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sunflowersandsapphires · 5 months

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Life in a Tranquil State

pairing: Matt Murdock x fem!reader

summary: Just a short drabble about a sweet morning with an injured Matty.

warnings: none

a/n: This piece is rather short but very fluffy! I hope everyone is doing ok, I know this time of year can be difficult for people. Sending you all my love!

w/c: 1.2k

Dashing into the stairwell to escape the chill, you shuddered as the last gust of wind lifted the wisps of hair peeking out at the front of your hat. Inhaling deeply, you trekked up the stairs—relief washing over you at the sight of your front door. After taking a moment to squeeze your fingers in an attempt to shake off the cold-induced numbness, you turned the door knob and scurried inside.

The warmth of the apartment enveloped you in a comforting embrace, causing your shoulders to sag as the general discomfort of the rapidly falling temperature faded away. Your boyfriend was seated in the middle of the living room rug, bare shoulders illuminated by the dim light leaking through the massive window behind him. His eyes were closed, the striking muscles in his legs flexing in their crossed position.

Still meditating then, you thought to yourself, toeing off your boots as silently as you could to prevent disturbing his focus. Rising inflation and consistent apathy from politicians had unleashed a current of building unrest in the city. Matt had been working overtime in and out of the office, helping New Yorkers appeal their welfare denials during the day while stopping corruption and petty crime at night. Honestly, it was downright miraculous that it had taken next to no convincing to get Matt to take a day off, though that might have been because of your desperate begging.

Last night had been especially turbulent, ending with an exhausted Matt, an equally exhausted Claire (who REALLY deserved some time away from the shenanigans), an absurd amount of stitches, and the worst tension headache you'd had in recent history. As the color slowly reappeared in Matt's face, you'd given him an earful between stress-induced sobs, pleading with him to take some time off to recover--and thanking every divine entity in the universe when he'd accepted. Once Matt had taken his painkillers, you both passed the fuck out in a tangle of limbs that was sure to be more uncomfortable for him than for you.

It wasn't that you wanted him to stop being Daredevil, you'd never ask him to restrain the part of himself that had saved the city time and time again. But you'd continue to remind him that his body needed to rest sometimes, a fact he had been pointedly ignoring the past few weeks.

Which is why the sight of him beside the couch was such a welcomed one. This morning had been tense, by no fault of Matt's. You'd slept restlessly, waking up jittery and drained next to an aching, and incredibly guilty, Matt. He'd apologized to you profusely, clenching the fabric of your sweatshirt between his fingers like he expected you to disintegrate. Pressing soft kisses to his head, you'd brushed off his needless worries, promising that you weren't going anywhere.

To Matt's chagrin, you'd dragged him to the living room and encouraged him to meditate so that he could regain his strength. He'd accepted, but only when you agreed to sit in his lap, which he swore would not break his focus. After an hour of listening to his exasperated grumbles and helping him shift positions, you'd clambered out of his lap, cajoling him with the offer of breakfast and a coffee from the cafe down the street.

Padding quietly into the apartment, you set the steaming paper cup and accompanying box of pastries on the counter, using your now empty hands to pull off your hat and comb through your staticy hair.

“Only one coffee?” Matt's voice over your shoulder startled you, causing you to nearly knock his drink to the ground as you turned to face him.

“Christ, Matty, don't do that. I'm gonna make you wear a bell.” You shoved at his sculpted chest, brief irritation dissipating when he let out a low chuckle.

“I'm sure the criminals would appreciate the warning.” His hands slid around your waist, forehead tipping to rest against yours. “Missed you.”

Giggling softly into the kiss he pressed to your lips, you let your hands drift up to cradle his neck. ”I was only gone for a few minutes, you sap.“

”I don't know, it felt like hours.“ Matt sighed dramatically, leaning into your body heavily as he picked up his coffee. Taking a sip, a pleased groan rumbled in his throat, making you grin.

”Too sweet, just the way you like it.“

”It's perfect. What about you?“ Matt frowned, jerking his chin towards the lack of a second cup on the counter.

With a shrug, you snuggled into Matt’s hold, humming in appreciation when he ran a hand along your back.

“Didn’t feel like coffee today. I’m not above napping, Murdock.”

“That can be arranged, darling. I owe you some peace after last night.” Despite his clenched jaw, you watched guilt fill his expression, gorgeous hazel eyes falling to the floor.

”Don't you start.” You chastised gently, rubbing circles on his nape with your thumb. “We talked about this earlier, my love. You didn't do anything wrong, you just bit off a little more than you could chew. Happens to the best of us, yah?“ Brushing your nose against his, you slotted your hips against his and tugged him into an embrace.

Resolve crumbling, he melted into the touch. ”I'm still sorry.“

”And I'm still reminding you that you don't need to be. Just remember to be careful and let yourself rest every once in a while. Speaking of,“ You brushed a thumb under the stitched wound on his shoulder. ”Meditation still not working?“

Whining under his breath, Matt shook his head mournfully. ”Not well. I just...I don't know what's wrong with me today.“

Brow furrowing, you kneaded at your boyfriend's scalp in an attempt to scare away his crippling self-doubt. “Anything in particular that made it difficult?”

Matt shook his head, his lips parting around the tiniest of sighs. “Everything is just...a lot today. I don't think I ever fully relaxed after the adrenaline from last night.”

Biting your lip in thought, you carded your fingers through Matt's hair. “Hmm, well it might help if you were more relaxed before you started meditating? Do you think that might work?”

Smirking at you, Matt purred, “What did you have in mind?” One of his large hands slid down from your waist to palm your ass.

Swatting at his wrist, you snorted. “I didn't mean sex, Matthew. Though I suppose that's one option we could pursue if the others don't work.”

Kissing you deeply, Matt's breath ghosted over your lips as he asked. “What did you have in mind?”

“Well, we can start by eating the pastries I painstakingly picked out for my very picky boyfriend,” Ignoring Matt as he pinched your waist and scoffed indignantly, you continued. ”Other than that, we could try showering first? That always makes me feel better.”

“That sounds great sweetheart,” Matt leaned his forehead against yours with a smile.

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real-jane · 2 years

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you don't say

[bucky barnes x disabled!reader]

summary: you matched on a dating app, but you didn't tell him that you use a cane. bucky's response is not what you expected. it's better.

warnings: mention of smut, but mostly fluff and insecurity on both bucky and reader's part. autumnal vibes all around.

a/n: i became disabled in the last few years and i have really struggled with needing a cane to increase my mobility, especially where dating is concerned. i wrote this as a love letter to myself, and other babes who are processing what it means to accept love as a disabled human being. enjoy. <3

***

You didn’t tell him.

If the last six were a good litmus, it was for the best. Apparently being that honest with a man you met on a dating app was to be avoided at all costs. The goal, ultimately, was to have him say: “You’re prettier in person,” and then flush like he was comparing the version of you in his head to the reality before him, and coming up wanting.

Bucky was his name. He hadn’t proposed anything rigorous–he liked coffee, as did you. It wasn’t like he suggested a Central Park marathon for your date. You weren’t even sure how you matched; it probably happened when you left your phone unattended in the same room as Natasha–whose taste was much more varied than yours. Adventurous. It’s not that you wouldn’t have swiped in interest over Bucky, 39, Brooklyn. But not until he swiped first.

That wasn’t entirely true. You remembered his face popping up as you doom-scrolled for Jesus, on a two day pajama pity-party bender. Consuming Norah Ephron films and cheap cabernet, you swiped right on any man with kind eyes who didn’t have a fish picture in his array. Which… the pickings were slim. But his face–Bucky’s–appeared beneath your thumb as Meg Ryan met Tom Hanks at the top of the Empire State Building on your third watch-through of ‘Sleepless in Seattle,’ and it felt serendipitous. Bucky, 39, Brooklyn looked very serious, and he had a white long-haired cat. You swiped. He swiped. He was nice in his first message…

Hi… I’m new to this, but it looks like we both hit the magic button.

So, there you were.

You arranged to meet at eleven–you were at the coffee shop by ten-thirty, so you could sit by the window and not have to walk towards him. You tucked yourself into the booth and stashed your things on the bench seat beside you, eager to meet the first guy who said yes to a date since you got back on the horse, so to speak. Nevermind that you hadn’t told him the whole truth.

When he walked in–ten minutes early–he scanned the little cafe until his eyes fell on you. His expression went from hardened and serious to… bashful, almost. He recognized you right away, and there was no way you could mistake him either.

What was that thing about people being prettier in person?

He was dressed in layers to combat Autumn in New York (comfortable in varying shades of blue and brown) with leather gloves on, which shone like they hadn’t yet been worn before that day. So like a native New Yorker to wear the same tattered coat… but quality, definitely an expensive peacoat which could last him several generations… but buy brand new gloves when the slightest chill sets in.

Bucky was scruffy, like he couldn’t quite bother to shave but every few days. You didn’t mind. When he approached, he had vibrant energy, like it was all packed up inside with nerves.

“Hi. Sorry. I think we had the same idea,” he said breathlessly as he approached. He held out his right hand to you. You grasped his fingers automatically, but he didn’t shake. He squeezed softly, and then pressed it between his own.

“It’s Bucky. I’ve already had coffee. Too much. I was nervous. But if you still want some, I’ll just get decaf.”

“Y/n. To be honest, I did the same,” you chuckled, nodding to the half-empty carafe on the table, which your waiter had left after the third refill in twenty minutes. “It’s nice to meet in person.”

“I don’t do this kinda thing, I gotta warn you.” Bucky shucked off his coat and slid into the booth across from you. The gloves remained. He had a loved but noble corduroy blazer on, over a henley. “Dating. I hate the whole conceit.”

“You’re two-for-two!” You grinned. “My roommate got me on the apps. They can be blamed for seventy-five percent of my daily dread.”

“What’s the other quarter?”

“Global warming, and getting shat on by pigeons coming out of the subway.”

“Fair,” he said, smiling. You dimpled at one another. “We don’t have to stay. We’re caffeinated, and I might start levitating, here. We could walk a bit?”

Your stomach lurched. “We could. Where?”

“Dunno. I’m sorry–I have no idea how to be out. We should just sit here for the requisite number of minutes before upsetting the structure of a date.” He smiled at you pleasantly, but it was clear how incredibly nervous he still was… and how unlikely it was to go away unless he could be more active. Which meant standing. Walking, some. Something which you were not prepared to do.

Bucky watched your expression shift. He sat forward and reached out to touch your forearm. “You okay?”

“So. Yes, um. Yes, I’m okay,” you sighed. “It’s still new for me so I’m figuring it out, but… walking long distances? Can’t do it. I could probably handle a short walk, but I’ve had a rough time the last week, so I don’t know how much stamina I have. Even with my trusted friend, here. So.” You showed the head of your cane above the table bashfully, and looked away. “Sorry–people get weird about this stuff, I’m finding out, so I don’t really say anything in advance.”

Bucky blinked for a moment, then he leaned forward, resting both elbows on the table. “What do you mean weird?” His blue eyes narrowed.

“Suddenly unmatch. Tell me ‘it’s such a shame.’” You huffed. “Although it’s guys, on the whole. Women care less. But that’s beside the point–”

“Because of that?” He pointed at the seat beside you, where all of your belongings were stashed, and you knew what he meant. You nodded.

“I don’t say it in so many words. I’m not like–hey, just fyi, I use a cane, so deal with it or fuck off–”

“Why not? That would be a good way to separate out the weak and worthless,” Bucky said, but you could’ve sworn you heard a little touch of anger in his tone. He shook his head. “Doll… shit. Men are shit.”

“Yeah. They are. Sorry.”

“No, I’m shit, too. You can’t insult me when it’s true.” Bucky sat back against the worn cushion. “So, we going? Or are you going to talk me into an espresso to see if I can fly?”

“Sure. If you want to. I’m just slow–”

“Nonsense.” Bucky scooted out of the booth. “I grew up in this neighborhood. There’s plenty to do. And see.” He paused. “If this is insulting, just tell me to fuck off… You can lean on me.” He held out his elbow like an offering.

You could have cried. “Um. Okay.”

“Yeah? I–I would’ve offered, regardless. I like talking to you. I’ve enjoyed myself… through the phone.” Bucky scratched his cheek in embarrassment. “So. Even if you didn’t share, I probably would’ve tried to find a reason.”

“Really, I’ve just given you an excuse,” you said, tamping down a smile. He nodded solemnly.

“It’s thoughtful of you to spare me.” Bucky raised his eyebrows, waiting. The waiter breezed by, just then–

“You can pay at the front register!” the beleaguered hipster sighed, gesturing to the counter at which there was an extensive line. Bucky grabbed his elbow and fished a bill out of his pocket, slapping it in the guy’s palm. The waiter stared down at the twenty in his hand. “Great. I’m a human cash register.”

“Keep the change,” Bucky said. He turned back to you. “Do you get motion sick?”

“No?” You were clearly holding up whatever grand plans he was making in his head, so you hastily grabbed your things. Bucky liberated your coat from your hands and held it open. You stood slowly, leaning on the aid which had given you newfound freedom. Bucky smiled at you softly. He wasn’t impatient, just… excited. You slid your arms into your coat with Bucky’s help, and then curled your fingers into his elbow. His cheeks reddened. He had a boyishness to him which was endearing.

“This okay?”

Okay? Well. If you considered the wafting warmth of sandalwood cologne and the soft weave of his woolen peacoat okay, then you were dandy. You nodded, feeling your own cheeks flush under his attentive gaze.

“Great. I have an idea, if you’re game. So.” He cleared his throat, ushering you through the front door of the shop onto the sidewalk. “Where do you stand on surprises?”

“Um. Hate ‘em, to be honest.”

“How bad?”

“Flash mob? My idea of hell.”

“K–In that case, I’m gonna call a friend, he runs a ride service. There’s a festival in bridge park–I keep seeing fliers for it all over. We could check it out.”

You couldn’t help the smile which pulled at your cheeks. If that’s the sort of surprise Bucky had in mind, you would’ve been charmed by it. But knowing how quickly his brain was working to improvise a date was impressive, so you squeezed his elbow.

“Sounds fun.”

“Good. Okay.” His mouth turned up at the corner and his eyes crinkled.

He quickly dialed a number he had memorized, but not saved in his contacts. It made you wonder how many other people he knew by heart, and what it took to be remembered by this Brooklyn boy. He didn’t say much into the phone, just the intersection you stood on. Bucky hung up abruptly and pocketed his phone again, clearly intent on hiding it away.

“He��s two streets over, it’ll be five minutes max.”

He was a horse-and-buggy driver, who had festooned his buggy with bales of hay and pumpkins bearing hastily Sharpie’d faces drawn on them by someone under the age of ten. When the carriage pulled up outside of the chain coffee shop, Bucky grinned, passing the coachman a tenner and ushering you into the four-wheeled hayride. The straw was strewn over the plush seating poorly enough to poke you in the ass, even through your coat, but Bucky was so excited to pull the plaid wool blanket over your legs that you tolerated the gluteal acupuncture. He stashed your cane beside himself, and pressed you close enough that your thigh pressed against his.

“I went to school with Pat,” he explained, gesturing to the driver who was too far away to engage in conversation, but kept throwing back knowing glances at you and Bucky. “Kindergarten through the twelfth grade.”

“You really are in your neighborhood.”

“Yeah.” He blushed. “Never did get out, like I thought I would. Not complaining though. There’s a lot to love about Brooklyn.”

Bucky encouraged you to wrap your arm through the loop of his elbow again, and pointed out things to you about Brooklyn which had defied your notice prior. Brickwork at the pinnacle of a building, dating back to the 1920’s. A man dressed like a bush who stood on the street corner, blocking the walk button so no pedestrian could disturb his meditation. The fire hydrant he broke the bolt off senior year, flooding the sewer drains and causing rats to rush down the gutters like a parade of hissing floats. Halloween decorations in windows. Scarecrows mounted to telephone poles like they guarded a field of yellow taxis with as much aplomb as a treasury of corn stalks.

All the while… he distracted you. Little touches on your wrist where your coat met your skin with his soft gloves left you curling your fingers around air, and still he persisted. You studied his profile when he was distracted. With stubble and expression lines, he had character. He wasn’t stoic like you had thought him. Every inkling which crossed his brain was projected on his forehead like a drive-in feature just for you. And he kept smiling at you.

You arrived at Brooklyn Bridge park having spent an eternity and no time at all in a horse-drawn carriage positively burdened with loose hay, but the tents and balloons and various sizes of gourds distracted you from anything but the Autumnal joy of it all. Stalls lined the park in a makeshift walkway, which smelled of pie spices and syrup, and crisping ham on a rotisserie, and campfire.

When he helped you down from the carriage, placing your cane at your dominant side, Bucky instantly seemed to have a plan. Time passed like you were observing through a looking glass. He ushered a cup of cider into your hands, and then adios’d the empty into the garbage once you finished it. You dominated the hammer game, winning a massive plush gorilla. Which you promptly gave away to the first screaming child you saw, to Bucky’s amusement. He fed you funnel cake while you picked out your choice for the fastest piglet in a race which consisted of five piglets running around a kiddie pool. You lost–everyone did, when the piglets abandoned course to lay in the tepid water and snort bubbles at one another–but you left a lingering dusting of powdered sugar behind at the corner of your mouth. Bucky wiped it away without a second thought.

And so the date continued, with you floating beside a man whose eyes sparkled with delight every time you found joy in something. It didn’t feel like you had only met that day. You reached for his hand to express delight. He curled his fingers over your shoulder to wish you luck in the ring toss. Bucky–Barnes was his last name, you learned–was some kind of familiar fixture. He even bought you a coffee, and then brutally beat a group of sixth-graders at bobbing-for-apples.

It wasn’t until the sun tucked itself behind the rooftops that you realized dusk approached. Without needing to ask, Bucky summoned a cab. You had leaned on him heavily the second half of the afternoon, and opted to sit every opportunity you got. Yet… Bucky’s excitement never diminished. It wasn’t until you sat on the top step of your stoop that you realized it.

That was the best date you had ever been on.

And you sure as hell didn’t want it to end. The stars were out in force–as clear a night as you had ever seen in the city of light pollution, and yet… Orion’s belt… the pan handle of a Dipper… stars shone for you.

Bucky shoved his hands into his coat pockets in acknowledgement of the drop in temperature, while he balanced one foot up a step from you. He studied you through honest eyes–that is, he looked at you like he saw who you were without pretense. Which felt very vulnerable.

“Repeat the question,” you breathed.

Bucky smiled. “You date much?”

You shook your head. “No. To be honest, I don’t usually feel like it’s worth it. Putting myself out there. I’m sorry–I know it sounds like I’m wallowing in self-pity, but, uh. I don’t know if I’ll ever get used to it. Being turned down. Because I use a stupid piece of metal to walk.”

“You could spend a lot of time feeling sorry for yourself, doll. And–that’s not to say you don’t have the goddamn right to feel some type of way about it. It’s your body, it’s not how you pictured your life going. Of course you’re gonna be sore about it. You aren’t alone in that. I’m just sayin’... Anybody who’d lose out on a chance with you because of something as insignificant as a tube of aluminum ain’t the type of person you wanna waste your time with anyhow.”

“It’s weird. I don’t disagree with what you’re saying, but. I dunno. It’s hard to think people exist who aren’t gonna be weird about a freakin’ cane.”

Bucky crossed his arms. “Fuck’em. Waste of your time.”

“What about you? Are you a time-waster?”

“Worse. I’m a Brooklyn boy. We can wait out a stubborn dame with the best of ‘em.” Bucky braced himself on the railing. “Can I take you out again?”

“You’re gonna sit on my porch until I agree to a second date?”

“I–when you say it like that, I sound like a creep,” he chuckled. “No, I just… if you had a good time, and I really hope you did, I would like to treat you to another date. I took a wild guess on the festival idea, but I can think of a million other things. More than just coffee.”

“I was holding a coffee mug in my profile photo,” you laughed. “That was enough.”

“There’s more out there.”

“I had a good time.”

“Is that a ‘yes’?”

You watched his face turn from excitement to pure glee. His body angled towards you intensely. All his energy was directed towards you. It made your skin tingle, and all good sense fled from your mind.

“Just come in, Bucky.”

“You gotta say it, or I ain’t budging. This is all up to you, doll.”

“Yes, okay?” You leaned against the doorway with an exasperated sigh. “I had a great time. You’re adorable, and exhausting, and I’ve never had more fun on a first date. Or any date, for that matter. Please–come inside. Kiss me a little. I think you’re probably good at it.”

“It’s been awhile,” he admitted quietly, though he pushed off the railing to do as you bid him.

“Good. I don’t like it so formal–”

“You’re so cute.”

“I’m not–”

“No, it isn’t up for debate.” Bucky tucked a finger under your chin so you’d look up at him, given that your attention had fallen to the laces of his boots in embarrassment. His irises flicked back and forth, mapping every refraction in your eyes. “I know cute when I see her. And there’s nobody else in this whole damned city but you, doll.”

He kissed you as if that were true… as if he had stepped out of the subway to a world devoid of anything but a billion scattered golden leaves tracing circles on the pavement, and a girl with a cane who hates surprises. As if–in that dystopian and autumnal universe, that were heaven to him. Like he’d been looking for you in every empty coffee shop. Like he knew you, and it was only a matter of walking into the right store. It was soft, the drag of his lips over yours. At first he just ghosted a millimeter from your mouth, but then he needed to know… so he gave in. He didn’t spoil it with tongue too soon. Bucky discovered you.

You’d been kissed, but never at the world’s end. The world you knew was siphoned away. In this one? Well, kisses stopped time. Made leaves hang in the air between gasping breaths. Kisses were where the light got in. Where sun broke through clouds… where a girl who didn’t much care for vulnerability let a man she barely knew steal every little sound from her throat, out on her front stoop where anybody could see them.

You got the door open by feel, and stayed on your feet by virtue of the man with roving hands who backed you into the building. It was for the best that your apartment was on the first floor, because your knees threatened to buckle when his tongue worried the seam of your lips. He tucked the crook of your cane into the curve of his elbow when you tore yourself away to fight the finicky lock at your threshold.

“I didn’t expect to have anyone over,” you said by way of an explanation for whatever mess might be found inside, but Bucky snorted.

“When are you gonna get it through your head?” He nipped at the tendon which helped form the curve from your shoulder to neck, making you shiver. “I don’t give a shit if all you got is a mattress on the floor. I like you.”

“I have a bit more furniture than that,” you giggled, “but I still appreciate you saying it.”

The moment you were inside the apartment, Bucky leaned back against the door and turned you, so you stood between his feet. He looked at you through heavily-lidded eyes. “Tell me.”

You turned your attention to the buttons on his coat as he saw right through you. “Bucky–”

“I think you like kissing me, but you’re skittish. If you’re freaked out…”

“I’m–shit.” You sighed. “I believe you. That you like me, I do. But I am so used to feeling like nobody is ever gonna want me back–”

“Impossible.” He cupped your cheeks. “Look at you.”

“Bucky,” you groaned.

“No, stop it. I know what you’re doing. Oldest trick in my book. You think that a good thing is a lie, that it ain’t gonna hang around. I’m a really, really, really bad liar. Alright? My ears turn red.” Bucky smiled triumphantly when you chuckled. “I watched you drink a pumpkin latte today like it was the best thing you’ve ever had in your whole damn life and it cost me three dollars. You’re charming. I’m addicted.”

He kissed your forehead and you melted into his chest in resignation. “I don’t do this,” you mumbled into his sweater.

“What? Let somebody say why they like you?”

You shook your head, and pressed your cheek against his chest. “I’m starving.”

“Oh–doll, dammit, I should’a fed you–”

“No. I mean, yes, we should order something,” you laughed, “but. Just. Why?” When you raised your hand, gesturing to your general being, Bucky’s expression transformed from concern to… something gentle.

He shrugged, but his shoulders fell heavily downward, and his fingers curled into the pockets of your coat so you wouldn’t pull away while he found the words.

“Because–I just knew. You were simply a notification in a stupid app and I still thought about your profile picture waiting in my ‘likes’ for days. And we talked like it was an everyday occurrence, feeling your world shift its axis. I didn’t talk to a single soul on that app but you, sweets, and I tried my damndest not to jump the gun on asking you to meet in person. Imagine my delight when you agreed. I was so terrified last night that I hardly slept, but I never thought once about feeling… self conscious, all day. It–I don’t feel that way with most girls. Safe, I guess. And I may not know what the hell I’m doing, but I’m not a guy who ever feels like I can trust a person and I’m pretty prepared to lay down naked in the street if you tell me that’s what you want–”

“Not necessary,” you said, smiling.

“Well, that’s a relief.” Bucky brushed his thumbs over your cheeks. “Doll–I’m so sorry that anybody ever made you feel like you got some kinda worth to live up to. It makes me so angry, but then I think–who’s that for? What’s the point in me being angry at somebody who isn’t gonna change their mind… especially when it means that I get a chance.”

“Says the handsome guy with perfect teeth.” You winked at him when he scowled.

“I’m tryin’ here–”

“You’re wonderful,” you whispered. You smoothed over his bottom lip with the pads of your thumbs. “I’m… thank you.”

Bucky leaned forward until his forehead pressed against yours. “I’ve overwhelmed you.”

“No, sir. I just need a second. To acclimate to the idea.”

“I can go–”

“Please. Please don’t.” You tugged him towards the living room, slowly walking backwards and giving him every opportunity to wrench out of your grasp and run. But he didn’t break eye contact, no. Bucky kept pace with you, toe-to-toe. “We’ll watch something.”

“Spooky movie?” he suggested.

“...I’m such a wimp,” you admitted, and he let out a quick breath.

“You can hide under my arm during the scary parts.”

“So just bury myself under you the whole movie, got it–”

“If that’s what you want, doll.” Bucky smirked as your knees bumped into the lip of the couch, causing you to sit abruptly against the cushions. You still had a fist wrapped in the placate of his coat, so he fell forward, catching himself on the arm rest and hovering over you. You watched intently as his tongue whetted his bottom lip absent-mindedly, and you had to bite back a groan.

“That’s what I want. Bucky.”

***

A long time later, when your body was so sensitive that you shivered beneath him, Bucky hopped up… pantsless, still wearing his sweater, but peachy ass exposed to the air so he could run to the bathroom and find a soft cloth. When he returned to you (with a towel around his waist, suddenly bashful), he bore a damp washcloth in his left hand, which… you sat up slowly on your elbows to watch the reticulated fingers on his left hand as he cleaned you with soft strokes over your thighs and bit his lip… asshole. You smiled at him softly when his eyes flicked up to yours.

“You gonna tell me about it, or wait for me to ask?” you murmured, sliding the cuff of his left sleeve up his bicep, exposing a charcoal and gold metallic limb to the dim light.

Bucky didn’t say anything at first. He lifted you beneath the knees, and behind your back. He had no choice but to shower with you (since you woefully lacked a bathtub), as cleaning you both was clearly his priority, so he sat you on the edge of the porcelain counter to help you fully undress. He did so with a type of reverence which felt undue… but you were reminded that he didn’t look at you through the same lens with which you viewed yourself. Especially when he trailed his fingers over your softness like he didn’t feel worthy of touching you.

But then, he stepped back from you, and he shucked his sweater.

He didn’t look you in the eye once he was fully exposed to you. He studied the tiles under your toes, and his hands didn’t seem to know whether to rest on his hips or try to hide his flesh from you, so he fidgeted. Which meant he didn’t see you reaching for his left hand, and when you did so (threading your fingers through his metal facsimiles), he looked like he might cry.

Bucky was an amputee. With a gleaming prosthetic extending from his clavicle to the tips of his left fingers, so intricate and complicated a design that it must be something experimental and custom-made, just for the likes of a soft-hearted Brooklyn boy.

“You’re beautiful.” You meant the raw words, even though they escaped your lips unbidden.

Bucky squeezed your hand. “I’m not.”

“You don’t have to agree for it to be true.”

He looked at you, then. An agreement passed between you, unvoiced. I’ll say about you what you can’t. I’ll hold for you what you won’t. I’ll touch you again, because I want you, all of you–the flesh and the metal and the weak and the kind. Especially the kind. Of course Bucky understood you. Your heart-wounds took different guises, but they pulled the same strings.

When he knelt at your knee, it was supplication. It was obvious when he bowed his head to kiss the skin above your heart. Your heart had known his forever, it seemed.

“A long time ago, I didn’t have a choice,” he said, so quietly you could only make out his words because you had coaxed him up to meet your lips again. “I almost died. I–god, I never thought I’d live or touch somebody again. And then you. I can’t explain this to people–” He rolled his shoulder like the limb was hurting him, and maybe it was– “without inviting them to look at my naked fuckin’ heart.”

“Is it heavy?” You ran your finger the length of the connector, where metal met his skin and cupped his pectoral. You meant the arm, but the way his head bobbed… you inclined your head so you could catch his lips before his spirit fell one iota further. It was a kiss of knowing. Understanding, without words.

“I can take it off,” he breathed against your lips.

“So do it.”

Bucky sat back on his heels. Then, he looked you square in the eye and detached the prosthetic arm. It wheezed as it lost power, the moment its circuits no longer drew power from his body’s natural electric whims. You held out your hands, and he set the thing across your open palms. It was lighter than you expected, but still hefty. You could only imagine how it pulled at his muscles, unnatural as it was. It was incredible, but then–so was the man with an empty prosthetic socket, who sat at your feet like he hadn’t hastily fucked you on your own couch at the end of your first date. Like sex was a small exchange when there was a soul resonance at hand. If you said it out loud? It would sound insane. Holding Bucky’s cheeks in your hands, though…

“I like sushi,” you said softly, “and any carbs, really. So. Jot that one down, for your date ideas. And I’m a fabulous co-pilot if you like road trips. I love Upstate. I excel at floating down a river on an innertube–”

Bucky pushed up between your knees so he could reach your lips and he kissed you senseless. “Doll–”

“Shhh, darling man,” you smiled against his mouth. “I am addicted.” Parroting his words back to him made Bucky beam. “Stay the night. Surprise me in the morning. I don’t care. You’re everything I didn’t think I deserved and–and I’ll keep you. To spite Me.”

Bucky laughed. “It will be a pleasure to help you get revenge on yourself.”

***

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chicgeekgirl89 · 6 months

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Fandom: 911 Lone Star Summary: When Carlos receives a late night call from one of his sisters who is worried about the health of his nephew, T.K. doesn't hesitate to jump in and show the entire family why he's worthy of Carlos' love. Thanks to @carlos-tk, @thisbuildinghasfeelings, @whatsintheboxmh, @lemonlyman-dotcom, @cold-blooded-jelly-doughnut, @strandnreyes, @carlos-in-glasses, and @bonheur-cafe for the WIP Wednesday tags. I hope you will accept this instead, belated as it is! A/N: This is my 100th fic on AO3!! 🍾🍾🍾 (Not my 100th fic ever, many of them never made the transfer from ff.net, but still!) I've been sitting on this one for a while and seeing T.K. shine feels like it's worthy of being #100. Also Adriana and Francesca weren't supposed to be in this one, but they literally barged through those hospital doors and there was nothing I could do to stop them. I couldn't love them more!

Read on AO3

“Sooo…never again, right?” Carlos asks.

“Oh my god never again,” T.K. agrees fervently. “Why were the plates so weird? Some of them weren’t even plates at all. And the food was…bad.”

“So bad,” Carlos says. “Tiny and bad.”

“Three hours. We were there three hours,” T.K. says in disbelief as he slows down at a stoplight. “Why did we have to wait like thirty minutes between courses?”

“The menu said it was to give us time to renew our digestive energies and be more present in the dining experience,” Carlos says.

“I didn’t know my digestive energies needed to be renewed.”

“Me neither.”

It had taken them months to get a reservation at the trendiest new restaurant in town and they’d both been excited for the occasion. The menu promised a foodie paradise with unique dishes, creative presentation, and an emphasis on sustainability. They’d gotten dressed up and ready for a fun date night out only to be disappointed the moment they’d walked in the door.

The place had been crowded, they were practically elbow to elbow with the tables next to them. Carlos had learned the intimate details of one couple’s fertility issues and another couple’s trouble with their neighbors.

Then the food had started coming and been a complete disaster. Carlos considered himself something of a foodie, and T.K.’s New Yorker palate had sampled a number of cuisines over the years, but this had been the worst food Carlos had ever eaten. He hadn’t been able to identify a single item on any of his plates and his tongue longed for something with even a hint of flavor. The plate that held a single, lukewarm radish had nearly been his undoing.

Overall it had been three hours of bland food, awkward company, and not at all what either of them had imagined.

“I’m starving. Can we please pick up something on the way home?” T.K. asks, his stomach letting out a gurgle as if to affirm his statement.

“God yes. I think Chu’s is still open, right?”

Carlos pulls out his phone, but it lights up with a call before he can check to see Chu’s hours. “Why’s my sister calling?”

T.K. glances over at him. “Which one?”

“Lucía,” Carlos says. It’s not typical of his sister to call at this hour out of the blue and he feels his internal warning bells activate as he picks up the call. “Luci? Que pasó?”

“Hey Carlos,” she says, sounding tired and stressed. “Sorry for calling, I know it’s late.”

“It’s okay,” he says. “We’re just on our way home from dinner. What’s going on?”

“I don’t—I’m probably overreacting,” she says. “It’s just that Justin is out of town for work and I’m—“

Now he’s really worried. “Lucí, it’s okay. Tell me what’s going on.”

“Sebastian woke up sick a couple days. I didn’t think it was a big deal, both boys are sick all the time from daycare and school, but he wasn’t any better today, so I took him to the doctor. They said he’s fine, likely just a virus or something, but…his fever won’t break and he keeps saying his belly hurts.”

Carlos can hear the deep seated worry in his sister’s voice and it rocks him to his core. His sister is an amazing mom, fearless and sure. To hear her so uncertain is throwing him off.

“I didn’t know if maybe T.K. could just give me some advice or something?” she says, ending it like a question.

He looks over at his fiancé. “What’s going on?” T.K. asks,.

“Sebastian’s sick,” Carlos says. “Do you mind?”

“No, no, put her on speaker,” T.K. says immediately, turning his eyes back to the road as the light changes.“Hey Lucía,” he says loudly so she can hear him.

“Hey T.K.,” she says. “I’m so sorry, I know people probably ask you for medical help all the time.”

“It’s not a problem. Tell me what’s going on,” T.K. says.

“He won’t eat, he’s barely drinking. His fever had been holding steady at around a hundred, but it just spiked up to one oh two. I’ve given him medicine, done cold washcloths, I don’t know what else to try.”

“And the doctor said what exactly?”

“That it’s probably a stomach virus,” Lucía says.

T.K. mulls that over for a minute. “Aren’t we like fifteen minutes from their place?” he asks Carlos.

Carlos nods.

“Okay, Lucía we’re going to swing by, all right?” T.K. says, flipping his blinker on to get them turned around back the way they’d just come.

“Oh, no, you don’t have to do that—“

“We’re coming Luci,” Carlos says. “We’ll be there soon.”

“Okay, thank you,” she says, relief flooding her voice and loosening the knot of fear in Carlos’ chest.

He hangs up and looks at T.K. “It’s probably just a stomach bug.”

“Probably,” T.K. agrees. “But if it makes her feel better to have someone give her advice it’s worth going over.”

Carlos’ heart goes soft at those words. He’d never imagined he’d be with someone like T.K. Someone so kind and good, someone who would drive to his sister’s house at nine o’clock at night just to assuage her fears. It’s beyond his wildest dreams.

They pull into the driveway of the ranch style home about ten minutes later, T.K.’s ambulance driving having shaved a few minutes off their time and a few years off of Carlos’ life. At least they’re not driving the Camaro tonight so Carlos didn’t have to fear for the safety of his baby as they sped through yellow lights and weaved in and out of traffic.

Lucía opens the door before they even knock and the relief Carlos felt a few minutes ago evaporates at the sight of her worried face. She was holding back on the phone; in person she looks even more terrified and exhausted than she sounded. “Hey guys,” she says. “I’m so sorry to drag you all the way over here.”

“Stop apologizing,” Carlos admonishes her immediately as they step inside. “That’s what family is for.”

Sebastian lays on the couch in the living, looking younger and tinier than his six years, his face pale and drawn. There’s an episode of Paw Patrol playing on the television mounted above the fireplace and he has a blanket pulled all the way up to his chin. Carlos can see Fuzzy, his comfort bear, peeking out over the top.

“Hey buddy,” he says, crouching down and giving his nephew a smile. “Tummy bothering you?”

Sebastian nods but doesn’t say anything, another sign that something is wrong. Usually he’s a chatterbox, happy to talk about school or his friends or soccer. Carlos smiles wider, despite the worry swirling in his gut, trying for calm and reassuring uncle. “Do you remember my boyfriend T.K.? From the party at Abuela and Abuelo’s house?” Carlos asks and Sebastian’s eyes move over his shoulder to where T.K. is standing behind him. He gets another nod.

“He’s going to take a look at you, okay?” Carlos says, standing up and moving back to where Lucía is anxiously hovering behind the couch so that T.K. has space to work.

“Hey Sebastian,” T.K. says as he takes Carlos’ spot. “You know I’m a paramedic, right?”

“Yeah,” Sebastian says, his voice small.

“Do you know what a paramedic does?”

“Help people feel better?”

T.K. smiles and nods. “That’s right. So let’s see if I can help you feel better, sound good?”

“Mhmm.”

“Awesome. Okay, I’m going to pull down the blanket and take a look. You tell me if anything hurts, all right?”

He gently pulls down the blanket and places his fingers on Sebastian’s wrist, looking at his watch while he does it. He pulls out a stethoscope he had in the car and listens to the little boy’s lungs, then takes his temperature with the thermometer Lucía has on the coffee table. He narrates quietly the entire time, letting Sebastian know what he’s doing as he does it.

“Okay, let’s see that belly,” he finally says with a smile.

He pulls up the top of Sebastian’s Power Rangers pajamas, talking to him softly while his hands palpate his abdomen. “You like Power Rangers huh? Which one is your favorite?”

“Red,” Sebastian says immediately. “He’s the head guy.”

“He is,” T.K. says. “I always liked the Green one though.”

Sebastian winces and makes a noise that breaks Carlos’ heart in half. T.K.’s hands immediately immediately stop. “Sorry buddy,” he says. “That hurt?”

Sebastian nods and T.K. gently puts his pajama shirt back into place. “I’m going to go talk to your mom and tío. You stay right here and make sure this couch doesn’t go anywhere, okay?”

He gets to his feet and nods toward the hallway where Carlos and Lucía follow him out of Sebastian’s earshot. “His pulse is a little fast and there is some tenderness in his abdomen,” T.K. says quietly. “That coupled with the fever and the lethargy is definitely concerning.”

Lucía puts her hand on Carlos’ arm and he covers it with his own in an attempt at reassurance. “So what should I do? Wait until the morning and see how he is? Give him more meds?” she asks.

“Considering his symptoms, I would recommend you take him to the ER,” T.K. says gently.

She blows out a breath as Carlos’ stomach drops. “Okay,” she says. “Okay um, okay. I’ll just wake up Nicholas and…”

“No, no, no,” Carlos says quickly. “No I’ll call Mom and ask her to come be with Nicky. I’ll stay until she gets here.”

“And I’ll go with you to the ER,” T.K. offers. “I can walk you through all the paperwork, field questions from the doctors, whatever you need.”

“Seriously?” Lucía looks teary eyed. “You’ll come?”

“Of course,” T.K. says. “Why don’t you go grab whatever might help keep him calm while we’re there? iPad or a book maybe. It could be a long wait.”

“Okay, right. Yes. Give me like five minutes and I’ll be ready,” she says, rushing off to go gather supplies.

“What are you thinking?” Carlos asks immediately.

T.K. has his neutral paramedic face on, but Carlos has learned to read between the lines. “I’m thinking it could be a number of things,” T.K. says. “Just a stomach bug maybe, but even if it is I think he’s dehydrated. And given his symptoms and the decline, I’m also worried about an impacted or perfed bowel or maybe even appendicitis.”

“How worried?”

T.K. blows out a breath. “Worried enough that I wouldn’t wait until the morning to try and get him some treatment.”

His words unlock a whole new level of fear that Carlos has never experienced before, and it takes a lot for him to stay calm as he calls his mom and explains the situation. Lucía returns with a tote bag full of supplies and T.K. scoops up Sebastian, carrying him out to the car with Lucía on his heels.

“Mom says she’ll be here in fifteen minutes. I’ll be right behind you,” Carlos promises as T.K. sets Sebastian gently in the backseat, pillowing his head on Lucía’s lap.

“Can you call Justin?” Lucía asks, looking like she’s barely holding it together. “He knows Sebby’s sick but I want him to know we’re heading to the ER.”

“Yes,” Carlos says. “I’ll call him as soon as I’m back inside.”

“Hey,” T.K. catches his eye as he climbs into the driver’s seat. “I’ve got them, okay?”

“I know you do,” Carlos says and then the door is shut and they’re gone, leaving him standing in the driveway, his heart in his stomach.

He trudges back into the house and sinks onto the couch, eyes glued to Nicholas’ sleeping form on the baby monitor. He’s not a parent, so why does this feel so awful?

It takes him a minute to emotionally prepare for this phone call and he has to take a deep breath before tapping Justin’s name on his screen.

It rings and rings and then sends him to voicemail, so he tries again. And again. The third time, Justin finally picks up.

“Dude, if this is a butt dial I’m going to kill you,” his brother-in-law says groggily.

Carlos forgot that it’s nearly midnight on the east coast right now. “Justin,” he says, trying to keep his voice steady.

“What’s wrong? Are Lucía and the boys okay?” Justin immediately sounds more awake now that he’s heard Carlos’ voice.

“Everyone’s safe,” Carlos tells him quickly. “I’m at your place with Nicholas because Sebastian’s feeling worse. She and T.K. are on the way to the ER with him.”

There’s a pause, Carlos can practically feel Justin’s panic through the phone. “Okay, um, okay,” he finally says. “Shit, I’m in Atlanta. There won’t be any flights for hours…”

“My mom’s on her way here to stay with Nicholas,” Carlos says. “I’ll head to the hospital and keep you updated, okay?”

“Yeah, okay, um, thanks Carlos,” Justin says, sounding a little hoarse. “Please um, please tell them I love them, okay? And that I’ll be on the first flight out I can get.”

“I will.”

He hangs up just as the front door opens and his mom comes in. “Carlitos,” she says softly and he immediately gets up to hug her. “How is Sebby?”

He shakes his head. “I’m not sure. They probably just got to the ER, it could be hours before we know anything.”

“And Lucía?”

“She’s worried,” he says.

“As are we all,” she says, empathy all over her face. “T.K. went with her?”

“Yeah, he said he’d help with things there.”

She smiles softly and touches his face. “You picked a good one mijo. Not every man would drop everything to help his boyfriend’s family.”

There’s a lump in Carlos throat and he struggles to speak past it. “I know.”

“You should get going.”

“Okay. Nicholas is asleep in his crib. I called Justin, he’s working on getting a flight back.”

She nods. “Keep me posted.”

“I will.”

The drive to the hospital is so lonely and silent that it makes each minute feel even longer beneath the glow of the streetlights. How on earth did he go from having dinner with his boyfriend to taking his nephew to the ER? It’s ridiculous. They should be home right now, cuddling on the couch or the bed, watching some stupid show that neither of them really cares about because what they’re actually interested in is making out with each other.

Instead he’s about to spend hours in a hard plastic chair praying that a six year old he loves dearly is going to be all right.

He’s so anxious to get there that he doesn’t realize until he’s through the doors that he has no idea where he’s going. Or even if they’re gong to let him stay. Surely they’re not going to let three adults hang out in the ER in the middle of the night when one would suffice.

He forgot he has T.K. Strand in his corner.

“How can I help you?” the nurse asks when he steps up to the counter.

“I’m here for my nephew? Sebastian Bryant? He came in with my sister,” Carlos says, feeling awkward.

“Oh you’re Carlos,” she says immediately. “T.K.’s boyfriend.”

“I—yeah,” Carlos says, surprised by her familiarity.

“I’m Stella. It’s so nice to finally meet you, although I wish it wasn’t because your nephew’s in here. T.K. talks about you all the time.”

“He does?”

“Oh my god, try getting him to stop. Carlos this, my boyfriend that, and now I see why. You two are gorgeous together,” she says, flashing him a smile. “Here come with me. I’ll take you to them. Darlene? Can you cover the desk?”

Stella takes him down a hall, past the general area of the ER to a more closed off section. It’s not a room, but it’s quieter here, and Carlos can hear T.K.’s voice even before Stella pulls back the curtain to reveal him.

“Found someone who belongs to you,” Stella says.

T.K.’s eyes find him, soft and relieved. “Hey, I was just about to text you an update. Thanks so much Stella.”

“No problem. I’m going to check and see where we’re at with the tests and then I’ll be back.”

“How’s it going?” Carlos asks quietly.

Sebastian is asleep in the bed, an IV in his arm and Fuzzy tucked in beside him. Lucía is sitting in a chair next to him, his little fingers curled around hers.

“They’re going to take him for a CT as soon as one opens up,” she says quietly. “He was crying when we got here, but they gave him some pain medication and he fell asleep like ten minutes ago.”

“Good,” Carlos says in relief. It feels so much better to know that there are people actively working to help Sebastian. “Nicholas is with Mom, he was still asleep when I left. And Justin’s getting on the first flight he can in the morning.”

“Okay.”

Lucía’s face crumples and she immediately puts her hands over her mouth to stifle a sob. T.K. looks at Carlos. “I’m going to go grab us some coffee,” he says, slipping discreetly out of the room.

Carlos squats down by his sister’s chair and puts a hand on her knee. She immediately covers it with her own and squeezes. “I’m sorry,” she says. “He just—he’s so little. He was so scared when we got here, it’s so bright and they put in the IV and he cried and I just, I need Justin to be here, because I am not strong enough for this.”

“He’s coming,” Carlos says. “He’s coming as fast as he can. And until he does I’m here, all right? I’m here with you and Mom is with Nicholas. Sebastian is going to be fine. He’s scared, but you’re taking such great care of him. You are an amazing mom. You’re doing everything right.”

She nods a couple times, clearly trying to internalize his words before taking a deep breath and wiping her eyes. “You know um, T.K. is pretty amazing too,” she tells him, wiping at her eyes. “I thought we’d be here for hours before we got answers, but he called ahead in the car and that nurse, Stella, was waiting for us. As soon as we were in the door they were drawing blood and starting tests. It’s like they rolled out the red carpet.” She nods toward the doorway. “Not everyone would do that kind of thing for someone they barely know.”

“That’s T.K.,” Carlos says, warmth blooming through his chest at her words. “He’s…incredible.”

“You know, I already liked him a lot, but now…” She quirks a smile. “You’d better hold onto him.”

Carlos nods, heart fluttering away in his chest. “That’s the plan.”

T.K. comes back with coffee right about the same time someone shows up to take Sebastian for his CT scan. He’s unhappy to be woken up, but mollified when Carlos promises to take him for ice cream once a week for the next month.

The nurse is incredible, telling Sebastian he’s going to go on a ride in a spaceship, although that does nothing to help Carlos’ heart when they start the sedation and he watches Sebastian’s eyelids flutter shut, his body going limp in a weirdly unnatural way. He’s gone for over an hour, all of them sipping tepid hospital coffee in a desperate attempt not to fall asleep as the clock ticks later and later.

When the orderly returns with him he’s completely zonked out and Carlos hopes he’ll stay that way. It’s not long after that an ER doctor shows up and informs them that the CT scan is indicating appendicitis, despite Sebastian’s slightly atypical presentation of symptoms. Lucía takes the news better than Carlos thought she might, she’s clearly relieved to have an answer and a defined course of action, even if it does mean a surgery they’re told is being scheduled for the early hours of the morning. Someone will be by soon to get them admitted and transferred to a room for the night.

“You guys should go home” she says. “You’ve done more than enough, really. He’s just going to sleep until it’s time for surgery and they’re not going to let you come into the room with us anyway.”

“Don’t worry about them kicking us out,” T.K. says immediately. “If you want us to stay that won’t be a problem.”

She smiles at him. “You’ve done more than enough tonight. I’ll be fine. I promise. Go home and get some sleep.”

Carlos is reluctant to leave her, but she’s right. There’s no point in staying when it’s so late and nothing is going to happen until morning anyway. The moment of crisis is past and now there’s nothing to do but wait.

“I’ll come back in the morning for his surgery,” Carlos says.

“You don’t have to—“ She must catch the look of determination in his eyes because she cuts herself off and nods. “Okay. Thank you.”

He stands and she meets him with a brief hug before she turns to T.K. “I really can’t thank you enough. I don’t think I would have made it tonight without you T.K.,” she says.

“Yes you would have,” he says graciously. “But I’m glad I could help. If anything changes in the night you have my number, don’t be afraid to call.”

“I will.”

Carlos can’t help but notice that T.K. gets a slightly longer hug than he did and the warm feeling in his chest only intensifies. He reaches for T.K.’s hand as they head out into the hall and T.K. gives him a tired smile in return. “Oh, hang on one second,” he says as they pass the nurses station, letting go of Carlos’ hand. “I’ll be right back.”

He jogs over and flashes that winning smile again at the nurse who’s there, not Stella this time, and chats with her for a minute before returning to Carlos’ side. “What was that about?” Carlos asks, interlacing their fingers together again.

“I just wanted to make sure they put Sebastian in a private room,” T.K. says. “They have the space, Natalie says it won’t be a problem.”

“Natalie huh?” Carlos says as they exit the automatic doors and head for the darkened parking structure. “She also falls victim to your beautiful eyes and charming smile?”

“Victim?” T.K. scoffs. “No one is a victim. I have paid for these hospital perks with dozens of coffees and donuts and muffins and even the occasional Target run. This is just good natured southern kindness being returned.”

Carlos laughs out loud. “Right. Not a single bit of it has to do with your innate charm and that smile that brings people to their knees and makes them feel like they’re only person you’ve ever cared about.”

“I mean, it had to start somewhere,” T.K. says, flashing him that exact smile. “But we’ve come a long way since then.”

“Well thank you,” Carlos says, meaning it from the bottom of his heart. “I honestly I don’t how to say thank you enough. My family is…they’re so important to me and I…”

“Hey.” T.K. tugs him to a stop and meets his gaze under the half light of the parking garage. “They’re important to me too.”

The drive home is blessedly short and they fall into bed exhausted at around midnight only to wake up again at five to head back over to the hospital. Carlos tells T.K. he doesn’t have to come, but the look he gets shuts him up immediately. T.K. is clearly invested.

They stop for coffee on the way, real, decent coffee, and some bagels, plus a cake pop for Sebastian after surgery.

He gets a text update as they’re pulling up to the hospital again; Justin is on a flight and should get there by the time the surgery is over. It’s a relief to know his sister will have her support to lean on again in the near future.

Once they arrive Carlos sits back and watches in wonder as T.K. works his magic. Someone shows up to give Sebastian not one, not two, but three different stuffed toys along with a coloring pack and some Hot Wheels cars. T.K. sits down on his bed and explains the whole surgery in terms a six year old an understand, and when the time comes, Sebastian is whisked off without a single tear.

He’s seen T.K. at work before, but this is an entirely different level of incredible. He knows almost every nurse, every doctor, every orderly that they see, and if he doesn’t, by the time they leave he’s made them feel like an old friend. People can’t seem to do enough for him.

Justin gets there about twenty minutes after the surgery starts, exhausted and haggard looking, his collared shirt buttoned the wrong way and his hair looking like he didn’t even comb it. T.K. somehow procures fresh, non-cafeteria coffee for him, whispering something about the doctor’s lounge, as well as a banana and a granola bar.

Everything goes exactly as expected and soon enough the doctor is back to let them know that Sebastian was a champ during surgery and they expect a quick recovery. Lucía and Justin head back to wait with him until the sedation wears off, while Carlos and T.K. continue hanging out in the waiting room until Sebastian can have more visitors.

When Carlos hears a loud commotion behind him, he knows without even looking that reinforcements have arrived. Adriana and Francesca have shown up with more balloons than a circus, a gigantic stuffed bear, and several bags of god only knows what else. “Oh my god, Cesca don’t let them float away,” Adriana is saying as they try and get through the automatic doors that keep closing before all the balloons can make it through.

“I’m not!” Francesca snaps back. “It’s the stupid doors! You could like try to help!”

“With what hands?” Adriana cries, her arms full of stuffed bear.

“Ah, perfect,” Carlos says weakly, looking at T.K. who is already smiling at his sister and cousin’s antics.

“Carlos! Get over here!” Francesca barks and he stands with a sigh, going to help her get in the doorway.

“Hello, good morning, how are you guys doing?” Carlos prompts as he grabs the brightly colored strings and yanks them inside, the balloons bopping along behind and nearly smacking an elderly woman in the face.

“I mean you’re both awake and have coffee, so I assume you’re fine,” she tells him as she plonks into a seat across from T.K.

“Yeah, geez, way to make our nephew’s surgery about you,” Adriana says with a roll of her eyes.

Carlos doesn’t bother to remind her that technically Sebastian is a cousin to her, not a nephew; labels other than “familia” ceased to have any meaning to them long ago. “So what’s the deal? Is he okay?” Francesca asks.

“The surgery went well,” T.K. says. “Sebastian’s appendix didn’t rupture, so the chances of infection are low. He should be able to head home in a day or so.”

“Phew. Poor little dude. This sucks,” Francesca says.

“But he’s okay,” Adriana says. “That’s what’s important. Everyone is okay. And all his friends are going to be very jealous when he gets back to school.”

She opens one of the bags and pulls out a tray of something that immediately fills the air with the scent of tomatoes and cheese. “Why do you have tamales?” Carlos asks. “It’s ten am.”

“Because Mom told us to go by the house and bring them over,” Francesca says. “She doesn’t, and I quote, ‘want anyone eating that hospital garbage, it will rot their stomachs.’”

“Sounds like your mom,” T.K. says with a cheeky smile as he reaches for one of the tamales.

“We also have…taquitos, mac and cheese for Sebastian, and…arroz con pollo,” Francesca says, checking the other bags.

“Your mom just had this all on hand?” T.K. asks, his mouth full.

“Tía Andrea always has everything on hand,” Adriana says.

Despite his initial scoffing, by the time Justin comes back an hour later to tell them Sebastian is up for visitors, Carlos has eaten three tamales, half a dozen taquitos, and a plateful of arroz con pollo. Apparently hospitals make him hungry. They’ve also fed four nurses and an orderly that T.K. knows, and they haven’t even put a dent in what’s there.

Justin looks a little less of a mess now, he’s clearly spent some time in front of a mirror and his shirt is buttoned the right way now. He’s smiling in spite of the tiredness in his eyes, which widen in delight at the sight of the food. “Oh thank god for Andrea,” he says, immediately reaching for a taquito.

“Hey, how do you know it wasn’t us?” Adriana asks, clearly offended.

Justin fixes her with a look and she shrugs. “I mean, yeah it was Tía Andrea, but we’re the ones that brought it over here,” she says.

“Thank you for your service,” Justin says around a mouthful.

“How’s Sebastian?” Francesca asks.

“Better than Lucía or me,” he says. “He says it barely hurts and he’s very excited to have a cool scar.” He looks at T.K. “Apparently you’ve really made this hospital experience feel like a vacation T.K.”

“I’m just glad he’s doing all right,” T.K. says.

“Can we see him?” Carlos asks.

“Yeah,” Justin says. “Lucí sent me to get you all.”

“Well then let’s get this party moved!” Francesca says, closing up the tupperware with incredible speed built from years of cleaning up house parties and hiding the evidence before their parents got home.

They make quite a parade marching through the pediatric wing of the hospital with balloons and bears and food galore. But then, the Reyes clan usually does. They’re not exactly known for being a calm and quiet bunch.

Sebastian is sitting up in bed eating a popsicle, looking like the happiest human alive even with an IV in his arm and stitches in his side. “Sebby!” Francesca says happily. “You’re looking good there buddy!”

“You brought me balloons?” he asks as Lucía quickly rescues his popsicle, which is in danger of falling to the floor.

“We brought you balloons and a bear and macaroni and cheese from Abuela,” Adriana tells him.

“Can I have mac and cheese right now?” he asks Lucía.

“Let’s maybe wait until after the doctor comes by again,” she says.

“But then I can have it? And the ice cream Tío Carlos promised me?”

It gets a chuckle from everyone in the room.

The women start to fuss, setting up the balloons and bear in the best possible place, but Carlos’ eyes are on T.K. who is not-so-subtly checking out all the monitors and lines, ensuring that things are exactly as they should be. God, he loves this man. He loves him more than he thought he could ever love a human being.

“Well this looks like a party!” A man whose name tag identifies him as Dr. Nguyen, comes into the room, iPad in hand. Carlos assumes this must be the surgeon. “Sebastian who are all these fine people who came to visit you?”

“This is my Tía Cesca and my Tía Adriana. They brought me balloons,” Sebastian says, pointing to them in turn.

“Well that’s very nice.”

“And that’s my Tío Carlos,” Sebastian says.

“Oh, is this the Tío you were telling me about? The one who’s a paramedic and helped you feel better?”

“No, my Tío Carlos is just a police officer,” Sebastian says. “My Tío T.K. is the one who’s a paramedic.” He turns his head to look at where T.K. is standing next to his IV pole. “Paramedics help people feel better. Right Tío?”

T.K. freezes for a second, his eyes locking with Carlos’. “Um, yeah,” he says finally. “Yes, that’s right. Paramedics help people. And then doctors help them even more.”

“Yeah, Dr. Nguyen took my appendix out,” Sebastian says. He looks the doctor square in the face. “My mom says you have to tell me if I can have mac and cheese or not.”

Dr. Nguyen laughs. “I can do that. Let’s give you a little check up and see.”

“We’ll give you some privacy,” Francesca says, which is hilarious given that she hasn’t let anyone have a single minute of privacy since the day she was born.

They step out into the hall, Adriana and Francesca immediately abandoning T.K. and Carlos to go look for hot doctors. Carlos runs a hand through his curls and looks at where his boyfriend is leaning up against the wall. “Well I guess we know who his new favorite tío is,” he says.

T.K. looks up, uncharacteristically nervous. “I’m sure he didn’t mean it like that. You’re not just a police officer.”

Carlos chuckles. “Oh I’m sure he meant it exactly like that. Tío Carlos is just a tío who wrestles and gives him ice cream. Tío T.K. saves lives. You made an impression.”

T.K. blushes. “I’m glad I could help.” His gaze softens. “I can’t believe he called me tío.”

And despite the fact that no one in the family has ever referred to T.K. that way before, Carlos isn’t surprised in the least. “Is that okay?” he asks.

“Yeah,” T.K. says quickly. “Yeah I—as long as you and your family are okay with it. I don’t…I wouldn’t want him to be confused.”

“He’s not confused.” Carlos’ words are soft and he reaches down, intertwining their fingers. “I don’t think anybody is confused anymore about why you’re so important to me.”

T.K. meets his gaze and Carlos feels like he can see all the way into the vulnerability at the core of this man who came here so broken and lost, and is just starting to figure out how vital he is to everyone around him. Carlos leans in and their lips meet, soft and sweet. It’s not enough to really say thank you, he’s not sure he can ever truly find a way, but in this moment he knows he’ll try. Everyday for the rest of his life if he needs to.

The door to Sebastian’s room opens and Carlos reluctantly pulls back, keeping their hands firmly clasped even when T.K. starts to pull away a little. “Bad news,” Lucía says. “Mac and cheese is off the table until tomorrow. T.K., he would like to know if you have any connections that can get him jello instead. But only the red kind. Not the green.”

“Absolutely,” T.K. says, already pulling out his phone to send a text. “Red jello coming right up.”

Carlos shakes his head and smiles as they reenter the room, Sebastian’s face lighting up when he sees T.K. again. Carlos has always thought T.K. seemed like magic. And now everyone else can see it too.

#911 Lone Star #Tarlos #911lsfic #Tarlos Fic #The Reyes Family (My Version)#Adriana and Francesca #Whump of a minor #Appendicitis #Family #Competent T.K. Strand #T.K. shows off his paramedic skills

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cozy-earthbaby · 1 year

Text

3 of a Soul - (part 2)

(Re-post)

---

(A/N - Everyone is over 18 cuz It makes life easier.)

---

Drake was really starting to get on Damien's nerves.

Correction. The oldest three of the batfam were getting on his nerves, but it was Drake's fault.

It started with him and Todd discussing some dingy cafe at the edge of Parks Row. Todd was suspicious of how calm it was, so Drake looked into it. The usual background check and stake out. The place was clean.

Then Drake kept going there.

That then in turn made Todd more upset, who then dragged Grayson into the mess.

Which brought him here.

Standing in front of the aforementioned cafe alongside Drake and Grayson. Todd refused to go till the establishment had Grayson's approval. The tacky sign contained an idiotic pun that got a laugh out of the oldest.

"Don't know why Jay-bird has a problem with this place, seems quite wonderful to me!" Grayson's chipper mood only seemed to sour Damien's.

"And I told you both I had this handled! I don't know why you need to be here?" Drake complained, tired eyes glancing at them. "It's just a cafe."

"Tch. We really shouldn't be wasting our time with this non-sense. However, Todd would only continue to whine. He's under the impression you're not taking this seriously." Damien huffed out. It really did feel like a waste of time.

As they entered the doorbell announced their presence. A short darkhaired young man with pale skin and a troublesome smile sat at the counter greeted them. Bright blue eyes piercing into them. Damien felt himself shiver. Damien never shivered.

"Tim! My favorite coffee addict! Always good ta see ya! Your usual? Oh! Who're your friends?" The midwestern drawl stood out immediately as he addressed Drake, Smile growing with a wink. Drake in return turned a light shade of red. Tch. Pitiful.

"H-Hey Danny! Yeah, yeah that'll be great! And these are my brothers. Dick and Damien. They wanted to check this place out." Drake was attempting the small talk like his foot was in his mouth. Honestly pitiful.

Danny punched in Drake's order as he looked Grayson up and down, an almost evil grin placing itself on his face. "You go by Dick? On purpose?" The snark was thick in his voice, mischief in his eyes. Before Grayson could defend himself, a male voice with a New York accent called from the back as someone emerged.

"Danny! Play nice!" The New Yorker was a sight, an objectively handsome young man with chestnut hair that almost glowed and sweet honey doe eyes that seemed to sparkle. He was built similar to Grayson, slightly taller through. His face, smile, and eyes were warm and open, a contrast to Danny's sharp watching gaze. "Sorry about him. Don't know what Tim's told you, but Danny is house trained." The tease caught Danny's attention.

"Peeeeetey! I was just askin' a question! I was bein' friendly." The shorter boy draped himself over his coworker.

A snort was earned. "Yeah. Sure." The chestnut-haired man said drily, rolling his eyes as he redirected his attention to the brother's. "Sorry again. Names Peter. Now, what can we get you boys?" The New York accent took on a more friendly, almost playful tone, as his doe eyes crinkled with his smile. Damien felt his mouth go dry. Tch. What a bother.

"No problem Peter! As you heard, I'm Dick, this is Damien, and this is our first time. Timmy here is such a fan, we just had to check it out!" Grayson, ever the social butterfly, was already laying the charm on thick as he wrapped an arm around Drake. "Any recommendations? Unlike certain people... Some of us like to actually taste their coffee." The wink he sent Peter was probably a bit much. However, he was rewarded with a gentle laugh from Peter. The angelic sound made Damien feel warm and uncomfortable. It was apparent that he was not the only one effected, judging by the pink on both his brother's faces. Tch. Pitiful. Truly Pitiful.

"Alright. Alright. How about this? I surprise you two and tell you about the drink after?" Peter seemed excited by the idea. "I bet I can guess pretty close to what you'll like. Just let me know if you have any dietary restrictions." There was a Glimmer in his eye Damien couldn't place.

"I think that's wonderful! How about it Dami?" Grayson's hopeful eyes were that of a kicked puppy. Tch. Unbelievable.

"Fine. I'll partake in this ridiculous game. My dietary restriction is Vegan." Damien tried not to notice how Grayson lit up as he spoke.

"Awesome! Two special orders and one regular coming right up!" Peter rung them up than dragged Danny to the back, who complained the whole way.

After a moment of silence, Grayson spoke.

" So~ THAT'S why you keep coming back here, huh?" The suggestive tone caught both Drake and Damien off guard.

"Wa- NO! I- DONT!" It had appeared that the foot had returned to Drake's mouth. "Seriously Dick. What even? I come her for the coffee. It's relaxing here! Danny and Peter are fun! Also! I COME HERE FOR THE COFFEE!!!" Drake's face got redder and redder as he spoke. Tch.

"Hey, hey, hey! I was just teasing! Just teasing!" Grayson amended. "But it looks like you were right. Nothing crazy going on here other than that Danny trying Peter's patience. I'll let Jason know."

"Tch. Danny is an idiot. " There was no doubt about that. The man was a fool.

"He's not so bad once you get talking to him. He's just got some weird thing about trying to fight people right as he meets them. Peter said it's just how things are back home for him, and that he and Ro have been working on breaking that habit of his."

"Ro?"

"Oh yeah. You guys haven't seen them yet. Yeah. They stay in the back mostly. Very chill. Puts up with those two like a champ. If you two start coming around more, you might see them."

"Huh." Grayson went into thought with this new information.

"Tch."

Silence fell over the group as they made it over to one of the booths. No sooner had they sat down, had Peter arrived with the drinks.

"Ok boys. Give these a shot and tell me what you think." Peter could have been vibrating, he was so excited. It was almost cute. Tch.

Both Damien and Grayson cautiously brought their cups to their mouths, sipping slowly. Damien felt his Eyes go wide. It was his favorite kind of tea! The kind that took months for Pennyworth to get right. And here it was. Perfect, just how he liked it.

Slowly, Damien turned to the puppy eyes and friendly faced New Yorker, shock still setting in. Peter notice and a proud grin grew on his lips.

Rewarded with a laugh, Damiens fetchers softened.

Maybe this place wasn't so bad.

Tags:

@the-ghost-trader @saphirecross @the-autistic-spider

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heartstringsduet · 5 months

Text

it's just been a night and a day for me so I chose something fluffy from 10 to 0 (I will likely name Ten til Midnight once I start posting) and definitely didn't stick to seven sentences :D Thanks for kicking us off @inkweedandlizards

Though his entire body feels like a bruise pressed, Carlos finds the roll of trash bags and starts tidying, too. “You know you don’t need to do this, right?” he asks, gently taking the cup out of TK’s hands and throwing it into his own trashbag. “Anyone else would have dipped as soon as they woke up.”

Before Carlos can take the next piece of trash,TK snatches it from under his hands. He grins and Carlos finds out that butterflies apparently survive a hang-over.

“I was raised better than that," TK says. "Manners aren’t reserved to the South, you know?”

Carlos huffs. “Okay.” He takes the empty snack box TK hands him. It’s inefficient and absolutely better to clean this way so that’s how they continue until they made a sizeable dent in the mess. “Let me treat you with breakfast tacos after this?”

“You really don’t need to-”

“A good year starts with good food,” Carlos interrupts him. Not only is he his parents’ son, but he’s desperate to not have this be the end of it all already.

TK bags another cup, looking thoughtful. “How do you know it’ll be a good year?”

Desperate to make TK smile again, Carlos says, “Texan optimism.”

“Is that a thing?”

“I say it is.”

Finally, TK’s mouth curls up and steals Carlos’ breath with it.

“Despite New Yorker pessimism, I choose to believe you.” The bag in his hand crinkles as he lightly swings back and forth on the tips of his toes in a way that makes Carlos weak. "New year, new me and all that."

Carlos can't help but believe that too. The year ahead of him feels ripe with promise. I tag whoever wants to join <3 &

@herefortarlos @lightningboltreader @carlos-in-glasses @cold-blooded-jelly-doughnut @paperstorm @alrightbuckaroo @lemonlyman-dotcom @ladytessa74 @decafdino @liminalmemories21 @freneticfloetry @orchidscript @thebumblecee @strandnreyes @reyesstrand @welcometololaland @rmd-writes @bonheur-cafe @carlos-tk @louis-ii-reyes-strand @wandering-night19 @noxsoulmate @theghostofashton

#michelle writes #seven sentence sunday #10 to 0 #tarlos #tarlos fic

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zedortoo · 3 months

Text

Mr Stick headcanons before I sleep bc why not... below cut meows cutely (half of these were 'inspired' by Olympe's. Read: I straight up stole them)

He has to practice his sleazy new yorker salesman accent in front of the mirror every day so he doesn't slip up because then people will realize he's a DISGUSTING FRENCHIE

when he's overwhelmed or tired though he just starts cursing in french and people who have recently met him are confused because they thought he was American

He's got a CRAZYYY sweet tooth. It rivals the Noises at times but Stick generally had better self control... Most of the time. He'll still enjoy savory things but will go into withdrawal if he doesn't buy himself a little treat every day.

He really enjoys anything chocolate flavored but mint chocolate is his personal favorite because mint chocolate is fucking good fight me. He's actually a regular at Noisette's cafe and loves her specialty "chocolate milk with toothpaste" (mint chocolate milk is surprisingly good trust me dude)

Most people would presume he likes high end foods, but he's actually a very picky eater. He's afraid of eating shellfish and always triple checks his chicken to make sure it's not pink in the middle and asks for an outsider's input if he's not sure. He's even called up peppino on occasion to put him on video call to check if his dino nuggets are cooked right.

He's got a SUPER souped up flip phone. He loves how portable they are and he's somehow made it run smoothly on apple software. It's got all sorts of gadgets he's added to it, like a set of screwdrivers that pop out of it and a beam of white-hot light that shoots out of his camera and vaporizes anything in his path. Why does he need this? Who knows.

He's very aero- and aqua- dynamic. When he annoys peppino too much, peppino simply picks him up between thumb and forefinger and throws him like a paper dart.

That's all for now hope you enjoy and ummm give me one million dollars

#pizza tower #mr stick #MR STIIIIIIICK #headcanons #Fucking hate this guy bro

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buckets-and-trees · 1 year

Note

Hello! Congrats on the milestone!☺️

If I could, can I request a meet cute prompt at a cafe? I was thinking with either Bucky Barnes or Sirius Black🤔 I understand you may be busy and sometimes the idea just flows better for one character compared to the other so if it’s ok I’ll just leave you with this?😁 Congrats once again!

Honestly, I could go either way...

Thoughts are brewing - many thoughts - for this prompt being applied to Sirius, but I can see a very distinct scene for it with Bucky right now.

Fandom: MCU Characters/Pairings: post-TFATWS!Bucky Barnes x female!Reader Word Count: 1.1k Summary: As much as things have changed, they've also stayed the same, and Bucky's just living a normal life in Brooklyn on an ordinary day, starting with morning coffee. Content Warnings: a little meet-cute fluff, nothing but fluff Additional Notes: This will be the FIRST SQUARE for my Bucky Barnes Bingo @buckybarnesbingo - B3 "Old Married Couple". Literally this is just another cute coffee shop meet cute but I picked this long-haired version of Bucky, but I liked spending time with this soft version of Bucky for a few minutes, so I hope you enjoy him, too.

The way time passes fascinates Bucky. How could it not when he was born in 1917 and sitting in a café in Brooklyn over a hundred years later still in the prime of his life – a Brooklyn that’s got pieces of old and new, and both are familiar to him now. It’s been almost a year since he was pardoned, and his hair has finally grown out again, but it grows fast, and he’s cut it a few times. He only started coming to this spot in his neighborhood a month ago, but now that it’s settled firmly in as a piece of his morning routine, it’s starting to feel like it’s always been the place to supply his morning coffee and pastry. His coffee order is always the same, but he does branch out on the baked goods. Bart and Tina – the brother and sister who own the place – never fail with what they decide to bake each day for their customers. Bucky recognizes quite a few of the faces himself now. He’s even talked to a few of them – but not many, because they are all New Yorkers after all, and so some don’t want to be bothered with more than a nod.

There’s an old married couple – George and Evelyn – who come in together on the weekdays. They both still teach at the university, not quite retired yet, but they’re younger than Bucky, born in the post-WWII boom. It’s strange to think if he’d lived a normal life, he probably would have had children growing up right alongside George or Evelyn, and yet they speak to him in a very paternal way, asking after him each morning now.

He would be dead and buried, but since he’s been frozen and literally pulled in and out of time, only now is he finally thawed out and warming up to life. Things are steady, normal. He’s only taking a few missions, and so he’s starting to fill in the pieces of what the rest of a life could look like. He started volunteering at the library and there’s a position coming open that he’s being encouraged to apply for. He doesn’t need the paycheck, but he thinks he would like the stability of it – contributing to something, being needed, and for something practically anyone could do.

Bucky feels an awkward twinge, glances up, and looks around. He’s not the only one who noticed a disturbance in the normalcy of the café as he notes others are looking up and uncomfortably watching an atypical scene developing between a couple of people waiting for their orders near the pickup counter. A man in a sharp business suit with perfectly sculpted hair is speaking to you with more and more urgency as you try to naturally sidle away to other parts of the waiting area. Bucky’s seen you just two or three times come in and get your drink to go, so he thinks you’re probably new to the area, but this man clearly bothering you is unfamiliar to the morning crowd Bucky has become familiar with.

Something about the man reminds him too much of John Walker, of all people, and when that realization registers in his head, Bucky’s up and moving without even thinking.

“Oh, there you are,” he says, drawing close enough to put his hand gently on your shoulder. “I must have missed you coming in. I got us a table over there if you want to sit. I’ll bring your drink over.”

He can see he’s startled you, your eyes a little wide as you turn away from the stranger to look at him, but you do seem at last glad enough to have him give you an elegant exit from the situation with the finance bro. “Thanks, Bucky.”

Oh.

You know who he is.

He makes sure to keep a casual expression on his face as you walk around him toward the table he’d indicated. Bucky gives a gruff nod to the man who’d been badgering you and the man nods back. They’re of a similar height, but Bucky knows he’s got the muscles and glare to best him in any situation. Bucky pointedly looks him up and down and the man turns slightly and pulls out his phone to immerse himself in something and disengage from the situation. He can feel the atmosphere of the café return to normal.

Bucky looks back over at his table, and you’re just sliding your chair up to the table, your back to him. He knows he shouldn’t be surprised to still be recognized now and then. As much as he’s trying to blend in, he knows the Avenger part of his identity is part of public discourse, especially since his pardon trials when even more of his past was presented and up for debate.

“Bucky?” Tina slides a drink and a small plate with a croissant and jam on the counter. “Here’s that order,” she says. She pointedly turns the to-go cup so the side where Tina’s written your name is facing Bucky and gives him a wink and a warm smile. She knows Bucky, while friendly, doesn’t go out of his way to talk to the other patrons.

When Bucky sets your drink and croissant on the table and takes his seat again, he glances over just in time to see the other man look over at the two of you without appearing to look and the frown on his face grows. And with that half second now past, he can focus on you in front of him.

“I didn’t order anything with my drink,” you protest.

“A little something from Tina, then,” Bucky reassures you. “She likes to take care of her regulars.”

“Oh, that’s – she’s nice.”

Bucky likes the small smile that brings to your face. “I’m sorry I got you out of one undesirable situation only to make you have to sit with me until that guy leaves,” he says.

“Maybe I should thank him,” you respond with a nervous laugh, ducking your head a little. “I noticed you the first time I came in, was a little starstruck, and I was determined never to come back, but the coffee’s too good and too close to my place, so I said I’d just get my drinks to go and never embarrass myself trying to figure out how to talk to you.”

“So, then I shouldn’t tell you that guy’s walking out the door right now and you’d be free to leave if I want to talk to you for a few more minutes?” Bucky asks.

“I should probably stay here until I finish this coffee and croissant just in case he’s waiting outside.”

“Sound logic,” Bucky agrees, and the two of you relax into your seats, and time both speeds up and slows down as the conversation unfurls between the two of you.

#bucky barnes x reader #request fest #bucky barnes bingo #bucky barnes fluff #buckybarnesbingo2023 #bbb2023 #female reader

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80s4life · 10 months

Text

Henry Hill, Tommy DeVito & Jimmy Conway with a Southern S/O Headcanons

Word Count: 986

Status: Requested!

Ask: Hi!! Idk if you still write for Goodfellas, but can I have some Hc’s for Jimmy, Tommy, and Henry with an s/o who’s southern and is kinda embarrassed about it. Like whenever they’re with friends they won’t talk much because of their accent (I hope this makes sense😭😭)

@: an adorable Nonny

A/N: Nonny! How did you know I live in South Carolina?!

Fandom: Goodfellas 1990

Relationship(s): Henry Hill x Reader, Tommy DeVito x Reader, James “Jimmy” Conway x Reader

Summary: Headcanons that star a shy Southern Reader and how Henry Hill, Tommy DeVito, and Jimmy Conway react to them.

Warnings: fluffy, some violence (it’s Goodfellas), strong language (again, it’s Goodfellas)

{Gifs are not mine, credits go to @a-scribes-words, @versatilealienlady and @fangirl-imagines}

{My babies}

Henry Hill:

Henry idolizes your voice.

This was one of the first things that had caught Henry’s attention when he met you

He had seen you from across the bar of the most richest mobsters, your friend’s arm slung around your shoulders and stringing you along, trying to catch them a gangster

He heard your voice above the normal Brooklyn chatter, very smooth and reminded him of whiskey, horses, and warm sunshine

He smirked at you, watching as you mostly kept your gaze to the floor and only spoke when directly spoken to. He could tell there was something behind the silence and he wanted to know more.

So, he did as any guy his age would do with an inflated ego, and he called both you and your friend to the table

Once you guys were together, he always kept you tucked at his side, arm slung around you to calm and ease your nerves

He always chided anyone who made a comment on your accent and always poked and prodded you to make your opinion known at the table

Many times, more than you could count, he would smirk brightly as he watched you and Tommy go back and forth with your banter, your caution to the wind as you partied in the moment just as he had wanted you to

He’s very comforting and aware of your embarrassment, but convinces you that there is nothing to be embarrassed about

Your voice is music to his ease and a calming difference compared to the loud, noisy, and ignorant New Yorkers

He loves your mannerisms and the way you take extra care

You can read a room and lighten one if need be, but your always a calming force that can part the waves of the men around you, even if you either don’t take notice or realize

He thinks your voice is power (especially when he brings you into the business).

You’re his Apple or Apple of His Eye or call you variations of apples

Tommy DeVito:

Tommy adores your voice.

His mother loves you - let’s start there

Tommy is hectic and crazy, but your voice is that calming reminder to take things slower and take a step back, not everything has to be fought for

He met you at a cafe, talking to one of your colleagues over breakfast. He was coming in after a hangover and dead night, having not struck a match with any women or bringing them home as he’d hoped.

When you two got to talking, he was not-so-smooth and blunt about his immediate fondness for you and your voice in particular

He didn’t waste time after he met you, always calling, always inviting you places, and wanting to buy you the world

Your voice was one of the greater things he enjoyed and adored about you

He loved the way you would yell at people as he got you to be more open, a stark contrast from New Yorkers

He loved the way you differentiated words. With New Yorkers, their accent is more pronounced and accentuate every syllable, with your Southern accent tended to leave some letters or vowels out

Your relationship is not easy, which is why you always tend to go to his mother for some support

When you fight, and you will, most arguments tend to end in laughter as he would get confused as to what you said or how you said it, a deep look of confusion passing over his face with loud silence before breaking into hysterical laughter

Your voice is a calming wind that settles a long, hot summer night, and he never forgets to apologise and make everything right

You are his one and only, and he makes sure to never forget that

You’re his Junebug, and he loves you more than anyone or anything

James “Jimmy” Conway:

Jimmy is entranced by your voice.

Jimmy is old-fashioned, and with his usual chivalry, it fit right in with your customs

He met you at the library. He was getting the novel, “Iron War,” to settle his nerves and to take some notes on how to overcome the problems arising in the gang, you were looking at “Pride and Prejudice” to read for fun

He not-so-subtly inched closer to you in chairs before you were right across from each other at a table, and hit it off from there

One thing you both enjoyed was the comfortable silence you guys could have while not having any ill-intentions, anger, or hatred for each other. You could sit across the house facing each other, doing your own things and you would both be content

He takes you dancing a lot, just to listen to jazz and combine as one, and he loved to hear your voice sing the soft melodies

You were intoxicating

You guys molded perfectly together from the start and it only maid sense that he’d find himself a southerner

Your voice is like silk to him, and he just couldn’t stop until he had you

he adores your voice and the way you go about things (thanks to the southern lifestyle)

You’re both respectful and blunt, except yours is more like an indirect insult and his is just salt-on-a-wound-blunt

He tells you time and time again to not be afraid and embarrassed with your voice because it is just as powerful and unique as the next person

He makes you feel comfortable and encourages you to speak your mind, bring you out of your shell

Your voice is a turn-on, especially in arguments

Your a drug to him. Just hearing your voice makes him seek you out from across the room and have him running just to be up close and hear you

Whether your voice is more high-pitched or deep, it’s gorgeous. Just like you, his Sunflower

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art-estrange · 5 months

Text

(AMAMOA) Chapter 2: People Are People

Professor!Pedro Pascal x Teaching Assistant!Reader

Words: 1073

Masterlist

*All Pictures used (unless stated otherwise) will be found on my pinterest linked in the masterlist*

Story Warnings: MDNI 18+ (mostly in the off chance that I choose to explore heavy themes later on. This will obviously be updated at a later time) Crocs(yes that has a warning, i’m kind of obsessed with wearing crocs and currently own 2 pairs hopefully more in the future)

Story Content Tags (most of this is mentioned in later chapters.): Meet-Cute, First person perspective, Age-gap(F28/late 20s/early 30s x M40/late 30s/early 40s), Art references, new york nonsense written by a non-new yorker, spanish/spanglish, Lots of college technical talk, this was kinda based off a dream, crocs, College AU, AU where pedro isn't an actor/famous, slightly proofread… sorry for typos i'm trying guys😭😭😭

Chapter Summary: Reader comes to a possibly devastating realization on the way to the gallery, however Pedro remains his goofy-golden retriever self. Also Sarah Paulson is there, she’s a fellow professor at NYU and seems to be friends with Pedro… maybe more?

LATE JUNE(PICKING UP AFTER CHAPTER 1):

With my outfit layed out, I slept like a baby with dreams of that sharp nose and bronze skin. The soft caress of his fingers against mine, those gentle puppy dog eyes like pools of warm cocoa. Pedro was in my dreams that night and the anticipation to see him again was almost palpable. I woke up that morning almost with a start, a jolt to rise from the sweetest slumber I had ever had. I got dressed and went about my day completing some lighter chores that I had left till the last minute. With a belly full of breakfast and a latte in hand, I slipped on some shoes at the door and went on my journey to see the man that’s invaded my dreams. On the way to the gallery I had a lot to think about, mostly the fact that when I looked at the fliers, both for the TA/Professor gallery and Pedro's…it was the same flier… I knew I had seen the flier before but I didn’t think it was the same flier I had seen earlier that day. In the back of my mind, despite having only thought about Pedro the whole morning, there was still a creeping feeling that the goofy loveable handsome Pedro I met yesterday…. Is my boss… or pseudo boss?? Or whatever, is the same Pedro that emailed me… the painting professor. It’s not exactly wrong if, per say in future, we were to pursue a relationship… IF that ever happened, not saying it would, but it wouldn't be bad if it did. He’s not my teacher… he’s a coworker… that’s higher up than me but he’s not the one ‘signing my checks’, sort-of-speak. The whole situation is conflicting, I mean there’s no denying that Peter/Pedro from the cafe is Peter/Pedro from my emails, he said it himself, his job has to do with painting and it's the same flier. There’s no way that they’re not the same person… there’s no way that there’s 2 Pedro’s/Peter’s both doing a job having to do with painting, having an art gallery AT THE SAME TIME IN THE SAME PLACE WITH THE SAME FLIER AREN'T THE SAME GUY. I worried about these intricate details, wringing my hands anxiously before texting him to ask if he wanted a coffee on the way there; just another way to delay the inevitable. I arrived with my watered down latte and his 6 shots of espresso over ice, still can’t believe he drinks this. The place was lively, there was light music playing in this brownstone walk-up that sat between an apartment and a warehouse turned studio. It wasn't too far from where campus resides, we were about a 10 minute walk in the direction of greenwich. I sent him a text letting him know I arrived and that I’d wait outside for him with his coffee.

Out walked the man of the hour. He strutted out in a fuzzy cardigan, no shirt underneath, his messy mop of hair now a quaffed wave of tresses trickling down the back of his head like a soft waterfall. A gold chain adorned his neck surrounded by a light smattering of chest hair. His dress shoes clicked against the concrete as he lifted his sculpted arms, fingers decorated with rings, to pull me into a warm hug. “Oh my god! I’m so glad you could make it! AND you brought me coffee!?” He exclaimed holding me out at arms length, inspecting my outfit and face almost like he’s committing my look to memory. “I mean it was on the way and I wouldn’t want to miss the opportunity to celebrate my new friend!” my worries were still in the back of my mind, but on the forefront was how good he looked and how I should be enjoying myself. “By the way I hope you don’t mind, but most of the people here are colleagues from work plus some grad students that’ll be working alongside us for the semester. I mentioned I’m a professor right?” He gestures to the people inside and then looks around as he speaks, ultimately stopping to stare at me as he says the words that I dreaded the most. “Um no, you didn’t! But… there’s actually something I wanted to-” As I get to the topic that’s been flooding my mind, we get interrupted. “Hey! Sorry to cut in! Pedro we’re ready to have like the speech thing, everyones mostly here. Except for your TA… she RSVP'd but like I dunno.” What I’m assuming is a fellow professor, mutters the last part as though thinking out loud. “Oh! Ok thanks! Um Y/N this is Sarah Paulson, a theatre professor at NYU and a super close friend of mine. Sarah, this is Y/N, we met a couple days ago, remember the girl I told you about?” He introduces us as he holds both our hands. They talked about me…wait..they talked about me? THEY’RE CLOSE FRIENDS AND THEY TALKED ABOUT ME?! “Oh yeah, THIS clumsy bitch loves to make people bust their asses! It’s like the spacial awareness isn’t there or something.” Sarah laughs, wrapping her arm around his shoulders, head leaning against his, as she busts his balls about his goofy behavior. “Why don’t we go inside so you can see some of the pieces, maybe you can make some more friends while I have a short convo with some of my coworkers and the grad students?” He leads me in, his large hand guiding me by my lower back as Sarah strides in front of us. The warmth from his hand spreads throughout my whole body just as he levels himself to whisper in my ear “Don’t worry about her, she loves to tell people how much of a mess I am, while being a mess herself…that’s probably why we’re soulmates in a sense” the last part is muttered in thought, almost like I wasn't meant to hear it. Soulmates? Well that complicates things...more so than they already were…

Now's the best time to tell him, otherwise I'll never get to say it. “Hey so before we walk in there’s something I need to tell you…” I pull him aside so as to not block the entrance. “Yeah? What’s up?” he says, those puppy dog eyes boring into my soul, concern written all over his face. “So..”

To be continued…

Note: If you can’t find chapter 1 for whatever reason (it doesn’t wanna show ip in the pedro pascal x reader tag for some reason) you can find it on the masterlist linked above alongside the prologue and this chapter and any future chapters.

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