"I am," You moan, face bright red.

"You think?" He slips three fingers inside you, stretching and pulling at your tight entrance. "You can barely take three fingers baby,"

"I can take it," reaching down, you rub and circle your clit, knowing it drives him wild to see you doing it.

Your pussy relaxes, allowing his three thick fingers to move easily in and out of you.

"Huh, you were right, baby," He removes his hand, licking them clean. "Let's see if my cock can fit too,"

You hear his zipper and belt, it sends an entirely unholy shiver down your spine. His hands grab your waist, his cock poking your folds.

"You ready?"

"Please," He slowly pushes himself in, not wanting to hurt you. But he didn't have to worry about that, because of how wet you were, he slipped in halfway without any trouble.

"Look at that, baby," He cooed. "Halfway without any trouble. That's my good girl,"

Your toes curled in your boots, you set your forehead on your arm, trying with all your might to not move.

With slow movements he slips inside to the hilt, moaning with you. He pulls out them slams forward.

You can't contain your moans, mouth hanging out and the sounds echoing across the quiet neighborhood.

"That's it baby," hb groans behind you.

"Fuck, you're so big," You moan, pushing your ass back to meet him thrust for thrust.

"Yeah, big and thick but you take it like a fucking champ, don't you baby? Yeah, cause that's what good girls do,"

You moan louder, reaching your hand back to play with your clit. The band in your stomach pulling tighter and tighter.

"Say you're mine," He growls, thrusting harder.

"I'm yours! I'm all yours baby!" You shout, cumming around his thick cock, bucking and moaning against him. You're thankful the brick wall was there to hold you up.

"Say. It. Again." He spanks and thrusts his words, making you skin bloom red.

"I'm yours, Hellboy! I'm all yours!"

"That's it, good fucking girl," He pants, thrusting harder and more erratically, nearing his end.

With a roar he fills your pussy with his hot cum, there's too much and it spills from your sore hole.

You whimper and pant together, calming your breaths. "Fuck, Hb,"

He laughs softly, leaning down and kissing up your clothed spine, pressing his lips to your ear. "You're mine, and I'm yours. And nothing is ever going to change that,"

[ja3hwa]

♡ 𝐊𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐑𝐮𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐃𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐋𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐁𝐚𝐜𝐤 | 𝐂.𝐒 ♡

【Synopsis】 : All you've ever known is to run. And now you have someone worth standing still for.

『Word count』 : 920

-> Genre: Dystopian. Ateez Lore-ish. Hint of Romance. SFW

Pairing: Freedomfighter!San x Runner!Reader

[Warnings] : Swearing. Government bullshit. Dystopian and apocalyptic themes. Hint of past love. Being in trouble by cops and what nots, hehe.

Note: I was cleaning out my drafts and found this old thing. I had written it when Guerrilla first dropped. So I decided to finish it off (kinda). idk if I'd ever make more. But who knows, maybe i will, hehe. Also love to mention no clue what past me was trying to write. So enjoy ♡♡

Networks: @blossomnet @atzhouse @wonderlandnet

Masterlist | Navigation

Running was something you were born to do. It was like the moment you could get your feet on the ground you ran. Skip the crawling or wobble walking towards the open arms of your parents, being so proud to see their baby take their first steps. No, you decided running the was an option you would choose the minute you were able. And this is how you ended up in this exact predicament. Running…

Running from one of the most feared governmental dick heads. You had one job, stealing some documents about the tall walls that surrounded the large city. Simple right? The person who hired you wanted to expose the truth about the government. The truth, that the apocalypse only happened because someone in a top-secret lab wasn’t careful enough. And now society needed to live in large walled cities and towns to protect themselves from the wastelands. No one knew much about the outer border, let alone what indeed was outside the safety of the walls. And that’s where your employer comes in. A man that went by left eye. Personally, you thought it was a strange name, but you aren't getting paid for judging names. You hopped over another building roof, just barely managing to shake two of the big guards that chased you. But one was still hot on your tail and no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t seem to lose him.

You leapt over another roof before sliding down a fire escape staircase. You were in a dark alley with the only lights coming from the street at the end of it. You needed a place to hide cause even though you were born to run, you really needed a rest.

“Hey In Here.” A mellow voice called from behind a metal door that happened to be hidden among the wall decore, seeming to camouflage itself. You thought for a moment. Either you keep running and potentially get caught or you risk going with the strange voice behind an even stranger door.

“I think they went this way.” You hear the two guards you lost minutes ago call out from above.

Stranger it is.

You ran to the door, quickly slipping inside before anyone could see you. The tall person who was behind the voice closed the large metal entrance, locking it with a bunch of padlocks and chains. He had a hood on to keep his face covered, but a sense of ease washed over you being around him. His presence somewhat familiar.

“Quick, this way.” He guided to down the small hall, his hand gripping your wrist so you wouldn’t lose one another in the maze of twists and turns. His palm was tough like he worked with them every day. Tattoos travelled up his arm, disappearing under the large pastel blue cloak he was wearing. He was tall, dark and mysterious, you’ll give him that.

“Okay, we should be safe here. The others are out right now, so I… I gotta lot of explaining when they get back.” His light harded chuckle made a wave of relief pour over you. His cloak slipped off his face, showing his beautiful features to you. Your breath finally escaped from your lungs, you hadn't even realised you were holding it until this very moment. His was indeed familiar, and it was only until he smiled in your direction that you figured out who he was.

“San? As in Choi San?” You gasped. His expression told you he was just as surprised as you were, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand. He avoided eye contact for a moment, trying to think of something to say.

“You remember me?”

“Remember you! You were—” Your heart screamed for you to say the love of my life, best friend, the only person who stuck by me when we were in the orphanage. But your brain decided it was best to avoid awkwardness since it had been over seven years since you’d last seen him. “You were my friend. Of course, I remember you."

“Well, I’m glad I kept an impression on you.” He smiled, showing a calm and cool nature. Even though his heart was about to jump out of his chest and he swears the world just became fuzzy, making it harder for him to stand. He missed you ever since those masked guards took you away to start your higher-up training. He didn’t think he’d ever see you again after that. But here you were, still the same young troublemaker. But only this time, you were even more beautiful than before, how that was possible he couldn’t describe it.

You looked around the large room seeing a poster board with photos of the government agents that were on your list to avoid. Papers riddled with notes and scribbles about information. All of this information was similar to what you had just stolen. The info you had was just a puzzle piece. It finally clicked what San had been up to all these years, making you smile with glee.

"So I didn't think the Choi San would become a freedom fighter..." You turned to look at him again.

"And I didn't think you'd become a runner." His expression matched your own, except his hid concern. Out of anything you could have become, you became a runner. Someone who gathers intel or bounty for a price. He could say he was surprised, but it still raised one question.

who did you work for?

[toxicanonymity]

Would you please write a boyfriend’s dad fic 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫

Maybe the bf ditches her while she’s on vacation with his family and Joel knows his son is a fuck up so he wants to show her what she’s missing

Sky’s out, thighs out

1.5k / boyfriend's dad!Joel x f!reader 

thighs out masterlist

Warnings: NSFW 18+,  non-outbreak AU, big girthy age gap (unspecified), public, exhibitionism, oral & rimming (f receiving), unsafe P in V sex, creampie, squirting, dirty talk, use of daddy (prone bone anon). 

☀️🌤️☀️🌤️☀️🌤️☀️🌤️☀️

You're sunbathing face-down in a pool chair and a shadow falls over your book.  Joel squats down in front of you.  “Hey,” he says gently.  You wipe your eyes under your sunglasses.  He takes your shades off, but leaves his own on.  “Don’t worry 'bout my dipshit son, okay? Not worth the tears." He catches one with his thumb as it rolls down your face. You glance up and he asks, "Wanna go for a swim or somethin’?”  You avoid your reflection in his shades. Your eyes fall to his meaty thighs which are stretching his short, retro swim trunks under his wife beater tank top.   He follows your eyes down, then his nose twitches, smugly tugging at one corner of his mouth.  “We could do that, too." He’s shameless, but you've ignored it so far.  

One day, lounging on the beach, he caught you looking. He said, “sky’s out, thighs out," then sensually rubbed his upper inner thigh. You said, “sky’s always out. . .”   “Exactly.”  His beard pattern only enhanced the mischief in his smile, his hand resting at his groin. He wet his lips, still looking at you. Then he adjusted himself. The next day, he snuck up on you from behind when you were reading at the edge of the pool. He silently swam up and stood behind you, pressed himself up against you, and you didn’t do anything about it except think about him while you fucked his son later.  

"Thanks." You take your sunglasses from his hand and go back to reading. You're looking at the book but can’t focus with all these butterflies between your legs.  

You're thinking about how big and hard Joel felt against your ass in the pool and now hot it was that he stole that moment, no matter how creepy. The way he loosely wrapped one arm around you under the water, and you didn't flinch as he ran his hand over your stomach, just barely dipped his fingertips into your suit, and whispered, "good color on you." His soft grunt when he pressed himself harder against you before sinking back and floating away just in time for Jack to come back outside.

"Plenty of time to ourselves," he says as you stare at the words on the page. It’s a rooftop pool shared by several units, and the other units have been empty this week.  But there are higher roof tops nearby with direct lines of vision. Someone waved from their barbecue the night before and invited y’all to join. It's a friendly area, lots of vacation condos.

-

“Alright, I’m gonna make this easy on ya,” Joel says.  “Want me to stop, I will, but you gotta say stop.” You throb at his words. He knows exactly what you need right now - for him to take charge.  

He starts by massaging your back. "Damn fool to even glance at another chick.”  He kneads your muscles lower and lower, then gropes your ass with an "Mmm."  You put your book down and rest your head on your hands.  He slides his hand into your swimsuit bottoms and keeps sliding down, over your crack, a little further, until his middle finger reaches your dripping wet pussy.  He inhales deeply and his voice lowers to a horny pitch as he swirls his finger. “Yeahhh," he growls.  "That's what I thought. . .” he says as he touches you.  

He swings a leg over the pool chair to straddle you, and as his crotch hovers over your ass, he brings his mouth to your ear. "You're so damn hot, baby," then dips his pelvis down for his raging erection to brush your swimsuit, sending all your blood to your loins.  "Knew ya wanted it."

He uses one hand to slowly untie your swimsuit bottom on both sides, so slowly, as if any sudden movement might break the spell.  Then he backs up toward the foot of the lounge chair and spreads your thighs.  "Damn, this ass is perfect,” he says under his breath as he gives your cheeks a quick squeeze. Then he inserts a thick finger into your cunt and breathes deeply as he adds another.  

“Pussy, too. . . Damn. . .” Your cunt twitches around his digits and he says, “Wooo.”  He takes out his fingers, and his hands on your hips nudge you into lifting your ass and tilting your hips for him to plant his face. His facial hair prickles you lightly.  He starts at your clit and when he reaches your warm, wet hole he gives it a kiss.  Then he inserts his tongue and moans into you.  After about a minute of eating you out, his tongue sharpens and drags from your entrance up to your asshole to tease you there while squeezing a cheek.  

He gets on top of you and presses the hard bulge of his swim trunks into your ass.   You moan softly and he says, “Yeah, that’s right.”  He pulls his swim trunks down enough to free his stiff member then runs the firm tip through your folds.  You gasp and he says “All yours, baby.  Every inch.”  

-

He notches the swollen head at your entrance.  Your thighs spread and your hips tilt for him. "That's right, baby."  He shoves himself into you with a grunt.  You moan as his girth splits you open.

“Fuck yeah,” he breathes and retreats half way.  He plunges forward again and bottoms out with a long sigh. "Damn. . . tight 'n juicy. . ." He repeats the motion.  "Perfect pussy." He lowers his broad torso against your back for a moment, pulling out all but the tip. The light padding of his stomach makes you twitch. Then with a deep thrust he pushes himself back up.  He hovers over you and braces himself on both sides of the pool chair as he rails you.  He’s hitting just the right spot.  The tension builds in your core.  

“Ah, fuck,” you gasp. 

“Yeah, how’s this cock treatin’ ya, baby?”

“Fuck, it’s good.”

“That’s right,” he says into your neck. "Daddy knows best. . . Don't I, baby?" He latches onto your neck. 

You start to say it back to him "Da-" and cut yourself off with a moan.  He sucks your neck so hard it’ll leave a mark but you don’t care. All you care about is his cock inside you.  You take a deep breath and manage, “yeah, Daddy.”  

He pounds you with all the pent up tension of the week.  You hear faint voices from a neighboring rooftop.  It sends a rush of excitement through you, the thought of strangers seeing you get railed by your boyfriend’s hot dad. 

Every time Joel buries his length in you, it rocks you forward on the chair and you grip it for dear life.  You moan in near disbelief at how good he feels. Your chest feels light with energy.

“Jack ever fuck you this good?" Not even close.  

“No,” you pant.  “Never, daddy. . ."  You could come any minute but don’t want it to end.

“s'what I thought." His cock is so stiff and thick.  And length wise, even a smidgen more might be too much to take. 

-

You look up and a shadow moves inside the clubhouse. “Wait,” you say. “ Is someone in there?”

He slows his hips.  “Want me to stop?”  He stops moving, and you can hardly stand it you’re so close to coming.  You groan.  No, you don’t want him to stop.  

You’re trying to see into the clubhouse when he pulls out and you answer too late, “Nooo.”  

He says “C'mere” and flips you over.   The voices return next door.  His strong thighs swell out from under his swim trunks and you follow them up to his commanding cock.  His sun-kissed arm flexes as he pumps himself, then crouches down and lines himself up.  

“Look at Daddy, don’t worry ‘bout nothin’ else."  He plunges to the hilt with a loud sigh from both of you.  “Damn you take it good,” he says.  He begins to pound you, then puts your legs up in a mating press.  

“I’m on the pill,” you manage to say between deep breaths.  Hard to tell if he’s relieved or disappointed.  His hips snap into you faster, and you forget about the shadow in the pool house and the people next door.  When you’re on the edge of  bliss, you say “I’m gonna–”

“Yeah baby, come on my cock.” 

You pant. 

“Come on, baby,” he says as he slams into you. 

You begin to clench around him and moan obscenely, gushing on his cock.

“Attagirl.”  He keeps fucking you through it. “Hell yeah,” he says between heavy breaths.  

He plunges into you slower but harder and somehow further, bottoming out with a primal grunt. Then he pulses inside you and sighs loudly as his balls empty.  His pulsations extend your own until he finishes coming and pulls out. Before he takes his still-hard cock away, he gathers his cum with the tip and pushes back inside.

When he's truly done, he swiftly pulls up his swim trunks, drags his hand through your juices and sucks his fingers.  He crouches down, cups your cheek and says, “Hot as hell.”  

Then he takes off his tank top and jumps in the pool.  He turns around and rests his arms on the deck, facing you. 

 “Damn. . . Jack’s even dumber than I thought.” 

-

Same Joel, same vacation:

thighs out on the beach

sun's out, guns out

-

Thank you so much for reading and engaging!

If you like this one, you might like the Speakeasy series which has exhibitionism, horniness, and talking.   Like how he talks?  Try night walks for similar energy (on the darker side).  Instagram and Uber for another squirter. 

-

ty for reading @dark-scape

All joel: @ethanhoewke @silkiers @eiviea @evyiione @xdaddysprincessxx @queerly-anxious @chernayawidow @ambassadortotrilliusprime @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @jasminespringtime @romanarose @fandomsfallnomore @djarinxore @lokanda @blackvelveteen1339  @manazo @wolvesandvampires @taeslarityy @str84pedro

[atomicbland]

Just A Mirage

Hello I'm outting myself as the ──★ ˙🍓anon from @ghoulphile. Anyways they've inspired me to fall face first dip my toe back into writing and might as well share the brain rot with the class. This is my first time writing smut or anything relatively like this so any questions comments critques are welcome! I dont bite unless you want me to

pairings: cooper howard x fem!reader rating: 18+ MDNI! warnings: bondage, degradation, pet names, mentions of age gap (obviously), Cooper Howard being a jackass in general, canon typical chem use, smoking AO3 Link

You were tired, thirsty, and hungry. Your rations had been finished earlier that morning though it was not by your hand. The tall ghoul who looked like he had walked right off the set of one of those western movies with his cowboy hat, ragged leather duster, and shotgun strapped to his back had stolen the last of your food and water while you stepped away to relieve yourself. You had come back to him chewing on your stash of jerky while letting his scruffy companion, “Dogmeat”, drink straight from your water flask. You learned quickly that no matter what, he’d treat the dog better than you. He kept you on a leash, his lasso was tied around your waist and tethered to the weapon belt that might as well have been fused into his skin. Anytime you weren’t keeping pace he’d give a rough tug of the rope, causing it to bite into your belly. Argued it’s easier to keep track of you that way. 

While you lamented over the loss of your food and water and debated if hiring the old ghoul was a smart choice something catches your attention stopping you in your tracks. Along the edge of the tree line, you spot the remains of what looked like a house, bigger than any house you’ve come across. The roof and windows were still somewhat intact and something that looked like brick peeked through the vines that had taken over the structure. You felt the bite of the rope at your stomach. 

“Now, I done told you what’ll happen if I gotta tug this damn rope again…” the Ghoul threatened from in front of you.

“I saw someth-”

“You ain’t seen nothin’,” he spat. “A mirage. Just that pretty lil’ head of yours playin’ tricks sweetie.” He tugged the rope again, urging you to move along not even bothering to look in the same direction as you. 

Sweetie. Whenever he called you that you could feel the heat of a thousand rads shoot through your body, making your blood boil. 

“Maybe my mind wouldn’t be playing tricks if I still had my food and water!” You didn’t budge, refusing to play his stupid game. You were in charge, hiring him to escort you to the Old World Wall safely. 

He turned to face you, his eyes hidden by the brim of his hat but his features were twisted into a scowl. “What was that lil lady?” 

He didn’t scare you. You cleared your throat. “I said. I NEED water. You don’t get any caps or vials if I’M dead!” He stays silent, still glaring. A month's supply of vials upon arrival was on the line and he knew it. You point towards the treeline. “I saw a house over there. We're out of rations and it's getting dark. Can we at least set up camp there?” 

His answer is wordless, whistling a command to Dogmeat to run ahead to the house. He gives another tug at the rope, commanding you to follow behind him, a cautious hand at his holster. 

The inside of the house was far nicer than the outside led you to believe. While everything appeared to be overrun by nature the original bones were still there. Holey yet plush couches formed a sitting area around a fire pit that recessed into the tattered wall. The floorboards creaked and moaned under the new weight as the three of you walked around making sure the area was clear. Dusty paintings littered the walls, images nearly impossible to make out in the dim light. 

“Now smoothie,” the Ghoul started, taking a quick break to puff his inhaler, “I’mma take you off yer leash and scope the perimeter ‘fore we hunker down.” 

You nod, happy to have some relief from the scratchy fibers of the rope and to get some sort of break from your freakish travel partner. Not that you didn’t hate him but the way he spoke and stole from you did wear on your nerves. All of the stupid pet names that cowboy gave you did something to you. You couldn’t place it, a warm feeling in the pit of your stomach, a milder feeling of what he did when he’d make a pass at you. And despite how much he annoyed you, you found him strangely attractive. On those sleepless night when you were sure he was sleeping, you’d study his features, imagining his strong hands around you as he pulled your hips down onto his, his cock hitting your core just right making your back arch and pulling the same loud cries of pleasure you had heard him pull from others in the adjacent room of whatever hostel would allow a ghoul and his dog. 

The smell of viscera and tobacco cloud your senses, and you feel a gloved hand around the back of your neck, ripping you back to reality. “And be good for me while I’m gone.” The heat of his breath travels down your neck and straight between your thighs. 

You watch as he slinks away, stopping at the crumbling doorway—a dark shadow masking the top half of his face. “Oh and sweetheart,” he pulls a cigarette from one of the pockets of his duster, lighting it before he continued, “be a doll an’ rangle somethin’ up for dinner. Ain’t much in the mood for ass jerky t’night.” He flashes you a smile from underneath his hat before leaving, Dogmeat happily cantering after him. 

The house is larger than it looks on the inside and despite its current state of ruin, you could see it in all of its glory, like one of those fancy houses you see in the movies. People smiling and laughing around a table piled with food, dressed in the most beautiful clothes that shimmered against the light. Women with beautifully painted faces and clean, perfectly styled hair. Those movies always made you wonder about the world before the bombs, before everyone wanted to kill everyone else, before the fear of radiation. 

You find your way into the kitchen, cracked black and white tiles decorate the floor, dingy teal cabinets matching the Atomic Queen appliances hug the walls. You take care to peek behind every cabinet door checking for any food or water that might have been missed by whoever came through here last. You manage to find some unlabeled booze and canned food tucked behind the remains of some long abandoned animal nest, while it isn’t much at least you’ll be able to eat tonight. In another cabinet you find some Sugar Bombs, the box is dented and beat up but surprisingly unopened, lucky you. 

You move towards the back of the kitchen, finding yourself in a small dark room. The smell of mildew and rot is so strong your stomach would've turned if it wasn't already empty, it's so bad you couldn't bother to examine the shelves that lined the wall. You make a mental note to ask the Ghoul to check for loot, of the two of you, he had the stronger stomach to rifle through damn near anything. Pushing through the door to the other side, fresh air greets you, a welcomed relief to your lungs. The very last dregs of sunlight shine through the windows that made up the roof, tall green trees kiss the glass in a desperate attempt to break free. If it wasn't for the roof you would've sworn you accidentally found your way outside. 

With one hand on the holster of your knife you creep with the brick of the wall at your back, slowly examining the plants in front of you. You recognized a few, Daffodils, Marigolds, even Tato vines. However a majority were new to you;  large flowers the size of your head, and plants that seemed to grow from the roof. You spot some pear and apple trees with the largest fruits you’ve ever seen further into the room. As you found your way to the perpendicular wall, you noticed that it was made of a giant window. You remember seeing building plans for something similar in a pre-war book years ago, a glass house that kept the plants inside at the ideal temperature. For whatever reason the plants in this glass house were thriving on neglect, carrying on with life as if the bombs never dropped. 

BANG! 

The sound makes you drop to the ground, covering your head. Whatever it was you just hope it was coming from the Ghoul. 

Just as you're about to get up, something catches your eye. You crawl towards the brush to get a closer look, little red fruits perched on vines decorated with white flowers cover the dirt by your feet. You pluck one, rolling it between your fingers the skin is rough, yellow dots littering the surface of the red flesh. The sweet scent of the fruit travels to your nose and entices your palate you know better than to put anything in your mouth. Instead, you procure the small tin that you use to store food from your bag and fill it with the mystery fruit. 

BANG! 

Hastily you shove the container back in your bag, whatever was going on outside had you a fair bit more concerned now that you could hear Dogmeat barking wildly. You quickly get up and make your way out of the glass house, through the dark storage room, and past the kitchen. Not stopping until you've collided with a large solid mass, sending a plume of dust into the air as your ass hits the cushion of the couch. 

“You’re ‘sposed to say ‘scuse you after runnin’ into a fella sweetheart.” 

You look up, your eyes meet the dark shadow of the Ghoul's from under his hat. Yellowed teeth show through as he grins wide. You look down to see in his gloved hand are two Rad Rabbits, in the other an unopened can of purified water. Relief washes over you, knowing that your dinner would be more than just Cram and Sugar Bombs. 

“I believe a thank you's in order.” His stupid handsome grin growing even wider. Clearly proud of himself despite him having taken down much harder prey. 

You glare at him before softening, in some way, you feel like this is his way of apologizing for earlier. Any time he pissed you off he would at least make up for it with his actions. Stolen stimpak? Within the next day, you'd find it replaced along with a bag of RadAway. A few bottle caps would find their way into your bag too, when you brought it up to him he'd deny it, telling you to keep a better eye on your shit.

“Thank you,” you pause, it just dawned on you that you didn't know his name. He was the Ghoul, the Cowboy, your escort across the wasteland. But no name to attach to him. You fish for a polite title for him, and if you knew him better you would've punctuated your gratitude with a kiss, yet the older man didn't seem like one for physical contact. “Thank you, Sir.” Is what you land on. 

His smile fades as if your gratitude offends him and he tosses rabbit carcasses into your lap.

“Make sure Dogmeat gets her fair share. She found ‘em after all.” He says, patting the mutt beside him before making his way to the firepit, and lighting another cigarette. 

[meespresso14]

Unexpected (Part 2)

Rating: 18+ MINORS DNI

Warnings: mentions of sex, pregnancy, nausea, vomiting, medical issues.

Once things settled down and the hostages were rescued safely with only minor injuries and mental anguish, Hondo decided it was time to pull Luca. The team could finish up without him, it would be alright. Luca was working with Tan and Street. Hondo sighed, getting himself together. The adrenaline was still rushing through all of their veins. He walked over to the group.

“Luca, can we talk for a minute?”

The color drained from Luca’s face, his classic smile fading from his lips. Hondo noticed him swallow hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “Yeah, boss. What’s up?”

Deep down inside, every bad scenario was running through Luca’s head. Was it you? Was it his parents? 

Hondo’s eyes panned over to Tan and Street before they panned back to Luca. Everyone was wearing a worried look. 

“It’s Y/N. Annie was on her way to the hospital with her. She passed out at home. I was waiting until things calmed down to pull you out as soon as I could.”

Luca’s blue eyes instantly filled with concern before he shook his head, attempting to pass by Hondo. “I gotta get out of here, man. Like now.”

“Listen, listen—I know, Luca.”, Hondo grabbed his shoulders, trying to center him. 

Luca was fighting back tears—he couldn’t show his emotions. That’s not how this worked. He was taught to be tough—even as a child. 

“Just be safe about it, man. She needs you.”, Hondo eyed Luca.

Luca couldn’t meet Hondo’s eyes. He only stared past him, however, Hondo could see the tears pooling in Luca’s deep blue eyes. He hated breaking bad news to his teammates. It seemed like only yesterday when Annie had her stroke and he had to tell Deacon. It was the worst part of being the team leader. 

“I know.”, Luca breathed, voice barely above a whisper.

He rubbed his hand over his face. “What happened to her?”

Hondo shook his head. “Captain Cortez didn’t give me any other details.”

“I gotta get down there. I need to see her.”

“I know. One of us can go with you—if you want.”, Hondo added.

Luca nodded. “Okay.”

Hondo nodded, finally feeling better about Luca leaving. It was decided that Deacon would accompany Luca since Annie was at the hospital anyway. Hondo told them both to be careful and to keep the team updated on your condition. Luca didn’t even take time to change out of all his tactical gear. He just cared about seeing you—making sure you were okay. Deacon noticed him shifting in the seat nervously. 

Luca felt like a cat on a hot tin roof. His face scrunched nervously and Deacon could tell he was spiraling. 

“You okay, man?”

Luca looked over at Deacon. “Honestly…..no.”, he sighed.

Deacon nodded. “It’s okay not to be okay. I was beside myself when Annie was sick.”

Luca nodded. “I’m just thinking of everything that could be wrong with her.”

“It could be something minor.”

Luca scoffed. “Knowing my luck—no way. I mean she’s the best thing to ever happen to me, Deac. She understands me.”

Deacon kept driving, determined to get Luca there as fast as he could. “I know.”

Deacon didn’t check his phone after texting Annie that he was on his way with Luca. Traffic was horrible as per usual in LA. Deacon was a good driver, used to dealing with the congested highway. 

“I could have driven.”, Luca grumbled, crossing his arms and shifting in the seat for the thousandth time. 

“Sorry boss’s orders.”, Deacon shrugged playfully, a soft smirk crossing his lips.

Luca slumped over against the door, his anxiety getting the best of him. He thought he would handle stress better than this. And to be honest, he was a little angry at himself for getting so worked up. But this wasn’t just anything—this was you, the love of his life. He had never felt this way about another woman. He was going to marry you. And soon, especially after this. If everything was alright with you. His mind was racing with possibilities, going through any and every scenario.

Deacon knew what he was doing. He had done the exact thing when Annie was sick. He knew Luca felt guilty about leaving you and going to work. Deacon weaved in and out of traffic in an attempt to get to the hospital faster. Luca huffed and puffed, silently cursing the traffic and hitting the dashboard of his truck. 

After what felt like a hundred years, they finally pulled up to the emergency room entrance. Luca hardly gave Deacon time to shift his truck into the park before he was jumping out. Deacon threw his hands up, making sure he was parked at least halfway decent before jumping out of Luca’s truck with the keys and running to catch up to Luca. 

Luca cleared the automatic doors, instantly going to the registration desk. 

“Can I help you sir?”

“My fiancee is here.”, Luca threw his hands down on the desk, tapping them nervously. 

“Your name?”

“Dominique Luca. I should be on her paperwork.” 

“What’s her name?”

Luca gave them your name. He wished in that moment you shared his. He wished he could call himself your husband. 

“She’s in room three. I’ll take you both back there.”

Luca nodded as he looked back at Deacon. 

“Want me to follow?”

“Yeah, man. It’s fine.”

Deacon nodded, imagining that Luca needed the emotional support. The registrar opened the door and met Luca on the other side before the door to the main emergency room opened. Nurses were running around like crazy, the desk right in the middle of the room. The registrar talked quickly to a nurse and she nodded, looking at him. Luca forgot he had left his SWAT stuff on. 

“Officer Luca?”, the nurse asked, holding her clipboard.

Luca nodded. 

“Your fiancée is in room three. The doctor will be in shortly to give you an update.”

“Great. Thanks.”

“No problem, follow me.”, she smiled softly and part of Luca wondered why she was smiling when his entire world felt like it was falling apart. 

Part of him felt angry but he decided to hold it together. Deacon was behind him as they snaked their way through the emergency department to room three. The nurse grabbed the blue curtain, pulling it back.

“I have a visitor.”, she sing-songed.

Luca held his breath. Were you awake? All these questions were running through his head and he was finally going to get his answers. There were a lot of sounds in the emergency room from young children crying, people moaning in pain, and all the alarms going off constantly. But it was like everything went silent as he waited for the nurse to move back to reveal you. His mouth pursed open, trying to find the right words to say. 

You were lying there with your eyes open, a small smile on your face. “Hey babe.”

Annie was beside you at the head of your bed, holding your hand. Annie was a great friend and you were very thankful for your SWAT family. Annie smiled, realizing Luca and Deacon had arrived. She let go of your hand and moved to give Luca room but he wasn’t waiting. He rushed over to you, tears forming in his ocean-blue eyes.

“Hey, baby. Are you feeling okay?”, he immediately asked, taking you in his arms. 

Your heart monitor was beeping in the background but neither of you was paying attention to anything but one another. He kissed your head, brushing through your hair before you both smiled at one another. 

“I’m so sorry for leaving you this morning.”

“Stop that.”, you whispered lightly. “Don’t beat yourself up. It’s not your fault.”

“It is—I should have stayed home with you. You needed me.”

“Luca.”

“Baby, I would have never forgiven myself if something happened to you.”

“But I’m gonna be okay.” 

You smiled softly as you touched noses before sharing a small, soft kiss. Luca thought for a moment that he would never get this opportunity again. Your lips felt like heaven and he was so relieved. 

“So everything is going to be okay?”

“Well—mostly.”

“Mostly?”, Luca questioned, concern evident in his voice. 

“Sit down, babe.”, you rubbed his muscular arm gently. 

This was it. Luca felt his heart plummet into his stomach. This was the moment you were going to tell him—you were going to give him the bad news. Luca swallowed hard, his legs beginning to feel like jello. He was never this easily rattled. But this was you. It was a whole different ball game, it was okay to be vulnerable. A lesson you had taught him. Annie helped by scooting a chair closer to the edge of the bed so he could sit down beside you. If only he knew what she did. 

Luca took a seat, immediately grabbing your hand. Just as he did, the doctor pulled the curtain back, getting everyone’s attention. 

“Officer Luca?”

Luca looked up at him, and the doctor immediately extended his hand. Luca took it, shaking his hand firmly. “Glad you could join us. I’ve already talked to your fiancee’ but she wanted you present as well.”

“Sorry—my job is a little demanding.”, Luca laughed nervously. 

Luca’s blue eyes panned over to you, still managing to give you a soft smile as he squeezed your hand. His heart felt like it was going to beat out of his chest. 

“We’ll be outside.”, Deacon breathed softly, grabbing Annie’s hand and exiting the room as quietly as they both could. 

“Alright, well. First of all, her iron level and blood pressure were low upon arrival to the emergency room which aided in her passing out at home. We have already given her an iron infusion along with some fluids but are admitting her overnight for observation. She will possibly need another infusion next week depending on the results of her blood work. On to other news,”, he smiled softly.

Luca was confused while he was smiling. 

“Both of these were results of another finding.”

“And that is?”, Luca questioned bravely.

He needed answers. 

“Congratulations Officer Luca. Your fiancée is pregnant. HCG levels are perfect for an estimated four weeks pregnant.”

Luca’s eyes widened before he turned to you. Did he really just hear what he thought he heard? It was the sentence he had waited forever to hear. 

“Pregnant?”, Luca repeated. 

You smirked softly. “Pregnant.”, you whispered.

“What? Babe!”, he exclaimed, a relaxed feeling finally washing over him as his lips curved into a smile and his blue eyes softened before he immediately took you into his arms.

You giggled lightly, wrapping your arms around him. It felt nice to be in his arms and you closed your eyes, taking in this feeling. You always did—just in case there was a day he didn’t get to come home. You hated to even think about the possibility but you knew that was part of what you signed up for. You always prayed for his safety along with his teammates. He pulled back to look at you, tears in his eyes. 

“I’m really gonna be a dad?”

You nodded before both of you laughed easily. 

“Congratulations to both of you. We will let you know as soon as we get you a room upstairs.”, the doctor smiled before leaving. 

Luca turned back to look at you. “I can’t believe it—but I thought you wanted to get married first.”

You shrugged easily. “Life sometimes throws curveballs.”

Luca smiled, rubbing your cheek softly. “I never thought this moment was ever going to happen for me. I thought I was always going to be stuck as Uncle Luca.”

You both laughed before you began to speak. “You’re an amazing uncle, so I just know you’re going to be an amazing dad.”

Luca smiled brightly at the compliment. “I’m so happy.”

“Me too.”, you began. “But I’m not gonna lie I was a little anxious to tell you.”

“Me?”

You nodded again. “It’s just nerve-wracking. I mean I didn’t know if you wanted this right now.”

Luca sighed, shifting in the chair lightly. “I get it. I know you wanted to get married first. I mean—I know we weren’t being safe like we should but we weren’t exactly trying either.”

You giggled at the use of his terminology. “True.”

“Deacon and I even had this conversation this morning—and I thought there was no way in this world you were pregnant.”

“Me either, honestly.”

“But I’m thrilled. I can’t wait to be a dad—I can’t wait for you to start getting a little bump.”, Luca touched your flat stomach. 

You placed your hand over his. 

“Maybe we should move our wedding up.”, you smirked. 

“Sounds good. You tell me a date and we will make it happen, babe.”

You all shared another kiss before you began grinning widely. 

“Maybe we should let Deacon and Annie back in.”

“Yeah, maybe.”, Luca laughed. 

Luca let go of your hand just long enough to walk to the curtain and open it, telling Annie and Deacon they could come in. They followed him back inside the small curtained room. You could only hope that your and Luca’s relationship could be like Deacon and Annie’s—maybe even better. So far, he had exceeded every expectation. Deacon smirked at Luca and you were unsure if Annie had clued him in. 

“So Luca, was I right? Is there a chance we will have a fourth-generation SWAT member?”

Luca smirked back, elbowing Deacon playfully. “Maybe.”

You and Annie looked at one another, laughing while not being surprised by their horseplay. 

“Yeah, you were right Deac. I’m gonna be a dad.”

There were obvious tears pooling in his blue eyes and Deacon couldn’t help but smile as he pulled Luca in for a hug, patting his back. Annie couldn’t help but give a soft smile before her eyes panned over to you. You couldn’t help but notice the tears beginning to pool in your own eyes watching how excited Luca was. This was better than anything you could have imagined. 

“Well, guess it’s my turn to be an uncle now.”, Deacon smirked. 

"How long until we can tell the rest of the team?", Annie chimed in. 

You looked at Luca and he looked back at you, softly caressing his thumb over your hand. 

"What do you think, babe?"

You giggled softly before noticing Hondo, Chris, Jim, and Tan walking through the emergency room through the small slit in the curtain. "I'm thinking soon."