Hey girly. I was wondering if you could write something about reader and Bucky with exes to lovers? They’re both members of the new avengers and they dated for a bit then had kind of a messy break up. It’s been a bit of a turf war between the two: Bob (he is more neutral but goes along with Yelena) Yelena, and Walker are team reader and Ava and Alexei are team Bucky. The break up is actually really stupid and unnecessary, but they swear they’re both done for good. Then reader gets hurt (very minor, not even on a mission) but she’s crying for Bucky. Like some of the team is trying to help her and she’s like “Bucky! I need Bucky” and he gets word of it and he is there. No questions asked like he runs to her. And it’s so unserious but he babies her and calms her down and calls her baby and tells her that he’s there and she will be okay now. He takes care of her and they end up getting back together.
-🍓
The breakup had been over a protein bar.
Not even a good one.
One of those chalky, dry, “tastes like regret and sawdust” ones that Bucky Barnes had apparently eaten without reading the label—your label—and then made a stupid, offhand comment about how you always left your things everywhere.
You’d snapped.
He’d snapped back.
Something about space. Something about respect. Something about “maybe we shouldn’t do this if we’re just going to keep circling the same stupid arguments.”
And just like that, two people who had survived missions, near-death experiences, and months of quiet, careful healing together… ended over a protein bar and wounded pride.
It would’ve been funny if it didn’t feel like losing a limb.
Now, the compound felt split down the middle.
Yelena had immediately declared herself captain of Team You, dragging John along with her, who nodded like he’d been waiting his entire life to pick a side in something dramatic. Even Bob hovered awkwardly nearby, trying to stay neutral but very obviously siding with whoever Yelena was glaring at less that day.
Across the hall, Ava and Alexei had claimed Bucky with equal enthusiasm.
It had turned into a full-blown turf war.
Petty. Loud. Stupid.
Exactly like the breakup.
“You know he’s miserable, right?” Yelena muttered one afternoon, perched on the kitchen counter while you aggressively chopped vegetables that did nothing to deserve your anger.
You didn’t look up. “Don’t care.”
“You do care,” she sing-songed. “You are just stubborn.”
“I’m not—”
“You cried in the shower yesterday.”
You froze.
She smirked. “Water does not hide everything, you know.”
You pointed your knife at her. “If you tell anyone—”
“I already told Walker,” she said cheerfully.
“Yelena—”
“I am kidding. Relax. You are very tense. You should kiss your boyfriend.”
“He’s not my boyfriend.”
“Ex-boyfriend,” she corrected. “Temporary condition.”
You rolled your eyes so hard it hurt. “We’re not getting back together.”
“Mm,” she hummed, unconvinced. “We’ll see.”
---
It didn’t happen on a mission.
There was no dramatic explosion, no heroic sacrifice, no battlefield chaos.
It happened because you slipped.
Bare feet, slick tile, a stupid puddle you hadn’t noticed after your shower—and suddenly you were on the floor with a sharp, shocking pain in your ankle and a yelp that echoed off the bathroom walls.
“Shit—”
You tried to stand, immediately regretted it, and dropped back down with a hiss.
It wasn’t bad.
Not really.
But it hurt, and the shock of it made your eyes sting.
“Hey—hey, what happened?”
Yelena’s voice was suddenly there, followed by footsteps and the bathroom door swinging open.
You were halfway to saying you were fine when the pain pulsed again, sharp enough to steal your breath.
And before you could stop yourself—
“Bucky.”
The word slipped out, small and broken.
Yelena blinked. “What?”
Your throat tightened. You shook your head, embarrassed, but the panic had already latched on, irrational and overwhelming.
“I— I need—”
Another throb of pain. Another wave of tears.
“Bucky,” you said again, louder this time. “I need Bucky.”
Yelena didn’t hesitate.
“Walker!” she barked out into the hall. “Go get Barnes. Now.”
“I can just—” Walker started.
“Now.”
There was a beat of silence, then hurried footsteps.
You tried to laugh it off, wiping at your face. “This is so stupid. It’s just my ankle—”
“It is not stupid,” Yelena said firmly, crouching beside you. “You are injured and dramatic. Both are valid.”
“I’m not—” Your voice wobbled. “I just—”
You didn’t even know how to explain it.
It wasn’t just the pain.
It was the instinct. The reflex. The way your body, even after everything, still reached for him first.
Like he was home.
---
Across the compound, Bucky barely processed Walker’s words.
“—she’s asking for you.”
That was all he needed.
He was already moving before the sentence finished.
“Where?”
“Bathroom—she slipped, I think—”
Bucky didn’t wait.
He ran.
Past the kitchen, past the living area, past Ava calling his name and Alexei asking what happened. His heart pounded hard enough to make his ribs ache, a familiar, terrifying rhythm that only ever showed up when it mattered.
When you mattered.
The door was already open when he got there.
You were on the floor, wrapped in a towel, hair damp, ankle already starting to swell—and crying.
His chest clenched.
“Hey—hey, I’m here,” he said immediately, dropping to his knees beside you. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you, baby.”
The word slipped out without thinking.
You didn’t correct him.
You didn’t even hesitate—you just reached for him.
He gathered you carefully, one arm braced behind your back, the other steadying your injured leg.
“Easy,” he murmured, voice soft and grounding. “Don’t move it yet, okay? Let me see.”
“It hurts,” you whispered, pressing your face into his shoulder.
“I know, sweetheart. I know.” His hand came up to cradle the back of your head, fingers threading gently through your damp hair. “You’re okay. I’m here now.”
The room had gone quiet.
Yelena leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, watching with a smug, knowing expression. Walker hovered behind her. Somewhere down the hall, you could hear Alexei loudly announcing that he’d been right all along.
Bucky didn’t notice any of it.
He was too focused on you.
“Can you wiggle your toes?” he asked softly.
You nodded against him, doing as he asked.
“Good. That’s good.” Relief flickered across his face. “Probably just a sprain. We’ll ice it, wrap it up. You’ll be okay.”
You sniffled. “I feel stupid.”
“Hey.” His hand tilted your chin up gently, forcing you to look at him. His expression softened, something warm and achingly familiar settling in his eyes. “You’re not stupid. You got hurt. You called me. That’s… that’s okay.”
Your breath hitched.
“I didn’t even think about it,” you admitted quietly. “I just—”
“Yeah,” he said, voice rough. “Me neither.”
There was a beat of silence.
Heavy. Fragile.
Then you huffed out a small, watery laugh. “We broke up over a protein bar.”
Bucky blinked.
Then, despite everything, a breath of laughter escaped him too. “Yeah. Yeah, we did.”
“That’s so embarrassing.”
“It’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever done,” he admitted. “I’ve made a lot of bad decisions, but that one’s up there.”
You studied him for a moment, really looked at him.
God, you’d missed him.
“Me too,” you said softly. “I didn’t want to be done. I was just… mad.”
“I know.” His thumb brushed under your eye, catching a stray tear. “I didn’t want to be done either. I just didn’t know how to fix it without making it worse.”
“You could’ve tried.”
“I should’ve,” he said immediately. “I should’ve come to you. I should’ve—” He shook his head. “I’m sorry.”
The sincerity in his voice made your chest ache.
“I’m sorry too.”
Another pause.
Then, quieter—
“Are we really done?” you asked.
His answer was instant.
“No.”
Something in your chest loosened.
“Okay,” you whispered.
“Okay,” he echoed.
He pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, lingering there for a moment like he needed to make sure you were real.
Then he shifted, careful and steady as he lifted you into his arms.
“C’mon,” he murmured. “Let’s get you patched up.”
You curled into him automatically, your arms slipping around his neck.
“Bucky?”
“Yeah, baby?”
A small smile tugged at your lips.
“I missed you.”
His grip tightened, just slightly.
“I missed you too,” he said, and this time, there was no hesitation at all.
Tommy's head snapped up. He wasn't expecting anyone.
Bang bang bang.
He crossed to the door, pulled it open and then froze. A very pissed off Evan Buckley stood on his doorstep. Before Tommy could say a word, Buck pushed past him and strode into the house.
"Hello, Evan. Would you like to come in?" Tommy asked sarcastically.
"You didn't come." Buck spun to face him, voice tight with anger. "I needed you and you didn't come. That's our thing, Tommy. You're always there when I need you, and I know it's not fair but fuck—" His voice broke, dropping to a whisper. "I needed you."
Tommy took in Buck's red-rimmed eyes, the dress blues he was still wearing. His heart sank.
"Evan...I..." Tommy began.
"I felt so alone, Tommy." Buck's voice cracked. "I just stood there as they dedicated the station and I felt numb. Empty. Hollow. The Robert Wade Nash Memorial Station." His hands clenched into fists. "I hate it. I hate it almost as much as the stupid baby name Maddie and Chim chose, and I'm sad and I'm angry and you weren't there."
"Evan, I couldn't." Tommy's voice was barely above a whisper. "I couldn't face any of you when it's my fault."
"Were you hiding another vial of the antidote somewhere?" Buck demanded.
"Well, no—"
"You're the reason Chimney lived, Tommy. Bobby didn't die because of you." Buck's voice broke. "Bobby died because the world is cruel and..." He sucked in a shaky breath, tears streaming down his face. "I miss him, Tommy. I miss him so much and everything hurts all the time and you weren't there."
"Sweetheart," Tommy whispered, barely stopping himself from pulling Buck into a hug.
"I had you and my life was so fucking good. Even the shitty stuff like Gerard was okay because I had you. And then you broke up with me and the world started to crumble." Buck's voice grew raw. "Maddie was kidnapped and Eddie left and then Bobby. It's been hell, Tommy. And it's been so much worse because I haven't had you."
"I'm a coward, Evan," Tommy said quietly.
"I just don't understand why." Buck shook his head. "You left me, Tommy. I wanted forever. And you just left me alone in my kitchen."
"Ev..." Tommy tried, but Buck wasn't finished.
"And then you did it again." Buck's eyes were red and angry and heartbroken all at once. "I know I said stupid things both times, but Tommy, I do that. I say stupid things. I'm wired like that. I speak before I think things through." His voice cracked. "But you didn't even give me a chance to explain."
"I did it because I was scared, Evan. You are so bright and sparkly and you brought so much sunshine into my life. Everything was different and so much better, and I knew it was just a matter of time." Tommy's voice broke. "I don't get to keep nice things. I never have. So I ran before you saw the cracks and realized I wasn't enough."
"Tommy, what does that even mean? Enough?" Buck's hands trembled. "You were enough for me. You were everything. I felt like myself for the first time in years because of you. And not because you're a man, Tommy. My bisexuality has nothing to do with it. It was because of you. You and your stupid cleft and your terrible taste in coffee. Your questionable Star Wars opinions and the fact that you eat your steak well done." His voice cracked again. "I love you and you took that away from me."
"I thought I was doing the right thing," Tommy said quietly.
"Right for who? Because it sure as hell wasn't right for me."
"I didn't mean to hurt you," Tommy said.
"Why are we still doing this?" Buck asked, his voice breaking.
"Doing what?" Tommy asked carefully.
"Tommy, I am so mad at you. I am so sad and angry, but all I want right now is for you to hold me." Buck's shoulders slumped. "Because you make things better. You have my heart, you idiot. Just stop trying to fight it."
Tommy stood frozen for a moment, then closed the distance between them and pulled Buck into his arms.
"Stop leaving," Buck whispered. "I can't do this alone. I can't do life alone. We can be scared together, Tommy. Don't break my heart to protect yours."
Tommy's arms tightened around him. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Evan."
"I am too, but I meant what I said before, Tommy. I love you and I need you." Buck's voice was muffled against Tommy's chest. "Please let me keep you."
"Oh baby..." Tommy pressed his lips to Buck's hair. "I love you too."
Buck sagged against him, feeling safe and warm and whole for the first time in months, silently praying that this time was forever.
until i wrap myself inside your arms
| bucktommy; rated M; canon divergent 8x11 |
So I've been working on this off and on since around the end of 8a. As canon continued, I had to change it a lot, and since I'm still not sure how I want this separated in terms of chapters, I decided just to post it here. This part is a post-8x11 getting back together. This isn't directly addressing any particular meta or discourse, but is a bit of me kind of working out my feelings about it.
part 1 of ?
If Buck keeps baking, he decides he owes Ravi his own Baked Alaska. Or a croquembouche. Maybe an opera cake—he's watched a couple of people on YouTube make them and it'll be hard, too, probably, but he's pretty sure he can do it. He's halfway through the mental inventory of his kitchen when he realizes—that's only if he keeps baking. It's a hobby he enjoys, and a skill that he's proud of, but he doesn't need to do it as a distraction. Not anymore. He doesn't need to distract himself to keep from calling Tommy—or from talking about Tommy, thinking about Tommy, wanting Tommy—because he finally has Tommy back where he wants him. Right here.
He hadn't had any thought about picking up when he and Ravi went out—and he probably wouldn't have if it had been anyone but Tommy. Seeing him again, though, had made all the pining, all the feelings he'd tried to suppress even more acute. Combine that yearning with how badly he needed a distraction from Eddie leaving, and Buck was surprised that they managed to make it out of the bar.
But they did, and that had been a good night. He hadn't expected anything from it, was ready to watch Tommy walk out the door again and then get started on a victoria sponge with one of the first harvests of strawberries he'd picked up. But Tommy had been the one to suggest that it could mean more, that they could try again—asking if Buck was free Saturday just like he had the first time.
And they met up Saturday, talked things out, exposed their vulnerable underbellies, got a lot of their misunderstandings sorted. They fucked again, too, sure, but that was kind of what he expected. He wasn't going to let how good they were in bed distract him from other important relationship stuff. Buck’s got open and honest communication marked down on his to-do list right under getting his back blown out.
So he thanks Ravi again—tiramisu? pavlova? firefighter helmet macarons? he should maybe ask Ravi what he actually likes—and breathes in the warm smell of the man beside him.
“Mmm, stop that,” Tommy says, batting his hand away where Buck had been rubbing idly at his pec. He flicks the nipple and Tommy grunts, pushing him off his chest. “Brat.”
Buck laughs and presses himself closer into Tommy’s side. “I don’t care,” he says, “I’ll own it. I’m a brat.” He nuzzles into the juncture of Tommy’s neck and shoulder and then snaps at the skin with careful teeth. “It’s not my fault you like it, old man.”
“Hey.” Tommy’s hand sinks into the hair on the back of his head and tugs, just enough to let him feel it. He likely means it as a punishment but joke’s on him, Buck likes it. “Watch it, kid.”
Buck grins, big and wide, and shimmies up a little to kiss Tommy firmly on the mouth. The banter is derailed for a minute by some making out, but it never gets heated, staying slow and soft and sweet as they trade slick, tender kisses. Buck teases at Tommy’s lips, licking gently into his mouth, and then sucks at the wet muscle of his tongue. Things de-escalate into lazy pecks, and then they separate, no longer so tangled up together but still close and warm.
Buck pulls away, but keeps their bodies pressed together. “So,” he starts, in the most casual way he can. “Does this mean we’re back together?”
Tommy shifts onto his back and smiles up at the ceiling, then turns his head on the pillow to look at Buck. His eyes sparkle as his face splits into a grin. "Is that what you want?"
“I mean I'm not opposed to just this,” Buck says, gesturing between their bare torsos on the bed, “But I-I never wanted together to stop, Tommy." He feels his cheeks heat and he draws a nonsense pattern on the skin of Tommy's arm, distracting himself from the pull of Tommy's gaze. "I want to be with you. Yeah. Please. That's what I want."
Tommy grabs Buck’s hand and laces their fingers together. “Evan,” he says, his voice so soft and fond it makes Buck blush even harder. His face burns, but it feels so good, as always, to be the subject of Tommy’s attention. “Of course.” He raises Buck’s hand and presses a slow, lingering kiss to the back of it. “That's what I want, too. To be with you. To have a second chance. So.” He lets the hand he's holding go and waits until Buck makes eye contact. His mouth softens into the gentlest hint of a smile. "Boyfriends?"
“Yeah,” Buck says, nodding like his head’s on a swivel before Tommy’s even got the word out. “Yeah, I’d.” He cups Tommy’s face and grins. “Yeah,” he says again. “I’d like that, too.” He drapes his arm across Tommy’s abdomen and burrows into his side as much as he can. “I know you have to go to work, but other than that?” Tommy smells like sweat and Buck’s laundry detergent, and he breathes in, his nose pressed to Tommy’s skin. “You’re staying here. In my bed, where you belong.” His grip tightens. “I’m not letting you go again.”
Soft breath fans across his temple. “I’m sorry,” Tommy says.
“Hey, no, it’s—“ Buck shifts up so he can meet Tommy’s eyes again. “It’s okay, we’re good.” A crooked smile opens up his face. They can joke about the break-up now, he thinks. They can tease. “I should have, uh, blocked the door or something. Forced you to stay. We could have got all this talking out of the way then and saved ourselves months of being miserable and alone.”
“Hmm.” Tommy tries to smile, but the expression fades after a moment. He looks up to the ceiling again and shifts his hand under his head. His elbow sticks out and it shows off the strength of his arms. Buck wants to bite them. His mouth waters at the thought and his hips twitch, but he ignores it, tries to keep himself under control. There’s something thoughtful in Tommy’s face. Something that, before, would have meant he was about to shut down and close up. Buck watches as he takes a deep breath and decides to open up instead.
Tommy’s head turns a little, rustling the pillow and he looks at Buck with eyes shot through with something like regret.
“You know,” he starts. Then he huffs, a little curl of breath through his nose. He licks his lips. He looks back up to the ceiling and his lips quirk up, a wrinkle in the corner of a self-effacing smile. When he speaks, his voice is quiet. Low, even for the close, intimate setting they’re in. “I think I wanted you to chase me.”
Buck’s whole body stiffens. “Wh-what?”
Tommy laughs a little, and he sounds self-conscious about it, careful to keep his eyes away from Buck. “I got scared… and I left. I regret it and I feel like I’m on borrowed time for how lucky I am that I didn’t screw things up permanently. That you gave me another chance.” He grabs Buck’s hand and brings it to his lips for another kiss. “But I had convinced myself that I knew better than you. That you weren’t serious. You asked me if I was breaking up with you… and I hadn’t thought about it like that, not really. I didn’t want to, but I felt like… I had to. Had to break my own heart so that I could be sure you wouldn't break it. Bigger and worse." His smile slides into something self-deprecating and his eyes shine. "Really fucking stupid of me in retrospect."
"Yeah," Buck says, and it seems like that's all Tommy has to say, but he's not letting the subject go that easily. "But, uh. Tommy, what… What did you mean that you wanted me to chase you?"
"Well." Tommy takes a deep breath in and Buck feels the rise of his chest. "After the… Mmm. After. I thought." He stops short again, and blinks a few times. Buck lets his hand settle against Tommy's warm skin, trying to impart as much silent support as he can. "I thought that if breaking up hadn't been the right thing to do, that if I had been premature… Then you would have reached out and let me know. You would have fought for us, like I was too much of a coward to do. And when you didn't, I let myself believe that I'd done the right thing. That, well. That you'd realized you were better off without me, or you'd already moved on." He huffs again, rolling his eyes at himself. "Kind of a self-fulfilling prophecy, I guess."
Buck's arm snakes further around Tommy's body and he pulls them together as close as he can. He buries his face in the swell of Tommy's chest, nosing at the hair there. "I'm trying really, really hard not to be mad at you about that right now."
"Go ahead," Tommy says. "I deserve it. I can't expect someone to chase me if they don't know I want to be chased. And it's not like I reached out, either."
But you wanted to, Buck thinks. You bubbled me.
And he knows, from the talk they'd had that Saturday after the bar, that Tommy has always felt left behind. That he doesn't expect people to chase him at all, because he doesn't think he deserves to be chased. That he's always going to be the one people forget or throw away. No, Buck hadn't chased him. He hadn't known at the time that Tommy wanted that, that he could have run Tommy down and forced him to talk things out.
It was shitty that Tommy broke up with him instead of talking. But Tommy didn't owe him a relationship, and he had just as much right to break up with Buck over a misunderstanding as over anything else. It didn't mean that it hadn't hurt. But it also didn't mean that Tommy was the villain. Buck had thought, at the time, that Tommy not reaching out meant that Tommy wasn't hurting as badly as he was. That the relationship hadn't meant as much to Tommy. He hadn't realized that Tommy was a dumbass who would rather passively suffer than risk getting hurt by going after what he wants. When Buck wants something, he tends to tip over into excess. He grabs and grabs and holds on so tight that it chases things away. When Tommy wants something, apparently, he hopes it falls into his lap and when it doesn't he uses that as an excuse to justify all the worst parts of his worldview. It makes Buck nearly sick to think that if he'd just reached out… If he'd let himself run after Tommy…
Buck grunts as his grip tightens. He throws a leg over Tommy's hip and nudges his knee up until it makes contact with the soft weight of Tommy's dick. He wishes that he could get his mouth on it, that he could keep Tommy warm and wet and feel him harden under the soft petting of his tongue. But he doesn't know how to ask for that, not when things are so new. He thinks Tommy might take it as a deflection, as Buck using sex to make things easier, take some of the pressure of the conversation off. And that's not what Buck wants at all. He takes in a deep breath and then lets it out slow. "So if… if Ravi hadn't—"
Tommy's hand cups the back of his neck, his palm large and dry and warm. "Hey. But he did. And I don't really know Ravi, but if he ever needs a helicopter…"
Buck laughs. "Okay, sure, but consider this. How about just mille-feuille?"
i wrote a thing: clouds are rolling, i need shelter from the storm (on ao3)
or: what i was yapping about earlier
rating: teen & up (catfud-typical profanity), no archive warnings apply (tho please read the tags!!)
word count: 5k
summary: maddie has an unexpected encounter in the baking aisle at the grocery store, then formulates a plan.
why you may want to read it: you're in the mood for a s8a fix-it!!!, you like song fics, you like orville peck, you like awkward encounters in grocery stores, you like meddling that also has an attempt at boundaries, you neeeeeeed bucktommy back together PRONTISSIMO
featuring: pop culture references, chimtommy bestieism, chivalry, get-along shirt mentions, puns, no character bashing, two-part harmonies in awkward three-part arrangement
little yellow sticker with a smiley face that says read me on ao3
hello! do you have any recs for break up and make-up fics? angsty ones with a happy ending
okay two of these are amnesia fics lmfao but here's the getting back together fics in the archive collection that u can look through, too !
would you fall in love with me again?
by contrapposto
Ilya stopped before Shane’s door and took a deep breath, holding it in until his lungs burned. Peeking through the little window on the door, his heart sank at seeing Shane lying there, hooked up to various monitors with his arm in a sling. Before he could talk himself out of it, he turned the handle slowly and slipped inside, shutting the door quietly behind him.
Shane blinked awake, gaze sleepily settling on Ilya. Ilya lingered by the door, unsure of what to do or say.
Clearing his throat, Shane sat up a little straighter and gave a curt nod. “Rozanov.”
Ilya’s heart stopped.
Rozanov.
Not Ilya.
Just… Rozanov.
You Would've Been the One
by broccolicheddarchicken
Shane would always be yearning for something with a man who didn't want him, wouldn't he? A little positive attention and he'd folded like origami. Pathetic.
"Stay," Rozanov said. It sounded like pleading. That trick had worked on him, once.
“Why?" Shane's tone was more biting than he intended. "What do you think is going to happen if I stay? Are you gonna make me a goddamned tuna melt?”
Rozanov, to his credit, took the words like the blow they were. His eyes widened, then he covered his face with his palms and muttered something in Russian.
Shane had never seen shame written across those features before.
(In April 2017, Shane Hollander suffers the most painful not-breakup he’ll ever experience. Months later, he's outed. Two years after that, a broken knee ends his career.
When Rozanov unexpectedly crosses Shane's path four years later, Shane resolves to be courteous yet keep his distance. But Ilya is just as beautiful and charming as he ever was, and he’s determined to give what they'd once shared a second chance. A real chance.
It's a bad idea. Shane knows it's a bad idea.
The terrifying thing is that it doesn't feel like one.)
Signs of Life
by jukoist
There is a strong scent of antiseptic in the air, the kind that always haunts hospitals and morgues. Ilya thinks it is fitting. He thinks, perhaps, that some vital organ of his is failing irreparably, and he is only waiting for a doctor to call out his time of death.
“You have lost your memories.” It’s not a question. Ilya’s burning hand drops from Shane’s cheek.
“Yeah,” Shane says easily. “Wait, shit, did no one tell you?”
“Is it temporary.” Ilya’s voice is hoarse, pleading. “This memory loss, is it… tell me that it is temporary.” Please, please, God. I know I promised to give anything up, but-
Shane looks at Ilya with wide eyes. “They don’t know,” he says gently. He seems to be catching onto Ilya’s distress despite the drugs in his system.
Ilya feels cold all over. Yes, any moment now, they will cover him with a white sheet and take him away.
(Shane's concussion in S01E05 leaves him missing his memories from the last decade. Ilya is now the only person in the world who knows the truth about him and Shane, and is forced to question whether to burden Shane with their complicated relationship or to walk away.)
Summary: Tommy plans on spending New Year's Eve on his own. Buck has other ideas.
Excerpt:
Tommy debated over the two dips in his hands for all of five seconds before adding them to the ever-growing collection in his cart. He was alone again for New Year’s Eve. Nobody could judge him for Oliver Putnam-ing his way through it.
Literally no one.
He added another dip to the pile.
“Now we need carbs,” he muttered to himself. Dip vehicles. Because eating them all with a spoon would just be sad. Sadder.
Tommy gripped his cart and headed for the chip aisle with a sigh. Nachos for sure. Something load-bearing. Ooh, and some ripple chips. And—
He stopped short at the start of the aisle, somehow never prepared for this, for running into each other even though Evan Buck had been moved into the same neighbourhood for a couple of months now. Long enough for this to keep happening.
Buck glanced up, a smile spreading across his face when he spotted Tommy, waving him over.
And for this to keep happening. Them. Being friends. Friendly.
