A collection of archived works from Blooming-mushroom and Boop-ity, two fic authors here on tumblr who suddenly deactivated.
Thank you to everyone in the community that found these posts so we could archive them. (None of these are copy and pasted, only linked to the original accounts via reblogs) If you have any reblogs from Boop or Bloom please tag me so I can add them!
The format goes: Who (alphabetical order) - Title - Warnings/Tags (If empty there are none specified)
Any poly or multi hermit posts will be at the bottom :)
The masterlist has grown! Remember to keep sending in your reblogs or other ones you've found, it's always appreciated. Even if we've never interacted I'd be happy to be able to add to this list further :)
You'd been looking forward to tonight for days. You had the perfect outfit picked out, makeup done in just a natural enough way that it looked like you weren't wearing any, and you were wearing that lacy black set that always made Frank shiver.
He'd bring you flowers, because of course he did, you weren't bragging to your friends for nothing. He held your hand all the way to the car, opened the door and helped you in. And when he started driving his hand fell to your knee, rubbing smooth circles into your warm skin. Warmer because he always made you feel like you were on fire.
He asked about your day, wasn't satisfied until you told at least one little story that brough a smile to your face. He told you about his day, some of the bizarre cases he had during his shift.
He reminded you not once, not twice, but four times that you looked beautiful.
He paid the check and you walked back to the car. He drove you both home and walked you to your door, the true gentlemen way.
"So..." he murmured as you took your keys out, already at your front door. "You have fun tonight?" he grinned at you.
You couldn't stop the smile from spreading across your face, "Of course I did Frankie."
He seemed to melt at the nickname, "Yeah?"
You nodded, and opened your door, you left it open as you set your keys down. When you noticed Frank had stayed by your threshold you sighed, "You weren't going to leave yet were you?"
A wide smile spread over Frank's face as he shook his head, "No chance, baby."
And let's just say he might have spent the rest of the night showing you how beautiful you looked in the warm light of your apartment.
My first little drabble! I love making these little moodboards! Send in any requests you might have!
"Frankie..." the whimper rips from your throat, echoing off the light pink walls of your bedroom. It's late, maybe 1 or 2 am? You couldn't tell, not with Frank being so so close like this.
You'd been sleeping before you felt his lips on your neck, a needy little whine leaving his lips, "Baby... you awake sweetheart..?"
Oh, you were definitely awake now.
His cock slipped inside you easily. A few nights before Frank murmured against your lips, "It's like coming home..". You couldn't stop thinking about it.
You whined louder now, when Frank's thrusts got a little deeper. His soft palm came to cover your mouth gently. You mewled.
"Shhhh baby," he whispered against your chin, "Feels that good huh?"
You nod, eyes wide with want.
"M' gonna need you to stay quiet for me sweetheart, don't want the neighbors to hear your pretty moans,"
It only made you want to be louder, he slowed his pace when he felt your gummy walls clenching down, wanting to make the pleasure last a little longer for you.
Frank pulled his hand away from your mouth to rub slow circles into your clit, making your eyes roll back.
A proud grin appeared on Frank's face and he laughed lightly as he teased you, "Is my sweet girl close? It's only been a few minutes honey..."
A choked out plea of his name left my mouth "Frankie... Frankie please..."
"So good for me," he murmured against my lips.
Frank quickly realized the only way to actually keep me quiet? Was to kiss me senseless while I came.
summary: Turns out you had met the Waynes well before meeting your husband.
pairing: Bruce Wayne x fem!reader
tags and warning(s): Nothing as far as I'm aware, wrote this in an hour and I'm way too sleepy to proofread this. some info might not be accurate, Maybe OOC
word count:1.1k
dc mlist bruce wayne mlist
Bruce Wayne had a hollow pit in his heart that ached for the simple things in life, such as Jason picking up his call, dick staying the night at the manor, among others. But like everyone else, he wished for things that could never happen, like his parents alive and well beyond their early thirties, and meeting you, his wife.
But what if fate had other plans?
It's a random Tuesday as Bruce, and you stand in the middle of your grandfather's beloved attic. The wooden floors creak under your weight, dust particles moving in spirals as the early rays of sunshine flit through the glass panes of the dormer window. Your mother had asked for your help in cleaning your grandparents' place, and so you pulled in Bruce - offering him a break from his corporate duties, which he gladly agreed to.
"Wow, I did not realise my grandad hoarded so many things", you say, looking at the vast number of trinkets and boxes stacked along the walls on both sides of the attic. Each was well organised, with a label pasted on the top.
"Your grandad was a man of culture", Bruce chuckles, looking at the various band posters from the 40s and 50s. There were even autographs from some of them, neatly preserved.
Both of you got to work immediately, knowing it would be hours before everything was cleaned out. You had decided to split the work by concentrating on different ends of the triangular room.
Bruce had struck gold by ending up in the corner where your granddad had seemed to store much of the photo albums and cassettes, stacked on top of each other, labeled in detail about what the insides contained. It gave Bruce an insight to your family, a family from looking at the albums that had photos from back since your grandparents got married, having their daughter â your mother, to her getting married, and having you.
He had seen a lot of your photos since the early days of dating, but these were different. Your grandfather was an avid photographer, and Bruce could sense it through the varied angles and poses that he made everyone do.
"Having fun, huh?" you mumble, looking at Bruce as he suppresses a chuckle while looking at the pictures of you â a two-year-old, wearing a princess gown and a wand gripped tightly within your grubby fingers.
"You get stuck with the more fun part, while I have to dust some old documents", you grumble, looking at files and files of documents.
"Do you wanna exchange, sweetheart?"
"Nope," you say, emphasizing the 'p' as you shift to the next box, "Besides, I like hearing you laugh, even if it comes at the cost of my pictures"
An hour passes by.
You had finished four out of the twelve boxes. Heaving a sigh, you decide it's time for a well-deserved break. And what better to do than annoy your beautiful husband?
"Bruce, Brucie Wayne," you turn to look at him at the lack of any response "Bruce?"
Bruce doesn't answer, his broad back turned towards you. There is something different in the air from a few minutes ago, almost tinged with melancholic fragrance. You move towards, hoping to see what made him go so still, only to let out a gasp when you see it.
There you were, maybe five or six years old, wearing a large doctor's coat that reached well beyond your limbs, dragging onto the marble floor and a cute pink stethoscope around your neck. But that was not what made you gasp; it was the couple you were standing with in the photo.
Thomas and Martha Wayne.
Both of them were crouched next to you on either side. Thomas Wayne in his fitting black suit paired with a dark blue silk necktie embellished with motifs, while Martha Wayne wore a simple black silk dress paired with a blue tweed jacket.
There was a tiny piece of description below the photograph, a little shabby, like your grandpa wasn't sure what to write.
' Y/N & famous couple from Gotham (VHS #155)'
Bruce let out a laughâ loud but bittersweet. It made sense for your grandad to not know them, considering the only people he thought to be rich were the Queens.
You looked at Bruce, his eyes a little glazed as you cupped his face, fingers rubbing against the expanse of his cheek. Pressing a small kiss on his forehead, you whisper, "Shall we watch the VHS tape?"
He hums as you both try finding the exact tape among two hundred of them. Once retrieved, you dust the Toshiba VCR at the corner, pulling it slightly towards the center. You and Bruce try to get it to start since it probably hasn't been used in a while.
After a few minutes, the VCR lights up. Inserting the tape, you press play, and both of you stand back, Bruce's arm over your shoulder as you lay your head on his chest, arms wrapped around his waist.
The VCR displays a blue gradient before buzzing to a grainy film of you in a purple and pink frock , smiling widely at the camera. There's a lot of noise around you â people clapping , speeches being read as your grandad records the stage when Thomas Wayne was giving his speech. Bruce shifted a little, hand holding yours a little tighter, from hearing his father's voice after so many years.
The video then shifts to you, standing in front of the couple, wearing a pink stethoscope and a white coat a little too large for your frame. Martha Wayne smiles , a smile so radiant, before crouching down to her knees as she shakes your hand.
"Hi, there. What's your name?"
You say your name before letting out a giggle at her calling you beautiful.
"You want to be a doctor when you grow up?" She asks, hands pointing at the instrument hanging around your neck.
"Yes, ma'am. I want to be a heart doctor," you say, peering at the woman beside you. Thomas Wayne smiles before exchanging pleasantries with your grandfather.
"Oh, that's wonderful! You will be a great doctor one day, my dear."
And with that, the VHS comes to an end.
Bruce sniffles a little , his hands holding your waist, chin placed on top of your head. Silence fills the space along with the sounds of your nieces playing around the house. You don't know how long the both of you stayed like that, but it could have been forever, and you didn't mind at all.
Bruce is beyond happy. While it may not be visible to the naked eye, you could feel the joy emanating from the open crevices of grief and gaps of affection. He was happy that you âhis wife, the love of his life â had met his parents. And they had gotten the chance to meet you.
Perhaps both of you really were soulmates.
A/N: Comments and Reblogs appreciated! Writing something for bruce after a long time.
frank fucking you from behind with two fingers down your throat and the other hand grabbing at your jaw and pointing it to the camera âdrool for everyone, honey. there you go - show them what a good little slut you are.â
Characters: Jack Abbot, Michael âRobbyâ Robinavitch, Brendon Park, Dennis Whitaker, Frank Langdon, Ahmad, Crus Henderson, John Shen, Jesse Van Horn, Donnie Donahue, Mateo Diaz & James Ogilvie
Summary: your first kiss with the Pitt characters
A/N: gifs are for aesthetic purposes. I tried to keep this as gender neutral as possible
Jack Abbot:
After a nightmare shift he walks you home.
When you reach your front door, he hesitates at first. Then he pulls you in by your scrubs. Hand resting on your cheek and kisses you.
The kiss is soft, hesitant at first until your fingers grab hold of his hair at the nape of his neck pulling him closer.
He pushes you against your front door. The kiss getting rougher. Your tongues fighting for dominance.
Michael âRobbyâ Robinavitch:
After a rough shift on the roof. Youâre stood together watching the stars in silence.
He moves closer reaching for your hand. He finally feels like he can breathe again
Then he leans forward and kisses you.
The kiss is soft and hesitant. He knows he shouldnât be kissing you, since heâs youâre attending, but he just canât help himself.
Brendon Park:
The two of you had been on one date. But he was yet to kiss you. He didnât want to scare you off. At least thatâs what he thought would happen.
After a tough Ortho consult he corners you in the trauma bay. Itâs only the two of you in the room but he is still in Shark mode.
He corners you like youâre his prey. He roughly grabs your waist pulling you against his solid body and he kisses you.
Itâs rough, passionate. Like youâre keeping him grounded. He pulls away and tells you date tonight before leaving you stood there flustered.
Dennis Whitaker:
Dennis is shy. You comfort him after the death of a patient.
Heâs been crushing on you for some time. Youâre sat in the break room, side by side, when he just leans over and kisses you.
Itâs just a peck at first, he thinks heâs made a huge mistake until you pull him in for more.
Frank Langdon:
Itâs Franks first day back after rehab. He is on edge mainly due to Robby clearly not wanting him there.
After shift youâre catching up. Debriefing on his day when he admits he thinks he made a mistake coming back since Robby clearly doesnât want him there.
Itâs you that tells him itâs not a mistake, and that Robby will come around eventually.
Frank then kisses you. Itâs soft and hesitant.
He pulls away and thanks you for always being there for him before he kisses you again.
Ahmad:
Ahmad has been watching you quietly all night. During a quiet moment he pulls you into the security office to talk.
Once the door closes he pushes you against it and kisses you.
He knows everyone can see but he doesnât care.
He pulls away telling you heâs been wanting to do that for a long time. A smile on his face before you pull him in for more.
Crus Henderson:
You are both in the break room during quiet time during the night shift.
Youâre sat there talking when he admits heâs always thought about kissing you but is too afraid to actually do it.
Itâs you that pulls him close and kisses him.
John Shen:
In the on call room. Shen still has his iced coffee in hand when you pull him close.
You tell him youâve had feelings for him and you canât hide them anymore.
Your hands make a fist in his scrubs as you crash your lips against his.
His lips are soft and taste like coffee. One of his hands rests on your waist the other still holding his coffee.
It isnât until Abbot comes in and clears his throat that you pull away.
Shen accidentally drops his coffee and is pouting the whole time. You peck his lips one more time promising to order him another coffee to the hospital as soon as youâve checked on your patient.
He then gives you another kiss in front of everyone when his new cup of coffee finally arrives. A huge smile on his face.
Jesse Van Horn:
He corners you in the supply closet. Heâs been watching you all shift desperate to kiss you.
He pushes you up against the shelves. A smirk on his face a glint of lust in his eyes.
He slowly leans down giving you a chance to stop him. He stops just inches away from your lips.
You reach up a hand, placing it on the back of his neck, fingers playing with the curls at the nape of his neck. And you pull him closer.
He tastes like spearmint gum that heâs been chewing all shift.
His hands find your waist as you deepen the kiss.
He rests his forehead against yours and finally asks you out on a date.
Donnie Donahue:
In triage during a quiet moment, youâre sat side by side,
At first itâs just a quick peck, youâre shocked even Donnie is shocked he just did that.
Then you pull him in for more,
Mateo Diaz:
After your first date Mateo walks you to your front door.
He tells you what an amazing time he had and that he hopes you can do it again soon.
Of course you agree. He goes to leave but you pull him back. Crashing your lips against his. You pull him inside your apartment with you, not wanting the night to end there.
James Ogilvie:
Itâs when heâs crying in the ambulance bay after he lost a patient.
Youâre the one who finds him and sits with him talking and comforting him.
Youâre the one who tells him not to give up.
Heâs had a crush on you since he started working at the PTMC . He knows he shouldnât but he leans in and kisses you.
When you freeze he pulls away and apologises. He goes to walk away but you stop him. Then you surprise him by kissing him back.
ngl now I kinda need a fic where Leo asks for a sibling (girl dad Dexđđ»đđ»)
This ask is referring to this story!
Iâll probably do a longer explanation for this another time because Iâm getting so many girl dad! Dex! But I canât see reader wanting to get pregnant until things are more stable, so maybe after DDBA season 2, or even season 3, whatever that would look like.
But if Leo ever asked for a little sister, Dex would take that very seriously.
Leo says, very sweetly, on his fifth or sixth birthday, that all he wants is a baby sister. Dex looks at you like your son has just handed him a mission from a divine hand.
And obviously, Mommy and Daddy get to work while Leo is at school.
Then, what if, nine months later, you have another boy?
Dex loves him, of course. Thatâs his baby. His son. Leoâs little brother. Heâs obsessed the second he sees him. But also, that was not what Leo asked for, so Dex is already leaning over your hospital bed, brushing your sweaty hair back from your face, kissing your forehead like heâs the most devoted husband on earth, and going, âWeâll try again.â
And you, exhausted and sore and still stupidly in love with him, just blink up at him like, okay. Sure. Whatever you say, handsome.
Because pregnancy with Dex actually there this time?
Both wonderful and dangerous for your self-control.
Dex was hovering and fussing. Dex was acting like your body being swollen and tired and needy was the most beautiful thing heâd ever seen. Dex touching your stomach like it belonged to him, l smiling every time the baby kicked, and seeing Leo experience the wonder of you growing life? Priceless.
And every time you complained about being tired or sore, heâd look so smug, like, yeah, baby, I know. I did that. And then of course heâd be super attentive.
And you hated how much you loved it.
You loved him being so focused on you. You loved him being more possessive than normal (if that was even possible). You loved the way he treated every pregnancy like proof that you were his wife, his home, his entire world.
another man's jeans - It's been a long ten months for Frank Langdon. Rehab, endless meetings to prove he's fit for his job, and losing you.
It's his own fault. He knows that. He couldn't handle the pressure of his entire life going to shit, and combusted, destroying your life in the process. If things had gone to plan, the two of you would've been married by now. Instead, you're near strangers, and Frank doesn't know how long he can watch you date a guy that absolutely doesn't deserve you.
Until you turn up on his doorstep, with nowhere else to go after being kicked out by your ex. And so, Frank Langdon's second chance begins.
COMPLETED.
code blue - a universe featuring robby x charge nurse!reader, frank x resident!reader and jack x emt!reader - each one-shot follows a shift of one of the couples, but the other two may pop up in the background of each! the one-shots will also be standalone (ie. you can only read frank's if you want, but i would recommend reading all for the added universe lore :))
frank and resident!reader (nickname: page) - when you started your r2 year at ptmc, the last thing you expected was to be ridiculously infatuated with your senior resident. it's against all your principles, but you can't quite let it go. besides, there's no way he feels the same. a harmless crush never hurt anybody, and you're sure the butterflies will go away with time. until they don't. and frank's gazes start to linger.
one-shots
nothing yet!
moodboards
exes to roommates // two // three
abbot!reader, and being caught by robby
rivals to lovers
robby asking if you knew about the drugs
can you read my mind, i've been watching you
high-school sweethearts reuniting a decade later
having a crush on your senior resident
showing up mid-shift to be treated
another man's jeans
coming into the pitt on valentine's as a patient // halloween // halloween pt.2
⧠failure of imagination you approach everything clinically, including poorly constructed sex scenes in books. dr langdon decides to take that as an invitation to give you a proper sex ed lesson.
⥠handle with care 5 times frank langdon manhandles you and the 1 time you manhandle him back
Imagine Robby and/or Dana clocking that reader is pregnant because of how hover-y Langdon is being around her and which patients she sees and such đđ€
dr.worrywart- f.langdon
summary: frank is not an openly affection man. what happens when that changes? the entire ER falls into the role of detective. robby and dana figure it out, of course.
pairing: frank langdon x fem! doctor! reader (probs late twenties/ early thrities)
warnings: litch nothing it's all just fluff and everyone in the Pitt being nosy as fuck
a/n: thanks for requesting, i LOVEEE this idea you're a genius! banners from my good friend @no-144444 !
Part two -> dr. worrywart returns
Langdon is hovering. Thatâs the first thing Princess notices. Heâs always been the type to leave you to your work, mostly because youâd chew him out if he even dared step inside one of your trauma rooms, youâd see it as an offence. He had accepted that since your first days of med school together, he knew his place. You were Barbie, and he was Ken, just there. You two barely saw each other while on shift other than a few quick glances and waves or the occasional break room chat. Both of you were workaholics, and you both liked to go at it alone, so this was strange. You two walked in, and Frank had his arm around your waist. Regular-you wouldâve hit his arm away. You just shrugged him off once you got to your station. She stared at you and you shrugged.Â
âHeâs being clingy, I donât know whatâs wrong with him,â you shrugged, dropping your bag down. It was a partial-lie. You knew why he was being clingy, you were fucking pregnant. You did, in fact, not know what was wrong with him though. He was always a strange man. He stood beside you, looking at the board as he tried to cherry-pick, gaining a glare from Dana. He pretended he didnât hear you two.
She chuckled. âHeâs obsessed with you. Itâs annoying to watch,â she shook her head. âRemind me again why you married him?â He sent her the middle finger behind your back. He lingered despite the fact that he had a case to work on, one he deemed interesting enough for him. His hands landed on your hips and he pushed his front against your back, acting like he was part of the conversation.Â
You rolled your eyes and pretended to think about the answer for a second. âI was in med school and needed someone to fuck so I could release the rest of my energy?â you joked and he rolled his eyes with a scoff. âWhat?â you looked back, smiling. âYou should take it as a compliment, youâre so sexually talented, Iâve stayed with you all this time!â you sent him a bright smile and kissed his cheek as he rolled his eyes and removed himself from you. He walked off to his patient, mumbling something about âdrive me crazyâ, as Princess laughed at him.Â
âHeâs hovering today,â she shook her head. âYouâre not concussed again or something, right?â she questioned, referencing the time you got a concussion on shift and he wouldnât leave you alone. It was the day everyone found out that you and Langdon didnât actually hate each other, and that you actually shared the last name. Youâd gone by your maiden name in your first year, mostly because you hadnât bothered to legally change your name after the wedding for a long time (med school kept you busy), and also to avoid the awkward explanation.Â
You laughed. âNo concussion yet, but the day is still young,â you smiled before walking off to your first case.Â
Princess shook her head. Something was up.Â
Mateo stared at Frank as he stared out the window. âYou good?â he questioned. Everyone had been a bit nicer to Frank since he joined back to the Pitt after his rehab stint and sabbatical, so he didnât go straight to teasing. Everyone knew it was difficult for him, and they understood that sometimes he might be a bit more snappy, or a bit dazed. They did their best to accommodate because, even if he was an asshole, he was an integral part of the Pitt, and people loved how happy he made you.Â
âYeah,â he nodded, biting his lip and he didnât take his eyes off whatever he was staring at. Mateo sucked in a breath.Â
âDude,â he cleared his throat. Frank finally pulled his eyes away from whatever he was so entranced by. He faced Mateo. âYou good?â He asked again, a hand on his shoulder.Â
He nodded slowly, then quicker. âYeah, yeah,â he shook his head, like he was shaking off whatever was in his head. âYeah Iâm good. Just tired. Forget how hard these shifts are sometimes.â He chuckled semi-convincingly. Mateo just nodded, filling it into the back of his mind if Robby ever asks him about Langdon and how he thinks he's doing.Â
Frank left the room, pulling his stethoscope around his neck as he left. âHeâs being weird,â Mateo shook his head. âMakes me nervous.âÂ
Trinity let out a breath she didnât realise she was holding. âRight? Super weird, he didnât even chew me out for making a joke about his hair today.â She stared at the spot heâd last been like heâd just disappeared into thin air. Mel looked between the two of them, it being an unnaturally slow (she knew she was jinxing herself by even thinking it) day, meaning both her and Santos were on a case together.Â
âI think heâs being normal,â she shrugged, confused by their reactions to him. âHeâs just⊠getting his bearings. Itâs his first week back and his first day was the 4th, and that was terrible. Heâll be back to normal in a few days.â She offered them her signature smile, and got nothing but shaking heads in return. She frowned.Â
âHeâs being strange,â Mateo repeated. He walked up to the window, searching for him. âI mean, look, heâs filling up Y/nâs bottle for her. Thatâs weird.âÂ
âWhy would that be weird?â Trinity and Mel asked at the same time.Â
Mateoâs jaw dropped. âYou havenât heard of the bottle incident of 2022?â he scoffed. They both shook their heads. He chuckled, shaking his head. âAlright, so back then, none of us knew they were together, and all they used to do was bicker, which we all now know is their foreplay, which is gross,â he made a face, then continued on. âAnd one day, it got so bad, Y/n spilled Frankâs bottle all over him when heâd asked her to refill it, in front of Gloria and a patient. Ever since theyâve literally been banned from touching each otherâs bottles. It always ends badly,â he looked out the window again to see him hand you the freshly refilled bottle, with a quick kiss to the cheek.Â
Mateo knew he had to consult Princessâs sheet.Â
Trinity stared at Frank in the breakroom. He was looking at something on his phone, but he was covering it with his other hand, like he didnât want people to see. She raised an eyebrow, and kicked him in the leg (softly). âWatching porn at work?â she joked, Frank quickly turning off his phone and sending her his signature glare. âCome on, Iâm kidding,â She smiled. âItâs good to have you back.âÂ
He nodded, rolling his eyes. âWeirdly, itâs good to be back,â he agreed. He looked down. âLook, I was a dick to you before-â âaw thanks-â âNot finished. You can still be a pain in the ass, but youâre a good doctor. Youâre talented. I was⊠well I was fucked up before, and Iâm sorry I treated you the way I did. It wasnât cool.â He finally met her eyes, an awkward sense of accountability filling the air. She blinked at him.Â
âThank you for apologising,â she said tentatively. âThatâs really⊠adult of you, I guess.â She chuckled to try and diffuse the awkwardness of the moment. Maybe Dr.Abbot was right about her needing to switch to nights? Day shift was too personal for her.Â
âYeah well, I have to become one at some point,â he huffed before walking out, and she stared as he left, her jaw dropped to the floor. Had Frank Langdon just made a self-depricating joke? ER Ken, âthe chinâ, handsome squidward (okay maybe she came up with two of those), had actually admitted to having flaws. She watched as he swung by your workstation, a granola bar in hand, pressing it into your palm as he kissed the top of your head.Â
She was adding it to Princessâs list.
Jesse hated it when Langdon interfered with your work, because you always let him. Langdon wasnât the most openly affectionate husband, hell, no one had known you two were together for about a year. Neither of you had anything to prove, no PDA would change the fact that you two loved each other, and everyone knowing really just made things more complicated.Â
So why the fuck was Langdon taking all the good cases and Jesse was stuck with him for half of them? It was no secret that you were Jesseâs favourite doctor, you were cool-headed, always kind to nurses, and always in a good mood somehow. Heâd seen you lose it once, and it was the day Langdonâs drug problem was uncovered by Robby, and then the mass casualty after it. Youâd sobbed in the breakroom with Jesse and Yolanda at your side, emotionally exhausted from the toll of the day. As the months rolled on and Langdon started his rehab journey, you still stayed positive. You were still smiling, still updating everyone and telling them he was doing well, telling them he missed them, even though they knew he didnât. He missed you, missed being at work with you. Everyone else was just a side-character to him, you were everything.Â
âWhat the fuck is going on? Youâre taking all the good cases and leaving Y/n with the shit,â Jesse asked as he threw his gloves in the bin. âI mean, come on, sheâs getting all the easy ones! I did CPR in there for 4 rotations before someone else came to help!â He scoffed as Langdon turned to him.Â
âSheâs tired,â Frank shrugged, dropping his own gloves into the bin as he passed Jesse. âShe asked me to take âem, I took âem.â
Okay, Jesse knew that was bullshit. You always thought about yourself last, it was always the patients first. You also wouldnât let Frank have all the fun with the difficult cases.Â
Jesse stared at the sheet as he stood at the nurses station. He added it, just to be safe.Â
Perlah was appalled by the sight in front of her. She had half a mind to write you both up. Frank had his hand around your waist in the breakroom, a hand sprawled over almost your entire stomach, with his head leaning on yours, just listening to whatever story Jack was recounting. She watched him. Chewing slowly against you, a thumb running back and forth over your scrubs.Â
You noticed her staring and sent her a mouthed sorry and a shrug, like you had no idea what had gotten into him. Perlah decided to blame it on first week back-jitters. She just averted her eyes when he leant down and stole a quick kiss, shocking the both of you in the process.Â
It was the next line on the list by noon.Â
Dennis Whittaker took no pleasure in making the right call when it meant he would face the wrath of Frank Langdon. Heâd made a quick save, realised something before him, and heâd ordered the correct meds before he could consult. He didnât want to explain. He didnât want to fight. He just wanted to calmly explain that technically, Frank had made the wrong call.Â
âYou alright Whitty?â You called out, Frank at your side. Whitty was something youâd started to call him a few months ago after heâd made a witty joke out of nowhere, making you laugh so hard, youâd cried. âWhatâs up?â You questioned. Frankâs eyes snapped to him and he took a very sharp breath.Â
âYâknow Mr. Gregor?â he asked, you shook your head and turned your attention to Frank. He nodded. âWell I was going over his CT scan and I notice how close his bleed was getting to causing a seizure and I know you told me not to push Atorvastatin unless he was actually seizing, but I tried it anyway, and his BP went way down and heâs stable enough to go to theatre,â he blurted out. âSorry, I know I shouldâve told you, o-or gotten you, or-â
A smile bloomed on Frankâs face. âGood save, kid,â he smiled, clapping a hand on his shoulder. âGo check on Mrs. Taylor, yeah?âÂ
Whittaker walked away genuinely concerned that Frank had been replaced with a different person. He added it to the list after he told Trinity about it.
It took a lot for Mel to notice something. She usually just assumed everyone was alright, and if they werenât, they could speak up and say something about it. She knew that Frank had been a bit⊠antsy since coming back. He constantly looked for you once he left a patient's room. He stared all the time. He kissed you whenever you got close enough to him. You just laughed it off. Called him clingy, or a big baby. He didnât bite back. He just smiled. He didnât argue, just tried to kiss you again before you pushed him off, warning him about being written up. You acted like this total 180 personality change was normal. She swallowed back her surprise when Frank had started rattling off facts about pregnant women, to the pregnant woman in front of him. Obviously, every doctor and nurse here had knowledge on pregnancies, but this was overkill. Random facts about fetal anatomy and positioning. Those âlovey-doveyâ (as Santos had so elegantly branded it) things about mothers and babies that he wouldâve called bullshit a year ago.Â
She blinked when she started talking about various tracking apps he wouldnât have known the name of a year ago.Â
The patient was discharged with a smile, and Mel turned to him. âTrying to get patient satisfaction up?â She asked incredulously, completely at a loss for words.
He shrugged. âNo, why?âÂ
She stared, mouth open and helpless, like she thought he should know what she was talking about. He just stared back. âBut, you knew all that?â She chuckled, more surprised than laughing.Â
âYou donât?â he asked before leaving the room, probably off to find you.Â
She added it to the list after a talk with Dana.
Dana had been keeping an eye on the both of you all day. Princess had shared her strange findings on a small chart at the nurseâs station. Frank had gone to find you 18 times in 7 hours, when he could usually go the entire shift without looking for you. Dana looked it over, confused, what the fuck was he doing?Â
âHowâs your resident doing?â Dana asked as Robby came up beside her. Her eyes stayed on the piece of paper. It had add-ons from Mateo, Santos, Jesse, Perlah, Whittaker, even Mel was in on it. He stared at Frank from across the room, talking animately to a patient.Â
He sighed. âI donât know yet. Still wondering if we brought him back too early,â He shook his head and noticed the sheet of paper. Robby stared at the sheet for a moment, then ripped his glasses off his face. He huffed. âFuckâs sake.â he breathed out, and she turned to him expectantly, then it dawned on her.Â
âWeâre going to be losing two of our best Senior residents in about 8 or 9 months for paternity leave,â She shook her head with a smile, and Robby couldnât exactly hide his own.
Of course.Â
Heâd had his hands on you all day. He kept looking for you to make sure you were alright. He refilled your water without having to be asked. He gave you his protein bar. Come to think of it, heâd been taking the strenuous cases and leaving you with the easy ones. He even took Trinity off your hands so that you could take Mel and have an easier day. Robby chuckled, grabbing Frank as he passed by, his eyes set on one thing, you.Â
He didnât notice the hand reaching out and grabbing the collar of his scrubs, so he kind of tripped into stopping. âWoah!â he scoffed, his hands up in air as he balanced himself, Robbyâs hand retracting. âWhat the fuck was that for?âÂ
Robby smirked as Frank turned his attention back to you, those tiny glances everyone had seen all day. âY/nâs still going to be there in 4 seconds,â he shook his head. Frank looked at him, faking confusion. âWhatâs going on? How far along is she?âÂ
Frankâs face went blank. Dana laughed, gaining the attention of Princess and half the nursing staff. Frank cleared his throat. âI donât know what youâre talking about.â He shook his head. Frank Langdon was many things. Blunt, rude, annoying. One thing he was not, was a good liar. Dana laughed into Robbyâs shoulder as a chuckle left his own lips.Â
âSure kid, just let me know so I can book off your paternity leave,â he clapped a hand on Frankâs shoulder, who quickly brushed it off, irritation surging through his body. Robby stayed smiling. âIâm happy for you two, congratulations.âÂ
Frank gritted his teeth, stepping in closer, his voice cutting and final. âShe is not pregnant. We are not pregnant!â He practically shouted, gaining the attention of nearly the whole ER. Everyone stared, he went bright red, he cleared his throat, and he walked.Â
Straight to you, of course. You laughed at him as he pushed some of his hair out of his face, following you around like a puppy. You hadnât heard his outburst, but no doubt youâd hear about it.
âNice catch Robby,â Dana smiled. âI wouldnât have guessed it.â She shook her head.Â
He shrugged. âHeâs such a worrier the second she gets sick, weâre going to have to deal with this for months now.âÂ
The small group that had gathered all realised theyâd have to deal with Dr. Worrywart for a whole 9 months. They quickly went back to work.Â
âI think everyoneâs onto us,â You chuckled as Frank came up to you for the 24th time that day. He shook his head.Â
âNo, I think weâre good. No one knows-â
âEveryone knows!â Both Robby and Dana cheered from behind you. Dana hugged you from behind as you laughed, Frankâs blank expression breaking into an annoyed squint. âCongratualtions,â she smiled. âYouâre going to be the coolest parents.â
âI think you already fill that role,â you chuckled, taking her hand. âBut thank you.âÂ
âCongratualtions.â Robby smiled, shaking Frankâs hand and then pulling you into a hug as Dana pulled Frank into a reluctant hug.Â
They left you after a few more congratulations and you turned to Frank. âYouâre totally right, no one knows,â you teased.Â
He rolled his eyes. âYeah, yeah, fuck off,â he couldnât fight the bright smile on his lips.
telling frank youâve never had a pelvic exam and youâre weâll past the where you need them. oh he doesnât like that.
of course he has to give you one himself !! your your health !
| frank langdon x reader . . . warnings. mdni, smut, pelvic exam, medplay
"what do you mean?" he asked you worried
"I mean, I've never had a pelvic exam?" you said turning back around to put the fruit in the fridge
he was shocked absolutely bewildered that you've never gotten your exams yet "but you're 24. you should've had one a while ago???" frank was shocked. "did no one tell you that?"
"yess I know I need one I just keep forgetting... it's not really on the top of my list right now frank" you huffed out a laugh carrying on with unpacking groceries. you didn't want to admit how scared you were of it
then he got that look on his face. the one he makes when he gets a gross idea "well you know, your boyfriend is a doctor " he said all sultry rounding the island
you gave him a laugh "okay? gonna schedule an appointment for me, get me a discount?"
"or i could just give it to you myself?" franks hands slid around your waist. kid lips pressing against your jaw. you pulled away from him to put the rest of the food away"frank, knowing you it wouldn't just be a pelvic exam"
"c'mon! it's free of charge, i can do everything for you" he insisted "i'm a great doctor"
"i know you are, that's how we met remember?"
after much convincing you gave into his requests. "baby don't you trust me? i'm doing this for you" "this is just so i know you're okay" you sighed and gave him a nod. maybe it would be better this way, maybe you wouldn't be so nervous
a few days later you were home working on your laptop and watching tv "baby, c'mon let me give you that exam" he said kicking his shoes off and hanging up his jacket "ugh now? i told you id just go to the actual gyno" you said setting your laptop aside.
"mhmmm.... c'mon" he pulled a few things out he needed for the swab and what not. helped you take your panties off and put his gloves on "spread your legs" it was so embarrassing for some reason he'd seen you in much worse positions before. you propped them up spreading them wide and looking down at him
"look how pretty, prettiest pussy i've ever seen" he cooed, kissing the inside of your thigh "frankâ"
"nuh-uh, s'doctor langdon right now okay?" he looked up at you
"doctor langdon that's not a very appropriate way to treat your patients..." you mumbled. "yeah.. you're right but you're my favorite patient" he said he started with running his fingers up through your folds, chuckling when your legs twitch to close "mm... keep these open for me"
you tried your hardest but when he slid to fingers in and stretched you couldn't help but try to close them. "dont make me get the spreader." he warned and you complied. "sorry s'just... is this really how a pelvic exam is?" you asked him with a whine
"are you seriously doubting me? I'm a doctor I wouldn't purposely perform an exam incorrectly" he scoffed, offended at the, very true, accusation.
"so tight, look at that, just fucked you last night stretched you open real good and you're already back... look at that..." he cooed mockingly as you whined. "gotta relax so I can take a swab okay?" you gave him a nod closing your eyes to relax your body.
"goooood girl....." he dragged, shaking the swab and putting it in the sample jar and setting it aside.
"are we done?" you asked, brows knit together. his fingers still pumping inside you as his thumb moves to roll over your clit.
"no, baby girl, not even close" he smiled sinisterly his head going down between your legs giving you licks and sucks against your clit. "waitâ doctor... fuckâ" you gasped and he came up with a smile "gotta see how you orgasm. y'know, for your health" he said burryinghis face back into your pussy
your first time with langdon also happens to be the first time heâs had sex since getting out of rehab. his relationship with abby broke down not long after he returned home, and she wouldnât touch him even when they tried to get things back on track. now, over a year later, langdonâs started seeing you.
it started, as most things in your life do, in the hospital. you were put together on a case, and it made langdon see you in a new light. youâd gained so much confidence since heâd be gone, and he liked that even though you called him out on his shit you did it with a smile. he found himself asking you out to dinner after a particularly difficult shift, not expecting you to say yes, but you surprised him yet again.
youâve been dating for three months, and that leads you to now. youâre spread out under him, hair sprawled against the pillow as you give him a shy smile. he canât believe his luck that he gets to have you like this, your lips swollen from his and marks already beginning to show on your skin from the love bites he littered across your neck and collarbone.
âwhatâs going through your head?â you ask softly, running your hand through his soft hair.
âitâs uhâŠâ he trails off, collecting himself before he speaks again. âitâs been a while for me.â
âitâs okay,â you soothe. âwe can take our time.â
frank feels a rush of adoration for you, and leans down to kiss you again. your tongue flicks against his, a sweet moan falling from your lips as he slots his thigh in between your legs. heat radiates from your body as he deepens the kiss, the two of you tangled up in each other.
âfrank,â you whisper against his lips, grinding against his thigh. âdo you have a condom?â
âyeah.â he reaches over into his bedside table and you smile.
when frank pulls his cock out of his boxers, you watch as he rolls the condom onto his hard length. heâs thick, and you feel a gush of wetness between your thighs just looking at him. you kick off your panties, finding his lips again as he lines himself up with your soaked entrance.
you can tell heâs nervous, so you snake your hand in between the two of you to help him push himself in. you gasp at the stretch, the pleasurable burn making your body shake.
âfuck,â his teeth are clenched. âsorry, i need a sec.â
âtake all the time you need,â you soothe against his ear, cupping his face in your hands. âyouâre so good, frank.â
his eyes close at the praise. he hasnât felt good enough for anyone in a long time.
âfeel so full,â you tell him. âfeels nice.â
he hums against your lips, testing the waters by pulling his hips back slightly. the pleasurable sigh you let out makes his cock throb inside you, your walls clenching around him to accommodate his girth.
âyouâre so wet,â he sounds wrecked and you canât help but clench around him again. âyou have to stop doing that, baby, iâm not gonna last.â
âi canât help how sexy you sound,â you laugh, capturing his lips in a soft kiss. âyou sound so pretty when youâre desperate.â
frank laughs, a real laugh, sweet kisses exchanged between the two of you as he ruts against you.
âthink you can go a little faster, handsome?â you ask and he nods, picking up the pace until the sound of your skin slapping together echoes around the room.
âmhm,â you moan, gripping the back of his neck. âjust like that.â
âfeel good?â he asks, forehead dropping against yours.
âso good, frankie,â you play with your clit with your free hand, crying out when he hits a particular spot inside you. âyouâre fucking me so good, baby.â
he missed this. the feeling of making his partner come undone, the sensation of a wet pussy wrapped around his cock. heâs embarrassingly close to coming from the pretty noises youâre making, tits bouncing up and down every time he drills into you.
frank leans down and captures your hard nipple in his mouth, a gasp falling from you at the sensation of his tongue circling the bud. he gives your other nipple the same attention, and your circles on your clit grow sloppier as you get lost in the pleasure.
âiâm so close.â you moan and langdonâs forehead finds yours again, cock pumping in and out of your tight heat.
âcome for me, beautiful,â he begs, pretty eyes piercing into yours. his hair falls over his forehead, sweat glistening on his skin. âyou can let go. iâve got you.â
you come with a cry of his name, and langdon works you through your orgasm with gentle kisses and words of affirmation. you cling onto him for dear life as he continues to dive into your cunt, your sensitive hole fluttering around him as you ride out your orgasm.
thatâs what sends frank into his own orgasm, and he comes into the condom with a loud groan. you smile at the sight of him letting go, pressing soft kisses to his forehead as he comes down from his high. he collapses on top of you and you wrap your arms around him, heavy breaths mingling together.
âthat wasâŠâ he eventually says.
âyeah,â you smile, running your hand through his messy locks. âit was.â
when langdonâs going through his divorce, he misses intimacy. sometimes when itâs just him in his lonely apartment, he gets his hand on his cock and he thinks about sex with a faceless woman. not even just his own pleasure; itâs the thought of getting her off that makes him groan into the quietness of his apartment as he comes on his own stomach.
with time, that face turns into yours. he thinks about you more often than not, and when itâs just him and his hand he pictures how you would sound as he makes you come on his tongue. would you whine, gasp, or cry out his name? would your thighs tighten around his head even though youâre begging him to stop, because itâs just too much?
langdon thinks about what position you would prefer. are you a missionary girl, or do you like to take the reins and bounce yourself on his dick like itâs what you were born to do? or maybe youâre into doggy, and you like a bit of roughness which urges you to beg him to make your ass red as you throw it back on him.
on the nights heâs especially lonely, he thinks about filling your warm, wet hole with his seed. he thinks about you growing round with his child, how pretty you would look with your swollen tits spilling out of your sundress. he thinks about bending you over the kitchen counter on a sunday morning, skirts lifted to your chest as he makes you cry on his cock.
frank feels like a pervert when he goes into work and you smile that pretty smile at him from your spot at the nursesâ station. youâre the face of innocence â how are you supposed to know he had his hand gripped around his dick this morning thinking about you begging him for his load?
when dana assigns you as the nurse on his case, unknowing about his little infatuation with you, his dick grows in his scrubs as he watches you at work.
âdo you need anything else, dr. langdon?â your voice interrupts his crude thoughts sweetly, and his eyes zero in on your cherry gloss coated lips.
what would they look like stretched around his cock?
âno, thatâs everything. thanks, (y/n).â
langdon practically sprints to the toilet, and all it takes is four tugs of his dick to have him coming into his hand like a schoolboy.
pairing: dofp!logan howlett x mutant!reader
summary: every person has a soulmate. after settling in the future that he saved, logan starts to consider his next mission when a suspicious mark appears on him.
word count: 3.2k
a/n: good ol'fashioned soulmate AU. this is the first actual fic i've written in a long time so please have some grace. reblogs and replies are super appreciated!
warnings: general mentions of logan's past, scars, self-doubt, alcoholism, reader smokes a cigar, mentions of razors, scars, wounds, two uses of y/n
logan masterlist | inbox | full masterlist
It had been a week since Logan woke up in his healed timeline.
For most people, the change would have been dramatic. But Logan was far unlike most people. The initial dreamlike state he was in when he first walked through the mansion- seeing the ghosts he had once known returned to the flesh, unscathed- quickly subsided. Logan had always been a man thrown onto a new path- how he lived life constantly changing to best fit his interests. Now, with his newfound peace he found the most complicated mission of all: what to do with the life he was now free to live?
Even before the sentinels, the battles, the wars- he had always been a man on the run. He was solo, strategic, concise. For a man who was gifted with infinite regeneration, he had solely concerned himself with staying alive. He ate for sustenance, sought shelter for safety, and nursed a bottle to find enough peace of mind to sleep at night.
The professor had once told him that for a person to reach self-actualization they first had to have all of their needs met. Logan had scoffed at the time, assuring the professor that he knew himself just fine. But now, with his problems so solved that they had ceased to ever exist, he wondered if maybe the professor was right.
Who was he? Where did he go from here?
The answer was found in the form of a scar on his hand.
"Well, everything seems to be just fine."
Logan scoffed at the blue man in front of him
"Well it's not." Logan said. "Check again."
Two days after he had come back, a large, circular scar had appeared on the palms of each of his hands. When they hadn't disappeared after two minutes, he rushed to the bathroom and nicked himself with his razor, watching as the wound healed with only blood dripping down his scruff as a remanent of it. Thirty minutes after that he found himself in the lab with Hank, Jean, and the Professor hypothesizing his miraculous marks.
"Logan, the tests came back clear." Jean assured him, leaning against the wall. "Maybe it's time to consider that it's something else."
Logan quirked his head towards her.
"I haven't had a scar in over two hundred years," he reminded her, his voice laced with irony. "I get not one, but two and you... what? Think it's a coincidence?"
Before Jean had a chance at rebuttal, the professor moved to face Logan.
"That's not what Jean's inferring, Logan." Charles reminded him. "We're simply asking that you consider other options. Less... dire options. It could, after all, be a good thing."
"Yeah?" Logan scoffed. "Like what?"
A silence hung in the air.
When Logan had first come to them with news of his scar, the thought had been on all three of their minds. Still, there were a plethora of things that could have caused that. Though, when the tests came back clear and his skin continued to heal from all sorts of abrasions, it felt as if there was only one answer for his seemingly magical scars.
However, none of them were keen on sharing this diagnosis with Logan. One wondered whether he'd handle the idea of his body failing him over fated love.
Hank was the first to speak up.
"Like a soulmate."
Oh that was rich, Logan thought.
Logan wasn't unfamiliar with the idea of soulmates.
Around the time that two fated lovers were destined to meet, there would be a sign for each of them. In some cases they were eyes changing colors, feeling the other's pain, finding their names everywhere they looked. In other cases they were new birthmarks, tattoos, scars.
In some way, the two were inextricably connected.
In his long life he had seen others experience it dozens if not hundreds of times. When the first thirty years of his life rolled around with no one, Logan accepted that he was one of the outliers. He considered it for the best and by now, with everything that he had gone through, the concept of soulmates almost seemed like an old wives' tale.
Logan glanced at their faces. When he realized they were serious, a deep laugh escaped from his gut. There was a lack of light in his eyes that admitted his insincerity.
"So I disappear for a few decades and you all start believing in fairytales?" Logan pulled the needles from his arm, the heart rate monitor going flat as he did. "What a bunch of bullshit."
Jean laid her hand against his chest, urging him back into the seat.
"Logan." She soothed him. "This is a good thing. Scott and I-"
Oh this was real rich.
"Scott and you are... what, huh?" Logan urged. "Soulmates?"
Logan scoffed, swiping Jean's hand from his chest.
"Bet you're so happy with your 'soulmate' and that's why you lead me on, huh? That it? You're happy?" He taunted, a dark laugh escaping him once more. "Spare me-"
"Logan, that's enough!"
The professor's voice echoed against the linoleum walls of the lab, reverberating off of the medical equipment throughout.
"If you want to wallow in your own self-deprivation, be my guest, but spare the rest of us your grief." Charles continued. "I think it would be best if you go back to your quarters and consider the future the universe has offered you."
The energy in the air was thick.
Jean and Hank avoided Loganâs eye contact while the professorâs nearly burned a whole through him.
Accepting defeat, Logan threw his hands up in the air and pushed himself out of his metal chair.
âFine.â
Soulmates. Logan thought. Who would believe in a thing like that?
-
"It's a pleasure to see you again."
The atmosphere in the mansion was a stark contrast to the lab Charles had been in days before.
Now the school day had commenced: children skipping from class to class, students chatting with their friends in the hallway, teachers grabbing coffee between lessons. Amidst the organized chaos, Charles had arranged to meet you in the foyer: the replacement history teacher for Logan's class.
"You too, professor." You smiled, reaching out your hand. "I was so glad to hear from you."
Your hand hung in the air briefly, awaiting his return. Charles examined it for a moment- a twinkle in his eye- before taking it. His thumbs brushed against the newfound scars between your knuckles as he did.
"Correct me if I'm wrong, but you didn't always have these scars, did you, Y/n?" Charles asked.
You had not.
You had woken with them a few days before. Despite your powers rooted in chaos magic, it wasn't uncommon for blemishes or wounds to etch themselves into your skin. However, you often knew why. These marks, scars, were not faint, but instead quite profound. Three thick, healed over wounds patched together like a stitch on the back of each of your hands.
"No professor."
He closed his eyes, a soft smile gracing his lips. Though you knew he wished to ask more questions, the moment was broken by Logan.
"Ah, the man himself." Charles beamed. "Logan, I'd like you to meet Y/n. She'll be covering your class."
You had seen your fair share of news stories about the Wolverine. Who hadn't? Though the television had never prepared you for just how tall, or broad he was.
"It's nice to meet you, Logan."
"You too." He nodded, taking your hand.
His hand lingered in yours for a moment. Charles cleared his throat.
"We were just discussing the most peculiar scar on Y/n's hand." Charles said. "Appeared just a few days ago out of nowhere."
Charles nodded his head in the direction of your hand, leading Logan to squint. As if a light bulb had gone off over his head, Logan glanced between Charles and yourself and with your hand still in his, he turned it examine the back.
Three scars between your knuckles. Right where his own claws would be.
Though he liked to imagine himself as the patron of remaining suave, Logan's eyebrows shot up at the recognition. He traced his view from your hands, up your torso, to your face where you eyed him questioningly.
He thought back to the way that he woke up in the seventies, wrapped in the arms of another woman. If times had been different and Logan hadn't undergone all the so-called character development in the last forty years, he was sure that a face like yours would have gotten him in a lot of trouble. You were beautiful, and your demeanor highlighted your strength.
Your face radiated kindness, warmth and most of all, sincerity- a trait that was difficult to come by in a trade such as his.
But then Logan recalled that this wasn't the seventies and you weren't at some bar leading him on the entire night: your hand was in his and, according to everyone else, he was yours.
The idea almost couldn't register in Logan's brain.
"Interesting, isn't it, Logan?" Charles asked, breaking the silence. "Almost identical to where your claws are, hmm?"
Oh the professor thought he was quite funny.
Logan pulled his hand back from your grasp and shook his head.
"Not that easy, Charles." Logan commented before turning to you, a spiteful tone in his voice. "See you around, bub."
Before you had the chance to open your mouth, you watched as Logan stomped down the nearest hallway, his boots squeaking against the floorboards as he did. His fists clenched and released at his sides as he disappeared from view.
His reaction had come so far from left field that if it hadn't given you whiplash, it would have hurt your ego. Instead you turned back to the professor.
"Was it something I said?" You asked.
The professor shook his head, patting your hand gently.
"Logan's quite a complicated man." He assured you. "I'm sure you'll come to know that more than the rest of us. Now, to your classroom..."
Glancing over your shoulder to the void-like hallway that Logan went down, you considered the professor's words.
-
A storm had taken over the mansion by nightfall.
As you padded down the wood panelled hallways, the lightbulbs shook in their glass with each thunder clap- wind swatting at the window panes every few seconds. The pitter patter of the raindrops, although harsh, was comforting. It was almost as if the mansion had been engulfed by the storm, trapping everyone inside, while consequently making the outside world feel a thousand miles away.
When you found Logan's door, tucked in at the end of the hallway, you knocked.
"Yep."
The weight of the door fell against the palm of your hands as you pushed it open.
Logan's room was dark. The only light in the space had been from the embers of the cigar that hung in his mouth, cradled between his thumb and forefinger. Despite the darkness, you could make out his figure sitting at his desk chair by the window, feet kicked up on the sill.
Logan only gave you a quick glance over his shoulder before turning back to the view.
"What d'you want?"
His voice was thick and rough around the edges.
"I came for your textbooks." You replied, tiptoeing against his floorboards. "The professor said you'd have them."
The hand of his that held the cigar waved around. Minuscule ashes fell to the floor as your eyes remained trained on the light and the faint glow of the moon that illuminated the side of his face.
"Be my guest," he said. "Donât have a clue where they are."
The professor had given you the lowdown when he saw your scars.
Charles told you that despite everything that you had learned- the history that you had known- the Wolverine you'd meet was not the same person. He was a man from a different time with far different, darker memories and enough baggage to weigh down dozens.
Amidst the silence, you cleared your throat.
"Must be hard to wake up in someone else's life."
By now you had reached his desk, your fingertips tracing the lines in the dark, lacquered wood.
You could smell him and the cigar from this distance- aftershave mixed with smoke.
"The professor tell you that?"
"Mhm."
The chair creaked as Logan flicked his hand towards the window, ushering you to come closer.
Watching your step in the dark, you maneuvered around the furniture and sat beside Logan on his desk- pushing loose papers to the side.
"He give you his whole spiel on soulmates too?" He asked, eyes trained on the rain outside.
Soulmates.
Now that was the last thing you expected to come from the Wolverine's mouth.
You'd heard of them more times than you could count. You once wondered whether every repetitive coincidence was a sign that your person was coming. But, when that never happened, you lost hope.
Who got to tell you who you belonged to anyway?
Leaning over, you gingerly took the cigar from his grasp and replaced it with your own fingers. Sitting back into the desk as lightening struck a tree in the distance, you took a puff.
"So that's what the scars on my hands were all about," You thought aloud.
The window fogged as you let the smoke leave from your mouth in a breathy sigh.
Logan tapped his fingers on his thighs, counting the seconds between a lightening strike and its consecutive rumble of thunder.
"Listen, I'm no prince charming if that's what you came here looking for."
Logan's chair creaked again as he leaned back in his seat. His arm draped against the desk as he met your gaze.
You chuckled and held out his cigar, offering it back to him.
"I came here looking for textbooks." You laughed. "You're the one who keeps talking about soulmates. I think you're more of a romantic than you let on.â
His fingers brushed against yours as he took the cigar back into his own hand. Another lightning strike met the ground in the distance, a clap of thunder following moments afterwards.
"You don't buy it?" Logan quirked his eyebrow. It was a teasing question, one he was curious to hear your answer to.
You shrugged.
"I don't think the universe gets to tell me who to love," you said. "If I fall in love with you it's because I love you, Logan. Not because some mark told me to. I just think of it as... a little shove in the right direction.â
The corner of his mouth quirked into a smile for the first time.
"A shove?"
"Like a... blind date." You finished. "Ever been on one of those?"
A congested laugh escaped him.
"Sweetheart, do I look like the type of guy to go on a blind date?"
You bit the inside of your cheek at the name.
Rolling your eyes, you swatted at his arm. You wouldn't admit how much it hurt your knuckles to do so. You'd have to make a mental note to remember his adamantium skeleton.
"Gosh, you're cocky!"
Logan shrugged, "You're the one who likes it apparently."
You felt yourself grow hot at his accusation.
Even though he had a mark signalling his future affection for you, you couldn't help but feel embarrassed by Logan's knowledge of yours. You felt like a child who's crush had just been exposed to the whole class. Was he noting ever glance that you gave him? The way you didn't move when his arm brushed against yours?
A brief pause hung in the air until another thunder clap reverberated against the walls.
"So what's your mark?" You asked.
Logan shoved the cigar into the corner of his mouth. The biting motion forced him to flex his jaw in a way that you would refuse to admit made you start to realize that maybe the universe was right.
And that maybe his cockiness was justified.
He laid out his hands for you. The room was still dark, making the ability to discern the details of his scar impossible. Taking Logan's hands in yours, you summoned your magic into your hands, watching as they glowed gold.
Logan had two large, circular scars imprinted into his palms. It was a clear indicator of your own magical power that surged from your hands.
It left a feeling you couldn't describe in your chest to know that someone else was marked for you. They were destined for you. To be with you. You had a future written together before the two of you had met. Even if he rejected you, there was a sign etched into his skin that bound the two of you together in some fateful way.
Gently, you traced your fingertips against the mark, feeling the warmth that radiated from his palms.
When your eyes flicked upwards, you noticed how close the two of you were now sitting. You could feel his warm breath against your lips as the lingering smell of the cigar drifted up your nose.
Although he wouldnât admit it, Logan was enchanted by the energy radiating from you. Whether people hated or loved him, his ability got a lot of talk. In his mind though, he would never be a hero. He was just some guy who got lucky.
You, though? He didnât need you to tell him that you were an Omega level mutant. Logan had heard about you from the professor: you could cast spells, read minds, reconfigure reality- to name a few. You didn't need a reason to fight for what's right, you just did. Again, and again, and again. Even here, now, you were picking up Logan's history class when he knew very well you could be on the other side of the world sipping pina coladas if you wanted.
What the hell was the universe thinking putting you with him?
Logan admired the reflection of the magic on your cheeks and the way your eyes stayed trained on his palms. Your touch was so gentle he could have sworn he was in a distant dream until your eyes met his.
The two of you stared at each other for a moment, gaze locked.
Then another clap of thunder shook the mansion.
You quickly leaned back, pulling your hands from Logan's touch.
"I should... I should go." You said, pushing yourself off of Logan's desk. "It's getting late and I have my first class in the morning."
Logan leaned back in his seat. He said nothing but eyes remained fixed on your form as you made your way towards the door.
Looking back at him with your hand on the knob you made a mental note to remember the image of him with his feet kicked back on the window as he smoked his cigar.
A soft smile remained.
"Good night, Logan."
When you didn't leave immediately, he nodded.
"Night, sweetheart."
Mustering up the courage to shoot him one last smile, you pulled open the door and stepped outside.
Now, Logan didn't know how much he believed in soulmates, but he could be inclined to consider that it was one good wingman.
Leaning back in his seat, Logan sighed and closed his eyes, letting himself drown out his worries with the sound of the rain.
a/n: my inbox is open for more requests! thank you for the request @welcometochilis585
HEY QUEEN so i had an angst idea. mob!bucky with a sweetheart!reader, and arranged marriage. bucky is a busy man, constantly at meetings or dealing with business. reader is left home, trying to acclimate to her new way of life. what better way than cooking his favorite meal? reader takes the whole day crafting the food PERFECTLY and capturing the home cooked taste, and tells bucky to be home sharp for dinner⊠he forgets, goes out to drinks with buddies. reader realizes he doesnt care after minutes turned to hours after the usual time he gets home. tears are shed, reader is hurt. you can end it however you want!
synopsis:
One arranged marriage, one homemade dinner, two cold plates... and a husband who showed up three hours late, drunk, and heartless.
If someone had told your twelve-year-old self that youâd end up married to the most notorious mob boss in Brooklyn, little you would have laughed and said, âThatâs not Prince Charming!â
Fast forward through a blur of over the top celebrations, wedding gowns, and rings that cost more than your entire life. Now, past the hollow vows you were certain he would never keep, you find yourself sitting in a vast and lonely house.
All by yourself. Yet again.
With no Prince Charming.
The framed engagement photo hanging in the center of the living room felt like a taunt. In the portrait, you and Bucky are smiling, wrapped in each other's arms, looking every bit the perfect couple. Youâre fairly certain the photoshoot and the wedding day were the only times you ever saw him smile. After that, you hardly saw him at all.
Bucky was always out, occupied by business, meetings, and who knows what else. You remember one night when he stumbled in bloodied and bruised, heading straight for the fridge to grab a water bottle as if he werenât half dead.
âWhatâs wrong, dear?â you had stammered, heart racing. âYouâre covered in blood. Are you hurt?â
He didnât even look at you, merely shrugging as he took a long drink. âIâm fine. And itâs not my blood. Donât worry about it, sweetheart.â
Sweetheart.
He said it constantly, yet the nickname felt more like an insult than an endearment. He and his associates had meticulously arranged this marriageâplucking an innocent, upstanding citizen like you to give him the facade of a âregularâ man with a âregularâ wife.
And refusal wasnât an option.
You donât say no to the King of Brooklyn unless you have a death wish.
Despite the loveless nature of the arrangement, Bucky was kind enough to spoil you with riches you never asked for. He flooded the house with custom made dresses, jewelry, and shoes. He gave you security. He gave you silence.
You were less of a wife and more of an expensive accessory, polished and kept on a shelf.
Lately, however, the silence has been heavier and longer.
Bucky has been more on edge than usual, returning home in the gray hours of the morning looking utterly spent. On the rare occasions he actually climbed into bed, he tossed and turned, mumbling painfully in his sleep.
Despite everything, he was a decent husband by⊠mob standards, and your nature was too kind to remain indifferent to his exhaustion. You wanted to do something, anything, to help him ease that tension, even just a little bit.
So, for one night, you decided to do something you hadnât done since he slipped that heavy diamond onto your finger. You were going to cook. No five star catering this time, no maids, no pretense. Just a homemade dinner, crafted by your own hands, in the hopes of showing him that someone in this cold and lonely house actually cared for him.
You spent the entire afternoon grocery shopping aloneâno security, no chaperones, and no servants to carry the bags. You bought everything necessary for a steak and pasta dinner, including a bottle of wine. You werenât exactly a sommelier, but you picked the most expensive bottle on the shelf, figuring that high price was a safe bet for quality.
You were already a bit disheveled, trying to organize the chaos of ingredients across the large marble counters, when you heard Bucky jogging down the stairs, phone pressed to his ear. He gave you the usual side glanceâa quick acknowledgment before returning his focus to his business.
But the sight of the groceries sprawled messily across his usually sterile, pristine kitchen made him do a double take.
Bucky pulled the phone slightly away from his ear, his brow furrowed as he nodded toward the counter. âWhatâs all this?â
You nearly bumped your head against the cabinet as you looked down at him from the stepping stoolâ a necessity because he insisted on oversized cabinetry around the house despite never actually using it.
âBucky!â you beamed, carefully stepping down. You were slightly out of breath, but you offered him a bright, friendly smile. âGood. You havenât left yet.â
He blinked at you, not used to your sudden energy. âIâm sorry?â
âI want you to come home early tonight,â you repeated firmly. âI have something special planned for us. I want you back here no later than eight.â
Bucky just stood there, the phone still in his hand, looking a bit confused.
You narrowed your eyes, adding more bite to your tone.
âBucky,â you said firmly. âAs your wife, I am telling you to be home by eight.â
His shoulders eased just a little once your words finally registered in his already busy brain of his. You had never been this⊠firm with him, so you had no idea how he was going to react, or even comply.
To your surprise, he gave you a short and casual nod.
âOkay,â he said softly. âSure. eight oâclock.â
Now, it was your turn to blink. You had never demanded anything of him before, and you certainly hadnât expected him to be so⊠compliant. Almost submissive.
The tension left your body in a long, shaky exhale. âOkay, great. Wellââ
Before you could finish, he held up a finger to silence you, snapping the phone back to his ear.
âSam?â Bucky spoke into the receiver, already moving towards the door to snag his coat. âYeah, you heard me. Settle the deal with Stark. Iâm on my way.â
You watched as the doorman pulled the heavy front door open for him, and just like that, he was gone.
It had been a brief interaction, but he had actually agreed. Youâd take the win. The plan had gone so smoothly that it felt almost too good to be true.
And, as you were about to find out, it was.
You spent the rest of the day elbows deep in the kitchen, juggling half a dozen video tutorials on how to properly sear a steak and season pasta water. At one point, you nearly overboiled the noodles into a mushy disaster, and the temptation to call the private chef and beg him to take over was almost overwhelming.
Since marrying Bucky, you hadnât been required to lift a finger. But tonight, you were determined.
You wanted all of this to be a gift from you to him.
By half past seven, the heavy lifting was done. Bucky was due in thirty minutes. With the food warming and the table glowing under soft candlelight, all that remained was for you to go upstairs and make yourself presentable. You sent him a quick text.
Remember: be home at eight!
⊠He didnât respond, but you didnât let that dampen your spirits. He was a busy man, but he was also a man of his word. If the mob boss of Brooklyn told you heâd be home by eight, you simply had to trust him.
It was 8:05.
You were already seated at the table, your hands folded primly in your lap to keep them from fidgeting. Every few seconds, your head turned towards the front door, straining for the sound of a key in the lock or a car in the driveway.
Nothing.
No Bucky.
By 8:30, the house had grown suffocatingly quiet. No call. No text. Not even a ârunning late!â notice from one of his men.
You remained in your seat, hands still resting in your lap until your fingers began to go numb. You tried to wage a war of logic against the rising lump in your throat.
Itâs fine, you told yourself. He was likely stuck in traffic or tied up in an emergency meeting. After overhearing that intense phone call with Sam earlier, you knew the stakes were high. It was unrealistic, or maybe even naive, to expect the mob boss of Brooklyn to keep a strict dinner date as if he were the average man.
He was busy. He was important. That was all.
By 10:15, the pasta had become a cold, congealed mess, and the steak had lost its luster, the fat hardening into a dull white film. Still, you didnât eat. You didnât even move, except to reach for your phone.
You called him twice, and both times the line cut straight to voicemail.
By 11:00, the mental battle was lost.
You had spent the entire day preparing for this. He had looked you in the eye and given you his word, yet here you satâunimportant and completely invisible to the man who had sworn his life to you when you exchanged vows. A single tear tracked through your makeup, and when you finally lost the strength to hold your head up high, a choked sob escaped your lips.
You felt utterly foolishâsitting in a thousand-dollar dress in an empty mansion, crying over a plate of cold noodles that probably tasted mediocre at best.
Deep down, a part of you knew you should have expected this. It had felt too good to be true from the start. But Bucky was a man defined by his wordâa man who never missed a meeting, never abandoned a colleague, and never failed a mission.
He was always there for everyone else. Yet, he couldnât return the favor to the woman he married? Not even for a single night?
Your eyes were puffy, your throat dry from crying, and your spirit completely spent. You reached out to blow out the last flickering candle, the smoke of burnt wax filling the air as you prepared to retreat once more to your cold and empty bed.
As you pushed back your chair, the heavy front doors swung open. You froze, the sound you had been praying for all night had finally arrivedâfive hours too late and all in the ways you never expected.
Bucky didnât walk in with his head held high nor with straight shoulders like he usually did. He stumbled, bumping into the doorframe as he entered.
As a gush of the outside night air rushed into the foyer, it carried the suffocating aroma of expensive scotch and stale smoke.
He fumbled with his keys, tossing them onto the marble console table with a loud clatter that echoed in the foyer, making you flinch. His tie was yanked loose, his white dress shirt unbuttoned halfway down his chest, and his hairâusually slicked back or keptâwas a chaotic mess.
He let out a low, breathy groan, leaning his forehead against the cool wall for a moment of stability. You frowned, taking a single, cautious step closer to him.
âBucky?â
Slowly, his head rolled toward you. His glassy, bloodshot eyes drifted over you, taking in your elegant dress before drifting past you and to the dining tableâa graveyard of cold, congealed plates and full, expensive wine bottles
âOh,â he let out a shaky breath, slurring on his words. âHi, sweetheart.â
You furrowed your brows, frown deepening as you took in his drunken state. âWhere have you been?â
Bucky forced himself to stand up straight, or at least a messy approximation of it, as he ran a lazy hand through his ruffled hair. He blinked repeatedly, his gaze blurry as he struggled to lock his focus on you.
âWas out⊠with tâboysâŠâ he muttered, waving a hand dismissively. âThe usual.â
You crossed your arms, the silk of your sleeves crinkling against your skin. You had been patient all nightâtorturing yourself with worry and excuses while he was out throwing back drinks.
Now that he was finally standing in front of you, smelling of a bar and completely inebriated, you felt the last already thin thread of your patience snap.
âAre you fucking kidding me?â you hissed, your face getting hot.
You took a step toward him, your stiletto clicking against the floor.
âIâve been waiting for you all night! And you were out there slinging back shots? I told you to be home by eight! And now itâsâŠâ you glanced at the large clock hanging on the wall behind him, âItâs nearly midnight!â
Bucky blinked, the same way he had earlier that morning when you first asked for his time. He looked at you with a dull, dumbfounded confusion. He had never heard you swear, let alone seen you stand your ground like this.
Then, his face suddenly hardened, the drunken haze replaced by a cold, familiar look. The look heâd give to disobeying subordinates.
He took a swaying step closer, forcing his glassy eyes to lock onto yours, his presence suddenly filling the room in a way that felt threatening and suffocating.
âExcuse me?â
âYou heard me!â you snapped, your voice trembling with fury and exhaustion. âI spent the entire day in this kitchen. I went out and bought everything myself. I followed tutorials, I watched the stove for hoursâI⊠I tried to cook for you for the first time since we met because I thought it might actually mean something to you! I waited and I waited. I texted you. I called you. And I got nothing!â
You choked back a sob, your chest aching.
âI am tired, Bucky⊠I am so incredibly tired of being invisible in my own home!â
Bucky scoffed, a cold, dismissive sound that only made the knife inside your heart twist even more. He took another step closer, the smell of scotch making your nose scrunch up in disdain.
âWhat do you think this is?â he growled. His words were slurred, yet the edge in his voice was undeniable. âDo you think I married you for some domestic fantasy?â
He stepped into your personal space until his polished dress shoes were toe-to-toe with your heels. He loomed over you, using his height to make you feel small, his shadow swallowing yours.
âFor intimate, candlelit dinners and homemade pasta? I donât need you to cook for me. We have staff for that. If youâre so exhausted, then go to bed. Iâll have the servants come in and clean up this mess in the morning.â
Your brow unfurled, your expression softening from rage into pure, raw pain.
You were hurt.
â⊠This mess?â
You looked at the tableâthe meal you had labored over, the domestic evening you were trying to buildâand all he saw was a mess to be cleared away. The tears started again, hot and stinging, blurring your vision as you looked at the stranger who wore a wedding band that matched your own.
You couldnât even look him in the eye anymore. You looked down at your expensive shoes, to your dress, which you now fiddled with as a sad coping mechanism for any semblance of comfort.
âThen what did you marry me for, Bucky?â you whispered.
Bucky opened his mouth to retort, but the words died in his throat. The cold steel in his gaze flickered, extinguished by a hollow look. He just stood there, swaying slightly, staring at you as if he had forgotten the answer himselfâif an answer even existed.
You didnât wait for him to find it.
You turned and retreated up the stairs, the sharp click of your heels against the marble being the only sound left in the house.
Behind you, Bucky was left standing alone in the foyer, the silence of the house feeling even emptier than it had before he walked through the door.
Later that night, Bucky sat alone in the dark of the living room. The expensive scotch and whiskey were finally losing their grip on him, leaving a dull, throbbing ache and a bitter clarity in their wake.
For two hours, he stared at the dying embers of the fireplace, the oppressive silence of the mansion closing in on him like a suffocating cage.
With a low, ragged groan, he dropped his face into his palms. âFuck.â
He had killed, tortured, and ruined countless lives without a single ounce of remorse. He was a man built for violence, leading a world that didn't allow for mercy. Yet, he felt a visceral revulsion towards himself for hurting youâhis own wife. The one person who asked for nothing but his presence.
This mess.
The memory of his own words made him physically shiver in disgust.
God, he thought, realizing his own cruelty. Iâm a monster.
Finally, he forced himself to stand, his body feeling heavy and exhausted. He climbed the stairs, unbuttoning the rest of his shirt as he pushed the master bedroom door just barely to allow himself to slip inside.
The room was bathed in the pale, silver glow of the moon. You were asleep, but your breathing was hitched and uneven. Even in the dim light, he could see your puffy eyes and the tear stains on your cheeksâthe map of a night spent in misery⊠because of him.
He slid into bed beside you, the mattress creaking slightly. He didnât deserve to be near you, he knew thatâyet he couldnât resist.
He shifted closer, hesitantly curling his body around yours until your back was flush against his chest. When you didnât stir, he buried his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling the scent of your shampoo. It was floral and soft, a contrast to the stench of smoke and stale alcohol clinging to his own skin.
Bucky remained there, holding you with a grip that was both protective and desperately selfish.
You had never raised your voice before. You had never sounded so broken, so small. He hated it. He was a terrible husband, an even worse partner, and though he couldnât yet say with certainty that he loved you, he knew he cared.
He knew that if anything ever happened to you, he would lose his mind. Heâd set the entire city on fire just to see your vengeance through.
He would burn the world for you.. yet he couldnât give you a single evening of his time.
He knew he had to make it up to you, but his only language was money and power. He knew how to swipe a card and drown you in riches, but he realized now that diamonds couldnât fix the look of defeat heâd seen in your eyes.
He didnât know where to start, but he knew one thing for certain; he had to find a way to make you smile again.
By the time the sun was fully up, the smell of sizzling bacon and fresh coffee began to drift toward the master bedroom.
When you finally blinked your eyes open, the bed beside you was cold.
You werenât surprised. The hollow space where Bucky should have been was a familiar sight, and you let out a long, weary sigh as you sat up. The house was quiet as always, except for the sound of sizzlling of bacon and the rich, roasted aroma of coffee drifting up the stairs.
The maids were a bit earlier than usual. They usually didnât make breakfast until eight, yet you couldnât complain. You hadnât ate a single thing last night and you were starving.
You didnât bother with makeup or styling your hair; there was no one to impress in an empty house filled with servants who kept to themselves. You simply threw on a silk robe, tied it loosely around your waist, and began the slow descent downstairs.
As you turned the corner into the dining room, you stopped short, your breath hitching in your throat at what you saw.
The servants were nowhere to be found. Instead, it was Bucky.
He was still wearing his dress slacks from the night before, though his white shirt was rumpled and the sleeves were rolled up to his elbows. He was hunched over the table, meticulously and⊠if a bit awkwardly, arranging a plate of eggs and bacon. He looked completely out of place, a broody man surrounded by orange juice and colorful fruits.
You stood by the entrance, motionless, watching a man who commanded the streets of Brooklyn struggle against a floral centerpiece. The bouquet hadnât been there yesterday; the colors were too vibrant, the scent too freshâhe must have gone out at dawn to get them himself.
His large, calloused hands hovered tentatively over the arrangement. He nudged the vase an inch to the left, stepped back to inspect it with a cold, narrowed gaze, then stepped forward to nudge it back.
You had to bite back a smile.
There was one particular pink petal that refused to cooperate. Every time Bucky tucked it into the arrangement, it would wait exactly three seconds before drooping back down, mocking his need for order.
âDammit,â he mumbled to himself, thinking he was alone.
He tried again, his jaw clenched and eyes focused. The petal drooped. He tried a third time, holding his breath as he took a cautious step back, willing it to stay. âCome on,â he whispered. âJust stay.â
When the petal slumped for the fourth time, Buckyâs shoulders tensed, his hands curling into frustrated fists at his sides. He looked like a man on the verge of a tantrum, his neck flushing a deep, embarrassed red. It was ridiculous. Here was a man used to getting everything he wanted, and he was being bested by a single flower.
An involuntary giggle bubbled up in your throat and escaped your lips.
He jumped at the sound, looking like a child caught red handed. He immediately unclenched his fists, his jaw dropping slightly as he shifted his stance, trying his best to look casual.
Bucky rubbed the back of his neck, his gaze darting away. He was deliberately avoiding staring at your messy hairâthe strands he wanted to tangle his fingers inâ or the way your silk robe hung against your body in a way that could be deemed as inappropriate.
âIâuh,â he stammered, catching himself in a rare moment of sheer embarrassment. He cleared his throat, regaining a fragment of his dignity.
âThese flowersâtheyâre no good. The florist on 37th Street is no good. Iâll have someone handle it.â
Still giggling, you took a step closer, your bare feet quiet against the cold marble. You hugged yourself, pulling your robe a little tighter as you gestured toward the spread.
âNoted,â you said softly, your voice still a little raspy from sleep. âAnd... whatâs all this? Breakfast you ordered from that place in Greenwich?â
As you drew nearer, however, the details of the food began to catch your eye. You saw the stack of pancakesâsome a bit too pale, others charred a deep, smoky black around the edges. You noticed the fruit, which hadnât been artfully sliced by a chef, but hacked into lopsided and uneven chunks.
There was a plate with sunny-side-up eggs and bacon meticulously arranged into a smiley face.
You tried to ignore how one of the yolks had burst, leaking yellow across the plate so that it looked more like a crying happy face, but the effort was undeniable.
Bucky followed your gaze to the plates, his ears turning a darker shade of crimson.
âNo. Uh,â he muttered, waving his hand to the table dismissively as if there was nothing to show. He let out a short, self-deprecating huff of air. âI made it. All of it.â
You frowned, looking around the suspiciously quiet room. âThe staff wasnât around to help?â
He looked up then, his blue eyes searching yours with a vulnerability that was almost too painful to witness.
âThe staff? I sent them home for the morning,â he admitted quietly. âI didnât want anyone else here. Just us.â
You looked back down at the table, avoiding his eyes as you mentally pieced everything together. âBucky, if this is about last nightââ
âIt is,â he interrupted, his voice rough and urgent. He took a step toward you, his hands reaching out hesitantly before settling awkwardly on your shoulders. âItâs about⊠everything. The way Iâve been acting. The things I said to you. Me forgetting our dinner...â
âItâs nothing,â you whispered, still avoiding his gaze.
You looked down at your silk robe, fidgeting with the fabric just as you had with your dress the night before.
âIt was unfair of me to expect you to always be availableââ
âNo,â he cut you off, his grip firming.
He turned your body so you were forced to face him. He took a deep breath, searching for words he didnât even know how to use.
âIâm sorry,â he whispered finally. âI was a prick. I shouldâve made time for you. I should have kept the promise I made. I shouldnât have dismissed you like that.â
He sighed, his hands sliding up to cup your jaw. His palms were warm and calloused, tilting your head up so you had to look at him, despite how much your eyes still stung every time you faced him.
âIâm sorry for being a terrible husband, and Iâm sorry for not being there for the dinner you worked so hard on.â His voice was shaky, his shoulders tense as if he were fighting back his own emotions. âSeeing you cry like that... I never want to see it again. I hated it. I hated that I was the reason for those tears.â
He leaned down, pressing his forehead against yours, his breath ghosting over your lips. âIâm going to be better to youâfor you. Iâll make sure of it.â
Bucky let out a short, nervous breath, his thumbs brushing lightly against your cheekbones. âI didnât even know where to start,â he admitted, gesturing vaguely toward the kitchen. âBut I figured a homemade meal might help... right? Even if itâs a disaster.â
You looked at the charred pancakes, the messily cut fruit, and the drooping yolk of the egg.
âIt looks good, Bucky.â You smiled
He snorted, a lopsided, boyish grin breaking through his usual stoic features.
âYou donât have to lie to me. I donât know how to cook, so lower your expectations significantly.â
You laughed, the sound light and clear. It was a sound that made Buckyâs heart jump in his chestâa sign of life in a house that had been silent for too long.
âItâs okay,â you admitted, âI donât really know how to cook either.â
Bucky chuckled softly in return, the two of you standing in the quiet of the morning as the laughter eventually died away. You expected him to pull away and start the meal, but he remained close.
He leaned in, and you watched as his gaze dropped to your lips. The air grew thick, and you subconsciously held your breath. It looked like he was actually going to kiss youâlike, really kiss you.
You could almost feel the phantom pressure of his lips against yours, a gesture that youâve always dreamed of since the day you two got married. The only time he had ever kissed you was during the wedding, but that wasnât a real one.
If he kissed you right here, right nowâthis would be real.
But at the last second, he caught himself.
He pulled back just an inch, exhaling the breath he had been holding himself. He stepped over to the table and pulled out your chair, bowing his head slightly as he caught your gaze with a sheepish, strained smile.
âLetâs have a real breakfast, sweetheart,â he said. âAs husband and wife.â
The title felt different this time. Sweetheart finally felt soft, intimate, and sincere.
It sounded like an actual endearment a loving husband would give his wife rather than an insult, his way of trying to show you the man he was trying to become.
You let out a shaky breath, mentally collecting yourself and offering him a soft smile of your own as you sat down.
âOkay.â
thank you so much for this request! it's not often that i write them, but i enjoyed writing this one. i hope you like it!
