#i will loop back and finish day 9 | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

simplygojo · 15 days ago

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Friend-Of-A-Friend ⸺ Chapter Seven

author's note ⸺ Hello lovely people! I hope u are all doing well this Sunday :) I have finished up my edits on this chapter and am very excited to hear your thoughts as this is where the plot begins to thicken. I love all ur comments and some of y'all have just started DMing me and sending in asks and MY HEART IS SO FULL <33 Also exciting news: I will be publishing a nerdjo x reader multi-chapter fic in June!! So stay tuned!! pairing ⸺ Suguru Geto x Reader content ⸺ corporate-worker!reader, emotional tension, modern au, the good-ole-days trope, reader uses female pronouns, taglist at end, 3.8k, this is an 18+ series - mdni

divider credit: @/toastray ୨୧ art credit: @/juziluohai

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Geto: Got it. Be there in 30.

And just like that, your night cracked open.

You stood in the middle of the kitchen, phone still in your hand, as if it might say more if you just kept looking at it.

Thirty minutes.

You didn’t think—just moved.

You wandered into the bathroom, flicking on the soft overhead light. Washed your hands. Then your face.

You looked up, water dripping from your chin, and stared at your reflection in the mirror.

Your eyes were wide—not panicked, just… alive. Awake in a way you hadn’t felt in a long time.

You reached blindly for the towel, dabbing at your face, suddenly aware of how warm your cheeks felt.

After touching yourself up a bit, you made your way back to the bedroom, still not really thinking, just doing.

A gentle patter of rain against the windows settled into the background, faint but rhythmic. Not a storm—just the kind of rain that settles in and stays a while.

The sound curled at the edges of the quiet, filling the space without asking.

But something about the quiet of your apartment made everything sound louder—the whining of the pipes in the wall, the sigh of the heater kicking on, the creak of the floorboards as your heel shifted, just slightly off center.

You moved toward the chair by the window, where your hoodie from two days ago lay draped, sleeves twisted like it had slumped there after giving up.

Picking it up, you folded it without thinking. Placed it on the armrest, suddenly now hyper-aware of how many little messes were sitting around your place that you’d just hadn’t noticed before.

Not that it made the place look dirty—just kinda more… lived in. And there wasn’t anything wrong with that…right?

A mug sitting out on the counter with a ring of tea at the bottom.

Three receipts in a pile near the keys.

Your shoes—one tipped over, half-tucked under the coffee table.

You righted them. Not for him. Just—because. You’d have to do it eventually, why not now?

You quickly pulled your phone from your back pocket to check the time: 9:47.

Eleven minutes.

The silence you felt was heavy. No music. No TV playing mindlessly in the background. Nothing to fill the void that felt like your apartment.

Your thumb hovered over the screen a second longer than necessary.

Then—Spotify.

That old, faithful green app on your home screen.

You pressed shuffle on a playlist you’d built over the past few years. Songs shuffled together from half-sleepless mornings and lazy Sunday afternoons. The opening chords of a familiar track spilled into the room—warm, looping guitar, steady drums.

The kind of sound that didn’t demand anything, just offered itself up and stayed a while.

You let the music play.

Not for any particular reason. It just felt better than the silence.

You sat down on the couch, thumb grazing the seam of your jeans, letting the song fill the space. Nothing dramatic. Just… something to do while the minutes passed.

You weren’t expecting much from tonight.

Geto had always kind of moved through your life like this—unexpectedly, casually. Like showing up was just something he did sometimes. And this felt like one of those times.

You only ever really got to know him in the moments between Gojo.

For a long time—maybe two years—Suguru Geto had just been Gojo’s friend.

The quieter presence, the steadier one. Always with that half-smile and his sleeves rolled neatly at the forearms, as if even his ease came with intention. You could still picture the first time it was just the two of you, alone in that library.

He was the person standing just off to the side in every memory you had of those years, hands in his pockets, watching the way Gojo filled up the room.

But sometimes Gojo would be late, or forget, or disappear entirely.

And that’s when Geto would sit across from you.

Just the two of you, sharing whatever was left of the afternoon or the space or the silence. No spotlight. No noise. Just low conversation and the occasional dry comment that stuck with you longer than you expected it to.

Those were the pieces of him you learned—quiet, rare things. A glance. A line from a book.

The way he really listened when you spoke, not just waiting to reply but actually there to hear you.

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**4 Years Ago: Campus Library 2:28 pm**

The library had that particular kind of quiet that wasn't really silent—just full of other people trying not to make noise. Pages turning, pens scratching. The occasional cough muffled into the crook of an elbow.

It was an older building, with real wooden shelves, not the cold plastic or industrial steel you'd gotten used to in public libraries growing up. These shelves were warm-toned and tall, climbing nearly to the ceiling, stacked tight with worn spines and little brass call number plates.

You were tucked into the far end of one of the long tables by the windows, headphones in, jazz looping soft in your ears. A watered-down iced coffee sat sweating beside your open textbook.

Business Law. Final exam. Second year.

Your notes were a mess. Your eyes were tired. But your focus had reached that kind of dull, narrowed state where time bent around the pages and the words almost started to make sense.

You didn’t notice him until he put his bag down.

Suguru Geto. Gojo’s best friend—well, other than you.

You blinked up, tugging one earbud out. He gave you a nod—not sheepish, not smug. Just… neutral. Like it was the most natural thing in the world to join you, even though you were pretty sure the two of you had never spoken one-on-one before.

You gave him a polite smile. The kind reserved for like classmates or acquaintances, or friends-of-friends.

Then he opened his bag and pulled out a textbook, spine softened from use, corners curled. He didn’t make a sound beyond that. No explanation. No question. Just settled in, a quiet body beside yours at the edge of the window light.

You tried to refocus on your notes, but the presence of him lingered—a shift in the air, not intrusive, just… present.

Every so often, your eyes flicked toward him.

He read steadily, one hand curled near his jaw, thumb brushing the page as he turned it. A pen tucked behind his ear. A faint scuff on his sneakers.

He hadn’t brought headphones, but he didn’t seem to need them.

Your playlist looped into another low, slow track. Jazz drums and upright bass. Something that made the library feel more like a moment than a place.

He leaned back slightly in his chair, eyes still on the page in front of him.

Then, without looking over, he spoke—voice low, just above the hush of the room.

“You studying for BA121?”

You glanced at him, surprised, but then looked down at your boldly labelled textbook and sighed. “Yeah.”

He nodded once, still thumbing the corner of his book, which turned out to be the same one as yours, just in a much worse condition. “Same.”

You blinked. “Oh, wait—really? I didn’t realize you were in that class.”

His mouth quirked—not quite a smile, but close. “Oh really? Interesting. I guess disappearing into the back row really does work.”

You winced, a hand half-lifting in apology. “Sorry—I didn’t mean it like that. I just—I usually sit near the front.”

He let out a soft laugh, and the sound caught you off guard—not loud, but warm, rough around the edges like he didn’t use it all that often.

“It’s alright,” he said, glancing over now. “I wasn’t exactly trying to be memorable.”

You gave a sheepish smile, suddenly aware of how dry your mouth felt.

The silence shifted—same shape, different weight. A little looser around the edges now.

You reached for your pen again, but your grip was soft, unfocused. The lines on the page blurred, just a bit. The kind of blur that had nothing to do with your eyes.

You hadn’t even realized he was in that class.

Something about that sat a little funny—like you’d missed something obvious. Had he noticed you? Or had the textbook just given it away? Either way, it left a small echo in your chest.

He adjusted in his seat. The hem of his sleeve brushed the table. Nothing big, nothing showy. Just a reminder that he was still there, right next to you.

Not loud. Not distracting. But present.

After a long beat, he spoke again, quieter this time.

“You think you’re gonna pass this final?”

You exhaled through your nose, each word laced with fake annoyance. “Not if I keep talking to Gojo’s mysterious friend.”

He smiled at that. Not sarcastic this time—just a real genuine smile. “Touché.”

You both looked back down at your textbooks, as if by unspoken agreement.

The quiet folded over you again—pen to paper, eyes tracing text—but something buzzed low in your chest now, faint and bright like a secret you weren’t sure you were supposed to have yet.

You fought the smile tugging at your mouth. Really tried. But it was no use. It crept up anyway—cheeky and uninvited.

Curious, you risked a glance sideways in his direction.

And there he was. Suguru. Also looking up. Also smiling.

That same unreadable curl at the corner of his lips, like the two of you were in on something that no one else would ever quite get.

His eyes were dark, but not in the way of shadows, more in the way old velvet holds warmth—quiet, weighty, and worn with something you couldn’t quite name.

Your gazes held.

Not long. Maybe a second. Maybe less.

But it settled in your chest like the gentle weight of a blanket—comforting and light and kind of impossible to ignore.

Then, as if coordinated without a signal, you both dropped your eyes back to the pages in front of you like it hadn’t happened.

You flipped a page in your notes, hand slower now, pen resting loose between your fingers.

He capped his pen, rolled it once across the back of his knuckles, then uncapped it again.

Neither of you said another word.

But the silence no longer belonged to the library.

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**Present Day: Your Apartment 9:58 pm**

You pulled yourself out of the memory like stepping back from a window—one moment inside it, the next with your palms flat against the glass.

The library dissolved, its warm wood and filtered light giving way to the dim quiet of your apartment. A different kind of silence. A different kind of ache.

It had been years, but the moment clung like dust in the corners of your mind, undisturbed until now.

It’s strange, how something so small—just a glance across a library table—could leave a memory deep enough to resurface years later, still whole, like it had been waiting in the quiet just beyond reach.

You blinked, the soft blue glow of your phone as it vibrated, tugging you from your thoughts and back into reality.

Geto: Here. Wanna buzz me up?

You stared at the message for a beat, then stood up and made your way towards the buzzer by your front door.

You had no butterflies. No last-minute panic. Just the faint hum of readiness, like a light turning on in a room you hadn’t entered in a while.

You: Yep! One sec :)

Somewhere below, the door groaned open. Pipes clanked. The building held its breath.

You didn’t move from your little kitchenette beside the entryway. Just stood, fingers curled lightly at your sides, the music behind you still spinning something soft and familiar through the speaker.

Then—

A pause. Just on the other side of your front door.

A knock.

You reached for the knob. The metal met your fingers, cool and smooth.

You opened it.

And there he was—Geto.

Rain clung to him in soft streaks, running the length of his coat sleeves, caught in the collar where the fabric had darkened. His hair was all the way down, loose and heavy with water, a few strands pressed flat to his cheek.

It gave him a different look.

You noticed how his eyes reflected the warm spill of light from inside when you opened the door, highlighting the softness you tended to see behind his gaze.

You stepped back without thinking, leaving just enough to let him in without speaking.

“Hey,” he said, quiet, with a nod that somehow felt like it held more weight than the word itself.

“Hey,” you echoed, your voice not loud, but enough to cut through the space between you.

You weren’t sure why you felt so—nervous. You had opened your door to Geto countless times, although it was always when others were already in your apartment…

He stepped inside, careful to toe off his shoes by the door, water already beginning to bead on the floor. You reached instinctively for the towel hanging on the hook near the entry—normally used for grocery runs or spilled tea—and handed it to him without a word.

Thank god you did the laundry this weekend…

“Thanks,” he murmured, accepting it, rubbing the back of his neck first, then pushing his wet hair back with one slow pass of his hand, the towel dragging behind like an afterthought. It didn’t do much—just shifted the strands out of his face before they fell forward again.

You tried not to stare.

Tried not to notice how good he looked like this—rain-damp and quiet, something about the messiness softening him.

Like an artist's greatest portrait left out in the weather. Like a version of him not meant to be seen by you up close.

He wore it well, though.

The water-darkened sleeves, the slight flush on his nose and cheeks from the walk, the way the low light caught on the curve of his cheekbone.

Not the kind of thing you should necessarily be noticing. But I mean, you’re not going to hell for thinking your friend is a good-looking dude. It’s not like that meant anything to either of you.

Still, your eyes caught on the little details.

The tilt of his jaw when he glanced toward the living room.

The way his hand settled on the towel, gripping it once like he didn’t quite know what to do with it now that he was inside.

He slid his jacket off, careful with the sleeves, like the fabric might protest if tugged too hard. The movement sent another few drops scattering to the floor.

“Shit—sorry,” he said, glancing down as water beaded at his feet. “Didn’t think it’d be coming down this hard.”

You shook your head, already stepping aside so he could hang it on the rack by the door.

“It’s fine,” you said. “Coat rack’s been bored anyway.”

—That's a bit odd to say, but that’s alright!

He huffed a quiet laugh, eyes flicking toward yours—holding it for just a moment while he smiled at your dumb joke—before returning to the coat rack.

The jacket landed with a wet, muted thump against the hook, shoulders sagging the second he let go, like it had been holding something up for him.

He gave it one last glance, then rubbed his hands along his forearms, slow, trying to shake off the leftover chill.

For a moment, nothing more than the sound of the rain outside, dull and steady against the windows, the faint scrape of the towel as he patted at the ends of his hair.

Then—

“You want tea or anything?” You asked, your fingers brushing the lip of the counter.

He glanced at you, eyes warm. “Yeah. If it’s not a hassle.”

“Of course it’s not,” you said without missing a beat, already turning toward the kettle.

Behind you, the door eased shut on its own. Not a slam—just the soft click of something returning to place.

He stepped further inside, eyes drifting across the space like he was trying to take it in without making a thing of it. You wondered if he was comparing it to your old place—the tiny student flat with barely enough room to turn around, where Gojo used to complain the walls were too thin and the fridge made ‘psychotic noises’ at night.

This one wasn’t much bigger to be honest, but it was yours now. Yours in a way the last one hadn’t been considering you lived with four other girls, and Gojo practically visited every day.

Geto’s gaze flicked across the bookshelf, the little trailing plant over the kitchen cupboard, the single framed print above the couch.

Not in a nosy way—just absorbing the environment. Familiarizing himself.

He moved toward the couch, careful of the damp towel still hanging from one hand, and sat down like he was half-afraid the thing would squeak under him. It didn’t, the cushion just let out a quiet sigh.

The couch wasn’t far from the kitchen—nothing in your apartment was—so even with your back to him at the counter, you could still hear the soft shuffle of him settling in.

The towel rustled again as he rubbed the ends of his hair, slower now, like he wasn’t in a rush.

“So…Welcome to my apartment, you haven’t been in this one before,” you said, only half-looking over your shoulder as you measured out loose leaf into the strainer.

“Yeah,” he said, his voice a little lower now. “Kind of weird, isn’t it?”

“Not really,” you said, turning to face him for a beat. “Just overdue, I guess.”

That made him smile—small, crooked. The kind of smile that made your throat go a little tight for no reason at all.

“Nice place,” he said, glancing around again. “Very you.”

You raised an eyebrow. “What does that mean?”

“I don’t know. It just feels like yours. Lived-in. Warm.” He shrugged. “Also the music. And your loose-leaf tea. And the fact that there are, like, four different oddly shaped mugs on that shelf.”

You huffed a laugh as your grin widened. “Okay, Geto, now you’re being judgy.”

“I’m not! I swear…I like it.” His gaze cut to yours, easy.

“Feels settled,” he said, easing back into the couch. “Like it’s got a rhythm.”

You turned toward the kettle, eyebrows lifting. “That’s a polite way of calling it cramped.”

He huffed a laugh through his nose. “Didn’t say that.”

“No, but you thought it.”

Another soft smile. “I just meant—it feels like you. Like you’ve been here a while.”

You glanced over your shoulder. “I have.”

He nodded once, almost to himself, then reached for the towel again, pressing it behind his neck where his hair still dripped a little.

His eyes scanned the nearby shelf, the quiet kitchen details. No commentary. Just noticing.

You turned back to the counter. “And for the record, I pay too much rent for it not to feel like me.”

“City tax,” he murmured, almost too quiet to catch. “Comfort’s always overpriced.”

Geto laughed under his breath, then went quiet again. You could hear the shift of the fabric beneath him as he crossed one ankle over his knee, glanced down at a coaster on the coffee table like it had caught him off guard.

“This one’s got a cat in a space helmet,” he said.

“Yeah. Set of four. Each one is a different animal in space.”

He paused. “Nice. I like space animals, what are the other ones?”

“One’s a duck. Another one’s a bear, and the one I will be using—” You set down a second coaster beside his. “—is a hippo.”

There was a beat of silence.

“Did you buy these or were they a gift?” He said, completely deadpan.

You glanced back at him with that same grin you just couldn’t seem to shake. “Does it matter? Don’t you like them?”

“Of course I do,” he said, smiling back at you and letting a small chuckle slip past his lips. “Wish I was that cool y’know?”

That made you laugh—quietly, through your nose. You shook your head as you reached for the boiling kettle. “Yeah I do know.”

You poured the tea, the faint hiss of water filling the mugs, and carried them over—setting his down on the space cat. He thanked you with a quiet murmur and wrapped both hands around the mug, warming them.

You sat across from him, your own mug nestled against your legs, knees pulled up comfortably under you.

For a moment, neither of you said anything—just letting the steam rise, letting the silence stretch a little in that comfortable way that didn’t need filling.

Then—

“So,” you said, your tone light but edged with curiosity, “What’s up? Was this just…You being spontaneous?”

He looked at you then—really looked.

Not with that easy warmth he wore like second nature, but something closer to stillness.

Like he was weighing the moment in his hands, turning it over before deciding what to offer back.

After all—Geto never wasted words.

His smile lingered, soft at the edges, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes this time. There was a flicker there instead—something hesitant, almost searching.

His gaze fell, not abruptly, but with a slow sort of grace.

Drifted down to the rim of the mug cupped between his palms, where steam curled lazily into the air.

Then further, toward the window, where the rain slipped down in quiet ribbons. The kind of rain that made you feel like the world had shrunk to just the room you were in.

And in that small silence, something in your chest pulled tight.

It wasn’t weird to ask that—was it?

When his eyes returned to yours, they were softer.

Unshielded in a way they hadn’t been before. But quickly darted away.

He didn’t speak right away—just let the moment stretch between you, fragile and thin and glinting with something that felt too honest to touch.

“Yeah,” he said finally, his voice low—barely above the whisper of the rain. “I’m just… kinda spontaneous.”

His lips curved slightly, the kind of smile that followed a thought he hadn’t meant to say out loud, but it was a fleeting thing.

Not a deflection. Not even a joke. Just an acknowledgment that the words were only part of what he meant.

There was a subtle shift, his posture easing toward you with quiet intention.

“But—” His gaze found yours again. This time, he didn’t look away.

And you felt it. The weight of it.

His thumb drifted along the curve of the mug, slow and deliberate, the motion steadying in a way that suggested he wasn’t quite at rest.

“Is it so wrong if I just wanted some good company?”

Your heartbeat faltered at his words. There was no bravado in it. No performance. Just a small truth, placed gently between you like an offering.

You were his idea of good company.

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cassiemaebarnes · 22 days ago

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Grumpy & the New Girl: Part 16

Bucky x reader

Summary: She wasn’t supposed to meet him like that. He wasn’t supposed to let her in. But sometimes, things don’t go according to plan.

Word Count: 6977

@ohdrey89 read my mind...

sorry if it feels a little rushed but I needed to get to this part, it's too good...

A little while later, when the pizza was mostly gone and the team had settled into casual conversation, you caught Nat’s eye from across the table. You gave a faint nod towards the door, and she leaned over and whispered something to Wanda as you started to scoot your chair back.

You leaned over to Bucky, whispering “I’ll be right back,” then stood and made your way to the door, Nat and Wanda hot on your tail.

You walked down the hall a little ways, then turned around to face them. They had a mix of confusion and excitement on their faces when they finally spoke.

“What’s going on?” Nat said, narrowing her eyes playfully.

“Oh, I think we know exactly what’s going on,” Wanda said with a smirk.

You just sighed, shaking your head, but you couldn’t stop the smile from spreading across your face.

“So, I was telling Bucky what we talked about today–”

“Of course,” Nat said, cutting you off with a smirk. “But go on.”

“And we talked about the ‘label’ conversation…”

“I knew it!” Wanda said, pumping a fist in the air.

“And…” Nat said expectantly, wanting you to finish.

“He officially asked me to be his girlfriend.”

The three of you looked at each other with smiles, before shrieking with excitement. Wanda was jumping up and down, Nat just shook her head like finally, and you just stood there, stupid smile covering your face that you couldn’t wipe off even if you wanted to.

“About time,” Nat said, followed by an exaggerated nod from Wanda.

“Seriously,” Wanda added, “we’ve been waiting for this since day one.”

You just rolled your eyes and opened your mouth to say something, but Nat cut you off.

“I mean, come on. Literally hours after you met you were crouching under his arm at the fridge and he offered to make you breakfast. That’s called destiny.”

You just laughed. “I mean…yeah, honestly I should have known.”

“It’s one of those classic ‘everyone can see it but you’ stories,” Wanda said with a dreamy smile on her face.

“Yeah,” you said, still smiling. “Looking back it’s like – how could I not have seen it,” you added with a laugh.

“No for real,” Nat said, all of you laughing now.

“So,” Wanda said, linking her arm through yours, “when’s the wedding?”

“Yeah,” Nat said, looping her arm through your other one. “We need to start looking for bridesmaid dresses,” she added, smirking at you.

“Oh, calm down,” you said, slowly walking back toward the conference room. “I’m sure we still have…” you paused, playfully tapping your lips with your finger like you were thinking, “…about a week before he finally breaks down and asks me to marry him.”

The three of you started giggling, still walking arm-in-arm down the hallway, and you knew that no matter what happened next, it was going to be fun having them to talk about it with.

The next morning, you woke up tangled up with Bucky in his bed, wearing nothing but his t-shirt, the rest of your clothes discarded on the floor.

Bucky reached over and turned his alarm off, arms immediately coming back to wrap around you.

You let out a small, content sigh and burrowed a little closer, your cheek pressed against his bare chest. His heartbeat was steady and warm beneath your skin, and his metal hand moved slowly up and down your back in a lazy rhythm.

“Morning,” he murmured, voice still heavy with sleep.

“Mmm. No talking yet,” you mumbled, eyes still closed.

He chuckled softly, brushing his lips against your forehead. “Fair enough.”

You lay there a while longer, caught somewhere between sleep and consciousness, wrapped up in warmth and quiet and him. At some point, his hand found yours, fingers lacing together naturally. It was peaceful and unhurried, and you didn’t want to move. But eventually, the light filtering through the blinds and the very faint sound of the compound starting to wake up made you sigh.

“I should get up,” you muttered reluctantly.

Bucky gave a dramatic groan, tightening his grip around your waist. “Don’t. Just stay here. I’ll say you’ve been kidnapped.”

You laughed lightly, then tilted your head to glance up at him. “I probably should just leave a brush and a toothbrush in here at this point. I’m in here more than my own room.”

He laughed at that, eyes crinkling with amusement. “You should. Actually…I can do that.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “Wait – you’re serious?”

He shrugged, smiling. “Yeah. Why not? I’ll clear out a drawer. Make it official.”

You laughed again, shaking your head. “I was joking, but honestly…that might not be a bad idea.”

Grinning, you finally sat up, stretching your arms above your head before swinging your legs over the side of the bed. “Okay, I’m gonna go get ready. Try not to miss me too much.”

“I make no promises,” he said, leaning over to kiss your shoulder before you slipped out from under the covers, pulled on your shorts, and padded out of the room.

By the time you finished getting ready and made your way down to the kitchen, the smell of coffee pulled you in like a magnet. The room was already softly buzzing with the sounds of the team talking and eating breakfast.

Bucky was already there, sitting at the kitchen island with a mug in front of him. He looked up as you walked in and gave you that slow, familiar smile.

Without a word, he nudged a second mug toward the empty seat next to him – your usual spot. You glanced down and saw it was already fixed just how you liked it. Perfect.

You slid into the seat with a smile, wrapping your hands around the warm cup. “You’re really trying to lock this down, huh?”

Bucky smirked. “Just being a good boyfriend.”

No one in the room said anything. No whooping from Sam, no eyebrow raises from Nat. Just the soft clink of a spoon in a mug and the gentle hum of the coffee maker.

You sipped your drink, glancing sideways at him. “This feels weird. We’re not getting bombarded.”

“Shh, you’ll jinx it,” he said, smirking at you.

“I guess everyone’s finally accepted it,” you whispered.

“About time,” he said, leaning in and pressing a kiss to your temple.

“Okay,” Sam cut in, like usual, “well if he’s gonna do that, then we have to make fun of him.”

You just looked up at Bucky and gave him a mock glare. “Way to go, Sergeant Softie.”

He just smiled and shook his head, then leaned back and wrapped an arm around your shoulders.

“Well, get used to it everyone,” he said proudly.

The room burst into laughter and fake groans, but you could tell by the smiles that they all loved it.

As the laughter died down and everyone settled into their mugs and conversation again, Steve cleared his throat from where he stood by the fridge.

“Alright, listen up,” he said, voice cutting through the room just enough to get everyone’s attention. “Before we head down to the gym, I’ve got something to share.”

You looked over at him curiously, Bucky’s arm still warm around your shoulders.

Steve glanced at you with a small smile. “Starting today, y/n is officially training with the team.”

A little cheer went up around the room – Sam gave a dramatic fist pump, Nat clapped once like she’d been waiting for this moment, and even Tony offered a sarcastic little golf clap from where he leaned against the counter.

“Welcome to the team,” Bucky said dramatically, giving your shoulder a gentle squeeze. “You survived the emotional initiation. Now it’s time for the physical one.”

You rolled your eyes with a grin. “Great. Can’t wait to get punched in the face by super soldiers.”

“Oh, I’m gentle,” Nat said with a wink. “Mostly.”

Steve chuckled, then started talking about the plan for training.

But you just leaned over to Bucky, smirking. “I think I liked your welcome package better,” you said, nudging his side with your elbow.

He looked at you, eyes sparkling, and gave a quiet laugh. “Yeah, me too.”

You clinked your coffee mug gently against his in silent agreement.

“Alright, lovebirds,” Sam said, standing up and stretching. “Let’s move. We’ve got a gym to sweat in and a new recruit to haze.”

“Oh good,” you said dryly, pushing your chair back. “Exactly how I wanted to spend my morning.”

Bucky stood and offered his hand to help you up. “You’re gonna kill it,” he murmured.

“Better not kill me,” you said under your breath, but the grin on your face gave you away.

The team filtered into the training room in a casual group, everyone stretching out, chatting, and pulling on gloves or slipping on gear. The walls echoed faintly with the sound of sneakers on mats and the low hum of the overhead lights. You stood near Bucky, following his lead as you stretched out your arms and legs.

“Don’t worry,” he said under his breath, leaning over just slightly. “First rule of training – look confident even if you’re not.”

You smirked. “Well good news – I am confident.”

That earned a chuckle from him and a raised brow from Sam nearby. “Ooooh, she’s talking spicy already.”

After a few minutes of stretches, Steve clapped his hands. “Alright, warm-up time. Ladders, shuttle runs, and core circuits. Let’s go.”

The group moved like a well-oiled machine, and you jumped in with them, heart pumping quickly as you kept pace. You could feel them watching you – small glances here and there, like they were gauging what you could do. But you held your own through the warm-up, breath steady, footing solid.

By the time the real drills started, sweat had begun to bead on your forehead. Steve called out movement patterns and agility sequences while Sam tossed in cardio bursts. You didn’t miss a step.

“Damn,” Sam muttered as you cut sharp around a cone and vaulted over a low barrier. “Alright, Speedy.”

“Not bad,” Nat added, tossing you a nod of approval as you passed.

You smiled but didn’t break focus. The movements were fast, but you were faster. Crisp, efficient, and entirely in control.

After another thirty minutes of drills, Steve called the team to the mat. “Alright, last piece for today – sparring. Light contact. Controlled. Let’s pair off.”

He looked around, then pointed between you and Nat. “You two.”

The whole room went a little quiet.

“Let’s see what she’s got,” Clint muttered, nudging Sam.

Nat cracked her knuckles and gave you a look that was half-challenge, half-welcome. “You ready?”

You just shrugged. “Are you?”

Everyone else took a step back, forming a loose circle around the mat. You squared up, eyes locked on Nat, waiting for her to make the first move.

She lunged – fast, precise – but you deflected smoothly, pivoted, and used her momentum to spin her off-balance. She adjusted quickly, but you were already ducking low and sweeping a leg. A second later, Nat was flat on her back, blinking up at the ceiling.

The room went silent.

“Yo – did she just pin Nat like it was nothing?” Sam asked, wide-eyed.

Nat laughed, shaking her head as you offered her a hand. “Okay,” she said, getting to her feet. “I’m done taking it easy on you.”

You just smirked. “Bring it on.”

The second round was different – faster, more intense. Nat moved with sharper precision, testing you, but you adjusted to her flow. You didn’t overpower her, but you kept up, holding your ground, ducking, weaving, using technique instead of brute strength. The crowd around you had fallen totally quiet, too focused to even joke.

And then – just as Nat tried to flip you – you shifted your weight, locked her arm, and twisted cleanly to take her down again. This time you landed on top, pinning her shoulders. Firm. Clean.

The whole room erupted.

“Okay!” Clint shouted. “I’m not sparring her.”

“Bucky, man,” Sam said, laughing, “you better behave. She’ll fold you like laundry.”

Bucky just stood there with the biggest grin on his face. He shook his head and crossed his arms. “That’s my girl.”

You pushed off Nat, helping her up again as she gave you an impressed look.

“Where the hell were you hiding all that?” she asked, brushing off her shoulders.

You just shrugged, trying to hide your grin.

Bucky met your gaze across the mat, pride written all over his face. You gave him a wink, heart pounding – not from the fight, but from how good it felt to surprise everyone and hold your own.

Yeah. You were officially part of the team now.

You and Nat were still catching your breath when the group circled up again, stretching out tired muscles and wiping away sweat. You dropped into a seated stretch beside Bucky, who passed you a water bottle without a word – just a soft smile and a subtle nudge of his knee against yours.

“Well damn,” Sam said, flopping onto the mat nearby. “You’ve been holding out on us.”

“You were scary fast,” Clint added, rotating his shoulder. “Like, I blinked and Nat was already on the floor.”

“I don’t know if I should be impressed or worried,” Wanda said with a grin.

“Oh, you should definitely be worried,” Nat said, reaching over to nudge you. “She’s officially dangerous now.”

Bucky just chuckled beside you, pride practically radiating off him. “Told you all she was tough.”

“She’s more than tough, Barnes,” Tony said, pointing at you like he was mentally calculating your stats. “We might need to run some diagnostics and make sure she’s not secretly enhanced.”

“Oh please,” you said with a laugh, shaking your head.

Steve clapped his hands once more, bringing everyone’s attention back. “Alright, before we all scatter – quick heads-up. We’ve got a mission coming up in a couple of days. Everyone’s going. First planning meeting is at two this afternoon.”

A few groans went up, but most everyone nodded.

Steve gave a short nod. “See you all later.”

The group began breaking off into pairs, stretching and chatting as they headed for their rooms or grabbed their things. Bucky fell into step beside you, glancing sideways as you both walked.

“You were incredible back there,” he said quietly, nudging your elbow. “I’m seriously proud of you.”

You turned your head toward him, beaming. “Thanks. I think that’s the most fun I’ve ever had in training.”

“I believe it,” he said with a grin. “You made Nat look like she needed a rematch.”

“She does need a rematch.”

He laughed. “That’s my girl.”

After a quick trip to your room for a shower and fresh clothes, you wandered down the hallway barefoot, hair still damp, and made your way to Bucky’s room without a second thought. You didn’t even knock – just opened the door and strolled right in.

He was shirtless, facing his closet, pulling a gray t-shirt from a hanger. He turned his head slightly at the sound of the door and raised an eyebrow at you with a smirk.

“Ever heard of knocking?”

You shrugged as you walked past him and flopped down onto his bed, face first into the pillow. “Nope. You’re lucky I didn’t bring snacks.”

“Lucky, huh?” he said, amused as he tugged the shirt on. “This is what we’re doing now? Just waltzing in like you own the place?”

“Might as well,” you said, voice muffled against his blanket. “I’m in here more than I’m in my own room.”

He snorted, stepping around the bed and picking up his boots from the floor. “Not wrong.”

You peeked one eye open as he started tidying up, gathering a couple of his shirts and tossing them into the hamper. Then, without comment, he bent down, picked up your clothes from last night off the floor, and dropped them into his laundry basket too.

“Wow,” you said, watching him with a smirk. “We’re laundry-official now?”

“Oh, absolutely,” he said casually. “This is fully domestic. Should probably start charging rent.”

You chuckled and rolled onto your back, one arm flopped over your head. “Better give me a drawer first.”

“Deal.”

You stayed there, lazily chatting while he tidied up – straightening pillows, stacking a few books, putting some clothes away. Every now and then he’d glance over at you like he still couldn’t quite believe you were there.

Eventually your stomach grumbled loud enough to interrupt the calm, and Bucky laughed. “C’mon. Let’s get food before you pass out.”

The two of you wandered down to the kitchen, warming up some food and slipping into your usual spots. No one said anything – just the clink of forks and the quiet buzz of conversation.

Until about five minutes in.

“So…” Sam said, not even looking up from his plate. “Did Bucky ask you to use those moves on him after training?”

You choked on your drink as the table erupted into laughter.

Bucky didn’t even flinch. He just kept chewing, swallowed, and casually replied, “Please. I’ve already seen those moves. And more.”

Your jaw dropped. “Bucky!” you yelled, smacking his arm.

Everyone else howled around you. Even Steve looked like he was trying not to laugh, head in his hand.

Bucky just grinned and took another bite. “What? He started it.”

You glared at him, but the grin tugging at your lips betrayed you.

You just shook your head as the group settled down, falling into casual conversation. As 2:00 rolled around, everyone started getting up and heading to the conference room.

Everyone filtered into the room, falling into their usual seats. The big screen at the front lit up with a map and a set of mission files, and Steve stepped up in front of it with a remote in one hand and that familiar "mission face" on.

“Alright, listen up,” he started. “We’ve got intel on a Hydra splinter group operating out of an abandoned compound just outside of Prague. Intel says they’ve been moving a lot of material in and out of the area over the last few weeks – equipment, supplies, and some kind of high-tech disruptor we haven’t identified yet.”

You sat up a little straighter, the playful vibe from earlier quickly shifting to focus. Everyone else leaned in too – Nat and Sam already scanning the screen, Clint scribbling something on a notepad, Wanda narrowing her eyes as she listened.

Steve clicked the remote and another screen popped up, this one showing an aerial image of the compound.

“We’re wheels up at 0600 two days from now. Plan is to land outside the perimeter, infiltrate quietly, and disable the disruptor before backup arrives to secure the area. It’s a full-team op. Everyone has a role.”

He turned to look directly at you, giving you a small nod. “You’re officially in the field roster. You’ll be with me, Wanda, and Bucky on the east flank.”

You blinked in surprise and nodded slowly. Your first real mission. And they were trusting you with a frontline role?

You glanced at Bucky, who gave you a small grin. Pride and confidence radiated off him like sunlight.

Steve kept going. “Nat, Sam, Clint, you’ll take the west side. Minimal contact until we give the signal. If things go sideways, fall back to the point marked here–” he clicked again, highlighting a spot on the map, “and regroup.”

He ran through more specifics – gear loadouts, comm channels, support teams on standby. You jotted notes where needed, but your mind was racing a little. This was real. And they were trusting you like you’d been doing this all along.

As Steve wrapped up, he looked around the table. “Questions?”

Clint raised his hand lazily. “Is there a post-mission pizza plan, or are we on our own?”

Steve rolled his eyes. “Debrief first, pizza later.”

Everyone chuckled and began gathering their things, the buzz of excitement mixed with tension filling the air.

Bucky waited until you stood, then quietly fell into step beside you again as you headed back out into the hallway.

“You alright?” he asked, voice low. “You went kind of quiet.”

“I think I’m still waiting for someone to say I’m not actually going,” you admitted with a small laugh. “Feels a little surreal.”

Bucky bumped your shoulder. “You earned it. You crushed training today, and Steve wouldn’t put you on a team unless he was sure you could handle it.”

You gave him a grateful smile. “Thanks.”

“Besides,” he added, flashing you a grin, “you’ll be with me. I’ve got your six.”

You rolled your eyes. “Obviously.”

The next few days passed in a blur of training drills, briefing updates, and strategy sessions. There wasn’t much time for anything else – early mornings turned into long afternoons in the gym or meetings, with evenings spent poring over floor plans and contingency protocols. Meals were quick, conversations even quicker. Everyone was locked in, focused.

You did your best to keep up with the pace – memorizing every exit route, running sparring matches until you were sore in muscles you didn’t even know you had. But underneath the adrenaline and determination, a quiet knot of nerves had started to settle in your chest.

And it only got worse the night before departure.

You were in your room, packing for the fifth time, pulling things out of your bag and putting them back in like that might somehow calm the anxiety in your head. Clothes, gear, weapons, backup comm – what were you forgetting?

You sighed and rubbed your hands over your face.

Then your door creaked open.

You turned around, startled, just as Bucky stepped inside. His face shifted the second he saw you – smile dropping instantly, replaced by quiet concern.

“Hey,” he said, shutting the door behind him and walking over to you. “What’s wrong?”

You opened your mouth, but no words came out. You just looked at him helplessly for a second before letting out a heavy sigh and stepping forward.

He didn’t hesitate. His arms were around you in an instant, holding you tight as you pressed your face into his chest and let your body melt against his.

“I’m just…nervous,” you admitted, your voice muffled. “I keep packing and unpacking and checking things like I’m gonna forget something. I don’t know. My brain’s just spinning.”

Bucky’s hand moved slowly up and down your back. “You’re not gonna forget anything.”

You didn’t answer, and he leaned back just enough to look at you, his hands still firm on your arms.

“You’re ready for this,” he said softly. “You’ve trained hard, you’ve done the work. You’re smarter than half of us and quicker than most. I’ve seen it.”

You gave a half-laugh, eyes still wide with uncertainty.

“And I’ll be with you the whole time, alright?” he added.

You nodded slowly, eyes locking with his. “Okay.”

He smiled and leaned down to press a kiss to your forehead. “Come here,” he said gently, tugging you toward the bed. “You’re done packing. You’ve checked it a hundred times. Just sit with me for a bit.”

And for the first time all day, your shoulders dropped just a little.

You both sat down on the edge of the bed, and for a while, neither of you said anything. The tension in your chest was still there, but it had loosened its grip – dulled a little by his presence.

“I keep replaying every possible scenario in my head,” you said quietly after a moment, fingers twisting in your lap. “What if something goes wrong and I freeze up?”

Bucky gave a small hum. “Then one of us will have your back until you unfreeze. It happens. It’s part of it.”

You glanced over at him. “You make it sound so normal.”

He shrugged. “Because it is. Doesn’t mean it’s not hard. Or scary. But freezing up doesn’t mean failing. It means you’re human.”

You let out a slow breath. “I think I needed to hear that.”

He reached over, lacing his fingers through yours. “You’re gonna do great. You’ve already proven that you belong out there.”

You gave a small smile, then stood, brushing your hands down your thighs. “Okay. I need to stop spiraling.”

You crossed the room, zipped up your bag with finality, and set it gently off to the side near the door. Then you pulled out your clothes for the morning – your tactical gear, boots, undershirt – and laid them neatly across the back of your desk chair, ready to go.

Behind you, Bucky stood and grabbed your bag without saying a word, slinging it easily over one shoulder. You gave him a grateful look, and the two of you headed down the hallway side by side.

The kitchen was quiet when you got there – just the soft tick of the wall clock and the low hum of the fridge. A small pile of duffel bags and tactical packs had already started to gather near the door, everyone else just as ready for the early departure.

Bucky set your bag down beside his with a soft thunk, adjusting the strap so it wouldn’t fall over. Then, without speaking, he reached out and laced his fingers through yours again, giving your hand a light squeeze.

You didn’t need to say anything.

The walk back to his room was slow and quiet. Not tense – just heavy with that last bit of calm before everything kicked into motion.

When you got there, you both wordlessly moved through your usual routine. He turned down the lights while you crawled into bed, pulling the covers up around you. A moment later, he joined you, shifting close until your legs tangled and his hand found yours again under the blanket.

The last thing you felt before drifting off was his lips brushing your temple, his voice soft in your ear.

“Goodnight, doll. You’ve got this.”

And for once, you actually believed it.

The morning light filtered softly through the curtains, warm and golden, but not nearly strong enough to break through the haze of nerves beginning to creep back into your chest.

You woke tangled up with Bucky again – his arm draped across your waist, your head tucked beneath his chin, legs twisted together beneath the blanket. For a moment, neither of you moved. The world was still quiet. Heavy.

Then Bucky reached over to turn off the alarm, and you shifted.

This time, you sat up a little faster, already running over a mental checklist in your head.

Bucky blinked awake beside you, his voice still thick with sleep. “Morning.”

“Morning,” you murmured, rubbing your eyes. “Today’s the day.”

“Yeah,” he said, stretching a little before sitting up. “You sleep okay?”

You nodded, then let out a breath. “Better than I expected.”

He smiled faintly, then gestured to the bathroom. “You can get ready here if you want.”

You turned to look at him. “Seriously?”

He was already heading into the bathroom. “C’mere,” he called.

You padded across the room, still barefoot and a little dazed, and stepped into the bathroom behind him.

He pulled open the drawer beneath the sink – and your eyes widened.

Inside was everything. Your exact hairbrush. The brand of deodorant you used. Your favorite perfume. Even your skincare stuff. And not just one or two things – like, a whole backup lineup, ready to go.

Your heart caught in your throat. You stared for a beat too long before finally looking up at him.

“You – you got all this?”

He shrugged, eyes soft. “Course I did.”

You blinked, the gratitude bubbling up so fast it made your chest ache. You wrapped your arms around him, hugging him tight without a word.

He didn’t say anything either – just hugged you back, his arms warm and steady.

A few seconds later, the two of you started getting ready, not saying much. You were still a little anxious, but the sight of that drawer, the thought that he’d done all that without a second thought – just to make your mornings easier – stuck with you.

You weren’t doing this alone.

When you were finished, you gave his hand one last squeeze and stepped back out into the hallway. “I’m gonna change real quick,” you said.

“Alright. I’ll meet you in a sec.”

You made your way back to your room and got dressed, slipping into your tactical gear, checking every strap and buckle like muscle memory. You tied your boots, pulled your hair back, and gave yourself one last look in the mirror.

Just as you opened your door to head out, you saw Bucky coming down the hallway toward you, already suited up.

He gave you a little nod. “Ready?”

You let out a breath and nodded back. “Yeah. Ready.”

You fell into step beside him, the two of you heading down to the kitchen in silence. The others were already there, milling about with quiet focus – checking packs, sipping coffee, scanning tablets. No one said anything when you walked in. There was no teasing, no sarcasm. Just the quiet hum of the team, fully in mission mode.

You stood close to Bucky, just listening to the low conversations until Steve finally stepped in, a duffel bag in one hand and a tablet in the other.

“Alright,” he said, voice cutting clean through the room. “Let’s move out.”

Everyone straightened, the sound of zippers and boots and clinking gear echoing around the room before everyone headed to the quinjet.

A few minutes later, the low hum of the quinjet filled the cabin as the team flew in quiet formation. Everyone was dialed in – eyes scanning files, weapons checked and rechecked, tension running under the surface like a current.

You sat between Bucky and Wanda, your knee bouncing the smallest bit.

You didn’t realize you were holding your breath until Bucky’s hand slid over your thigh. He didn’t say a word. Just rested it there, his thumb gently brushing in slow, grounding circles.

You looked over at him. He was staring straight ahead, jaw set, completely calm. But that simple, quiet touch? It worked better than any pep talk ever could. You took a breath, nodded once to yourself, and kept your focus forward.

The jet landed with a soft hiss, the rear ramp lowering as the team began to move.

“Alright, let’s split up,” Steve said, voice firm through the comms.

You nodded, heart thudding in your ears as you followed behind Steve, Bucky, and Wanda through the trees toward the abandoned compound. The building loomed ahead, half-collapsed and covered in vines, the remnants of something long-forgotten.

But something wasn’t right.

You slowed, eyes narrowing.

“Do you guys feel that?” you asked, glancing around.

Wanda frowned slightly, scanning the area with her abilities. “It’s…quiet.”

“Too quiet,” Bucky added, lowly.

You stopped in your tracks, turning toward the left corridor. “I’m gonna check something.”

“Stick together,” Steve said sharply, but you were already walking toward a hallway partially obscured by rubble.

“I’ll be quick,” you said into the comm, keeping low and moving with purpose. You slipped through a crumbling archway and into a side wing of the building, the air colder here.

Then you saw it.

A hidden stairwell – half-covered by an overturned crate and nearly invisible unless you were looking for it. You stepped closer, heart jumping.

Your hand went to your comm. “I found a secondary entry point. Could be storage or lower-level operations – they definitely didn’t want this seen.”

Static crackled, followed by Steve’s voice. “Hold position. We’ll come to you.”

But before you could respond, the stairwell erupted in movement – four figures burst up from below, all armed, one already firing.

You yelped and dove behind a pillar, debris exploding around you.

Adrenaline surged, and you moved fast – firing back in short bursts, staying low, repositioning quickly.

One down. Then two.

You rolled, ducked behind a support beam, then took out the third with a well-aimed shot.

The last came at you hand-to-hand, but you reacted without thinking – grabbing his wrist, flipping him with his own momentum, and landing a solid strike to knock him out cold.

It was over in seconds.

You exhaled hard, heart racing.

Then you heard boots – fast, frantic – and looked up just as Bucky stormed in, weapon raised, eyes wide and frantic.

He saw you standing, chest heaving, surrounded by unconscious bodies.

His shoulders dropped, but only for a moment.

“What the hell were you thinking?” he barked, voice sharp and panicked.

You opened your mouth, but the words caught in your throat. He was already crossing the space to you, eyes blazing.

“We told you to hold position!”

“I – I saw something, I had to check it out–”

“You could’ve been killed!” he snapped, jaw clenched.

There was something in his voice – not just anger. Fear. Real fear.

You stepped back, breath catching, the weight of it all suddenly heavier.

“I handled it,” you said quietly, but your voice shook anyway.

And Bucky just looked at you – like he didn’t know whether to shake you or hug you.

Before you could respond to Bucky’s outburst, footsteps echoed through the hallway again.

Steve rounded the corner with Wanda close behind, both of them slowing at the sight of the scene in front of them – bodies on the ground, your breathing still heavy, and Bucky standing between you and the chaos like a shield.

“You good?” Steve asked, eyes scanning you quickly.

You gave a short nod. “Yeah. Four hostiles, all neutralized. They came from that stairwell – it was hidden.”

Steve crouched near one of the downed agents, frowning. “This wasn’t just a recon post. They were guarding something.”

Wanda closed her eyes, scanning the space. “There’s something below. I can feel it – some kind of power source.”

“Alright,” Steve said, standing. “Let’s move. Whatever it is, we shut it down.”

Bucky hadn’t said a word since snapping at you, and he didn’t meet your eyes as he turned and followed Steve.

You fell in step behind them, jaw tight, trying to push the sting from your chest.

The mission didn’t take long after that. Wanda disabled the energy core while you, Bucky, and Steve secured the perimeter. It was smooth, efficient – but you barely felt it. The adrenaline had worn off, and the pit in your stomach was growing heavier by the second.

Once the building was cleared and the rest of the team rejoined, Steve called it in, and you all made your way back to the quinjet.

The flight home was silent.

You sat next to Bucky, just like always, but he never turned toward you. Never looked at you. His jaw was tight, arms crossed, staring ahead with a cold sort of stillness you’d never seen from him before.

You didn’t know what to say. The mission had gone well. You’d seen a threat, reacted fast, handled yourself. But none of that seemed to matter. Not to him.

You glanced over at him, hoping for a flicker of softness, even just a glance – but he gave you nothing.

You sat back slowly, trying to stay still even as your heart pounded again for a whole different reason.

You were proud of how you’d handled the fight. But the silence from Bucky settled in your chest like a weight.

Was he mad you didn’t listen? That you took a risk?

Or was it worse than that?

Was he disappointed in you?

You stared down at your hands and tried to keep your breathing steady. The rest of the team was scattered across the jet – quiet, tired, and probably chalking the silence up to post-mission fatigue.

But for you, the worst part wasn’t what had happened out there.

It was what wasn’t happening now.

The jet touched down on the compound’s landing pad with a low hum, the bay doors opening to the muted light of early evening.

Everyone stood slowly, unbuckling and gathering their things with the quiet exhaustion that always came after a mission. Bucky didn’t say a word – just grabbed his gear, slung his bag over his shoulder, and headed down the ramp without even glancing your way.

You watched him go, lips parted like maybe you were about to call after him…but nothing came out.

Your fingers curled around the strap of your own bag, and you stood, following behind the others. You spotted him near the elevator across the hangar, but just as you were about to pick up your pace, Steve’s voice called out behind you.

“Hey,” he said, walking toward you. His expression was calm, but firm. “Good work today.”

You nodded, trying to look like that meant something – trying not to let your disappointment show. “Thanks.”

“But,” he added, crossing his arms lightly, “next time you get that gut feeling, call it in first. I don’t doubt your instincts – they were right – but you’ve got backup for a reason.”

Your throat felt tight, but you nodded again. “I know. I’m sorry.”

“I’m not mad,” Steve said, offering a faint smile. “You handled yourself better than most rookies would’ve. Just don’t take that kind of risk alone again, alright?”

“Alright,” you murmured, managing a small, grateful smile. “Thank you.”

He gave you a final nod, then turned to head toward the control room.

You stood there for another second, feeling the weight of the conversation settle right next to the ache that was already blooming in your chest.

You made your way to the elevator alone, stepping inside and staring at the panel in front of you, heart pounding as if it didn’t quite know what to feel.

Once the doors opened, you walked straight to your room, dropped your bag beside your dresser, and headed to the shower. The warm water helped ease the tension in your shoulders, but it didn’t do much for the rest of you.

When you finally stepped out, you dried off and pulled on a pair of soft shorts and one of Bucky’s hoodies. It smelled like him – faint cologne and something familiar – and it made your chest squeeze all over again.

You padded quietly across the room, hair damp and skin still flushed from the shower, and sat on the edge of your bed.

The silence was deafening.

And you still had no idea if Bucky was going to come find you…or not at all.

You sat on the edge of your bed for what felt like forever, chewing at your lip, debating. Finally, with a frustrated sigh, you pushed yourself up and made your way to Bucky’s room.

You paused outside his door, swallowing hard. Then you lifted your hand and knocked.

It was a few seconds before the door opened, revealing Bucky. He looked at you with an unreadable expression, his face guarded, his eyes tired.

“Hey,” he said flatly, voice low and neutral.

Then he turned around without waiting for you to respond, heading back toward his duffel bag on the bed. He started unpacking his gear like you weren’t even there.

You stepped inside hesitantly, closing the door behind you. The click echoed in the quiet room.

You stood there, awkward and unsure, watching him move stiffly. The silence stretched on until you couldn’t take it anymore.

“What’s wrong, Buck?” you finally asked, voice softer than you intended.

He didn’t look at you as he shoved his boots back in the closet. “You know what’s wrong.”

Your jaw clenched. “No, actually, I don’t.”

He finally turned to face you, eyes sharp now, frustration breaking through. “You split off from the group. You ignored the plan. You could’ve been killed.”

You blinked, taken aback by the harshness in his tone. “I had a feeling something was off, Bucky. I trusted my gut, and I was right. I handled it.”

“That’s not the point!” His voice rose, cutting through the air between you. “You weren’t supposed to handle it alone! You’re not on your own out there anymore – you have a team. You had me.”

You crossed your arms defensively, heart pounding now for a different reason. “I know I have a team, but I didn’t have time to wait around for everyone to agree. I did what I had to do.”

His jaw clenched, his hands curling into fists at his sides. “And what if you hadn’t handled it? What if you got hurt before we even knew where you were?”

“But I didn’t,” you shot back, the tension snapping between you both like a rubber band pulled too tight. “I took them out, I called it in. You don’t trust me to handle myself?”

“It’s not about trust,” he growled, running a hand through his hair, frustrated. “It’s about being part of a team, and yeah – it’s about me not wanting to watch you get yourself killed because you couldn’t wait five damn seconds for backup.”

Your chest rose and fell, your breath shaky as anger and something more vulnerable tangled inside you. “I’m not some fragile rookie, Bucky. I know what I’m doing. You don’t get to treat me like–”

“Like I care about you?” he snapped. “Sorry, that’s not something I can turn off.”

“That doesn’t mean I have to just stand behind you and let you do everything!”

“Yeah, well, you can’t just split off every time you think you feel something either!”

The words hung there, heavy, bitter.

You stared at him, heart aching, hands shaking at your sides. “But I was right,” you said, anger and hurt mixing in your voice. “I can’t stand there and ignore it just because you’re scared something might happen to me. That’s not how this works.”

Without waiting for a response, you spun on your heel, yanking open the door and storming out.

You didn’t look back.

Part 17 | Masterlist

Tag list: @ordelixx @read-just-cant-stop @erinallene @crazycleo @magnoliamermaid @thewriters64 @nelachu2423 @kjah97 @awesompawsum @winchestert101 @buckyb-stan @crazyunsexycool @buckysmetalgoddamnarm @buckybarnesfic @ozwriterchick @multiversefanfics @blavikennbutcher @mysoggywaffle @nameless-ken @starfly-nicole @440mxs-wife @vicmc624 @lostinspace33 @prettylittlepluviophile @softpia @maryevm @glossy01 @ye-olde-trash-panda @bonnyclydecat @iyskgd @ohdrey89 @death-in-love @herejustforbuckybarnes @whitewolfluvr @violetpassionfruit @biaswreckedbybuckybarnes @silas-aeiou @avengemepercy @starstruckfirecat @yehfitoormera

#bucky #bucky barnes #james bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes fanfic #marvel #avengers #grumpy #the new girl #fade to black #cassiemaebarnes

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moonstruckme · 8 months ago

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Mae!!! I am so happy to see you opening up requests for Thawing Out because I am genuinely OBSESSED and I haven’t stopped thinking about it 💖💖💖 So, what if during practice, Remus (unknowingly, obviously) said something to r, like making a correction or something, and it’s something Peter had said. And Sirius recognizes it too!! And you can decide what happens 🥰 Love you! 💖

Thank you for requesting lovely <33

collab with @ellecdc

cw: modern au, chronic pain, Peter mention

poly!wolfstar x fem!reader ♡ 2k words

You’re an angel on the ice. Gliding and sweeping, your movements so ethereal Sirius half expects to look down and find that your skates are floating above the surface of the ice, or that you’ve etched the next great work of art into the canvas beneath your feet. But he doesn’t, because it’s clear as day that the true art is in the creation, and it’s got its fingers clasped around his. Sirius feels lucky to bear witness.

You have the look of someone who’s given themselves over to their craft, your expression poised but eyes sparkling as you transition neatly from one move to the next until you’re coasting alongside Sirius. You’re wearing leg warmers today, far from unconventional in your sport but it’s humiliating how adorable he finds it on you. Your nails are short and neat, fingers surprisingly warm in his own, eyelashes fluttering as you tilt your head back.

You make it look easy. The way you arch your back until you’re nearly parallel to the ice, skating on only the edge of one skate while Sirius draws you in a circle around him. He starts to lower himself, finding the position you’d practiced off ice. Your grip on his hand is strong, your head tilting until the hairs escaping from your bun are whipping just above the ice, until Sirius is sure you can feel its chill on the back of your neck, and he can’t do it.

He keeps you a few inches above where he knows you’re supposed to be, holds you there with the momentum of his spin, and then hoists you up and into your spin.

You look at him bemusedly as you land on your other skate, a questioning flicker of eye contact Sirius pretends not to notice. You finish out the rest of your routine perfectly.

“That was great,” Remus says from the entryway. Sirius has noticed that he’s taken to watching you from there rather than from the bleachers on days when his hip isn’t giving him as much trouble. He wonders if Remus is almost tantalizing himself, standing on the edge of the ice but knowing he can’t go further. “Y/n, you had a lovely arch going into the spiral, but I want to see you stay more on that outside edge during the lutz-loop combination. Just play it safe on that one, alright?”

“Yeah.” You nod, looking encouraged. “Sorry, I felt myself slip a bit there.”

“You managed it just fine,” Remus reassures you. He gives you a gentle smile, and Sirius stomach does something fluttery and unsanctioned. “It’s good that you noticed, we only want to keep an eye on it, yeah?”

You smile in reply. The commotion in Sirius’ stomach worsens.

“And Sirius,” Remus turns to him, “we still have to get a bit lower on the spiral. Her head should be below her knee.”

Sirius frowns. “I know.”

It’s a non-answer and Remus knows it, but he doesn’t snipe back at him. His brows twitch together thoughtfully. “We’ve still got a few days. Do you need more time to practice off ice?”

“No,” Sirius replies. He wishes the other boy would get angry with him, give him something to shoot back at, something other than kindness and temperance and this lame, irksome understanding. He almost wants to roll his eyes as he adds, “I’ll work on it.”

Remus seems (frustratingly) appeased with that. “Alright, just be careful on your left pick when you get down there.” His voice takes on a teasing lilt. “We don’t need any more accidents this close to competition, Pads.”

Sirius waits for the flash of irritation. But your laughter rings out brilliant and lovely, and Remus is smiling at the both of you with something like fondness, and he can’t seem to find it.

Fucking James. Sirius ought to know better than to automatically trust anyone his best friend likes—you’ve both suffered the consequences from that once already—but it’s difficult to summon his usual disdain for Remus after watching the two of them chinwag and snicker like old friends at practice the other day. It was odd seeing James so familiar with someone else, but Sirius found he couldn’t muster any jealousy. As much as he loathes to think of it, you were right—learning James and Remus were old friends did make him think. In ways that remind Sirius why thinking is one of his least favorite activities.

He shoots Remus the bird over his shoulder. Unfortunately, in doing so, he fails to notice a blemish in the ice which catches his skate, causing him to pitch forward before righting himself.

Remus’ lips twitch, but Sirius holds up a hand. “You can keep your quips to yourself.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“Then you can keep your looks to yourself.”

You implement Remus’ alteration to your lutz-loop combination flawlessly. It’s something you’ve always been good at, confident enough to take feedback and skilled enough to make the changes stick. It’s part of why you’re as good as you are, the amalgamation of every scrap of advice you’ve ever received and a fierce determination that's all your own. You jump and spin and twist your way through the routine beautifully.

Sirius, on the other hand, is not so great with critiques. The death spiral stays exactly the way it is, with your head safely above the ice and neither of you low enough to get full points. And that’s likely how it will stay.

He can tell you and Remus are both getting more frustrated, more disappointed, every time he fails to take it all the way, but Sirius can’t bring himself to go any further. His heart won’t let him.

“We’ll do some more off ice tomorrow,” Remus decides for him as you both take off your skates. “We’ve got the time, everything else is looking beautiful. Sirius, maybe work on getting low on your own today, so we’ve less to cover tomorrow.” Sirius nods down towards his skates. He doesn’t feel like looking at either one of you. “And y/n, the only thing I’m still noticing from you is that landing on your triple axle. You’re a bit wobbly. I want you to focus on controlling your descent and really sticking it. It looks nearly perfect, you’re just making me a little nervous—this would be a shit time to have to go into an early retirement, wouldn’t it?”

It’s said lightly, a hint of a smile at the tail end, but your face twinges like he’s snapped at you. Remus’ brow furrows in mild confusion, and Sirius feels a hard fist clench in his chest. He wouldn’t know what had made you react like that either, if you hadn’t repeated Peter’s words to him yourself.

He told the other coach that I was one bad jump away from injuring myself into an early retirement.

“I’m not actually worried about that—you’re too skilled for an injury that severe to be very likely, I just,” Remus is watching you carefully, clearly trying to reason out where he went wrong, “thought I should bring it to your attention. Only as a precaution.”

You nod several times, quicker and harder than necessary. “Yeah.” Your lips press into a smile. “I’ll be careful, thanks.”

Sirius sets his hand on top of yours, shit at comfort but meaning to try anyway, but your hand slips away as you get up and sling your bag over your shoulder.

“I have to get home,” you say, squeezing Sirius’ shoulder as if in apology. Your expression is tight. “I’ll see you guys tomorrow, okay?”

“Okay,” Remus echoes. He watches you go with a half-remorseful look on his face, like he doesn’t know what he’s done but he feels bad for it anyway.

Seeing as you haven’t waited for him, Sirius supposes he’ll be walking home on his own today. He sets his skates in his bag, beginning to tug on his shoes.

Remus broaches the silence almost tentatively. “Did she seem alright to you?” Sirius doesn’t know how to respond to that, but the other boy goes on before he has to. “Did…do you know if I said something to upset her?”

Sirius shrugs. “Nope.”

Remus can probably smell the lie—he’s not gone to any great lengths to conceal it—but Sirius doesn’t care. The look of hurt on your face has set a familiar protective ire buzzing beneath his skin, and Remus is the one who caused it. Neither of you owe him any explanation.

Remus falls quiet again, but he waits while Sirius finishes packing up, walks with him towards the exit.

“How long have you and James been friends?” he asks.

“A long time,” Sirius answers shortly. “I moved in with him and his parents when I was sixteen.”

“Oh.” Remus turns to look at him. Sirius feels his gaze, wide and curious, on the side of his face. “Yeah, a long time, then. It was nice to talk to him again. We used to run into each other so often, but I hadn’t seen him since…well, since I left, I suppose.”

There’s a melancholy that lays itself down over those last few words, the nostalgia in Remus’ voice smothered underneath. Maybe it’s that quiet tone, maybe it’s the image of James and Remus together, laughing and talking about their futures on the ice during early mornings at the rink, but Sirius feels himself softening.

“He mentioned something,” Remus says tentatively, “about your last coach. It didn’t sound like things ended well.”

Sirius pushes out a breath. “They didn’t.”

“Was he not very good?”

“No,” he can hear the frustration seeping into his voice. He wishes Peter were worse at his job. That he’d been an idiot, didn’t understand your styles, and none of you had ever managed to get along. It would have made everything so much easier. “He was good.”

“I’m not trying to pry,” says Remus, “but if what happened with him is going to affect how you two are with me—if it has anything to do with how I upset y/n today—I would appreciate if you told me.”

So Sirius does. He’s not sparing with the details, and Remus doesn’t begrudge him the anger that grips him as he talks about Peter’s betrayal, where it left the two of you, how it’s still coming back to hurt you even now. It makes him furious, but where he’d expected Remus to take it all in calmly, Sirius is surprised when the other boy’s jaw gets tight as he listens. He has questions: How long had you worked with Peter? Did either of you have to get involved with the case, or did his emails speak for themselves? Does Sirius know how long Peter was playing double-agent?

By the time they’re on Sirius’ block, Remus has begun alternating between shaking his head and huffy, revolted exhalations.

“I can’t believe he said that to her.” He shakes his head, guilt digging into the space between his brows. “I can’t believe I said it, either, but I was only trying to make a joke about myself, not…she’s far too skilled to have a fall like that—well, anyone could, but she’s only as likely as anyone else at her level. Which isn’t very many people.”

“That’s what I told her,” Sirius agrees. “I think she was mostly over it, but…”

“I reminded her.” Remus sighs. “I’ll have to make it up to her.”

“She’ll be alright,” he says honestly. “I think it just surprised her.”

“She’s really good.”

“I know.”

“She has to know that.”

“She…” Sirius hesitates. “Do we ever really know it, about ourselves?”

“Oh, come off it.” Remus gives Sirius a knowing look. His mouth tugs up on one side. “You clearly know how good you are.”

Sirius feels a pleased tingle of warmth in his face. He walks backwards up the stairs to his flat, leveling Remus with a cocky grin. “Am I?”

“Don’t. You maintain your own ego well enough without my help.”

“Oh, but it never hurts to have disciples.” He fishes out his key, unlocking the door. “You could remind me from time to time, just for fun.”

When he turns, Remus is watching him from the sidewalk with a gleam of something like amusement in his eye. “Nail the spiral,” he says, “and we’ll see.”

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lizzie-boo · 5 months ago

Text

Christmas Party

Steve Harrington x Reader

Ficmas Day 9

Summary: When your best friend Steve overhears you joking with Nancy it changes the course of your friendship forever.

Words: 1.2k

A/N: Happy last day of ficmas. I wanted to write 12 stories but that never happened. Honestly, though, I'm really happy with writing 9 becuase I never intended to do ficmas at all this year. Divider by @saradika-graphics

“Are we sure this is a good idea, what if someone calls the cops?” You ask, still not fully onboard with the idea of throwing a Christmas party.

“Don’t worry it’s just for our group of friends plus if the cops get called we’re fine. Remember Chief Hopper is Jonathan and Will’s stepdad and he’d never bust them for having a party,” Steve reassures you as he hands you another box of decorations.

Removing the lid from the box you grab out a couple strands of garland and begin to place them around the living room. Steve follows behind you stringing up lights as he goes.

“You’re sure we won’t get in trouble?”

“It’s just a casual Christmas party, not a rager I promise. Plus half the people coming are practically children. It’s just gonna be us hanging out and eating snacks for a few hours.”

You knew Steve put his old habits behind him years ago but you were always nervous he would revert to his old ways. That this party would snap him back to who he used to be and what would start as an innocent group hang out would spiral into the party of the century. The fears that if he went back to his old ways he would drop you and you would be without a best friend once more rattled around your brain. As his words finally sink in you let your shoulders relax.

“Plus, Dustin is bringing Suzie and I don’t want to scare her off. He seems to really like her so as surrogate mom I need to make a good impression,” Steve jokes and the last of your reservations disappear.

You continue to joke and talk as you finish putting up the last of the decorations. Every so often stopping to sneak a glance at your best friend wondering if there would ever be a chance for the two of you to be more.

The doorbell rings right at seven and you make your way to the entryway. You open the door for Nancy, Jonathan, and Robin ushering them in from the cold. Nancy pulls you into a quick hug as Jonathan offers a quiet hello.

“So where is the dingus?” Robin asks as she wiggles her eyebrows at you.

Pushing her shoulder lightly you respond, “He’s in the kitchen finishing up getting snacks ready.”

“I’ll go help him,” Robin announces before rushing off to the kitchen.

“I’m guessing this means you haven’t talked to him about how you feel yet,” Nancy says as she loops her arm with yours and pulls you into the living room leaving Jonathan to get the door for the kids.

You take a seat next to her on the couch. “I don’t wanna screw up what we have. He’s my best friend. Why risk losing him when I can just stay his friend forever and at least have him in my life.”

Nancy pats your arm giving you the same sad look her and Robin use everytime they bring up the topic and you and Steve being something more. You reach out and tap her nose breaking the awkward tension forming. Just then the kids, Jonathan, and Eddie file into the living room taking up all the available seats.

Glancing over your shoulder you look for any sign of Steve or Robin, wondering what is taking them so long. Turning your attention back to the room you smile at Eddie as he tries to mediate a fight between Lucas and Dustin about what Christmas movie everyone should watch.

Steve and Robin make their way toward the living room right as Nancy leans over, “Maybe some alone time with Eddie could help you forget about your feelings for Steve,” she jokes.

“I don’t doubt that, he could probably make me forget my own name,” you joke back, bumping your shoulder into hers and you both laugh.

Behind you Steve shoves the tray of snacks he’s holding into Robin’s hands and rushes back into the kitchen needing some time to think. Robin takes it in stride and sets it on the coffee table with a loud thud.

“I think I hurt my wrist carrying the tray. Do you think you can go help Steve with the rest?” Robin asks as she plops down on the couch between you and Nancy. Before you can even answer her and Nancy are already chatting away about something one of the kids said.

Pushing off the couch you make your way into the kitchen to find Steve with his palms pushed against the countertop. His head hangs and his eyes are screwed shut. The sight of him sends a pang of panic to your chest.

“What’s wrong?” you ask as you place a hand on his back.

“Do you actually wanna fuck Munson?” he bites out as he curls a hand into a fist.

Your hand drops to your side as quickly as your mouth falls open. You hadn’t realized that he heard your joke. If you knew he was standing there you never would have said anything.

You take a moment to assess the situation before settling on your response, “It was just a dumb joke between me and Nancy. Plus I never said that I wanted to fuck him, just that he would probably be good at it.”

“So you don’t wanna get under him?” His tone is gentler this time as he turns to look at you.

“No, never. It was just a joke.” You run a hand along his arm hoping to calm him down so you can head back to the party in the other room.

His hand reaches out and grabs your free hand holding you in place. “So do you still want to forget about your feelings for me?” His eyes search yours as if he’s trying to figure out what you are going to say.

“Only if you want me to,” you whisper, now realizing the space between you had lessened.

He drops your hand, stepping in to cup your cheek. “That’s the last thing I want baby” he mumbles before crashing his lips to yours. Your hands tangle in his hair as your lips move in sync. Taking a step back he presses you into the counter. The cool press against your back sends a shiver down your spine and you tug at his hair in an attempt to deepen the kiss.

He pulls back and you drop your hands to his shoulders. You both take a moment to catch your breaths. He shoots you a smile before hoisting you onto the counter. Your legs instinctively wrap around his waist and he wastes no time diving back in for another kiss.

This time when he pulls away it’s to trail a line of kisses down your neck. He works his way back up and gently nips at your earlobe causing you to let out a moan that you try to muffle with your hand. His lips press against your ear and he whispers, “The only one who is allowed to make you forget your name from now on is me.” You pull him back into another searing kiss completely forgetting about the party in the other room.

#stranger things imagine #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington imagine #stranger things #steve harrington #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #reader insert #x reader #reader #ficmas #lizzieboosficmas #ficmas day 9

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crepesuzette2023 · 3 months ago

Note

Only asking if you wanna and have time to do it. No worries if you don't but asking anyway because it would be so helpful. I find it a bit difficult because I'm new. Maybe you've done this before and can add linkto that. Please.

My ask is if you could make a list of McLennon fics on AO3.

A list of favorites. (fan favourites or popular fic writers in the fandom)

A list of finished fics with lots of smut.

A list of fics that is very realistic in the Beatle lore/quite possible/likely to have happend.

A list of uncanon/not likely/ John's still alive, reunion of the Beatles etc.

A list of your own and or own favorites.

Thank you!

Thanks for the ask, Anon!

I recommended some fics in the past, it’s true, but it’s been a while. This is a chance to mention some stories I read & loved since then. (I’ll also link to the older recs, so you can check them out as well.)

(This is long, so I'm editing this to insert a break)

But first there's this:

A list of favorites. (fan favourites or popular fic writers in the fandom)

I can’t speak for the fandom as a whole, because everyone’s taste is different. What I can do is name some stories I personally love, and that are also beloved by many others.

These fics have probably been recced many times, including by me—and for a reason: they’re excellent.

Also: all of these writers have many great fics. The stories below are just entry points to their work.

• On the Way to Work by @roundthatcorner. (Paul gets a job after Hamburg.)

• Lifting Latches/Sending Postcards by ThinkPink20. (Early Days. Paul and John swap clothes.)

• Now and then (there’s a fool such as I) by @stonedlennon. (The trip to Caversham.)

• Six hours in August by @stonedlennon. (John and Paul meet in NYC in 1976.)

• Bird Passing Through by @savageandwise. (John is tripping and visiting Paul after his moped accident.)

• I was a younger man then (now) (post hoc) by @fingersfallingupwards. (McLennon as The Time Traveller’s Wife.)

• baby, it’s all relative by @pauls1967moustache. (Early John and Paul and daddy issues.)

• but still they lead me back by @revollver. Paul remembers the moment when John asked him, do you like me?

• Double Fantasy by @javelinbk. John and Paul’s (modern) Flower Shop AU.

• The Same as it Ever Was by RedheadAmongWolves. John and Paul through the eyes of the newsagent.

• The First Year by candle_beck. Still feeling the reverberations of this one in my bones years after reading.

• Portrait of the Artist by @scurator. (John and Paul take sexy pictures…to sell them for money. For no other reason.)

• Kissing the Blarney by @zilabee. Paul is the Beatles’ talisman. (This is magical realism at its best.)

• Smutlets by @unchaineddaisychain. (Don’t let the flippant name deceive you: this is a massive collection of shorter and longer fics across many genres, eras, and themes. There’s something in there for everyone!)

• The Cat by @merseydreams. Post Beatles break-up. Paul thinks John has a new boyfriend. He has thoughts about this.

And, of course, my personal favorite of all time, my desert island, gold-disc-for-space, “printed it all to make sure I won’t lose it when The Internet™ is gone”: I Need You Darlin’ (So Come Go With Me) by @beatlessideblog. Omegaverse version of John and Paul’s love story (do not scroll away!), with Paul being the alpha. I keep saying this, but it’s fantastic how the writer combines omegaverse ideas with late 50’s/ early 60’s Liverpool. Novel length plus 9 extras, what can I say. We are all blessed.

A list of finished fics with lots of smut.

Here are some recent smutty favorites. (Below are links to older smutty recs!)

• Loops by @dailyhowl. Sgt. Pepper’s era. John and Paul create tape loops of themselves during sex.

• just to make me misbehave by @dykebeatles. 1967. Paul and John have sex before, during, and after the Sgt. Pepper’s launch party.

• Lonely Hearts Column by @unchaineddaisychain. Modern AU, middle-aged composer Paul and younger artist John, and a lovely night followed by the sweetest breakfast.

• Ask the Glass by @unchaineddaisychain: Young John and Paul, and two séances.

• Put A Spell on You by @eveepe. Help! Era. The size difference between Smaul and John works very well for both of them.

• monkey’s paw by @ameliepoulain. Repressed tension and catharsis during the Japan leg of the ’66 tour.

• lift up your heart and sing you a song by @wronglennon. Sex during the making Magical Mystery Tour. Paul wears the white suit.

• it’s good to touch by @pondpossum. Smutty mclennon art!

• The Look of You by @ohjohnnysblog. Paul is fisting John.

• the chronicles of trying to keep quiet and almost getting caught by lazydaisychain. On tour, John and Paul are trying to make space for their love.

• Piston Engines (Shift to Overdrive) by SwishyNibblyNibbly. John and Paul join the Mile High club on the way to their first US visit. Also:

• NSFW favorites (Feb. 2024)

• What’s the most raunchiest, dirty, and just explicit Mclennon fic you’ve ever read? (March 28, 2024)

• Hi, I would love recs for mclennon fics dripping in sexual tension, like six hours in August by stonedlennon. It doesn't need to have explicit sexual content. Thank you! (March 6, 2024)

A list of fics that is very realistic in the Beatle lore/quite possible/likely to have happened.

I think that’s an interesting ask, to be honest. I’ll take this to mean stories that feel “in character” and are compliant with canon events as we know them—not stories presenting a plausible explanation/only possible version of events. (Subtle difference.)

Here are some fics I could think of that fit this description (more links at the end of this post, if interested) : Krankenstand by @savageandwise. John takes care of a sick Paul in Hamburg. Two Truths, and Two Lies by J_Deandra_j. John and Paul from 1965-67, based on four quotes.

the best of times, the worst of times by @crumblingcookies. John and Paul during the Beatles' 1964 visit to the British Embassy in Washington.

Someone Else Can Worry About Me... by @idontwanttospoiltheparty. Paul comforting, and being comforted, through the years.

in france, they kiss on main street by @orphanbeat. Paul is spiraling about John during their 1966 visit to Paris.

The Dream by monkberrymoon. Screenplay-format story centered on the Did you dream about me last night? scene in Get Back.

Transatlantic by @therealsaintscully. Don't let the incomplete chapter count distract you; the first two chapters each stand on their own. John and Paul are talking on the phone after the break-up.

and when i touch you by @forthlin. Early days. John and Paul notice the different size of their hands.

Huddersfield, 1963 by @dovetailjoints. The story behind the adorable 'boyfriends' photo.

The Sober Cannibal and the Drunken Christian (Anonymous). John and Paul wake up together in Paris.

(help me) get my feet back on the ground (ladeedahblue). The toboggan sandwich!

Unsaid in Studio Two by the Beatlefix. John and Paul yearn for each other as they work on Strawberry Fields Forever.

knows not where he's going to by @dovand. Liverpool days. Brian finds John in his office one morning.

See Us in the Real Life by RedHeadAmongWolves. Two EMI canteen workers observe the Beatles, and especially John and Paul, in the early days of their career.

Shooting Star by @pie-of-flames. Early days. John and Paul see a shooting star together.

Giving me the excitations by @backbenttulips. After the Pet Sounds listening party, Paul writes a song—while having sex with John.

Field-Boxing by @the-paper-apricot. Paul considers going back on tour.

all by design by @thegirlwiththeaxe. Early days. A smitten and determined Paul is plotting to sweep John off his feet at the fete.

A list of uncanon/not likely/ John's still alive, reunion of the Beatles etc.

Music save your mortal soul by @backbenttulips. (This writer is a specialist at middle-aged/old mclennon fix its! In this one, John persuades Paul, who he accuses of being a sell out, to go on a tour though the pubs...as The Nerk Twins.)

Leads Me To Your Door/The Four of Wands by @bluewater9. Gorgeous, real and warm two-parter about John and Paul in '89/'90: together, and on the brink of coming out...but not quite there yet.

And the fics listed here:

• Fics in which John is old and happy (Dec 8, 2024) ( this probably should have said middle-aged or old)

• mclennon fanfiction in which one or both of them is/are old (June 24, 2024)

• Old mclennon recommendations (2/2/2025)

A list of your own and/or own favorites.

Here are some Beatles fics I loved recently, with some space for non-mclennon.

John/Paul/Brian. Series (1963, 1967) by @scurator. Goes well with: Billet doux (Brian/Paul).

Paris, 1961 by whiteisthewarmestcolor. "A young Parisian woman meets two British musicians staying at the Montmartre hotel run by her family." I love this unusual outsider POV on John and Paul, and Beatles when they're famous...

cool about it by ohhamlet. After Hamburg. George and Jürgen, George and Paul.

a lesson in not caring by @javelinbk. John's thoughts and feelings during Paul's arrest in Japan. With a beautiful final chapter...

visionen christi by @dykebeatles. Hamburg. John has visions...Paul and George take care of him. The emergence of a tender trinity.

Lay, Lady, Lay by @aquarianshift. Paul and Jane, noble lady & stable hand role play.

love is a finder, always by @wronglennon. Instant all-time favorite. Hamburg: Paul and John and their demons are in love without knowing...until they do.

All Flesh is Weak by @thegirlwiththeaxe. 1967. Paul is a priest, John is a writer. They meet in grief, and make each other come alive. I love how warm and kind John is...!

She's not a girl who misses much by Anonymous. Yoko studies John and Paul.

half of what i say is meaningless, but i say it just to reach you by @pauls1967moustache. "CIA agent Tom Dawkins tries to decode Lennon/McCartney" — and finds himself. An awakening!

Oh Dear What Can I Do by @louiselux. 1966. John and Paul kiss on stage...and what happens after.

Your Song Will Fill the Air by Sminking: Strange days after Brian's death. India. And a happy ending? Unfinished, but hopefully finished soon. Dark and interesting.

i walked with you once upon a dream by @menlove. A Christmas Carol during he making of Magical Mystery Tour.

With a Little Help by @notgrungybitchin. 1967. John and Paul are such a couple during the Sgt. Pepper's photoshoot...

this boy would always feel the same by @adriennefrombrooklyn. 1975. Paul is divorced, and traveling to NYC with Robert Fraser. John, back with Yoko after the lost weekend, is jealous....

And finally:

• Here is a big blog post I made in December 2023 with my overall favorites in various categories at that point...

• Here are all my fic recs (many different asks) under the #fic recs tag on my blog

• Here are all my bookmarks on AO3

• And (since you asked) my own fics are here

Thanks again for asking, Anon, and I hope you find something in this huge mess of a post that you enjoy!

#asks #fic recs #mclennon #mclennon fic recs #march 2025 fic recs

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snowysosturn · 8 months ago

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Allies or Affiliates? - Chris Sturniolo Part 2

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20 Part 21 Part 22 Part 23 Part 24 Part 25 Part 26 Part 27 Part 28 Part 29 Finale

Pairing : Y/n x Chris Sturniolo

Summary : Law student Y/n’s life takes a turn when she reconnects with Chris, her brief teenage flame who is now a dealer for a dangerous Boston drug gang. As their bond reignites, Y/n is drawn into Chris’s tumultuous world, where rival gangs clash and loyalty is everything. Balancing her love for Chris with her own ambitions, can their connection survive the chaos that threatens to pull them apart?

Warnings : MDNI, Mentions of drugs, mentions of court

Sunday came and went in a blur of textbooks, highlighters, and coffee that had turned cold by the time I got round to drinking it. I spent the entire day curled up in my apartment, buried in law casebooks and lecture notes, trying to chip away at the mountain of assignments that had built up over the week. Law school had a way of piling things on without warning, and it was tough to stay on top of everything.

But, despite all the reading and studying, my mind kept drifting to Chris. That stupid accidental like on his Instagram post had spun me for a loop, and no matter how much I tried to push it out of my head, it kept creeping back in. The embarrassment was almost unbearable. Why did it bother me so much? I’d accidentally liked posts before, and it never affected me like this. But this was different. This was him.

Chris Sturniolo, the boy who had practically disappeared from my life without a word. He had just faded away, like a distant memory. And now, years later, I was reminded of him, suddenly thinking about him more than I had any right to. Maybe it was the nostalgia, or maybe it was the curiosity of what had happened to him. Either way, I needed to think about what I had in front of me.

By the end of the night, I was no closer to finishing my assignments, but I had at least made some progress. I pushed my laptop aside and let out a sigh, staring at the ceiling of my room. Tomorrow would be a new day, and I had more important things to focus on, like sitting in on a real courtroom session for class. I needed to be sharp and professional, not distracted by old crushes and awkward social media moments.

I passed out somewhere around 1am, and before I knew it, my alarm was going off and I was dressed and heading out the door, ready to make my way to the Boston Municipal Court. The air was crisp, the chill of fall settling in as I walked through the city streets. My nerves were kicking in, not just because of the courtroom experience I was about to witness, but because of the burning feeling that something was about to shift. I couldn't explain it, but I put it down to anxiety about the court case, how I could see someone's life trajectory change in a matter of moments.

I arrived at the courthouse, its towering stone facade looming over me as I approached. It felt both intimidating and exciting, like I was about to step into a new chapter of my life. This courtroom session was an essential part of my course, and would be continuous over this school year - a real life experience to get a feel for how things worked in the legal world. I was supposed to be focused on the case, taking notes, observing the process, everything a future lawyer would need to know.

But as I stepped inside and found a seat toward the back of the courtroom, my thoughts kept drifting. I couldn't shake Chris from my mind. Why now? Why was he coming up in my thoughts so much? We hadn’t spoken in years, and yet here I was, obsessing over an accidental like on his ghostly Instagram account. It didn’t make any sense. I had so much more to worry about, but the memory of him kept pulling me away from the present.

The courtroom slowly filled with people, lawyers and clerks coming in and out, papers shuffling, the judge already seated high above. I forced myself to sit up straighter, grabbing my notepad and pen, determined to focus. This was important. I couldn’t afford to be distracted.

“The court is now in session” the judge’s voice boomed, commanding attention.

I scribbled the date at the top of my notepad, trying to look engaged, but my thoughts wandered again. Stop it Y/n.

The prosecutor began introducing the case. My pen hovered over the notepad as I half listened, already feeling my focus slip away. Something about possession, conspiracy to sell, it all sounded so dry compared to the whirlwind going on in my head.

But then, the prosecutor said something that yanked me out of my thoughts.

“The defendant, Mr. Nathan Doe-”

My heart nearly stopped.

What?

I blinked, my brain struggling to process what I’d just heard. Nathan Doe? There was no way.

I snapped my head up, my eyes wide as they locked onto the judge. My pulse quickened. Could it really be him? Nate Doe, the guy same guy that was only mentioned just the other night? Chris’s best friend?

I looked around the courtroom, my stomach twisting. It had to be a coincidence, right? But I’ve never met another Nathan Doe.

The judge continued, outlining the charges: too much weed, conspiracy to sell, and smoking in public. It wasn’t the most serious of offences, but still enough to land Nate in front of a judge. And now that I was really listening, I knew, this was him. This was Chris’s Nate, standing trial for a drug charge.

I sat back in my seat, completely thrown off. What were the odds? It felt like the universe was pulling me into something, something I wasn’t prepared for.

The case moved forward quickly. The prosecutor outlined the details. Nate had been caught late at night with a sizable amount of weed on him, enough to raise suspicion of intent to sell. There had been rumours he was involved in something bigger - something connected to the ongoing gang feud between the Crimson Cartel and another gang. But those rumours had been dismissed, simply because they’re hear say. Nate was just a guy caught with too much weed, nothing more.

I let out a breath. At least it wasn’t anything more serious. Nate had messed up, sure, but it didn’t seem like his life was about to be ruined over this.

The judge leaned back, considering the case for a moment. The room was quiet, tension hanging in the air. Then, finally, the judge gave his ruling.

“Nathan Doe, you are hereby ordered to make a charitable donation of $2,000 and to complete 50 hours of community service. Additionally, you are expected to refrain from any drug related activities for the next 12 months. Any violation of this order will result in harsher consequences.”

I sat there in stunned silence as the courtroom began to stir, people packing up their papers and preparing to leave. Nate had gotten off pretty lightly, all things considered. No jail time, no heavy fines, just a slap on the wrist and some community service. He’d been lucky.

The judge adjourned the court, and I stood, gathering my things. I was still processing everything when I saw it.

The back of a head, messy brown hair standing out among the sea of people leaving the courtroom.

Chris.

I blinked, certain I was imagining it, but there was no mistaking it. The same messy brown hair, slightly longer than I remembered, and the familiar dishevelled style. He was standing just a few rows ahead of me, getting up to leave as casually as if this were just another day for him.

My heart pounded against my chest, my mind racing to process the sight. He was here.

The courtroom felt like it had shrunk in size, the walls closing in as my vision narrowed on him. Chris, the boy who had vanished from my life all those years ago, was standing a few feet away. Older now, but still unmistakably him. He was taller, more solid, but the sight of him sent a jolt of electricity through me. How could this be happening? The rush of memories collided with the reality of the moment, the image of him, a person I never thought I’d see again, suddenly appear back into my life.

And my god, he was still just as good looking. Maybe even more so. His face had matured, the angles sharper, and there was a quiet intensity in the way he carried himself now. Gone was the boyish charm, replaced by something darker, more serious.

I swallowed hard, my hands trembling slightly as I tried to keep it together. I wanted the ground to swallow me whole. What were the odds? First Nate, now Chris? My mind raced, panic setting in.

Should I say something? Should I call out to him? No what the fuck would I be doing yelling in a court room. Oh my god he definitely knows I was stalking him too. Maybe I should just avoid him.

The idea made my stomach churn, the second hand embarrassment from the accidental Instagram like still fresh in my mind. my mind screamed. I’d tried to play it cool, but there was no undoing that little heart popping up on his post. Maybe he hadn’t noticed?

God, I hoped not.

Just avoid him.

That seemed like the best idea right now. Avoid him and get out of here before I did something stupid or said something even worse. But as much as I told myself to leave, my feet wouldn’t listen. My eyes were locked on him, glued to the sight of him moving through the aisle, his head slightly lowered as he tucked his hands into his jacket pockets.

I tried to snap out of it, to move, but the weight of my thoughts held me back. It was like seeing a ghost, someone I had long thought was buried in the past. But here he was, alive and real, and my heart didn’t know how to handle it.

As he neared the doors of the courtroom, my body finally kicked into gear. I shuffled down the aisle, clutching my things tightly and keeping my gaze low, hoping I could sneak out without running into him. Just keep your head down, Y/n.

I had just made it into the hallway when I felt a presence beside me. My heart skipped a beat as I glanced sideways, and there he was. Chris.

No, no, no.

His eyes caught mine before I could look away. Shit.

“Y/n?” His voice was deeper than I remembered, and it sent a shiver down my spine.

taglist: @mattybearnard @sturn-33 @ncm9696 @yourfavsturniologirl @crazy4jewel @sodakid1234 @stupendoustreewinner @lovealwayssturniolos @matthewsturniolosss @m4ttsmunch @loveexxx @ilusa @starkeyszn @wonnieeluvvr @dylnblue @valxrieq @maggot3647 @cigarettecemetary @ribread03 @chrisstvrns @bandasaruswrx @noplaceissafeanymore @amexiass @witchofthehour @mattssgf @jetaimevous @v33angel @ivysturnss @urmom69lol @ashlishes @watercolorskyy @sturnioloshottiekay @amelia-sturniolo3 @imjusthereforthesturniolosmut @pvssychicken @alizestvrnss @lvrsturniolo

#snowy speaks #allies or affiliates?#dealer!chris #chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #chris sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #the sturniolo triplets #nicolas sturniolo #nick sturniolo #matt sturniolo x reader

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maddiesentmehere118 · 3 months ago

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A Stranger's Jacket: Part 3

Evan "Buck" Buckley x plus size! reader

Word Count: 2.4k

Warnings: nightmare, recalling trauma, slight angst, slight comfort, mentions of blood, MDNI 18+

Authors notes: I chose to make the images pixel-y and blurred, for a nightmare effect!

Masterlist | Taglist

“There, we can iron out the details tonight.”

You’d be lying if you said that statement wasn’t looping in your mind all day, invading your every thought. Earlier, you had to take a walk to get enough focus to get ahead on lectures, knowing you’d be occupied Wednesday.

But still, you’d been driving yourself a little insane.

A new TV series played in the background as you were creating the tomato sauce for your rigatoni, the smell of garlic and tomato filling the kitchen.

Then your phone pinged. You glance over. Butterflies. Not just from seeing his name, but from what he had set his contact name to.

You set the knife down, wiped your hands on your shorts and quickly turned down the heat. You didn’t want to burn the sauce. Or the apartment. Though seeing a certain, blonde fireman again wouldn’t be the worst thing.

You unlock your phone, leaning against the counter as you shift your weight against the surface. You’re ecstatic, that same bubbly feeling filling your chest as when you left the fire station earlier.

Hey, it’s Buck. Just got off work, thought I’d text you to finalize our plans.

You: Hey, hope your shift was okay! Also, real smooth contact name, Granola Guy 🚒

Buck: It was good, surprisingly slow today. But I’m glad you like it, Short Latte ☕

You: Wow, so now you’re calling me short?

Buck: I never said it was bad 😉 Now back to these plans. What time on Wednesday? Do you like Mexican?

You: I teach from 10-11 then I’m free all day. And I do like Mexican. Lunch or dinner?

Buck: How about dinner at 6? Gives you time to unwind. I’ll pick you up.

You: Sounds perfect. See you soon, Buck.

Buck: Have a good rest of your night, y/n.

With a press of the spacebar, you pause your show, suddenly unable to focus on it at all.

Instead, you grab your phone again to text your friends: I have plans with the hot firefighter who treated me last Monday. What do I wear?

Could you even call it a date? Buck never said it was a date, but it was toeing the line between casual drinks and something more.

Once you finished your pasta sauce and combined it with the noodles, you settled onto the couch, curling your legs underneath you. You turned on the local news, as you made it a habit to begin and end your day with the news once you started graduate school. And although it was only 7, you were exhausted.

Your therapist eassured you that needing more sleep was normal- that it was your body’s way of adjusting to the trauma, processing everything it’d been through. He’d recommended switching to a multivitamin with Omega-3s and implementing ashwagandha to your diet to help lower stress hormones, but it would take a few weeks to feel any real difference.

You just wanted to feel normal again.

9:13 PM

You jerk awake. Gasping.

Dr. Daniels- dead. Blood. Too much.

The shooter. A gunshot. You felt it. Dead.

The TV is still playing. Lights illuminate the apartment. You’re home. Safe.

But you don’t feel safe.

Terror sets in, wrapping around you like a vice, squeezing tightly and showing no signs of letting go.

Hands trembling, you reach for your phone on the floor. Tears fall before you can stop them, and your throat feels tight. Your neck hurts from the position you slept in, but fear drowns that out.

There was no way you were falling back asleep. What now?

Call your best friend to go on a night drive?

Take a hot shower, distract yourself by coloring?

Book an emergency therapy session?

It was your first nightmare since the shooting. You had managed to avoid having any nightmares of the event through a strict sleep routine. Cut down on caffeine after 5. Exercise at least half an hour a day. Shower and drink ashwagandha tea before bed. Keep a small light on incase you woke up in the middle of the night to provide a sense of calm and safety- especially since the majority of the trauma you experienced was in a dark office.

You can’t keep this to yourself. It wasn’t fair to call a friend. Text a therapist? Maybe. But you don’t want logical explanations, you need comfort. Someone who could understand you. Who had been through his own share of trauma. Buck

You felt weak and a bit stupid for even considering it, but with the slight twitch in your fingers as you entered your pin, you knew that those feelings were insignificant in the grand scheme of things. You needed to ease your mind, and worrying about your ego was not going to help achieve that.

y/n: Hey, not to bother you, but I just had a nightmare and I’m really shaken up. Could I possibly tell you about it?

y/n: If not, that’s okay. I’ll book a 24/7 therapy session. you're probably exhausted. Forget I sent this.

You’re already navigating to the therapy app when your phone rings. You jump, startled by the sound, your breath catching in your throat. Your heartbeat picks up again, but this time, for a different reason. Your fingers are still shaky as you answer and put him on speaker.

“Hello?”

The voice that meets yours is warm, full of concern.

“Hey. y/n, are you okay?”

There is a long silence, tears welling up in your eyes. You try to speak, but the moment you open your mouth, you know you’re going to cry. Especially since your lip is already quivering at the sound of his voice.

And you can’t tell if it is from, fear, relief,, or something in between.

“No.”

The confidence you had earlier in the day is gone. You feel small as your lip trembles. Your breath comes out in shallow bursts.

He doesn’t rush you, but instead listens.

“How about this- I’ll tell you about my day first” Buck soothes you. “Then, if you want, we can talk about your nightmare. No pressure.”

You nod despite him not being able to see you.

“Yes.”

You grab the remote to turn the TV down so you can focus on Buck as he talks. You can tell he is trying his best to stay lighthearted, but that underlying concern is still present.

“We got some routine calls, nothing too fancy. I think the most exciting call we got today was extracting a snake from the AC vents of a woman’s car. Chimney was in charge of keeping her calm because he’s also terrified of snakes. She kept exclaiming that she was going to sell the car and get a new one after the snake was out.”

“Oh no. I don’t blame them. I hate snakes too.”

“Good to know. If we see one while we’re out Wednesday, I’ll protect you.”

He pauses and you can practically feel his smile through the phone.

You don’t feel as scared as you did. As alone.

“I-I couldn’t move, Buck. I heard Dr. Daniels outside of the room and when I opened the door, he was there, but there was more blood, way more. I went to help him inside, but he turned the corner. He shot him again. I watched and couldn’t do anything to help Dr. Daniels. I tried to go back into the office but I froze. Then I woke up. He shot me Buck, and I know he did because you can’t watch yourself die in your sleep.”

“That sounds awful and I’m really sorry you had to go through that, y/n. Do you want to talk about it? It’s okay if you don’t, but maybe it’ll help to get it off your chest.”

“I just don’t know if I can go back to sleep after that. It’s the first time I had a real nightmare about it. The officers didn’t get there, Hen and Eddie didn’t save Dr. Daniels. I couldn’t save Dr. Daniels. And you didn’t find me because I was dead.”

“I can’t imagine how real that must have felt. But you did save Dr. Daniels. You survived. And I did find you.”

“What if it happens again and I freeze?”

“If it happens again, which is highly unlikely, I believe that you’ll act as quickly as you did with Dr. Daniels. You’re strong, brave, and extremely selfless for putting yourself in potential danger to save him, y/n.”

There is a long pause. You feel the tears coming on again, and this time you let out a small cry. You had heard repeatedly from everyone that you saved Dr. Daniels, but you minimized it to avoid acknowledging the reality of the situation. Even in therapy, you’re not sure that you have fully come to terms with what really happened that day.

“Hey, do you want me to come over? We don’t have to talk about it. I can bring ice cream and we can watch a movie, play a game, or I can just be there. Whatever you need.”

“Yes please.” you manage to say softly. It takes you a few deep breaths before you’re able to give him your address. You can hear the faint typing on his phone, likely plugging in your address to his navigation app.

“I’ll be there soon. I’ll text you when I get there, okay?”

“Okay.”

When you say your goodbyes and hang up, you have to take a breather. Your chest is heaving with each deep breath you try to take, but it ends up being repeated shallow breaths that hitch in your throat.

Buck is a saint sent from above, you think to yourself.

Once you feel like you have gained some composure, you stand up to head over to your room- which is just your bed, nightstand, and dresser on the opposite side of the living room because you live in a studio apartment. You pull out a pair of sleep shorts and a matching tank top before heading into the bathroom.

The shower feels nice as you step under it, hitting your chest and running down your body. Water has always been grounding for you. When you had first started college, the new workload and routine had affected you majorly. You were taking more showers than normal and realized that the feeling and sounds of running water was soothing to you.

You skip washing your hair as you had just washed earlier in the day. But you lather up your loofah with the lavender night time body wash you purchased after the shooting. It may have been a bit more than what you normally spend on body wash, but it really seemed to help relax you. Or it helped create a placebo effect of relaxation.

You dry off and put on the clothes you picked out, skipping underwear but switching to a simple sports bra and abandoning the one you previously had on.

You don’t know how long you’ve been sitting on the edge of your bed, staring off into space. Your mind is numb as you try not to think about anything. If you focus on the nightmare too much, you may not be able to leave your apartment.

Your phone pinging from the other room disturbs you from your thoughts. You don’t jump this time, taking it as a small win. You view the text that lets you know that Buck is in the lobby and needs to be let up.

You grab your keeps, slipping on your flamingo slippers. You check the peephole- empty. You know the building is secure. But still, you clutch the sharp tool on your keychain as you unlock the door.

The ride down the six flights feels longer than normal, reminding you how slow time feels when you’re anxious. You’re relieved when you see him waiting for you. He has a grocery bag in one hand and a duffel bag slung over his shoulder.

You feel eyes following you. Are they admiring him? Judging you? When someone like Buck is seen with someone like you.. No, that doesn’t matter. He’s not judging you, so why judge yourself?

“Hi.”

It’s a simple word and probably the best you can give him right now, especially in front of all the strangers hanging out in the lobby. He smiles, giving you a soft hey before he pulls you in for a hug.

You’re body tenses at first, but relax quickly as his arms wrap around you, his warmth melting away any lingering fear. You hug him back, arms fitting around his torso..

He smells so good; fresh, clean, crisp. He could easily rival and beat the smell of the body wash you’ve been using to relax.

It reminds you of an ocean breeze. You didn’t grow up near beaches or California itself, but you have grown to love going on beach walks, feeling the warm sand on your toes. You hadn’t been to the beach in a while, not since school started in August. You tend to go on more woodsy nature walks during the fall. Maybe you two could go on a nature walk soon. You smiled at the potential plan.

He pulls back, flashing that golden retriever grin of his as he looks down at you.

“I bought vanilla and some caramel sauce. Thought it’d be a safe option, since I didn’t ask what kind of ice cream you like...”

You stare back up at him, a small smile tugging at the corner of your mouth. You may still feel anxious, but at least you had someone as considerate as Buck to keep you company. “Good choice, Buckley.”

He laughs and it's easy,familiar- like you’ve known it for years. His arm settles around your shoulders, pulling you into his side. The tension in your chest loosens, feeling like you can finally breathe again. He’s warm, just like his personality. His voice steady, grounding. He drowns out the negativity in your head.

“That’s what I like to hear. Now let’s go eat this, shall we?”

#evan buck is a sweetheart #evan buckley x y/n #evan buckley x you #evan buckley x reader #evan buckley #911 x you #reader insert #x reader #911 x reader #911 fanfic #911 show #911 abc #x you #x y/n #light angst #light fluff #a strangers jacket series

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tempered-grace · 2 months ago

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GET CROCHETED YOU NERD (affectionate)

details below

the little guy is about 3 1/2 inches tall and crocheted out of regular embroidery thread! no pattern just vibes, plus a lot of embroidery and edge crocheting (as a side note. metallic embroidery thread is of the devil and i never want to touch it again)

Legs and body were crocheted together, the head is all white with the mouth area done in tapestry crochet, then the eyes, logo, and gold detail were embroidered on when i was done. The cloak, leg things, and pauldron were all crocheted separately and sewed in place (although really only the pauldron is sewn in place, the cloak and leg things are kind of just tied on)

The arms were also sewn on lol

Then at the last minute I added the necklace and the little "sword" -- which is literally just sewn with a couple passes of thread onto the hand

The little loop is because he's meant to be a little backpack charm or ornament or something (if anyone makes one and hangs it on a christmas tree, PLEASE let me know!) but it could easily be taken off so he's just a little figurine

If you really really want a pattern, DM me and I'll try to remember what I did lol

the base body is really simple, both the legs are:

sc 6 in a magic ring. (inc, sc) around to get 9 stitches. work 8 more rows.

Then you join them together, work two or three rows in the torso and switch to dark grey. I think I did about 7 or 8 rounds just sc, then on the next one decreased to 12 st. at this point I stuffed it (with scrap fabric since i didnt actually have stuffing lmao) and then decreased to 6.

The head is just as simple, although there's a little colorwork involved that you can kind of just eyeball. I started with 6 in a magic ring, and increased to 12, then 18, then 24. I worked about 5 rounds of just white, then on the next round started on the colorwork. It was just 3 or 4 stitches of grey, which I then carried around the rest of the round. The next round of colorwork was worked along with decreases, but I essentially just added another grey stitch or two on each side of the section from the previous round. Then For the next round of decreases I just did all grey, same with the last round. Again, I stuffed it after decreasing to 12 stitches in the round.

The head and body are sewn together like any other stuffed creature. The arms are basically the same as the legs, except once finished they are flattened at the open end and sewn to the junction between the head and body after being stuffed.

The cloak was. annoying. but essentially i made a chain, and crocheted in a "c" shape (so i would go around one end, but at the other would stop and turn. The end where you go around becomes the hood. For the little sleeves, I just chained about 5 and skipped 3 stitches, eyeballing where they would go by holding the cloak up to the body.

The leg things and pauldron were a series of sc, hdc, dc, picot, hdc, sc worked flat, then going and doing the same thing in the back loop. For the leg things, since they have a point at the top of the knee, I went all the way around and did the same thing twice, once on each side of the cast on chain.

Then of course, everything is finished with sc around the edges in gold thread.

The pauldron i slip stitched around to prevent it from getting too bulky, really either one works depending what you prefer.

The mask like i said before is all embroidered, I used three strands for the logo and the full six for the eyes. the gold around the mouth of the mask is chain stitch, but you could also surface crochet i guess

thats about it, I haven't added the feathers yet but I imagine it'll just be a bunch of loops of black thread sewn to the back of the cloak, I'll probably reblog with how i did it.

Also, as a final note, I made this on the 12th but scheduled it a couple days later since its SOMEONE'S birthday gift!

#sleep token art #sleep token fanart #crochet #sleep token #vessel #crochetssel?#fiber arts #yall come look at the Little Guy i made!!!!

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valentiyne · 24 days ago

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𝖾𝗒𝖾𝗌 𝗐𝗂𝖽𝖾 ✘ 𝗍𝖺𝗌𝗆!𝗉𝖾𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗄𝖾𝗋

PART TWO OF BLINDSIDED

TASM!Peter Parker x Fem!Reader

Summary: Uncovering the truth about your little affair with Spiderman to your oblivious Exboyfriend!Peter. What could go wrong?

Warnings: Mild cursing & Peter being a dork. This is filled with Angst i'm so sorry.

Word Count: 6.5k

I barely heard the bell ring.

Professor Harding’s voice droned like an electric fan in the distance, muffled beneath the weight of my own thoughts. Molecules. Compounds. Covalent bonds. None of it landed. The sharp smell of dry erase markers, the scratch of pencils on paper, normally grounding. Today? Just static.

All I could focus on was him.

For two straight weeks, Spiderman had walked me home every night from the diner. Rain or shine, like clockwork, he’d drop down from some alleyway shadow or slide in from a nearby rooftop right around 9:02 p.m. Never 9. Never 9:05. Just after I dumped the day’s coffee filters and locked the side door. Always on time. Always with stories.

But not the kind of stories you’d expect from someone who, according to The Daily Bugle and every trending hashtag, had helped take down numerous space aliens. No, these were tales of small time crooks. Purse snatchers. A guy shoplifting allergy meds. A skateboarder who tagged the wrong warehouse.

It didn’t add up.

Why was Spiderman spending so much time walking someone like me home? And why was he telling me about things that didn’t match the magnitude of who he was supposed to be?

“Hey,” a voice whispered beside me. “Are you okay?”

I blinked.

Felicia Hardy was leaning sideways in her seat, one arm draped over the back of her chair, eyebrows knitted in concern. Her shining I hadn’t even noticed her move. Hadn’t noticed anything.

“You’ve been drawing the same hexagon for five minutes,” she added, glancing down at my notebook.

I looked.

She was right. My page was filled with the same six sided shape, traced over again and again until it was nearly worn through the paper. A crude attempt at a benzene ring. Or maybe just a nervous loop I’d been stuck in.

“Yeah,” I said quickly, flipping the page. “Just tired.”

“Spiderman tired?” She asked, voice low, teasing, but something in her expression hinted she was fishing.

I froze. A little too long.

Felicia raised both brows now. “Why the weird expression?”

“I- what? No,” I said, way too fast, laughing awkwardly. “Why would I...?"

“You just twitched like Peter does when he lies.” She narrows her eyes, piercing through me like a cat.

“Felia!”

She held up her hands innocently. “Okay, okay! Just sayin’. You’ve got that whole ‘I’m hiding something cool and it’s definitely Spiderman related vibe going on. Plus I saw you liked the Daily Bugle's instagram post of him..."

I pressed my fingers to my temple, trying to shake off the heat rushing to my cheeks. The last thing I needed was her putting pieces together. Because if anyone could? It was her.

One of Peter Parker’s best friend. Peter, who hadn’t shown up in days.

“Where is he anyway?” I asked, maybe too casually. “Peter, I mean. Haven’t seen him since last Friday.”

Her grin dimmed slightly. “Sick day? I think. He said something about not feeling great. Haven’t heard much since. But, still it’s Peter. He disappears and then comes back with a thousand apologies.”

The bell rings right as she finishes talking, so i stand and swing my backpack over my shoulder. I was ready to leave this lecture hall.

The cafeteria was loud, metal trays slamming down on tables, someone blasting music from a phone they’d hidden under their hoodie, and the unmistakable snap of a soda can opening too close to someone’s math notes. Same chaos as always.

I sat under one of the shaded trees just outside, the one near the edge of the courtyard where the noise dulled to something bearable. I wasn’t even hungry, just picking at the fries on my tray, watching the sky shift from morning gray to that flat blue that meant the afternoon heat was coming in fast.

Felicia dropped down onto the bench beside me with all the grace of a cat who owned the place.

“Morning, sunshine.”

I gave her a look. “It’s lunchtime.”

“Semantics.” She stole a fry. “So… you seeing someone?”

I blinked. “What?”

“You heard me.”

I frowned. “Why are you asking?”

She raised an eyebrow. “Because I happen to know a certain web slinging someone has been walking you home lately. Every night. Same time. Like clockwork.”

My stomach twisted. “That’s not, he’s just making sure I get home safe.”

“Oh please.” Felicia popped another fry into her mouth, looking far too smug. “The Spider doesn’t just play bodyguard unless he’s got a thing for you.”

I tried to hide my face behind my cup, but it was no use. She grinned wider.

“I mean, honestly,” she drawled. “You do have a type. Brooding. Secretive. Drenched in guilt. How’s the conversation? All rooftop confessions and vague emotional tension?”

“Felicia,” I warned, voice tight.

“Bet he says your name all hushed like he’s afraid it might break him,” she teased, putting her hand to her chest dramatically. “Do you two make meaningful eye contact through the mask?”

I was this close to throwing my soda at her when, “What are you talking about?”

Peter’s voice cut through the air like a blade.

Felicia turned first, then me.

He stood a few feet away, shoulders a little hunched like they always were. His tray was balanced awkwardly in one hand. The other shoved into the pocket of his hoodie.

He wasn’t looking at me.

At all.

Just staring straight at Felicia, as if she was the only one speaking. As if I didn’t exist.

Felicia leaned back, relaxed and amused. “Oh, nothing. Just teasing our girl here about her very punctual walking buddy. You know, the one in bright red spandex?”

Peter blinked once.

His expression didn’t change much, barely a twitch of his jaw. But something shifted in his eyes.

He looked like someone had just pulled the floor out from under him and he didn’t want anyone to see it.

“Spiderman?” he asked. Still not looking at me.

Felicia nodded, watching him like she knew something.

Peter’s mouth pressed into a line.

“Oh,” he said, so flat it might as well have been a whisper.

Then he looked down at his tray, lips parting like he had something else to say. But whatever it was got lost somewhere between his throat and his pride.

And then, he turned.

Didn’t even sit down. Just walked away, moving fast through the crowd, like if he kept going, maybe no one would notice how much it rattled him.

But I did.

I watched the way his shoulders stiffened, the way his head dropped just enough to hide his face. He was halfway across the courtyard before I could even open my mouth.

Felicia let out a low whistle. "Well, that hit a nerve.”

I didn’t say anything.

Not because I didn’t want to, but because my heart was still racing. Because my stomach had dropped the second he walked away like I wasn’t even there.

Later that night, the diner buzzed with the usual hum of coffee cups clinking and the jukebox skipping over scratched tracks. The smell of hash browns lingered in the air, mixed with the sharper scent of burnt grease from the fryer we still hadn’t cleaned out properly.

I tied my apron tighter around my waist and leaned over the counter, watching the front door like I was expecting someone.

Because I was. It was 9:01 p.m.

Not yet.

He’d always shown up just after nine. Maybe this was the night I’d finally ask him why. Or what he wanted. Or, God...maybe even who he was. Because I had suspicions. Small things. A tilt of the head. A hesitant laugh. The way he always fidgeted with the edge of his glove like it didn’t quite fit.

9:02. Still nothing.

I cleaned the espresso machine twice. Dumped the coffee filters. Locked the side door. Nothing.

When I finally stepped outside, the night was heavy. The kind of humid that made my shirt cling to my back and my keys stick in my pocket. I waited.

Ten minutes passed. Then fifteen. I for sure missed the bus ride home.

No Spiderman.

No jokes about the guy who tried to rob a bodega with a water gun. No half laughed excuses for showing up late because of a “weird pigeon chase.”

Just silence.

I shoved my hands deep in my jacket pockets and started walking.

The city at night could feel like a thousand different things. A carnival. A war zone. A ghost town.

Tonight it felt like a question I didn’t have an answer to.

I turned the corner onto 53rd and paused beneath a flickering streetlight. Half of me hoped he’d drop down from the fire escape with some sarcastic remark about how dramatic I looked. The other half wasn’t sure what I’d say if he did.

Because I didn’t just miss him. I was starting to worry.

The kind of worry that gnawed at your ribs like guilt.

What if he was hurt? What if those dumb stories about small crimes weren’t dumb at all, what if they were all he could manage between something bigger going on?

What if walking me home was the only time he got to be a kid?

I leaned against the cold brick wall and looked up at the stars. The clouds shifted, swallowing them whole. I waited a few more minutes, then turned and kept walking.

The hum of the city was faint outside my bedroom walls like a lullaby for the restless. A far off siren. The dull roar of traffic several blocks away. Somewhere beneath it all, the low mechanical rattle of a busted air conditioning unit that had lived just outside my window since before I moved in.

My eyes fluttered closed. It had been nearly a week since I’d seen him.

No Spiderman waiting outside the diner. No footsteps alongside mine as I walked home. Just quiet. Empty sidewalk. The usual ache.

I tried not to let it bother me. He didn’t owe me anything. He was a superhero. He had… well, superhero things to do.

But something in my chest ached. And it wasn’t just disappointment.

It was the strange feeling that something had gone wrong. And I keep going back to blaming Peter. It was hard to tell if I missed him, or just missed having someone to be mad at.

My breath evened out. The sheets were tangled around my legs, the night air warm enough that my skin stuck to them. I was just on the edge of sleep when...

Tap. Tap. TapTapTapTap.

I jolted upright.

The sound was fast. Urgent. Desperate. I turned toward the window. At first, I thought I was still dreaming. The sound of my heartbeat in my ears, the sluggish haze of sleep still crawling over my thoughts. But then it came again-

Tap. TapTap.

I scrambled out of bed, nearly tripping on the comforter, and rushed to the window. And there he was.

Spiderman.

Slumped against the frame, one arm barely keeping him upright as his body bobbed and swayed like he couldn’t fully support it. His suit, usually pristine or at worst dust covered, was torn to shreds. His mask clung to his face by threads. One lens was completely cracked.

Blood stained the fabric across his side. Dark. Soaked through.

“Oh my God!"

I fumbled with the latch and shoved the window open, catching him just as his arm slipped. His weight collapsed forward, and I managed to hook my arms beneath his shoulders and pull him inside, barely keeping us both upright as we hit the floor hard.

He didn’t yelp. But he groaned, the sound deep and wet and raw. His head lolled forward, chest rising and falling in sharp, uneven bursts.

“What happened?” I whispered, heart pounding as I tried to steady him, get a look at the damage. “Jesus, what the hell happened to you?”

He didn’t answer.

His hand clutched his side. Blood oozed through his fingers. Not fresh, already thickened and sticky, but still coming.

“You need a hospital-"

“No,” he croaked, shaking his head once. “No hospital.”

His voice was so hoarse I almost didn’t recognize it.

“You’re hurt!"

“Please,” he rasped, leaning his head back against the side of my bed. “Just...don’t call anyone. I...I didn’t know where else to go.”

I stared at him.

This wasn’t the same person who made dumb jokes and told me stories about stopping candy bar thieves. This was someone barely hanging on.

“You shouldn’t be here,” I said quietly, eyes scanning his face, trying not to let the panic crawl into my voice. “Why are you here?”

He looked up at me slowly, one good eye catching the light through the broken lens. His breath hitched. “You were the only one I could think of.”

My chest twisted. He sounded terrified. And not just of dying.

But of me seeing him like this.

I knelt beside him, hands trembling as I reached out. “Okay. Okay, just...let me help.”

The suit was sticking to his skin in places, ripped through across his ribs, his shoulder, his thigh. I didn’t even know where to start. But I grabbed the scissors from my drawer, and with every snip, every glimpse of bruised skin or gash, my stomach turned colder.

This wasn’t just a fight. This was something brutal.

“Who did this to you?” I whispered.

He didn’t answer.

His jaw clenched as I peeled back the shredded fabric, revealing a deep gash across his ribs. Clean. Precise. Like something sharp had sliced through.

“You’re lucky it didn’t hit your lungs,” I said without thinking. My hands were moving on instinct, grabbing peroxide, gauze, the kit under my sink I hadn’t touched in months. “Hold this here.”

He nodded weakly and pressed the cloth against the wound.

I worked quietly, trying not to let the tension drown me. But my eyes kept flicking to his face. His mouth. The line of his jaw under the mask.

He wasn’t talking anymore. Just breathing. Barely.

But something about the curve of his brow, the faintest scar above his lip, the line of his throat...it felt familiar.

And that scared the hell out of me.

He shouldn’t feel familiar.

By the time I was done, he was still breathing heavy but stable. I wrapped the worst of the injuries, though he flinched at every touch. His body was lined in bruises, across his ribs, his shoulder, his thigh. His hands were scraped raw, like he’d been dragging himself across pavement.

“You need to sleep,” I said gently, pressing a clean towel to his forehead. “At least for a couple hours.”

He didn’t argue.

I slid a blanket over him and leaned back, sitting on the floor beside the bed. Just staring. Just breathing.

This man, this superhero, had somehow ended up at my window. Beaten. Bleeding. Like I was the only place he could think to go. Like I was his last option.

I watched him sleep. Or maybe just pass out. His chest rose and fell slowly now, his features finally still. And with every second, I found myself leaning closer. Studying him. Trying to see the man under the mask.

And suddenly…

A sick, twisting thought slid into my head.

My back was pressed against the wall, knees pulled into my chest, as I sat on the floor across from him. Spiderman. Passed out. Or unconscious. Or… healing, maybe. I didn’t know how his body worked. Didn’t know if he’d still be breathing in a few hours. All I knew was that he hadn’t moved since he collapsed.

And I hadn’t stopped watching.

The blanket I’d thrown over him had slipped off one shoulder, revealing the edge of the fresh bandage I’d wrapped across his chest. His mask, shredded at the sides, was soaked with dried blood along the seam where his jaw met the fabric. One of his gloves had come halfway off during the fall, exposing bruised knuckles and skin rubbed raw.

He looked human.

Too human.

That was what scared me the most.

I didn’t know his name.

But I swore I knew the shape of his face.

I gnawed at the inside of my cheek, legs cramping beneath me from hours of being still. My eyes burned, but I couldn’t sleep. Not while he was like this. Not while my mind kept playing this twisted, aching guessing game.

I glanced at the clock.

4:42 a.m.

And I was still wide awake.

My eyes dropped to the tear in his mask, to the curve of his jaw barely visible in the streetlight bleeding through the blinds. He had a small scar just beneath the edge of the fabric. One I thought I recognized, but I wasn’t sure.

I shifted slightly, reaching for the glass of water by my bed. My hand paused halfway. I stared at him. My fingers clenched.

What if I just looked? Just a peek?

Just a little. Just enough to confirm it, or put it to rest. One tug, and I’d know. I’d finally know why his voice tugged at something old and bruised inside me. Why he showed up at my diner. Why he looked at me like I was someone worth saving.

I hesitated.

The tip of my finger grazed the fabric just beneath his jaw.

But before I could move further-

“Why are you staring so hard?”

I flinched.

His voice was quiet. Rough from sleep. Barely a whisper. But awake. I yanked my hand back like I’d been burned.

He was still lying down, still weak, but his head had turned slightly, just enough for his half-shattered mask to tilt my way. One eye visible through the fractured lens, tracking me in the dark.

“I..I wasn’t,” I lied instantly, heart pounding.

“Uh huh,” he rasped, sounding more amused than angry. “You’ve been burning a hole in my face for… what? An hour? Two?”

“Three,” I muttered before I could stop myself.

He chuckled, but it turned into a cough...dry and shallow.

“Okay, well… that’s not unsettling at all,” he said between wheezes.

I grabbed the glass and handed it to him. “Drink. Slowly.”

He obeyed, hand trembling slightly as he took it. Water sloshed down the side of his glove. He looked like he’d barely lifted his arm before it gave out, and I had to help him tilt the glass to his mouth. Our fingers brushed.

God, his skin was warm.

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” I said softly.

His head rested back against the side of the bed. He let out a long breath through the mask, tension easing just a little as the water hit his system.

“It’s okay,” he said. “I think I’d rather be awake with you than bleeding out alone.”

My chest twisted.

“Is that what you were trying to do?”

He didn’t answer.

For a moment, I thought he’d fallen back asleep, but then his fingers twitched against the rim of the glass.

“No,” he said finally. “I didn’t know where else to go.”

I nodded slowly. “You said that.”

“I meant it.”

“Why me?”

The words came out before I could bite them back.

He didn’t respond right away. Instead, he shifted, painfully, and pulled the blanket back over himself. His arm rested over his ribs, protecting the wound I hadn’t dared look at since wrapping it.

“You were the first person I thought of,” he said finally.

“That doesn’t make sense.”

“It does to me.”

“Why?”

Silence.

Then, so quietly I almost missed it:

“Because I miss you.”

I felt like the floor had dropped out from under me.

“What?”

He tensed, like he hadn’t meant to say it. Like he was suddenly regretting everything.

“You don’t know me,” I said, voice sharp. Too defensive.

His fingers curled slightly against the blanket. “Don’t I?”

I stood up.

He didn’t move, but his head tilted up toward me. That broken mask. That familiar shape beneath it. The bruised lips and scraped jaw. The hesitations in his voice. The way he always laughed like he didn’t think he deserved to.

“Take it off,” I said, the words slipping past my lips like a dare.

He stiffened.

“What?”

“Your mask.”

He didn’t speak.

I crossed my arms. “You came here. You bled out on my floor. You said you miss me. And now you’re hiding again.”

“I’m not hiding.”

“You’re literally wearing a mask.”

His breath hitched. “It’s not that simple.”

“Yes,” I said, stepping forward. “It is.”

We stared at each other, the tension coiling between us so thick I could barely breathe.

I waited.

Waited for him to do it.

For him to finally stop lying to me, if not with words, then with that mask. I wasn’t sure what I wanted more: confirmation that it wasn’t him… or proof that it was.

He sat there. Frozen.

Then he looked away.

“I didn’t come here to lie,” he said quietly. “I came because I didn’t know where else to go. And I didn’t want you to find out like this.”

“Well, you nailed it,” I said, breath catching. “Perfect execution.”

He shifted like he wanted to get up, but his body wouldn’t let him. He flinched hard and sank back to the floor.

“I’m sorry.”

His head dropped, mask torn and clinging to his sweat damp skin.

“I didn’t stop thinking about you,” he whispered.

And something in me snapped.

Enough dancing around it. Enough waiting for answers that never came.

My body moved before my thoughts caught up.

I lunged forward, grabbing the torn fabric at his jawline, and yanked.

“Wait!" he gasped, reaching up too late.

The mask peeled away with a desperate rip, half sticking to the dried blood around his cheek, until I was staring, face to face at Peter Parker.

His eyes were wide. Bloodshot. Mouth parted in a shaky breath. Hair matted to his forehead with sweat and ash. And that same scar. That same stupid scar beneath his lip from when he’d fallen off his own skateboard in eighth grade.

Time stopped.

My stomach dropped like an elevator with the cables cut.

“No,” I breathed. “No, no, no..."

“I was going to tell you!" His hands come up defensively.

“You’re Spiderman?” My voice cracked.

“I didn’t know how..."

“Oh my God,” I choked out, stumbling back. “I told you things. I told Spiderman things..personal things. Things I never would’ve said to you.”

Peter winced like I’d hit him.

“I didn’t come here to hurt you!"

“But you did!” My heart was racing. Too fast. My chest felt tight. “You stood there. Night after night. Listening to me. Pretending to be someone else. Do you have any idea how messed up that is?”

“I just wanted to be close to you again,” he said helplessly.

“So you put on a mask?” I snapped. “You let me think you were someone safe, someone who didn’t betray me. I trusted him. Spiderman.”

“I am him,” he whispered.

“No,” I said, tears stinging my eyes. “You’re Peter Parker. You’re the guy who broke me.”

He looked like he wanted to say something, anything, but his mouth just opened and closed, useless.

And all I could do was stand there, shaking, staring down at the boy who had left me once… and had the nerve to sneak back into my life wearing someone else’s face.

“You don’t get to do this,” I whispered. “You don’t get to be both.”

I stood facing the wall, arms wrapped around myself like I could physically hold everything in. Like I could somehow stop the tears burning in my eyes from spilling over. Peter hadn’t moved. I could still hear his breathing, uneven, shallow. But not from pain.

From guilt.

And good. Let it crush him.

“You shouldn’t have come here,” I said, my voice low and shaking.

“I didn’t know where else to go,” he said again, weaker this time.

“You could’ve gone to Gwen,” I spat, turning sharply. “Or was she busy playing nurse for Harry Osborn?”

The words slipped out sharper than I meant them. But I didn’t care. Felicia had told me that Gwen Stacy wasn't being faithful to Peter, but a part of me was happy that she wasn't. Serves him right

Peter’s head dropped slightly. The cut across his brow had started bleeding again, the trail running down toward his temple. His lips parted like he was going to lie, then didn’t bother.

“She’s not with me,” he said. “Not anymore.”

My eyes narrowed. “What, she break up with you before or after you decided to play dress up and follow me home for two weeks?”

“She’s with Harry,” he said, quietly now. “Or… seeing him. I don’t know. They’ve been close for a while. We broke up a few weeks ago.”

I blinked. “So you came running to me? After that fell apart?”

“No,” he said quickly. “That’s not, God, that’s not what this is.”

“Then what is it?”

He opened his mouth, but I was already moving.

I crossed the room, grabbing the mask from the floor where it had fallen, holding it in my fist like evidence. Like a confession I hadn’t agreed to.

“You showed up outside the diner. Every single night. You let me talk to you. Confide in you. You let me believe you were someone else. You knew what you were doing.”

“I didn’t mean to manipulate you,” he said, hoarse.

“Bullshit,” I snapped. “You knew exactly what you were doing. You knew I’d never open up to you. Not after what happened. So you hid. You made yourself into someone else. And I...I let myself feel safe with you. Because I didn’t know.”

Peter pushed himself up slightly, wincing as his ribs pulled under the bandages. He sat back against the bed frame, eyes never leaving me.

“I wasn’t pretending,” he said. “Everything I said to you, as Spiderman it was all real. That was still me.”

“Then why didn’t you say anything?” I demanded. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

“Because I knew you’d hate me for it.”

“You were right.”

We stared at each other.

The silence was raw. It filled every crack between us. Every piece of unfinished history.

“I never stopped caring about you,” he said quietly.

I laughed. It was bitter and broken. “You had a real funny way of showing it.”

“I made a mistake,” he said. “With Gwen. With everything. But I couldn’t undo it. And I didn’t know how to fix it. So I just… became someone else.”

“So this was what? A redemption tour?”

“No,” he said. “It was me trying to protect you."

“From what? You? Because newsflash, Parker, you’re the one who hurt me. Not Spiderman. Not Gwen. You.”

His jaw tightened. “I didn’t know what I was doing.”

“You knew enough to lie to my face.”

“I wanted to be near you again,” he admitted. “And I thought if you didn’t know it was me, maybe I could just be there for you in the only way you’d let me.”

“That’s not love,” I said coldly. “That’s manipulation.”

He flinched at that.

“I know,” he whispered. “I just… missed you.”

The words should’ve hit softer. But they didn’t.

They just burned.

I crossed my arms tighter over my chest, every muscle pulled so tight I thought I might snap in half.

“You took something from me, Peter,” I said. “You took safety. You took honesty. You took the one place I could finally breathe again after what you did.”

“I didn’t mean to..."

“But you did.” My voice cracked. “You took all of that and gave me lies. You stood under that mask and let me think I wasn’t talking to you. You made me trust you again without even giving me the chance to decide if I wanted to.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, again, helpless.

I dropped the mask at his feet like it weighed too much to hold anymore. He leaned forward, one hand pressed to his side, breathing hard.

“I didn’t want you to hate me forever,” he said.

“Then maybe you shouldn’t have left.”

The air between us grew sharp with all the things we couldn’t say.

I hated that he looked like this, broken, bruised, real. I hated that he had come to me at his most vulnerable, that he still sounded like the boy I used to love. That for two weeks, I let myself pretend there was someone else out there who saw me, really saw me, and it had been him the whole time.

And worst of all?

Some part of me still cared.

That part made me furious.

I turned away, jaw locked, chest burning.

“You can stay until the bleeding stops,” I said. “Then you need to go.”

Peter didn’t argue. But I saw the way his shoulders dropped. Like he’d already known there was no fixing this.

I couldn’t stop shaking.

I lay curled on my side in bed, arms wrapped tight around my torso like it could somehow hold in the storm still crashing through my chest. The blanket was thin, the kind you don’t notice until you’re cold and alone beneath it. It had never felt so heavy. Or so useless.

Behind me, the silence stretched.

Peter hadn’t said another word since I told him he could stay until the bleeding stopped. He didn’t plead. Didn’t push back. And that silence? It felt worse than if he had screamed.

Because it meant he knew.

He knew what he’d done to me.

The ache behind my eyes burned deeper. I blinked up at the ceiling for a long while, willing the tears not to fall.

Eventually, I heard him move. The faint rustle of cloth. A low, strained grunt as he shifted his weight and tried to sit up straighter. It sounded like it hurt.

Good.

“…I’ll take the floor,” he muttered after a moment. His voice was hoarse, less like a superhero now and more like a boy with broken ribs and nowhere to go.

I didn’t answer.

Not because I didn’t have anything to say, but because if I opened my mouth, I was afraid I wouldn’t stop. I’d pour out every fractured piece of me he didn’t deserve to hear anymore.

So I stayed still. Silent. Facing the wall.

The blanket shifted slightly as I adjusted my legs. I pretended to settle, like I was slipping into sleep. I wasn’t. I was wide awake. Every nerve lit up. Every part of me aware of his body on the floor just feet away. The low creak of him pulling one of the old throw pillows from the chair. The soft drag of fabric across carpet as he eased himself down, his breath catching when his side touched the ground.

My fists were still clenched beneath the covers.

How many nights had I thought about what I’d say if I ever saw him again?

How many times had I imagined him showing up at my door, not like this, not bleeding, but something real. A conversation. An apology. Honesty.

Instead, he wore a mask and stole my secrets like they were owed to him.

I told Spiderman things I would’ve died before telling Peter Parker. And now I had to live with that.

The minutes blurred. A numb, fragile kind of quiet settled between us. Not peaceful. Never peaceful. But quiet enough that I could hear his breathing even out. Slow. Shallow. Exhausted.

I tried to let myself drift too.

But sleep didn’t come. My mind wouldn’t stop spinning.

Did he come here just to guilt me? Was this whole thing just another one of his cowardly ways of being near me without taking responsibility? Without having to stand in front of me as himself?

Was I really that easy to fool?

And still… part of me had noticed the way he looked at me. Even with the mask. Like I was something safe. Like he wasn’t Spiderman. Just Peter. Just a boy who still carried everything he’d broken and didn’t know how to ask for forgiveness.

Zzzzt.

The sound of a zipper sliding open tore through the stillness like a blade.

My breath hitched.

I didn’t move. My eyes stayed shut, but behind my eyelids, everything sharpened. I could hear it all, clearer than before.

Another soft shift.

The metallic click of something being fastened closed again.

Then silence.

Then

Creakkkkk.

The groan of my bedroom window being slid open. The faint rattle of the glass as it moved against old, crooked tracks. I knew that sound. I’d heard it before, every night, for two weeks, when he arrived. Now I was hearing it in reverse.

Cool air slipped into the room like a whisper, brushing against my cheek.

I kept still.

I couldn’t look.

I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing me watch him leave.

There was a pause.

Long enough that I could feel it. Like he was hesitating. Like he was looking at me. Maybe wondering if he should say something. Or waiting for me to stop him.

I didn’t.

I refused.

Because if I said anything now, it would undo me.

And he didn’t deserve that.

Click.

The window slid closed again, softer than it opened. Gently. Carefully. He didn’t slam it. He didn’t try to be dramatic.

And this time, he didn’t take anything with him. Not the blood-stained gauze. Not the shredded gloves or the cracked mask still lying on my floor like a discarded lie. He didn’t even grab his hoodie or the spare web cartridges I’d noticed fall out of his pocket when I dragged him in.

My chest rose and fell in sharp, shallow waves. I pressed my hand to my mouth as a shaky breath slipped out.

He was gone.

He was really gone.

And somehow… it didn’t feel like relief. It felt like something else. Like an exit wound that wouldn’t stop bleeding.

The room was quiet again.

I rolled onto my back, blinking at the ceiling. The city sounds returned through the window he’d left from distant tires, a train groaning far away, someone yelling on a rooftop two buildings over. Normal things.

Everyday life.

But nothing about tonight had been everyday.

I turned my head and stared at the space where he’d laid just minutes before.

Along with his mask.

It sat on the floor a few feet away, crumpled and stained with sweat and blood. Torn along the jaw where I’d ripped it off. I couldn’t stop looking at it. As if the longer I stared, the more it would start to mean something different.

But it didn’t.

It just looked like betrayal.

Everything he’d been hiding behind. Everything I’d been honest with. Every part of myself I’d handed over without knowing who was beneath it.

I hated that I had loved Spiderman. And I hated that it had always been Peter.

I dozed in and out, mind drifting like the flicker of a broken streetlamp...never fully off, never fully on. I saw pieces of him in every shadow. Heard the rasp of his voice every time the floor creaked. And when I dreamed, I dreamed of red and blue fabric, unraveling in my hands like threadbare promises.

When I finally sat up, the sun hadn’t even breached the horizon. The sky outside was a dusky gray, the color of bruised clouds right before a storm. My mouth was dry. My legs heavy. But I couldn’t stay in bed.

Not with all of it still clinging to the walls.

I threw off the blanket and swung my legs over the edge of the bed, only to stumble forward as my foot caught on something near the floor.

My shin knocked against it hard. “Ow! what the hell?”

I rubbed the spot and looked down.

A box.

Wrapped in Christmas paper.

I blinked.

It was a clean, glossy red and white print sleighs and reindeer, pine trees and gold stars. A little crumpled from where I’d tripped, but otherwise still folded. The edges were too precise to be accidental. Tucked corners. Sharp tape lines. Someone had taken their time with it.

There was no tag. No name.

Just… the box.

I stared at it for a second. Confused. Christmas was months ago. And no one had given me anything wrapped like this. Definitely not Peter.

I sat down slowly, legs crossed under me, the lamp still off. The morning light was enough just enough to trace my fingers along the edges, like I expected it to vanish if I touched it too hard.

My heart picked up. I turned on the lamp.

Then, slowly, carefully, I peeled back the tape.

It wasn’t loud, but it felt loud in the quiet. Every rip echoed in my chest.

When I lifted the lid off the box, my breath caught.

Inside, resting on a nest of old newspaper, was a skateboard.

But not just any skateboard.

It was my skateboard.

Or, at least, the exact one I’d lost the night I first met Spiderman.

Oscorp Limited Edition. Matte black finish. Neon green logo across the bottom. The wheels were still scuffed in the same spots I remembered from the sidewalk crack outside the bodega where I bailed that one time. Even the little sticker I’d put on the underside, a stupid holographic frog wearing sunglasses, was still there.

I stared.

My mouth opened slowly, but no words came out.

My chest ached. It had been found.

Kept. Cared for.

I traced my fingers over the deck. The feel of it was familiar. It still held a faint scratch down the side from the time I tried to bomb that hill on 8th and barely escaped with my kneecaps intact.

I didn’t know what to feel.

A laugh slipped out. Barely a breath. Tired. Crooked.

“Christmas in May,” I muttered.

And it hit me then, this was why he came here.

Not just for a place to heal. Not just because he didn’t know where else to go.

He had planned this.

He had brought it with him. Maybe not sure if I’d ever see it. Maybe hoping I would. Maybe it was some last ditch gesture he couldn’t bear to say out loud. Maybe he thought this would make it better.

It didn’t.

But God, it hurt in a different way.

Because despite everything, he’d remembered.

He had kept it.

Some part of him had held on to a piece of me even when I couldn’t do the same for him.

I set the skateboard down slowly, gently, like it was something fragile. Then I sat back on my heels, staring at it. Wondering how someone who had lied to me so completely could still be capable of something so impossibly kind.

I sat in silence, the weight of the skateboard warm against my thighs, like it belonged there. Like it had never been gone at all.

The wrapping paper lay scattered around me, torn at the edges, wrinkled like it had been carried in a backpack for weeks. Maybe it had. The box was dented on one side, like he’d dropped it once and debated whether or not to keep going.

Of course he had.

That was Peter. Always second-guessing. Always stumbling toward what he thought was the right thing, even if it came too late.

I brushed my fingers over the tail of the board, sighing softly, when something caught my eye.

A small piece of tape.

I leaned forward and peeled it back from the inside lid of the box. Folded neatly beneath it, almost invisible unless you were looking for it, was a small square of notebook paper. Lined. Torn from the middle of a page.

My name wasn’t on it.

My fingers trembled slightly as I unfolded it.

The handwriting was unmistakable, sharp and cramped and a little uneven, like he was always writing in a rush. Probably because he was.

I read slowly.

Hey,

Sorry for missing a few days of walking you home. Was busy saving the world.

You know how it is.

Anyway…

I remembered how upset you were when you lost this. Figured maybe you’d want it back. Or maybe you’d throw it at me. Either way, worth the risk.

Also, I was wondering if you’d want to go to lunch sometime. I know a cool place a few miles from your diner. Best sandwiches in Queens. Outdoor seating.

Just… think about it, okay?

From,

Your Friendly Neighborhood Spider-Man.

I sat there, the note trembling slightly in my hands.

A laugh caught in my throat, wet and sharp and stupid.

He was such an idiot.

An idiot who remembered my favorite skateboard. Who taped a note to the inside of a box like it was a middle school locker. Who had the nerve to make me feel something again after everything.

And despite everything in me screaming that it wasn’t fair, that it wasn’t enough.

Part of me smiled.

Just a little.

DIVIDER BY: @bernardsbendystraws

Tag List: @bartxnhood @k-pevensie28 @derangedangel @personalfavsthatarerandom @thegirlinthemaroonsweater

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reccyls · 2 months ago

Text

Victor's Main Route: Chapter 9

< Previous Chapter | Masterlist | Next Chapter >

His POV Story - spoiler warning

I am going to post the POV story separately, because this is unlocked on a 2nd readthrough of Victor's route and thus contains spoilers for developments that happen later. If you'd like to read it even with the spoilers, I'll still link it.

Also a warning that this chapter contains somewhat graphic description of death. It isn't violent, but it is lingered on for a few sentences.

-----

Elbert: …Okay. Are you ready?

Kate: I’m ready, let’s go.

The next day, Elbert and I went to infiltrate the garden party.

Elbert: Victor told me about everything. Are you sure you’re okay with it?

As we walked on the tree-line path to reach our destination, Elbert looked at me with a worried expression.

Elbert: To be honest… I agree that you shouldn’t witness our executions. Elbert: The less sad memories you have, the better…

(Lord Elbert’s ability was to make someone see their saddest memory if he stepped on their shadow.)

Although I knew his concern was born of the fact that he had seen so many people tormented by their dark memories, I had already made up my mind.

Kate: Thank you for worrying about me. But I’m not backing down.

Elbert: …Alright.

When we arrived, the park was already full of people. The moment Elbert stepped foot in the venue, heads began to turn.

(Not a new occurrence for Lord Elbert…)

Enchanted by his looks, a group of women approached.

Elbert: Kate.

Kate: Got it.

I looped my arm around Elbert’s, causing the women to stop in their tracks as they regarded how close we appeared.

(Not that I doubted Victor when he told me, but I didn’t think it’d be this effective.)

After telling me that Elbert would be joining me for the garden party infiltration mission, Victor also gave me a piece of advice.

Victor: When you go to the party, Elbert is almost immediately going to be swarmed by women, so you’ll find it difficult to move around. Victor: And that’s when you come into the picture. Victor: If you two act like you have some kind of close relationship, it’ll keep them from approaching you. Victor: It may be a bit awkward, but there’s no harm in giving it a try.

(It does feel deceitful, but…)

Because he wasn’t in danger of accidentally stepping on someone’s shadow, Elbert seemed to relax just a little.

Elbert: …Thank you, Kate.

Kate: No problem. Let’s hurry and finish the mission so we can leave.

I didn’t like being the center of attention, But we still pretended to enjoy the party as we slowly began to approach our target: Viscount Baker.

Viscount Baker: It’s lovely weather today. It’s usually so cloudy all the time that clear skies like this are hard to come by.

Slender Noble: Yes, that’s true… By the way, I heard that business has been booming for you recently. Slender Noble: If you could spare any advice, I’d love to hear it.

Viscount Baker: Oh, so you’re interested as well! It’d be lovely to have another fellow in the industry.

Kate: Thank you for inviting me to such a wonderful party.

Elbert: …I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself.

We stood with our backs to them, sipping champagne and making small talk. I strained my ears to listen to the viscount, who had begun to whisper.

Viscount Baker: It’s all quite simple, you see. You don’t need beautiful gems, even ordinary rocks are good enough. Viscount Baker: Quality over quantity, I say. That’s where the money is. Viscount Baker: A jewel disappearing causes a ruckus, but who cares if a pebble on the roadside goes missing?

The viscount’s words were laden with insinuation. I exchanged glances with Elbert.

Viscount Baker: It’s just a matter of rounding them up and selling them off. Simple work. What do you say?

Slender Noble: I’d love to hear more.

Viscount Baker: Then let us find somewhere else to talk, there are too many eyes and ears here.

Staying hidden behind the trees, we tailed the two noblemen. Elbert had a distressed look on his face.

Elbert: Gems… rocks… collecting and selling…

‘Collecting and selling’ means… (+4/+4)

‘Gems’ means…

‘Rocks’ means…

Kate: When he says ‘collecting and selling’, he means…

Elbert: …He’s speaking in code. When he talks about selling rocks… he means selling children.

Hidden away in the shadow of a tree, I overheard something horrific.

Viscount Baker: Just recently a customer who bought a rock from me destroyed it almost right away. Viscount Baker: But ah, no harm, no foul, isn’t that right? I just prepared another rock to send over. Viscount Baker: They’re all homeless anyway. Nobody cares about them. Viscount Baker: No matter what happens to them, they’ll all enjoy it anyway.

(How dare he…!?)

The two of them looked like demons with how carelessly they were laughing. My blood boiled and I had to clamp my hand over my mouth to stop myself from yelling. Elbert looked down sadly.

Elbert: …That’s enough evidence.

After making sure that the viscount and the other noble were far away enough, I let go of my mouth.

Elbert: Are you okay?

I couldn’t respond, still hearing the viscount’s laughter ringing in my ears.

(How could he laugh like that…?)

My hands began to shake out of both sorrow and anger as I imagined all the children he must have hurt. Elbert noticed. The tone of his voice when he next spoke was gentle.

Elbert: Let’s go back… to the castle.

Kate: …Okay.

There wasn’t any more reason to stay here. I nodded at Elbert’s suggestion, and we began to make our way back. Just then–

Elbert: …Victor?

Kate: Huh?

When I looked up, I saw Victor at the garden party. He was speaking to a woman off to the side.

(What is he doing here?)

The atmosphere between him and the woman was different than normal. He whispered something to the woman, who looked delighted as she playfully smacked his arm. I found myself slowing to a halt to watch them, mesmerized by how close they appeared. What were they talking about? Why was he here? The questions rose to mind and then faded away, leaving me with only a vague longing.

(...I thought that I was the only one he talked that closely with.)

I didn’t know why I thought that. Maybe I had come to expect too much, after all the time that we had spent with each other.

Elbert: …Kate.

When Elbert called my name, my gaze snapped away from the scene.

Kate: Sorry about that. Let’s go.

Actually, I wanted to call out to Victor. But I couldn’t bring myself to, due to the heavy weight that had settled in my chest. And so I headed home after this mission where I encountered the worst kind of evil, with a sense of loneliness and an indescribable emotion in my heart.

Victor: …

But little did I know that the reaper had been watching.

-----

Kate: “Thank you.”

I lifted the paper where I had written out my thanks to the maid, who smiled brightly. She bowed her head and then exited my room. I looked at my reflection in the mirror.

(She did amazing work. I almost can’t believe this is me.)

I was wearing a much more elaborate dress than I usually did, since I was going to tonight’s social gathering. I lightly brushed my hand against my music box.

(I didn’t see Victor at all today.)

Because the queen would be appearing at the social gathering tonight, Victor had been unavailable all day.

(But maybe that’s for the best.)

If I saw him, I wouldn’t be able to stop myself from asking about the woman from yesterday. What kind of relationship did they have? What else about him did I not know? I could easily picture him dodging the question.

(I’m probably just going to end up feeling upset again if I don’t get the answer that I want.)

Even if he told me there isn’t any relationship, or if he just brushed off my question, I didn’t think I’d be satisfied. And I didn’t even understand where this uneasiness was coming from.

???: It’s me. Are you ready?

There was a knock at my door and I hurried to open it. William was standing there as I opened the door. He gave me a look over, and sounded impressed.

William: You look lovelier than usual. It suits you.

Kate: Thank you.

William: Well then, let’s go.

…

Inside the carriage, William was enjoying the sights out the window as we spoke.

William: I received the information you and Elbert brought back yesterday. William: As you thought, those ‘rocks’ were indeed homeless children.

(I knew it.)

I was still concerned about Victor, but this was my primary aim tonight.

William: Viscount Baker started a membership club for guests of the hotel he had invested in. William: That’s where he was prostituting the children he picked up. William: He lured them in with promises of food and the chance to live a comfortable life with a roof above their heads. William: And once he had them in his grasp, they were nothing more than products to be sold.

Kate: And if they didn’t…

William: You can probably imagine what happened to them.

I understood what he was insinuating and had to shut my eyes. Viscount Baker's laughter still echoed in my mind.

William: So have you determined whether this is an evil that needs to be punished?

I slowly nodded.

Kate: Yes, I’ve decided.

I opened my eyes, and took a breath.

William: And your decision is?

His blood-red eyes pierced right through me. I opened my mouth to speak.

Kate: Viscount Baker– Kate: –is evil, and must be punished.

-----

Shining chandeliers cast their light on the finely dressed ladies and tuxedo-wearing gentlemen below. There was not yet any music playing in the dancehall, so the room was filled with the sound of gossip flying every which way and gazes cast our way.

(I thought the same when I was with Lord Elbert, but William stands out too.)

Everyone was dressed very formally tonight, as Her Majesty would be in attendance later.

William: He hasn’t arrived yet.

I cast my gaze over the ballroom, and didn’t spot the viscount.

William: Just as well.

Kate: Do you want to kill him before anyone else sees him?

William: Full marks for our robin. William: If we take care of him before he arrives in the main hall, then it’ll be simple to just act like he never showed up at all.

In high spirits, William led me from the ballroom to the foyer. There was a line of carriages dropping off their occupants one after the other. We were just in time to see the viscount stepping out of his carriage.

William: Perfect timing.

As soon as I saw him, my heart began to race.

(Soon, he’s going to–)

A cold sweat began to form on my forehead. William noticed.

William: You can stand somewhere else while I do it. What do you think?

Kate: …No. I’m okay.

I had to see things through to the very end. Before Viscount Baker entered the hall, he went out into the gardens in search of a place to smoke. The only sound in the garden was water running through the fountain. He lit a match and the flame danced in the breeze. Just as he was about to put the cigar to his lips–

Viscount Baker: What–

William put it out.

William: It’s a nice night, isn’t it, Viscount Baker?

Viscount Baker: You’re… Lord Rex.

When he saw William’s face, he instinctively took a step back. However, he was right against the fountain, and there was nowhere to retreat to.

William: Trying to run away as soon as I show my face? Am I so frightening?

Viscount Baker: N-no, I was just… er…

William’s grin only grew as the viscount floundered.

William: I have something I want to ask you. William: Recently the hotel you invested in has become very popular. Quite mysterious.

Anxiety raced across the viscount’s face.

William: I believe you know what I’m about to ask.

The viscount, who had been staying silent, then began to laugh uncontrollably.

Viscount Baker: Ahahaha, hahaha! So it’s true after all! William Rex is the queen’s dog!

William: I don’t know where you happened to hear that from, but I don’t belong to anyone. William: If it appears that way, it’s only because our wills and values align.

Viscount Baker’s curled into a deranged smile at William’s words.

Viscount Baker: If you know already, then I don’t need to beat around the bush. Viscount Baker: It’s true, I sell the rocks I find to other nobles. Viscount Baker: What’s so wrong about that?

The viscount, still defiant, spread his arms wide and laughed.

Viscount Baker: I’m just giving those brats a purpose instead of leaving them to dirty our country. Isn’t that the greatest charity I can give them?

Kate: How dare–

Viscount Baker: The poor are sinners. Those who are born into nothing aren’t even people. Viscount Baker: They’re barely worth any more than livestock.

Every single cell in my body was instantly filled with rage. As I listened to the viscount laugh, I was gripping the hem of my dress so hard I was afraid it’d rip.

Kate: …You’re wrong.

Viscount Baker: Hah?

Kate: There’s nothing sinful about that!

I couldn’t stop myself.

Kate: People can’t choose what they’re born into! They can only live with the circumstances and the world they’re born into. Kate: It’s because you call them sinners that you don’t see anything wrong with exploiting and killing them. Kate: If there’s anyone who’s a sinner, it’s you, and your sin is a thousand times worse than anything you claim they’re guilty of. Kate: You can never be forgiven for all the lives you took.

My eyes were burning. I could only imagine the pain of everyone he had taken advantage of, and it battered at my heart like waves. But I still forced my temper back, took a deep breath, and looked again at the viscount. I had to sentence him.

Kate: You are pure evil. You have no place in this country. Kate: Evil must be paid unto evil.

William: Now that’s a proper Fairytale Keeper.

As soon as I finished speaking, William gave me a pat on the shoulder and took a step forward. It was time for the viscount’s sentence to be carried out.

William: “Strangle yourself.” William: “So that you know the pain of everyone you’ve trampled, draw it out. Make it last.”

Viscount Baker: Agh- ah, my hands are–!!

He gurgled and writhed in agony as his hands squeezed tighter and tighter around his own neck, then toppled over and fell to the ground. After a few minutes, the viscount’s face grew pale, and spittle dribbled from his mouth. His convulsions stopped and his eyes had fully rolled up into his head. His hands slid away from his neck as he grew limp, and laid motionless there in the garden.

William: His sentence is complete.

The half-moon peeking through the clouds cast its cold light on the viscount’s body.

#ikemen villains #victor (ikevil)#my translation

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whump-imagines · 6 months ago

Text

Too Much Coffee

Connor x reader

WC: 1500 ish

Warnings: overdose... caffeine, but still.

@whumpcember day 9 shaking

---

“It's two in the morning. What are you still doing up?”

You startled at the sound of Connor’s voice having not heard him come home. “Holy shit, make some noise when you come in.”

He chuckled. “I thought you'd be asleep and I was trying not to wake you.”

You glanced at the clock then not having realized how late it'd gotten. “Oh, right. Well I have to finish this proposal anyway and I wasn't tired.” You lift your mug and drain the remaining coffee. Setting it back down, you press your thumb into your temple and rub your forehead to relieve the growing headache.

Connor stood silently watching you. As you reached for your keyboard he saw your hands shake. “How much coffee have you had?”

“Um, a pot… or maybe two?”

His eyes widened before he made his way over and knelt beside you. He took your hand and pressed his fingers into your pulse as he looked at his watch. He shook his head before he locked eyes with you. “126 and irregular. Sweetheart, you have to be careful with that much caffeine.”

“Oops,” you shrugged, giving him a guilty smile.

“Come on,” he requested, offering you his hand.

You took the offered hand and stood. As you did, the world spun slightly and you gripped his hand harder. He wrapped an arm around you and gently leaned you into his chest. “Okay, maybe I don't feel so good.”

“Dizzy?” he asked.

You took a deep breath trying to settle the feeling. “Yeah, and maybe a bit nauseous.”

“Alright. Let's go sit on the couch.” He slowly led you out of the office and settled you onto the couch. “Try some slow, deep breaths and just relax.”

A few minutes later, he came back with a tray. He set it on the table and handed you a glass of water. “Drink some of that first.”

You saluted before taking the glass. “Yes, sir.” He pulled his stethoscope from around his neck that you hadn't noticed. “Where did you get that?”

He raised an eyebrow at you. “The entry table where it sits with my keys and wallet.”

You rolled your eyes. “I know that. I meant when and why?”

“While I was boiling water for oatmeal and because your heart is still racing and I need to keep an eye on that,” he explained.

“How do you know that from over there?” you asked. “Are you psychic now? Or maybe you have x-ray vision.”

He chuckled. “Well, for one,” he traced his fingers softly down your neck until you could feel your pulse beat against his fingers, “I can see your pulse in your neck here. And for two, I know that much caffeine doesn't wear off in ten minutes.”

“You know, you make my heart race like this, too. You don't worry about it then,” you tease.

“That's very different, smart-ass. Now will you drink that, please.” He nodded to the water in your hand.

“Okay, okay.” You sipped the water as he placed the tips in his ears and the diaphragm on your chest. You tried not to squirm under his attention.

He looped the stethoscope back around his neck. “Still way too fast and skippy. You do know it's possible to OD on caffeine, right?”

“I didn't mean to drink so much. I was on auto-pilot working on that stupid proposal.”

“It's okay. You just need to eat and hydrate a lot and it'll be okay.” He leaned in and kissed your forehead. “Oatmeal or banana first?”

“Oatmeal, please.”

He leaned forward to grab the bowl and handed it to you. “Here you go. What are we binging?”

“Hmm, how about House?” He just glared at you and you laughed. “Grey’s Anatomy?”

“That's worse. Why are you trying to torture me?”

You snorted a laugh. “I was just kidding. How about Suits?”

“Deal.” He turned on the TV and started an episode. “I need you to finish that water before this episode is over.”

Half an hour later, you'd finished eating and emptied the glass. “Pause, please,” you asked.

“You can keep watching. I'll get you more water,” he offered, already moving to stand.

“And I'll let you.” You handed him your glass. “But we still need to pause. I have to pee.”

“Oh, right.” He offered you a hand and pulled you up from the couch. “Still dizzy?”

“Uh, a little but not too bad. I can make it there on my own.”

He nodded once, looking as if he was contemplating your answer. “Okay. Shout if you need me. Otherwise, I'll meet you back here.” He squeezed your hand softly before releasing you.

As you headed back to the couch, Connor popped his head out of the kitchen. “How's your head? Do you need some Tylenol?”

“Um, it's better than earlier. I think I'll be okay for now.”

A minute later, he was settling beside you on the couch once again. He handed you a tumbler with a lid and straw and then pulled you against him and kissed the top of your head. Next, he took your wrist in his hand again and lifted his other arm off your shoulder to glance at his watch. “A little better. Down to 116. Still way too fast but at least it's not so skippy anymore.”

You gave him a thumbs up and then snatched the remote to press play.

By the time you finished the new cup of water, you were yawning and starting to doze off. “I thought coffee kept you awake longer than this.”

“It's not as effective when you've built up a tolerance. Let's go try to get some sleep.”

You snuggled in tighter against him. “But I'm comfy.”

He chuckled and stood, lifting you easily into a bridal carry. “You can be more comfy in the bed.” He set you down in the threshold of the bathroom.

You pouted. “This isn't the bed.”

“I'm sure you want to go before bed and brush your teeth,” he justified.

Both of you made quick work of getting ready for bed. When you finished you leaned your chin on his sternum and glanced up at him.

“You want me to carry you?”

You just smiled and nodded. He bent and lifted you again. You sighed contentedly and closed your eyes as he walked. When he set you on the bed you whined. He sat down in the bed beside you.

As he grabbed his stethoscope, you rolled your eyes. “I'm fine.”

“You basically just gave yourself a caffeine induced stress test. Forgive me for wanting to make sure you're okay..” He listened to your heart and checked your pulse once more before he moved to lay in his spot.

He pulled you over and you settled against him. He kissed the top of your head. “Good night. I love you,”

You squeezed him and hummed contentedly. “Love you.” You quickly dozed off.

After a fitful night of sleep, filled with a lot of tossing and turning, you woke to Connor cuddled beside you with his head on your chest. You ran your fingers through his hair lazily.

“Morning,” he greeted.

“Are you doing what I think you're doing?”

“Probably. If you think I'm listening then you'd be correct.”

“Babe,” you started, pulling his head up so he could turn to look at you. “I swear I'm okay. I slept like shit, but I feel fine. I promise.”

He hugged you tightly. “I'm sorry. You freaked me out a little. If I hadn't come home when I did, you might have made a third pot. You could have gotten really sick.”

“But you did. And I didn't get super sick. I'm good. I could use a cup of coffee though.”

“No,” he whipped his head up glaring at you. “No caffeine for at least three days.”

“How am I supposed to function at work?”

“B vitamins might help,” he suggested. “You can take a supplement. Or, my preference, you could take a day or two off work and take it easy.”

You laughed. “Oh, yeah. I can just imagine how that call would go… ‘I need a couple days off because I drank too much coffee’. I'm pretty sure I'd get laughed at and then maybe even fired.”

“I can call. I can just tell them you have food poisoning,” he offered. “That's barely even a lie.”

You pried yourself from his hold. “I think I'll be fine.” You pushed to stand and the world spun a little and nausea flared. You sank back to sitting and closed your eyes for a moment. “Okay, maybe one day wouldn't be a bad thing.”

He rounded the bed and kissed your forehead before snatching your phone off the nightstand. “Just lay back down and relax. I'll call your boss and then I'll make you some eggs and bacon. The protein should help.”

“Thank you.” Flopping back down into your pillow, he pulled the covers up to your shoulder. “Love you.”

“I love you too, pretty girl. I'll be back in a few.”

#chicago med fanfiction #connor rhodes x reader #caffeine overdose #whumpcember24 #day 9 #shaking #Connor Rhodes imagine

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