#Bare Metal Programming

[helaintoloki]

Winter Flower

pairing: Bucky Barnes (Winter Soldier) x reader

warnings: themes of kidnapping, drugging, violence, trauma, suggestive content. mentions of pregnancy, eventual happy ending

notes: wanted to try writing something out of my comfort zone so pls let me know what you think and if you’d like to see more!

summary: fate binds you to the Winter Soldier, but will it be enough to keep you together when you’re constantly being pulled apart?

“We’ve decided to give you a new pet.”

The Winter Soldier isn’t sure what to make of the barely conscious woman that’s been carelessly thrown at his feet by his handlers, but he knows better than to ask questions by now. His handlers seem to find his predicament comical as they laugh at a joke the Asset is not a part of and watch the scene unfold with malevolent smiles.

The woman, unbeknownst to the soldier, had undergone weeks of physical torture and anguish as various Hydra doctors poked and prodded at her mind and body until there was not a single ounce of fight left in her body. She’d been battered and bruised until she was almost nothing, and in the end it had all been a complete waste of time. Their hopes for a new weapon were diminished by the discovery that her body had not taken to the serum; her brute strength and aggression had only lasted for three days before she had crashed and returned back to normal. The experiment had failed, and Hydra now looked to their prized possession to dispose of her properly.

“We will let you have your fun,” his handler had snidely remarked before slamming the door shut behind him, leaving the Winter Soldier locked in his holding cell alone with her. She hadn’t moved in the time since she’d arrived, so the man felt it necessary to firmly nudge her ribs with his boot to wake her up. He didn’t want her here, didn’t enjoy a stranger in the only space he could remotely consider his own, and he wanted this to be known.

Slowly, the failed experiment uses every ounce of strength she has left to lift her head and will herself to look up at the man tasked with terminating life. Unlike the soldier, she knows why they have thrown her in here with their deadliest killer, and the trembling of her bottom lip reveals her trepidation. He initially expects to feel disdain and disgust for this supposed pet that lies at his feet, but when her wide eyes meet his own something inside him shifts.

The Winter Soldier was never one for compassion or empathy; he was programmed to kill without remorse, to void himself of any warmth or humanity, but as he looked down at her his chest swirled with emotions he could not name. It wasn’t pity or mockery, but a compulsive need to protect her from harm the way one wishes to protect a helpless animal from awaiting predators. She is not a pet, but he decides in that moment that she will be his to look after.

Wordlessly, the soldier scoops her limp form off of the tile ground and rests her in the small cot he calls a bed. A pathetic whine of pain leaves her body at the discomfort of being moved around, causing his chest to tighten unbearably. This shouldn’t be happening, there shouldn’t be a sense of longing suffocating his entire being when he gazes upon her weakened form, and yet the man finds himself taking extra care to tuck her under the blankets.

He lets her sleep, keeping careful watch over her form like a guard dog as he seats himself in front of the metal door and basks in her presence.

The Winter Soldier had a new purpose now.

~~~

No one had expected the Asset to become so taken with you.

When the guards came to see if the Soldat had finished the job, they were stunned to find you fast asleep in his bed while he stood watch. They had tried to terminate you themselves only to be met with gruesome ends after just looking at you. The Winter Soldier was adamant that you were not going anywhere, and no one could understand why he had become so fond of you within such a short span of time.

The answer had been discovered a week later by the scientists tasked with creating the new weapon. Though your body had not taken to the physical changes of the serum, they found that it had permanently altered your inner body chemistry and DNA as a result. Your new genetic makeup had triggered something within the Winter Soldier as soon as your eyes had locked with his own, almost as if your blood spoke to his. You were bound together on a biological level by this new serum, and this bond could not be broken.

The deaths of twenty men left Hydra with no choice but to let him keep you as the ordeal was not worth losing more valuable resources than necessary. Your survival did not come without cost, however, and they made it clear that you were expected to earn your keep. The Winter Soldier’s handlers had decided that you could be quite useful in forcing the Asset to comply. The cost of any mistakes or failures were yours to pay, and the possibility of your torture or isolation from one another proved to be a good motivator for the Soldat to execute missions without flaw.

You are an unwilling prisoner in all of this, your freedom taken from under you with no regard to your autonomy, but you know that this is the best possible outcome to have happened to you. Being a pet is much better than being a weapon to abuse or a failed experiment to get rid of, and you know that no real harm can come to you under the protection of the Winter Soldier. You have no choice but to make the most of the course life has chosen for you, and so you fall into your role as his companion.

“I don’t like when you leave,” you utter quietly while making careful work of combing his hair. He is scheduled to be sent away to Italy to locate and execute a deserter known to have important Hydra files with them, and your soldier will be gone for a week. His absence is isolating, and you know that once he is gone a nurse will arrive to hold you down while the doctors drug you to prevent you from causing any problems while he is away. Your brain becomes foggier and foggier with each dosage, and as time goes on the details of your life before the Winter Soldier become hazier until you almost forget everything.

“I must,” is his gruff reply. “It will keep you safe.”

“I want to leave, too,” you whisper despondently, taking great care to ensure your words cannot be heard by anyone other than him. He stiffens, and for a moment you fear being reprimanded, but his quiet utterance in reply has you hopeful for a chance at something better.

“You will.”

~~~

You wake to a man violently grabbing you by the hair and dragging you out of bed. You kick and claw at his arm in a fruitless attempt to free yourself, but he remains unfazed as he drags you to your destination. You know these hallways well enough to know where you are going, and despite your groggy state at having just been woken up from your drug induced slumber you are aware enough to know what is about to come.

Your soldier is waiting for you when you finally arrive to his handler’s office, eyes wide with fury and helplessness as he watches the man lift you by the hair before slamming you back down onto the ground. You cry out in agony and reach for your companion only to have a heavy boot land down onto your hand. The Winter Soldier moves to attack only to have several guns pointed at him, and he is forced with no choice but to stand down and watch you take on the abuse.

“You did not comply with orders, Soldat,” the man says simply, casting an irate glance your way at the sound of your pathetic cries. “I asked you to return with those stolen files and instead you lost them. What good are they to me now?”

A swift kick is driven into your ribcage and you curl into yourself with a sob. His entire body is vibrating with anger, each blow landed only fueling his need for vengeance, and yet he cannot save you. This was the arrangement made, the only reason you were allowed to still be alive, and it was his fault that this was happening to you. A single tear slides down his face at the sound of bone cracking when you take another hit to the ribs, and just when he thinks he can’t take anymore the man raises a hand to signal the assailant to cease his abuse.

“Do not fail again, or next time she will endure worse than a broken rib.”

The guards file out until all that remains is the Winter Soldier and his battered pet that lies unmoving in the center of the room. He’s on you in an instant, hands that were built to kill being used to gently lift your broken form from the ground. Every movement sends painful jolts throughout your body that make you let out pained shrieks and cause his chest to tighten as a result. The Asset cradles you to his chest like a child would their favorite teddy bear and does his best to console you. His metal fingers gingerly comb through your hair as you sob into his chest, and his mind is frenzied with thoughts of how he could ever possibly make this better.

“I’m sorry,” he breathes into your neck, his salty tears staining your skin when he presses his face against you. “I’m sorry, my pet.”

You are a prisoner just like him, and he cannot help you when he himself is bound to Hydra forever.

~~~

A week has passed and your injuries have improved gradually overtime, though your Soldat still takes great precaution when touching you or holding you close at night. He handles you with care, and it will never cease to amaze you how a man who was created to be the perfect weapon can be so tender with a woman who would mean nothing to him if not for the serum running through her veins.

He has been gone more often as of late, assisting in the training of a new batch of soldiers. At times you worry he might take to one of them the way he did you, might abandon you in place of a new pet, but from what you have gathered from overheard conversations the scientists had fixed this issue when creating the new serum. They couldn’t risk him showing loyalty to others and chance him deciding to fight back. He was yours, and admittedly you liked it this way. Perhaps it was the constant drugs being put in your system or the isolation of being confined to this building forever, but you loved him.

“I want a name,” you tell him when he returns from a grueling day of training. He looks at you almost puzzled as he removes his tactical clothing in preparation for a shower.

“Name?” He repeats with furrowed brows, planting himself in front of where you sit on the edge of the bed. You open your legs to allow him refuge in between them and hum in approval when he reaches down to gently run his metal fingers along the lines of your jaw.

“I don’t remember mine anymore, or anything before I came here, not completely. I need a name now.”

The Winter Soldier had never stopped to consider these details before you’d brought them to his attention; he didn’t know anything about himself, and he’d forgotten that this was considered abnormal. You had a life before him, an identity, and yet he’d never stopped to try and ask you.

“цветок.” You tilt your head in confusion and he smiles, a rare laugh escaping him as he explains, “Flower.”

He bends forward to press a kiss to the crown of your head, and in that moment you decide you like your new name.

You prefer being his Flower over his Pet, and you make sure to express your gratitude for this change when joining him in the shower.

~~~

Your privileges, while not many, have increased with your time spent as the Winter Soldier’s companion. You aid Hydra in keeping the man in line and ensuring optimal execution on missions, and your permanent bond to him means you never once have tried to escape in his absence. Thus, they felt it appropriate that you finally be able to leave the four walls of your bedroom.

You now have the ability to follow the soldier once a week to training, and you accompany one another to doctor’s visits rather than having them send the physician to you. So long as neither of you screw up, you can continue this routine of leaving your confinement to enjoy a small taste of freedom.

One of your new privileges is the responsibility of grooming the Winter Solider. Now that you can fully be trusted around sharp objects, you can trim his hair and shave his face while he sits back and enjoys how sweetly you fawn over him. Hydra had lost several workers to this task as one accidental tug of hair or cut to his chin could cost them their life, so this was one job they were happy to rid themselves of.

His blue eyes stare intensely up at your scrunched features as you carefully frame the pieces around his face. You work with practiced ease like you’ve done this before, and maybe you have, but there’s no way for either of you to find that out now. Your tongue pokes out discreetly from between your lips while you trim his ends, and the soldier envisions pulling you into his lap then and there to steal a kiss. He’d never do so in front of watchful eyes such as those of the guard who supervise your activity, it’s too intimate and he refuses to share you in such a way, but it brings him solace to envision a word where he can love you without inhibition or fear of putting you in harm’s way.

“I wish they would let you keep it long,” you hum thoughtfully, voice followed by the quiet snipping of the scissors.

“Not good for missions, Flower,” he reminds you before allowing his eyes to flutter shut at the feeling of your fingers combing through his hair.

“You’re leaving again?”

“Not for long,” the man consoles, flesh hand coming to rest on your thigh before giving it a comforting squeeze. “Hydra says I must complete this one last task, and then we both will go to sleep.”

“Sleep?” You repeat hesitantly, pausing your ministrations to meet his steely gaze. His silence has you unnerved, and you return to your previous work in order to distract yourself from the nerves that begin to settle into the pit of your stomach. “Winter, I don’t want to-“

“It is an order, so we must,” he interrupts. He doesn’t mean to be harsh, but he needs you to understand that even with these new freedoms you are still under Hydra’s commands. He cannot risk you becoming bold, becoming defiant, because he knows better than anyone what Hydra does to those who step out of line. He will not have that for you, and he would rather you understand to comply now than have it beat into you later.

You set the scissors down and step back to admire your work. His blue eyes follow your every move as you begin to clean up the mess, and his chest tightens with yearning as he pictures a life of normalcy. If he tries hard enough, he can pretend that you are a normal couple living a regular life- you’re with him because you love him and not because your biology had been programmed to yearn for him only, and your trimming of his hair is an act of love rather than a necessity forced upon him by his handlers. You’ll never know just how much it pains him to know you will never truly be his, and it is his fault you have been subjected to this life.

“Winter,” you call out gently, breaking the man from his obvious turmoil. You say his name so gently, different from what he is used to. His lips barely quirk into a smile, and for you that is a win. “I love you.”

Placing his metal hand on the back of your neck, he carefully pulls you closer so that your foreheads are pressed together. You can feel the gentle fanning of his breath on your face as his nose gently brushes against your own and inhales your scent. One day he will free you from this cage, even if it is at his own expensive.

“I love you.”

~~~

Your Winter returns to you in shambles and it scares you.

You’ve never seen him so frenzied, so unsure of himself and the world around him. His eyes are welled with tears, and he’s on you the moment he spots you, nearly yanking you out of bed as he pulls you impossibly tight to his chest and begins to comb his fingers through your hair.

“Winter?” You whisper meekly while scrambling to find purchase in his hold. You feel his hot tears trickle down onto your neck and the tremble of his hands as they splay across your back, but his hold never relinquishes.

“There was a man,” he shakily whispers into your hair, faltering to swallow the rising bile in his throat, “a man on a bridge.”

“What happened?”

“I knew him,” he whispers agonizingly, the turmoil evident in his tone. His shoulders tremble with each sob he fights to hold back, but the feel of your fingers gently rubbing circles into shoulders allows him the strength to continue. “He called me- he called me Bucky.”

Your features contort into a frown as you hold the sobbing man impossibly tight. You know just how difficult it is to have no semblance of your past or your identity before Hydra, but you can’t imagine just how awful it is to be given a piece of the puzzle only to have nowhere to place it. You want to help him but you don’t know how, and it pains you to be so useless.

“I think he knew you, too,” you reassure him quietly in case of any prying ears. “Maybe Bucky is your name, and this man is a friend. Maybe… maybe he can help us.”

The soldier stiffens at your words, carefully pulling himself out of your grasp to meet your gaze. You fear that perhaps you’ve misspoken and angered your companion, but once you see the rare glimpse of hope shining through his tears you realize your words have struck a chord within him.

With feverish movements he pulls your body back to him and slams his lips onto your own, swallowing your startled gasp and pushing you back towards the mattress. You accept him willingly and without complaint; you let him take you over and over again to the point of exhaustion until neither of you can hold yourselves up any longer. He worships you, comforts you, ensures to you that he will take this new lead and run with it until he can gain your freedom. His mission has always been you, and you trust him with your entire being to complete it.

They come for him hours later. The door to your room slams open, and two guards stand on the other side. Despite your entangled limbs and state of undress, you know well enough to immediately move yourself out of the way by pressing yourself as far back into the corner of the wall as possible. They grab him roughly by the arms before dragging him out of bed, and you watch helplessly from behind the cover of the sheets as he is taken from you once more. Despite the roughness in which they handle him, his eyes remain gentle as they look upon you fondly, and your heart sinks in your stomach when you note how differently this gaze feels. The door shuts harshly behind him, and a part of you fears that the look on his face wasn’t an expression of love.

It was his way of saying goodbye.

~~~

You haven’t seen your Winter in three weeks, and no one has come to check on you in five days.

You feel like you’re losing your sanity with each second that passes- you never thought you’d miss the interactions that came with your daily injections or the physical touch of the nurse holding you down. You’re thirsty, starving, dirty, delirious, and spiraling in your isolation. What could have happened to make them abandon the Winter Soldier’s pet? What could have happened to make him abandon you? Maybe he’s dead, or maybe he had never truly cared about you enough to get you out of this place, and you’re not sure which is worse.

You think you’re dreaming at first when the door to your prison slowly begins to creak open, and the sudden downpour of light is so blinding you can barely make out the figure standing before you. You whine and tightly shut your eyes, but you’re still able to hear the careful footsteps that approach you as if you’re a scared animal who might bite at any sudden movements.

“I’ve got something,” the feminine voice murmurs. “East Wing, last door to the right. They left someone behind.”

You attempt to open your eyes again and are met with the kind features of a woman. She offers you a comforting smile and attempts to reach for you only to flinch, but she’s quick to immediately retract her hands and hold them up in surrender. It’s clear she doesn’t want to scare you, but your bouts of torture and mental scarring don’t allow you to trust so easily. The Hydra nurses had often smiled at you the same way before strapping you down and aiding in your torment.

“Hey, it’s okay,” she coaxes softly, “I’m not here to hurt you.”

“Are you with Hydra?”

She shakes her head. “My name is Natasha, and I’m an Avenger. My friends and I are here to help you. Can you tell me your name?”

The name strikes a chord within you, but it isn’t impactful enough for you to truly grasp her importance or bring recognition to your mind. It is enough, however, for her to gain your trust and answer her with a quiet utterance of the word, “Flower.”

She hums thoughtfully before extending her hand to you again, and this time you take it without trepidation. Natasha slowly helps you to your feet, but your lack of nutrition and dehydrated state causes you to keel over immediately. The woman catches you in her arms and keeps you upright by allowing you to lean against her, but there’s evident worry on her features now that she fully knows the extent of your physical state. You appear weak and frail, delirious, and she hates to even think about what has happened to you during your stay at the Hydra base.

“Nat,” a new voice calls, and you muster up enough strength to lift your head and lock eyes with the man in the doorway. His features are kind and his eyes blue like your Winter’s, and his build nearly takes up the entire frame. His brows are etched with concern once they catch sight of you, and he’s quick to assist Natasha in guiding you out of the room.

“Flower, this is Steve,” she introduces in a hushed tone, “can he pick you up so we can get out of here faster?”

“I can’t leave,” you murmur hoarsely, eyes beginning to well with tears.

“It’s okay, no one is going to hurt you now if you leave,” she tries to assure you only for you to vehemently shake your head.

“If I leave he won’t know where I am o-or how to find me.”

“Who won’t know?” Steve presses gently, catching your figure as you stumble into his grasp before bursting into a fit of sobs.

“Winter,” you choke, too lost in your crying fit to note the way Steve’s body stiffens at the mention of the man. He shares an uneasy glance with Natasha before composing himself and offering you comfort through the careful rubbing of your back. Your cries echo throughout the abandoned Hydra base and send chills through the Captain’s spine.

He isn’t sure what the next step is or what to even make of this situation. They had been sent here to explore the Hydra base in search of any remaining personnel or files after the aftermath of Pierce, and while he had hoped to find some trace of Bucky he hadn’t been prepared for a battered woman to be the only link left to his missing friend.

Carefully lifting your frail body off the ground and into his arms, Steve trails closely behind Natasha as the two make their exit. You’re an inconsolable mess, but Steve does his best to offer the only words he can think of.

“We’ll find him, I promise.”

You never thought you’d ever get to see the sunlight again, but when Steve carries you over the threshold of the base and out into the open world you find yourself being blinded by its brightness. The feel of fresh air is jarring, its warmth kissing your skin as you are carried into their awaiting jet and set on the softest gurney you’ve ever been on. A multitude of voices surround you, but you can’t seem to focus on anything but the simple fact that no longer are you a prisoner to Hydra and their abuse.

You are free.

~~~

It took hours for Natasha to settle you so Bruce could properly examine you, but no one could blame you for your aversion to doctors and fear of needles. No one had ever been as patient or kind with you as they had been during the process of running blood tests, conducting a psychological profile, and settling you in with an IV to get you hydrated again. You clung to the Black Widow like a lifeline, but she never once seemed to mind. You almost got the impression that she understood the horrors that you’d been through, and that was enough for you to put your entire trust in her.

While your tests are being conducted, Tony and Steve sit in the intelligence room staring at the profile before them on the screen. Your innocent face stares back at the two men, a stark contrast to the woman who sits in the exam room with Banner and Romanoff. Your face is youthful and full of life, and the longer Steve stares at your photo the more the knot in his stomach twists.

“Her name is y/n y/l/n. She was a hairstylist in Manhattan before she was declared missing,” Tony reads along solemnly.

“Does she have any family we can contact?” Steve asks only for his counterpart to shake his head dejectedly.

“Parents passed away when she was in college and there’s no immediate family left. Hydra knew what they were doing when they picked her for their program.”

Sighing, Steve pinches the bridge of his nose in rumination before leaning in back into his chair. He felt a sense of responsibility when it came to your wellbeing; though he didn’t know the exact nature of your relationship with Bucky, he knew you must have been important to him considering how worried you were about him finding you, and that mean you were important to Steve now too. But there was so little to work with when it came to helping you enter back into the real world again, and who knew how long it would take for you to reacclimatize to your newfound freedom.

“This poor girl was tortured for who knows how long. If I could have found her sooner-“

“Hey, don’t do that to yourself,” Tony interrupts with a deep frown, “that doesn’t help anyone. We have her here now, and we’re going to get her the best treatment money can buy to help her get through all of this.”

Before Steve can reply, the two men are interrupted by the presence of Dr. Banner who holds a folder of tests results in his hands. The Captain is on his feet immediately, looking at Bruce expectantly with bated breath as he waits for the prognosis.

“As we suspected, there is super soldier serum running through her veins. However, it appears dormant since she showed no signs of increased strength or aggression or any other possible abilities. We’re not sure what effect it has on her, but I think she should be able to live a relatively normal life despite it being active in her system.”

“You couldn’t remove it?” Tony questions.

“She didn’t want me to. She said it’s what keeps her connected to Barnes, what kept him from killing her when Hydra dumped her on him.”

“I didn’t know that was possible,” Steve murmurs quietly. “Will she be okay?”

“Well, it’s going to take some time for her to psychologically recover from the torture and the isolation she endured, but there is a good chance her memories can be restored with time as well. Physically I’d say she’ll recover, and I’ll ask again when she’s in a better mental state about removing the serum, but…”

The hesitation in his voice is clear, prompting Tony and Steve to exchange uneasy glances before urging him to go on.

“What is it, Bruce?” Tony presses. Sighing, Banner adjusts the frames of his glasses and looks between the two men before landing his eyes on your holographic picture. He doesn’t want to voice the reality of the situation, but he knows he must if they want to help you.

Finally, he replies, “She’s pregnant.”

The room becomes deafly silent as the doctor’s words hang in the air, and it feels like ages before Steve finally works up the nerve to speak.

“Pregnant?” He nearly gawks in astonishment, clearly not believing the words he’s hearing.

“The blood tests and an ultrasound both came up conclusive,” Bruce confirms solemnly.

“And the father?” Steve hesitates to ask.

“Based on the details she shared with Nat, I think it’s safe to say that Barnes is the father.”

“So you’re telling me this woman is carrying a baby super soldier?” Tony questions bluntly much to Steve’s chagrin.

“It would be appear that way, yes,” Bruce replies almost annoyed at Tony’s poor choice of words.

“Is it safe?”

“I can’t say for sure, but I think the serum running through her veins increases her chances of survival and the possibility of a relatively normal pregnancy. We’ll just have to keep an eye on her in the meantime and hope for the best.”

“Well, Rogers, it looks like you’re going to be an Uncle,” Tony congratulates with a hearty clap to his back in an attempt to lighten the mood. Though Steve doesn’t exactly appreciate the jokes, his nerves are somewhat put at ease when he continues, “Don’t worry. I’ll make sure she gets everything she needs for the super tyke.”

It seems that finding Bucky is more important now than ever, and Steve is determined to do whatever it takes to reunite you with the man you love.

No matter the cost.

~~~

It’s been two months since you were freed from Hydra’s prison, but sometimes it only feels like just yesterday you’d been tangled in the sheets with your lover planning your escape. Should you even call him that? You’re not sure anymore. Your new therapist had affirmed you were an unwilling participant in all that had happened to you, but so was he, and he had taken care of you as best as he could given the circumstances you found yourselves in. You think you do love him even if she says you’d only forced yourself to feel that way as a means to survive.

Along with a new therapist, you’d been given all the resources possible to start your life over. Despite their insistence that you were welcome to stay at the Avenger’s compound while you healed, you were adamant about wanting the autonomy that came with having your own apartment. You wanted to learn to be your own person again, to live in your own space by your own schedule, so Tony had helped you find the perfect apartment in a quiet part of town.

Steve visited nearly every day to ensure you and the baby were doing alright considering he felt you were his responsibility now in Bucky’s absence. No leads have been found yet on the whereabouts of the Winter Soldier, but he is doing his damndest to find Bucky by all means. Natasha stops by every once and while when Steve cannot, offering you company and support during your transitional period.

Your body has healed from the grueling abuse you’d endured, but it’s taking your mind a little longer to catch up. You remember your name now, your real name, and vague remnants of your past, but it isn’t enough for you to complete the full picture. Bruce says it will take some time for you to regain your memories, but you’re not oblivious to the possibility that your mind might not ever be fully restored.

Natasha had accompanied you to another ultrasound appointment to check on the health of the baby and your own before taking you grocery shopping. The doctors say you’re almost three months along with a perfectly healthy baby, and Nat had cooed sweetly at the grainy image displayed for you both on the screen. You never knew how exactly to feel every time they showed you the baby- you didn’t hate it or detest the fact that you were pregnant, but the circumstances in which it had all occurred certainly weren’t ideal, and it served as a reminder that you would be going into this alone.

Once you were coherent enough, Steve had sat you down and carefully explained that your Winter once went by the name of James Barnes, though most people just called him Bucky. He told you of their friendship and how he had thought him to be dead all these years until the incident on the bridge, and he assured you he was doing everything in his power to bring you both together again. Of course, that had been a month ago, and Bucky was nowhere to be seen. It pained you to know that he wouldn’t be here to experience any milestones with you, to see his child grow inside you, to hold them and love them and enjoy his chance at having a family. You were supposed to start a new life together, but instead you and your little one are all alone.

You step out of the elevator and head towards your apartment with an arm full of groceries after finally making the trip home. Natasha had offered to help you bring them up, but you insisted you’d be fine on your own. You look forward to the hearty soup you plan to make for dinner and to frame the latest ultrasound on your fridge, and you don’t mind the fact that most days you dine alone. You’ve learned to get used to solitude once more, though it helps when it’s out of your own volition and not because you’ve been locked away in your own personal prison cell.

The apartment is quiet and untouched when you enter and hang your keys on the wall, but it’s only once you make it to the kitchen that you realize there is an intruder standing in your home. Your newly bought groceries fall to the floor with a deafening thud, fruits and vegetables scattering everywhere as you stare at the familiar pair of blue eyes that pierce straight through you. His hair has gotten longer again and his features are covered in stubble, but you know it is him.

“Winter?” You whisper in a trembling voice, afraid that if you speak any louder he might just disappear.

“Flower,” he breathes out, and before you can even blink he’s on you in an instant. Your frame is lifted from the ground when he picks you up in a bone crushing hug, one hand wrapped around your midsection while the other cradles the back of your head. He breathes in your scent as you nestle your face into the crook of his neck and begin to sob with the amalgamation of emotions within you. You missed him terribly, but you hated him for abandoning you and for loving you so much that Hydra had decided you were too valuable a resource to lose, and yet you were so relieved to see him alive and breathing in your little apartment.

“You left me,” you sob into his neck which prompts him to tighten his hold on you in response. “You promised you’d come back.”

“I could never leave you,” he hushes you, trembling lips brushing against the shell of your ear, “I could never ever leave you. I tried to come back for you but you were gone, and I couldn’t risk coming near you with the Avengers around or else they might take me away from you.”

“They wouldn’t do that, Steve has been looking for you. He promised we’d get to be together.”

“That isn’t his promise to make,” the man utters solemnly, finally relinquishing his hold on you so he can step back and admire your beautiful tear stained face. You look so different from the last time he’d seen you; your face was fuller and brighter, and the length of your hair had changed, but you were still just as beautiful as ever. “Flower-“

“Y/n,” you interrupt him. He falters at the name and furrows his brows in confusion until you clarify, “my real name is y/n. And yours is James, but Steve calls you Bucky.”

A look of recognition washes over his features and he nods. “We were… friends.”

“Steve can help us,” you attempt to reassure him again, but Bucky is not so easily convinced.

“No, no, I can’t… I can’t stay here. Many people want me dead, so it’s better to just disappear.”

“Disappear?” You blanch, already feeling the panic beginning to bubble within you. Your hands begin to tremble and you take a step away from him as you desperately try to process his words. “No, you can’t- you can’t leave me again!”

“I came here to say goodbye,” he admits solemnly before gently taking your shaky hands in his own. “You deserve to have a life without me in it.”

“I don’t want that!” You insist through tears only for him to shush you.

“My Flower, the serum bound us together, but it doesn’t mean that I have the right to ruin your chance at freedom. There is no future with me, a life on the run is not what you deserve. I will not put you through torment again. I-“

“I’m pregnant,” you finally blurt to get him to shut up. His wide eyes and stunned silence prove that your methods are effective. You feel his hold on you tighten as he takes a pensive swallow and slowly looks you up and down.

“Pregnant?” He repeats quietly in disbelief.

“I’m pregnant, and that means I do deserve a life with you in it. I deserve to raise our baby with you, to have you by my side. Please don’t leave me again.”

Tears steadily fall down your cheeks, and Bucky is quick to cup your face in his hands so that he may wipe them away. The apartment is quiet as he soaks up the news he’s just been given. He once thought he’d spend the rest of his life a slave to Hydra with nothing to lose and nothing to keep, but then he’d met you and everything had changed. You were his mission, his reason to fight, and now so was this baby. The answer is clear right in front of him, so he takes it.

“Pack a bag,” he urges you gently. “Pack a bag so we can leave and start over somewhere else together.”

Your breath hitches in your throat at his insistence, but you don’t think twice about scurrying off to your room and gathering whatever items will fit in your bag. You did want a new life, a fresh start, but no apartment in New York would fill the hole within you caused by Bucky’s absence if he left you behind. You are grateful to the Avengers, to all they have done for you, but Bucky is right. Your chance at a happy life is not their promise to make.

You leave a note for Natasha and Steve to find explaining that you are safe and will be okay on your own, that they don’t have to look for you and can rest assured knowing you are perfectly happy wherever it is you are. You thank them for everything and leave behind the keys to your apartment, taking one last look at the place before following Bucky to his getaway vehicle.

“Where will we go?”

He rests a comforting hand on your thigh and gives it a gentle squeeze before meeting your gaze. The hopeful glimmer in your eyes fills his heart with warmth and only further fuels his need to protect you and ensure your happiness. He hopes he’s doing the right thing by bringing you along with him.

“Romania,” he finally answers. “I think you’ll like it there.”

~~~

The soft cries from the bassinet rouse you from your slumber, but Bucky is gently pushing you back into bed before you can even remove the covers.

“I got it,” he murmurs hoarsely, sleep still evident in his voice when he speaks. The sun is barely beginning to rise as its warmth seeps through the curtains, and you comfortably stretch yourself awake in bed as Bucky brings the mewling infant to your awaiting embrace. “Hungry again.”

“It feels like she always is,” you jest with a fond smile while lifting your shift and allowing the infant to nurse. Bucky presses a kiss to your temple and repeats the act to your child before retreating into the kitchen to put on a pot of coffee for the start of your day.

Your life in Bucharest has been relatively quiet for the past year. As Bucky had promised, you’d made a fresh start in a new home for yourself, a home of your choosing where you could live in peace with your daughter and without worry of anyone finding your hidden paradise. Time had helped heal you both, and though there was still much progress to be made, becoming parents had softened you both and given you all the more motivation to be better versions of yourselves for your daughter.

Natalia Rose Barnes had been born eight months ago in a small hospital room and was deemed perfectly healthy despite your initial concerns of how the serum might affect her growth. She was the most beautiful little creature Bucky had ever seen, and his heart had bursted with pride when you’d handed her to him for the first time. He never once thought it possible for him to have a family, to take part of the creation of something so innocent and sweet after years of atrocities committed by his own hands, and yet here he was watching her tiny hand wrap tightly around his metal fingers.

Your days consisted of staying home to take care of Rosie while Bucky completed odd jobs around Bucharest to earn money. You practiced journaling often to keep track of old memories that would resurface with time to allow you to continue piecing your life together, and Bucky did the same. The thought of the Winter Soldier reawakening always lingered at the back of his mind, but he made it his mission that he would never show that part of himself to your daughter or to you ever again. You were no longer Winter and Flower but Bucky and y/n, and he was determined to keep it that way at all costs.

“I have to go out into town for groceries today,” he informs you whilst holding the cup of coffee to your lips and allowing you to take a drink. “Rose needs diapers, and we’re out of plums.”

You hum thoughtfully in response and reply, “If there is enough money leftover can you stop at the bakery for muffins?”

“Of course,” Bucky replies with a gentle grin, gently brushing his knuckles against your chin. “Anything you want.”

“I think Rosie and I will go for a walk in the park today,” you tell him. “Maybe you can join us once you’re done and we can walk home together.”

“I’d like that,” he affirms. You know how paranoid Bucky gets when you and Rose are alone, especially when it’s out in public, but he tries not to restrict your freedom too much and allows you to do certain things on your own.

You both prepare separately for your days and accompany one another out of the apartment. Bucky assists you in setting up the stroller and strapping a sleeping Rose in her seat, and he gives you a tender kiss before parting ways with you. The day is bright and beautiful, and your heart is content as you walk through the streets of Bucharest and to the local park.

You don’t have any friends or family in Romania, so you appreciate the friendliness of locals that greet you in passing or simply offer a smile your way. Many people especially like to stop and fawn over Natalia, so your guard is down when a woman seats herself next to you on the park bench and interrupts your journaling by cooing at your daughter.

“She’s beautiful.”

“Thank you, I-“ you begin to say only to freeze once you look up from your writing to acknowledge the stranger. She gives you a pointed look, but her smile is playful as she watches you process her presence before you. “Natasha?!”

“You’re hard to find, you know,” she quips with a raised brow, but she isn’t given a reply when you instead choose to throw yourself into her arms and hold her impossibly tight.

“I-I can’t believe you’re here,” you breathe in disbelief, eyes welling with tears at the comfort that comes with seeing a familiar face.

“I can’t believe you already had the baby,” she replies before pulling out of your hold to take in your face. “Are you alright? Banner was worried it might be hard on you because of the serum.”

“It was perfectly safe, Rose and I made it out fine.”

“Rose?” Natasha repeats before casting her gaze to the cooing baby sitting in the stroller.

“Well, her middle name is Rose, but her first name is Natalia,” you correct with a sheepish smile after seeing the way Natasha looks at you in surprise. “I wanted to name her after someone important, and after everything you did for me it only felt right.”

“I’m… honored,” she expresses, still getting over the initial shock. A new emotion flashes across her face for a split second before becoming unreadable again, but you detect the change before she can hide it.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that without asking you first,” You immediately jump to apologize in fear of upsetting her. You’d been so excited to see her you hadn’t even considered the fact she might be irritated with you for leaving without a trace and not bothering to reach out with your new location.

“No, it’s not that. It’s just… well, it makes this next part a little harder,” she admits mournfully, taking in the way your eyes widen slightly and lips begin to pull into a frown at her sudden change in demeanor. “As much as I wish I could say I’m here for a friendly visit, I’m actually here to bring you in for questioning.”

“What?” You gape in quiet bewilderment. You can already feel the unease beginning to grow at her serious tone, and your mind is racing with possibilities of what you could possibly be in trouble for.

“A bomb was recently planted at the Vienna International Centre and killed several UN representatives including King T’Chaka of Wakanda. Security footage revealed that the person responsible for this was Barnes.”

“That’s… that’s impossible!” You immediately argue, mind scrambling to catch up with the news Natasha has just dumped on you. Your heart is racing in your chest and body beginning to feel the oncomings of a panic attack when you realize your peaceful little life in Bucharest has been abruptly ended by a false accusation. “He couldn’t have done that, we’ve been together almost every day with Rosie.”

“They have him on camera, y/n. My hands are tied. I’ve been asked to bring you in because of your connection to Barnes, but if you can honestly say he’s been with you here in Bucharest this entire time then that might help him out. Steve and Sam should be with him right now.”

You can almost feel the hope draining out of you as you process the fact that the life you’d built for yourself was crashing down all around you. No matter how far you run, the past continues to catch up to you both. Bucky isn’t the Winter Soldier anymore, he’s trying to be better, and you wish others could see him for who he is rather than for what he has done.

“I’ll go with you if you promise they won’t take Rosie away from me,” you urge her. Natasha frowns.

“I can’t promise that, but I can promise that no matter what happens she’ll be safe. Can you trust me on that?”

You do, and that’s why you follow her willingly to Berlin for questioning. Bucky is already there when you arrive, and your heart breaks when you see how they have chosen to restrain him. His eyes are filled with sorrow at the sight of you and Rosie being escorted to a separate room, and he wants nothing more than to be there for you both, but he can do nothing as you are taken from him once again.

The prime focus is on Bucky, so you sit alone in the interrogation room for some time before the door finally opens and Steve enters. He has a tired smile on his face meant to hold up his facade while he hands you a glass of water.

“I thought you might need this,” he offers before taking a seat across from you.

“Are you here to question me?”

“No, I’m here as a friend. I don’t think you should be locked away in a room like this on your own.”

“It wouldn’t be the first time,” you offer bluntly. You don’t mean to be crass, but you’re beginning to become fed up with constantly having your life uprooted without any consideration of your feelings or autonomy. You didn’t choose this life for yourself or plan for it to be this way, yet it seemed you were always being punished for loving a tortured man who was trying to do better.

Despite your brashness, the air is void of tension and instead filled with the happy babbles of Rosie who continuously tries to reach across the table for Steve. She has Bucky’s eyes and his smile, and Steve feels a sense of protectiveness wash over him every time he looks at her. He has a duty to you and to Rosie to help prove Bucky’s innocence, and he hopes you’ll be able to see that he is on your side no matter what.

“Would you like to hold her?” You ask him after noting the way he eyes her so intently. He happily obliges, and you’re filled with a sense of ease to see your baby being coddled by Captain America. At the very least Rosie has a super powered support system, and this fact helps alleviate some of your stress.

“She’s gorgeous,” Steve compliments, allowing the girl to press her hands against his face in exploration. “This is all I ever wanted for Bucky. A chance to have the life that was taken from him, to start a family with a nice girl who loved him despite all he’s endured. I just wish it could have happened differently.”

“I know,” you reply solemnly before casting your gaze to your hands resting in your lap in order to hide your welling tears. “I do too.”

Steve opens his mouth to reply only to be interrupted by the blaring sounds of an alarm. The interrogation room is coated in red, and Rosie begins to shriek at the assaulting noise. You look to Steve with wide and fearful eyes when he quickly rises from his seat and hands you back your daughter. The alarms are reminiscent of the ones at the Hydra base, and it takes everything in you not to fall apart for the sake of your baby. Steve rests a gentle hand on your shoulder and provides you a reassuring squeeze before instructing you to stay put.

“I’ll be right back, I promise,” he avows before bolting out of the room. Your breathing comes in quick gasps as you press yourself to the furtherest corner of the wall and slowly sink to the floor with a crying Rosie to the floor. Your mind attempts to retrieve the therapeutic techniques you’d been taught to help you deal with such episodes, but none of them come to fruition fast enough for you to settle. You feel like you can’t breathe, and the blaring alarm has turned into a distant ringing as you curl in on yourself with the baby pressed tightly to your chest.

You don’t know long you’re stuck waiting in that room, unable to differentiate between minutes or hours, but you’re finally freed from your prison when the door swings open and Natasha rushes to your side.

“We gotta go,” she urges you whilst helping your trembling figure off the ground.

“Natasha, what’s going on?! Where’s Bucky?!” Your press for information falls on deaf ears as she uses one arm to keep you close to her form while the other holds out her gun for potential attacks. “We can’t leave him!”

“Someone activated the Winter Soldier,” she finally answers you after ensuring the area is secure and urging you forward. “It’s not safe for you or the baby.”

“No…” you breathe out before stopping in your tracks, “no, that’s not right.”

“Y/n, we don’t have time-“

“He wouldn’t hurt me, Natasha. The serum, it-“

“I’m not taking any chances,” she states adamantly before forcing you along with her to the exit. You can only stumble after her quick pace and follow her to safety while Bucky wreaks havoc on the building. The next few moments are a blur once you’re shoved into the back of a military van and sped off to a secondary location. The building grows further and further away, separating you and Bucky once more.

~~~

A warm breeze brushes through the grass around you, serene and comforting while you stare pensively at the lake before you. You’d sat at a lake like this once years ago with your parents when they were still alive, and it brought you the same comfort then that it did now. The world is calm here in your bubble, and you think you can finally breathe.

Rosie sits a few feet away from you in the grass playing with two of the local girls from the nearby village. The children adore your toddler and flock to visit her nearly everyday, but you don’t mind. This is what you had always wanted for her, to see her play with other children and know a world of peace where no harm could come to her. This was the most relatively normal childhood she could have, and you were grateful to be here in Wakanda.

After the Winter Soldier had been activated that fateful day, Natasha had stashed you and Rosie into a safe house while she dealt with the aftermath. Days passed before Steve finally came to get you, and you were promptly taken to be reunited with Bucky in Wakanda where T’Challa had granted you both asylum. They would work to erase his programming while you were there, and you would get to raise Rosie without the fear of having to up and leave at a moment’s notice. You’ll be forever indebted to the King for his kindness towards your family, and you truly think this could be the end of all your worries.

Your rumination is interrupted by the shifting of the grass when a new presence joins your side, and almost by instinct do you immediately lean into his side and rest your head upon his shoulder. You sometimes still expect to feel the sensation of cool metal against your cheek, but his appendage is gone now along with the Winter Soldier. Time has healed your husband, and there is no chance of anyone using him as a weapon now.

“I never thought life could be like this,” he voices aloud, a small smile forming on his lips at the sound of Rosie’s echoing laughter.

“It’s nice here,” you agree quietly. “Peaceful. We don’t have to run anymore.”

There’s a pause of silence following your words before he speaks again. “I don’t think I ever thanked you.”

His comment has you turning to look at him in puzzlement, your brows furrowing with uncertainty at what he’s trying to convey.

“Thanked me?”

He nods before shifting his gaze to you. His face is melancholic and full of sincerity when he reaches for your hand to take in his own. His eyes are swimming with devotion and admiration, and it has your stomach doing a nervous flip at the sudden shift in his demeanor.

“For giving me this second chance, for giving me a family. Hydra brought our paths together and the serum bonded us to one another, but Banner could have removed it from your system so you could live a normal life in Manhattan without a connection to me. You refused it. And when I returned you followed me to Romania despite me trying to set you free. You loved me anyway despite all you’d been through with me, you never gave up on me. I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for you.”

You smile up at him with complete adoration and devotion before resting a hand upon his cheek. He immediately melts at your touch, eyes fluttering shut as he releases a relaxed breath and savors the feel of your palm against his skin.

“You’ll never have to thank me for that,” you assure him with complete sincerity. “I will love you for the rest of my life with or without some stupid serum. We came into each other’s lives for a reason, and this is it.”

You pull him towards you for a passionate kiss that both of you ensure to savor before returning your gazes to the landscape before you. The sun sparkles on the water while the wind rustles through grass, and Rosie begins to make her clumsy ascent towards you both with hands outstretched for her father. Bucky is quick to pull her into his chest and hold her securely in his lap as your little family enjoys a peaceful afternoon in Wakanda.

Life is still and perfect, and for now you can continue to remain in your peaceful bubble blissfully unaware of the dangers yet to come.

[likeumeanit9497]

metal | m.s. |

matt sturniolo x fem!reader

summary: y/n got a few new piercings, and when her best friend matt asks to see them, she can't say no

warnings: smut; unprotected p in v (bad); oral (fem receiving); masturbation (m/f); phone sex; dirty talk; 18+

notes: hiii guys. i feel like tumblr's flakiest writer ever coming back on here every few weeks with a one-shot and telling u all im gonna be more consistent but then just not being consistent at all. i just started a new college program and it is taking up so (!!!!) much of my time, so ive been barely able to put any time towards writing for funsies. soooo it might take me a couple weeks to put out one shots (sad) while im in this program, but i swear im doing the best i can. i appreciate u all so so so so much, but matt girls this one is for u <33

With a sigh of relief, I crawled into bed. It was late, and I was exhausted after a long day of dealing with family shit. The only thing that got me through my day listening to my dead-beat father come up with yet another excuse on why he no-showed at my birthday dinner was the promise that, at the end of the day, I would be able to curl up in bed and forget all of my problems. Now that time had come, and I couldn’t wait to turn on some trashy reality TV show and lose myself in their cushioned world for a little while.

Just as I started the show, I felt my phone vibrate beside me. For just a moment I was filled with dread — thinking that I would be once again pulled back into the drama that was my father — but once I saw the name at the top of my screen, I felt my body relax. Matt was calling.

Matt was my best friend, and he had been for years. Him and I met on the first day of school freshman year, and immediately became inseparable. He was the only person in my life who I ever felt comfortable around enough to truly open up to about my problems. There really wasn’t much in my life that he didn’t know, so of course I had told him last night that I was going to see my father, and of course that was why he was calling. Annoyingly, I felt a smile creep up on my face. I hated that I loved how involved he got with my problems; as if they were his own. I would never admit this to anyone, but it really helped because it made me feel less alone.

“Hey you.” I greeted him after accepting the call. “Hey Y/n.” His voice sounded familiar in my ear, and already it calmed the sea of bad thoughts crashing in my mind. “How did today go?” He asked, keeping his tone light. I knew though that if I could see his face, there would be faint lines of concern etched in his forehead. I sighed. “Exactly like I knew it would. He gave me an insincere apology and weak excuse the way he always does.” Matt stayed silent on the other side of the call, allowing me the time to tell him as much as I wanted. His soft breathing through the speaker, however, comforted me and let me know that he was listening.

“He smelled like a distillery and couldn’t stop slurring his words, yet he was still trying to tell me that he hadn’t drank all week.” I heard my voice weaken, and I hated that I felt a lump forming in my throat over the situation. I hated that I cared, and I definitely didn’t want anyone to know that I did; even Matt. But of course, he knew anyways. I heard an empathetic sigh through the phone. “I’m sorry, Y/n.” I rolled my eyes, doing everything I could to keep the tears from falling. “It’s whatever. It’s not like I’m really losing much, but I did tell him that I’m done for good.” I forced my words to come out smooth, like I didn’t care. And I didn’t, not really.

“That must have been really hard, Y/n. I’m really sorry.” Matt’s words were sincere, and they caused the lump in my throat to grow even bigger. I forced out a laugh to keep my other emotions at bay. “Don’t be sorry. It’s better this way. Maybe now I can finally have peace in my crazy life.” There was silence on the line, and I knew it was because Matt wanted me to go deeper about my feelings, but I couldn’t handle much more tonight.

“Anyways,” I started, blinking away my tears and plastering a corny smile on my face as if Matt could even see it, “How have you been? We haven’t talked much over the past week.” At the change of subject, Matt picked up on my disinterest in the topic of my father, and like the best friend he is, transitioned into our new topic smoothly. “I’ve been good, been working a lot but it’s been on exciting things. What have you been up to? You know, besides today?” I chuckled softly.

“Honestly not much besides work. My boss has been really stressed out since the end of last quarter so I’ve been coming into the office early and staying well past five every day.” I paused, staring up at my ceiling trying to think if there was anything exciting I could tell Matt. Suddenly, I remembered that there actually was something that I had done that was more interesting than just working late all week. “Oh! I also got some new piercings last week.” It was Matt’s turn to chuckle.

“Y/n, how the fuck did you fit more piercings on your body?” I laughed. He was right, both of my ears were filled with every piercing imaginable, and I also had my nose, tongue, and belly button pierced. I had already told him that I would never get anymore facial piercings, and I certainly didn’t have much room on my ears to get more, so I understood his confusion entirely. “Do you want to guess where they are?” I teased, feeling relieved to have something to talk about that didn’t make be absolutely miserable for once. “Sure,” I heard what sounded like a blanket rubbing against the speaker, and I assumed that Matt was now getting comfortable in bed, also seemingly enjoying the light-hearted conversation, “But can I get some hints?”

“Sure,” I replied, “You can ask me three questions.” I heard him smile through the phone. “Okay…” There was a pause as he came up with his first question. “How many did you get?” Without hesitation, I was able to respond. “I got three.” There was another pause, and then. “Are two of them a part of a pair?” I laughed at Matt’s not-so-subtle guess. I had told him months ago that I had been wanting to get a certain pair of piercings for a while, and I knew he was thinking of that exact conversation. “Yes they are.” I replied, and there was a dramatic gasp on the line. “Ouch, you actually got your nipples pierced?” His voice was laced with playful concern, and something else. Intrigue?

“Okay okay, you got two out of the three. One more question left.” I encouraged him. If he was shocked about my nipple piercings, I couldn’t wait to hear his reaction to the third. He was silent again for a moment, surely confused by the third piercing. Nipple piercings weren’t that outlandish for me, and he knew that, but this last one is sure to blow his mind. “Oh god, I don’t know. Is it another body piercing?” His tone sounded so helpless, and I knew he really didn’t have a clue. “It is, yes.” I did my best to contain my laughter at this point, not wanting to give it away.

“Is it a second belly button piercing?” The guess was weak, and by the tone of his voice he knew it. “Nope.” I replied, biting my nails in anticipation. He was once again silent on the phone, and I knew he was officially running out of ideas. After a moment, I decided to give him one last hint. “Think lower.”

A new silence poured from the phone. Before, there was the silence of deep thought. Now, there was a heavier silence that let me know he finally put it together in his head. Below your belly button, there aren’t many places you can get pierced. He knew that just as much as I did. But I didn’t know if his silence meant he was just shocked, or if he was genuinely disappointed in me. For the first time since becoming friends with Matt, I felt nervous that maybe I had gone too far.

“You’re serious?” He asked, finally breaking his silence, and I couldn’t help but release a short, nervous laugh. “Yeah. Why? Did I just delve too far into the daddy-issues stereotype?” I tried to keep my tone humorous, but inside I was actually worried that was true. Did he think I was weird now? Or did the fact that I had a piece of metal pierced atop my bundle of nerves immediately turn me into some dirty whore in his eyes?

“No! Jesus, no Y/n.” His rushed words put a pause on my spiralling thoughts, and I felt myself relax slightly. “It’s just,” In that moment, I wished that I could see his face. At least then I would have better odds of being able to read him instead of just waiting helplessly on the other side of the phone. He was struggling to find the words he wanted to say, and in my mind that meant he was getting ready to give me some sort of lecture. It wasn’t something that he was in the habit of doing, but I had also never done anything as shocking as this before. I began to prepare myself for this lecture, and come up with explanations and excuses for what I had done, when his hesitant words stopped me in my tracks.

“Can I see them?”

I stared at my phone for a second, unsure if I was just hearing things. “You want to see them?” I couldn’t stop myself from asking, for clarification’s sake. I was shocked. Even with how close Matt and I are, we had never ever seen each other naked. In fact, there had been no physical intimacy between us other than platonic cuddles every once in a while. I would be lying, though, if I denied ever having moments of weakness. There had been times, when we would have sleepovers after tough days and the heat of Matt’s comforting body pressed against me, where I had wanted to throw all logic aside and press my lips to his. But I never would have done it. Matt wasn’t exactly known for his boldness, and I feared that my bad habit of being spontaneous would absolutely destroy our friendship. But now, he had me questioning all of that.

“I’m curious.” He replied, his tone nonchalant. I still couldn’t tell if he was being serious, and I felt like a deer in headlights. Just as I was about to tell him to stop fucking around, my screen lit up with a Facetime call from Matt. My stomach did a flip. “You gonna pick up?” His voice made me jump, but I cleared my throat and hit accept.

Suddenly, Matt’s face filled my screen. He was in his bed, the only light in his room seeming to come from a faint source; likely his computer screen. His face was so familiar, and the smile he sent me so comforting, that I immediately felt more at ease than I felt before. “Hey.” He said gently, and I laughed at the ridiculousness of this moment. “Hey” I replied before shifting my position in bed nervously. “So you were serious?” I asked awkwardly, and he nodded. “If you’re okay with it, obviously.” I took a deep breath. I was okay with it, of course, but it was just so out of the norm for us that I felt shell shocked.

“I’ll show you nipples first.” I said, sitting up in my bed before grabbing the bottom hem of my oversized t-shirt. I positioned my phone in front of my still-clothed chest, and watched his face on the screen. He laid naturally in bed, acting as if nothing was out of the ordinary, but the way his dilated blue eyes were glued to the screen I could tell that he was feeling the same kind of anticipation that I was. Slowly, I finally lifted my shirt up over my chest; allowing him a full view of my new piercings.

I intentionally left the shirt up to block my own vision, because I couldn’t handle watching him stare at my tits for the first time. In the dark, all I heard was silence for what felt like forever, and I got worried that I had somehow lost him. Cautiously, I pulled my t-shirt away from my eyes, and glanced at him on the screen. He was staring intently; I could see his eyes move from one tit to the other every few seconds, and there was a slight grin across his face. “Wow.” He said finally, still taking them in. “Those are sick piercings.” I stifled a laugh at the fact that he was still trying to act like it was all just about the piercings, and that there weren’t two tits attached to the metal. “Thanks.” I replied, a small chuckle still evident in my voice.

I allowed him a few more seconds of shameless staring before speaking again. “You ready for the third?” I watched as he blinked a few times and took a deep breath. “I can’t wait.” He replied, causing my stomach to do another flip. I brought the phone back up to my face as I laid back down, smiling at him nervously as I pulled my comforter off my lower body. I was only wearing a pair of panties, so I already felt shy when I positioned my phone in between my legs. I used the front camera still, hoping that it would allow him a better view, but hated that you could still see the lower part of my face.

Matt hadn’t moved in his bed since I looked at him last. In fact, it almost looked like his image was frozen. His eyes were still glued to the screen, and he seemed to be barely blinking; as if he was scared that if he did, he would miss it entirely. “Okay, ready?” I asked, using the hand that wasn’t holding the phone steady to grab onto the side of my panties. Even in the almost-dark of his room, I could see him gulp before nodding his head. “Ready.” He replied.

Slowly, I hooked a finger under my panties, and pulled them to the side. In the blink of an eye, all of me had been revealed to Matt through a screen inches away from my core. My eyes veered back and forth from myself in the phone and Matt’s expression. I could see the shiny metal glitter against my pink clit, and watched as Matt visibly struggled to keep his composure. Neither of us spoke for a moment, and I felt myself begin to tremble under his shameless stare. I grew nervous, then, that my body would begin to give away how suddenly aroused I became under his eyes. My core was flooding with heat, and I knew that I was beginning to grow slick with my wetness.

“Does it hurt?” He finally spoke, but his voice had changed drastically since I had last heard it. It had dropped nearly a whole octave, and there was a sort of breathlessness to it that was foreign to me. It was the voice of arousal, and that knowledge was enough to drive me crazy. “N-no, it doesn’t,” I replied, using all the strength in me to not squeeze my legs together to relieve some of the pressure flooding my core. “It’s been a week, and these sorts of piercings heal really quick surprisingly. I can touch it and everything.” My last sentence fell from my mouth thoughtlessly, and I immediately felt my cheeks grow hot at my accidental boldness. That didn’t last long, though, because Matt’s next words pulled all that heat right back to where it was before.

“So touch it then.”

It was like all the sense was knocked out of me from his words. I would have thought that my instinct would have been to laugh and roll my eyes before telling Matt to knock it off, but the seriousness of his tone, the sharp blue of his piercing eyes, and gruffness of his voice caused my brain to shut off. Immediately, my hand traveled to my bud, where I began to slowly play with the metal. Although I had been telling the truth when I told Matt that it was fully healed, I hadn’t yet touched myself in this way since getting it pierced, and the new sensation immediately sent pleasurable shock waves through my body. As I began to slowly rub my clit, the metal added a new level of pressure to the nerves that — combined with the adrenaline that came from doing this in front of my best friend for the first time — caused me to throw my head back against my pillows.

“Tell me how it feels.” Matt’s deep voice filled the space around me in a way that made me feel even more erotic, and I released a soft moan. “I-It feels good.” I replied breathlessly, my fingers beginning to move quicker as I squeezed my eyes shut in pleasure. “Better than before?” His question came out slightly choppy, and through the phone speaker I heard the rhythmic shuffling of his comforter. “Y-yes. Much better.” I managed to reply, the thought of what he was doing to himself on the other side of the screen pushing me closer to the edge.

“Look at me.” He commanded, and without hesitation I lifted my head up; looking at him through the screen. He could only see the lower half of my face, but I could see all of his. As I continued toying with myself, I watched him through fluttering eyelashes. Although his face had not changed much — besides the darkening of his pupils and the faint accumulation of sweat on his brow — the repetitive movement of his bicep at the corner of the screen told me everything that I needed to know. “You look so good.” He complimented me, his voice low and gravelly. I moaned in response, rolling my hips slowly as I began to grow antsy with a need that I knew I couldn’t fulfill myself.

The pleasure was growing like a balloon deep inside of me, but my own fingers weren’t enough to reach it. Not now; not when I have a beautiful man that I trust more than anyone else watching me with that dangerously erotic gaze. Just like Matt knows everything about me, I know everything about him. And so I know that, in this moment, he wants the same thing that I do. That’s why I didn’t feel any unease or hesitation when I drew my fingers away from my clit, ran them achingly slow along the rest of my heat, and spoke.

“Please come over Matt.”

It was a request that I had made to him countless times. Those times I was usually close to tears after a long day of dealing with the shitty cards I had been handed in the family department. I needed him then, like I need him now. In those times he never ever hesitated, and this time was no different. In one swift motion, I watched through the screen as Matt lifted himself out of his bed, threw on a t-shirt, and grabbed his keys off the bedside table. “I’ll be there in ten.” Just like my request, his response was the same as always. As I told him to drive safe before hanging up the call, I felt my body vibrate in a way it never had before. I pulled my hand out of my panties and waited in desperate anticipation for the familiar sound of his car pulling into my driveway.

𓆩☆𓆪

Matt arrived at my place in eight minutes, and as soon as I saw his headlights through my window, I sprung out of bed and raced to the door. There was no nervousness, no reluctancy, no questioning whether or not we were making a big mistake; all I knew was that I needed his hands on my burning skin desperately.

I flung the door open before he even had a chance to knock, but Matt didn’t hesitate before pulling me into him and engulfing my mouth with his own. Although we had never kissed before, it wasn’t shock that I felt in that moment; it was the melting satisfaction of familiarity. I practically collapsed in his arms as his mouth moved against mine as if they were two pieces of a puzzle, and relished in the feeling of his hands travelling wildly across my aching body at last.

As he held me gently against the wall, I felt his hardened member press against my core, and I shuddered in pleasurable frustration. In that moment, I could have lost all self control — pulled his pants and boxers down in one movement and slipped his cock into my aching core right then and there — if he hadn’t grabbed onto my ass and lifted me off of the ground. Without removing his lips from mine, he carried me past my entrance way and all the way into my dark bedroom as if he had memorized every square inch of my place.

As he continued to kiss me with hungry desire, he paradoxically draped my body gently against my bed. Leaning over me, his mouth refused to leave mine and his tongue begged me for entrance. I obliged, and our tongues swirled together with comfort; as if they were old friends. The sound of our heavy breathing filled my head, and I ran my hands along his body; allowing myself to feel him in a way I never had before. Each part of him felt familiar — his back, his arms, his stomach — but each new part of him I touched set off sparks of electricity under my fingertips. This was real, and this was good.

It was only after I began toying with the waistband of his pants, and he the hem of my shirt, that our lips separated and we really looked at each other since the moment he arrived. Both of our chests were heaving as we tried to catch our breath, and I gazed up at his darkened eyes for what felt like forever, until a soft smile crept onto his swollen lips. “Hi.” He said, and I released a short laugh realizing that this was the first word either one of us had said to the other since hanging up the Facetime call. “Hey.” I replied, a smile matching his now etched onto my face.

“Can I take this off?” He tugged on the bottom of my t-shirt, and I nodded. “Please.” I replied, feeling no shame in my clear desperation. Matt obliged, pulling the shirt up over my head and exposing the tits he had seen on Facetime not long before. There was a pause, and for the first time since we started all this I felt briefly insecure. That is, until I looked up to his face and saw his jaw physically dropped in awe. He looked like he had fallen into some sort of trance, and mindlessly brought his two gentle hands toward my hardened, pierced nipples. He ran a soft thumb against each piercing, and I hissed at the deliciously taunting sensation.

“Do these ones hurt at all?” His voice was soft, almost a whisper, but his eyes never left my chest. “These ones do a little, yeah.” I replied, to which his eyes finally fluttered up to my face with slight concern. “But it’s really not that bad.” I added, reassuring him out of fear that he might suddenly not want to continue. This seemed to help, as his eyes made their way back to my chest before his body suddenly began tilting forward. He leaned above my chest, really only centimetres away, and I watched as he placed two small, unbelievably gentle kisses against each hardened nipple. The ecstasy I felt in that moment caused me to release a soft moan, and goosebumps spread across my skin like wildfire, and I suddenly realized that I needed him more than ever.

As if reading my mind, his mouth then began moving slowly down my writhing body. He took his time on my sternum, then the skin below my belly button, then my hip bones, and I felt like I could explode. My hands flew to his hair and I subconsciously tugged at its base in decadent frustration. And then slowly, so, so, slowly, Matt began dragging my soaked panties down my legs. I felt like I could crumble under his gaze, but his eyes never left my newly exposed core. Blinking ever so slowly, he dropped to his knees and grabbed my shaky legs to part them. Once he did, I watched as he groaned softly at what he saw.

I knew without having to look that I was literally dripping from arousal, and that hunch was confirmed when Matt took one finger and dragged it along my slit; collecting the overabundance of fluid. He didn’t even take his eyes off of my centre, he just brought his wet finger to his mouth and wrapped his lips around it; so transfixed by what he saw in front of him that he didn’t even care to make a scene of tasting me for the first time. I had never felt more glorious than I did in that moment, and it was so overwhelming that I could have came just from sight alone.

Slowly, Matt’s mouth inched closer and closer to my clit, before he carefully wrapped his lips around it. Upon the first contact of his warm tongue playing with the cool metal of my piercing, I was hit with a powerful wave of pleasure that shook my whole body. As he picked up speed, swirling and sucking my bundle of nerves, I couldn’t control the sounds that fell from my lips. Moans of pleasure, pain, and anticipation filled the room, and they only seemed to draw similar ones from Matt.

Matt slid two fingers into me with ease, and began pumping them in and out in rhythm with the movements of his tongue. His fingers were curled up to just the place I needed them to be, and I felt what was left of my sanity begin to crumble as I approached an orgasm. The orgasm that I had been desperately needing since our Facetime call. It’s impending presence had taken control of my mind for what felt like forever, and now it was finally threatening to take control of my entire body. Yet, still, I needed more.

Quickly, before the first waves could crash, I pulled Matt’s face away. Immediately, his blissed-out expression quickly changed to one of concern, but before he had the chance to speak, my desperate voice filled the room. “Please Matt, I want to cum with you.” His features softened before understanding flashed in his eyes. Without saying a word, he stood up and began unzipping his pants. I waited in anticipation, watching with hungry eyes as his painfully hard member sprung free from his boxers. Once he had fully discarded his clothes, he leaned down and kissed me so deeply that I saw stars. His mouth tasted like me, and I couldn’t help but slip my tongue past his lips; intoxicated by the combination of me and him on my tastebuds.

I felt his naked member press against my core and I shuddered from pure lust. I was so engulfed in the intensity that I was afraid I would fall into pieces as soon as he slid into me. Breaking the kiss, Matt straightened himself out and grabbed my legs before placing them on either side of his waist. The two pieces of us that needed each other the most right now were just inches from one another. My eyes fell between my legs, and I watched in euphoric awe as Matt grabbed his swollen member, lined it up with my centre, and slowly pushed into me. His movements were so torturously, deliciously slow, my eyes rolled and my head fell back onto the mattress.

On each slow roll of his hips, his cock slammed into my g-spot and made my vision go spotty. I held onto his flexed shoulders like I was drowning and they were my life raft, and I released harsh guttural moans each time my walls stretched; welcoming him graciously. “Fuck, you feel so good.” Matt’s raspy voice fluttered my stomach, and I opened my eyes to come face-to-face with him. He was staring down at my contorted face with a look filled with nothing but pleasure and adoration. His flushed cheeks and dark pink lips gave him a look that bordered on innocent, but there was a certain hint of hard focus in the depths of his ocean eyes that told me he was feeling as good as I was.

Each time he thrusted into me, the soft crest of his pelvis brushed ever so lightly against my new piercing; granting me a new form of pleasure that I had never experienced before. I had been told by other people that the piercing can be intense during sex, but I had underestimated just how intense it would be. I had no sense of control as Matt’s cock continued to drive into me, and I couldn’t help but vocalize how he was making me feel.

“J-just like that Matt, fuck!”

“Your c-cock fills me s-so go-od!”

“H-harder, please baby!”

At my last statement, Matt showed he was listening by suddenly slamming into me harder and faster than I had ever felt before. He grabbed my legs and wrapped them tightly around his waist, and as I arched my back in pleasure he draped one of his arms around it and used the other to hold my jaw; brushing it lightly with his thumb to ensure me that his gentleness had not completely disappeared. His breathing quickly grew more and more rapid, and deep grunts fell from his mouth every few seconds.

I was hit with shockwaves of pleasure upon each of his thrusts, and I knew that my orgasm was closer than ever. I dug my nails into his back and tightened my legs around him in a desperate and subconscious attempt at getting as close as possible to him, and it was clear that there was no stopping the orgasm that was bubbling inside of me. “G-gonna cum Matt.” I squeaked out, rolling my hips up slightly deepen his thrusts even more. “Good girl, want me to cum with you?” His words were in my ear, and even the dampness that his mouth made against my skin added to my unraveling euphoria. Beyond the point of being able to speak correctly, I simply nodded my head frantically.

As I did, Matt released the deep moan that pushed me over the edge. My orgasm took control of every cell in my body, and I cried out in overwhelming pleasure as it tore me to shreds. I felt my body stiffen so much that I was practically lifting off of the bed, and my walls pulsed intensely as I squirted violently all over Matt. Just then, I felt Matt’s body stiffen above me, and his movements became a whisper as he cursed into my ear. “Oh fuck, fuck, fuck.” His moans rang in my ear with each of his weak thrusts, and I felt his twitching cock paint my walls white as he came undone in unison with me.

Eventually, his body stilled completely, and he rested above me as we both caught our breaths and came down from our highs. His cock slipped out of me, and I immediately felt cold and empty in its absence. After a few moments, Matt lifted his head from my shoulder and gazed at me with a soft smile on his face.

“Damn.”

“I know.”

”I mean, that was-”

“I know.”

We continued to stare at each other, both with matching smiles on our faces, until I dissolved into childish giggles.

“What?” Matt asked, unable to keep himself from laughing as well. “What?” He asked again, nudging my shoulder gently as I giggled. “I mean come on,” I continued to laugh, “That was crazy. Don’t you think it was crazy?” I looked at him, starting to feel the first hints of regret now that it was over and we had to go back to being friends. “I don’t think it was crazy.” He replied simply, before bringing his lips back to mine. This kiss was different than the other ones we shared tonight, though. There was no hunger, no lust. There was just love.

He pulled away after only a few moments, and I looked back at him with what I was sure was confusion all over my face. “I have never felt less crazy in my life than I’ve felt tonight.” Matt continued, and I felt my stomach flutter, “Tonight, everything finally feels right.” I felt a bashful smile form on my lips. I would be lying if I said I didn’t feel the exact same way. “So,” I started, unsure of how to maneuver this, “What now?” Matt got up.

“Well,” He began, grabbing his discarded t-shirt and using it to gently clean me up, “It’s late and you’ve had a long day, so I think we should get some sleep.” I propped myself up on my shoulders and watched as he began to clean himself next. “And then when we wake up tomorrow, we’ll go get some breakfast and talk about what we both want.” He walked into my adjacent bathroom and started the shower, the way he has done a thousand times before, before walking back to where I was and helping me off the bed.

Once I was on my feet, he placed another gentle kiss against my lips, and I felt my insides melt at the comfort of his touch. “But if I’m being completely honest, which you know I always am, I think we both already know we want the same thing.” I looked up at him through nervous eyelashes, and had to chew my bottom lip to stifle the massive smile that was threatening to take over my mouth. Matt had no problem showing his huge smile, and he tilted his head quizzically in my silence. “Am I right?” He asked, and instead of responding with words, I leaned up and placed a kiss of my own on his lips.

─ ⊹ ⊱ ☆ ⊰ ⊹ ─

[moldycheezeit]

Chapter 1

You were a good kid, great kid even. But no one ever really knew, well maybe your high school science teacher and Alfred, but they were the only ones.  

Someone out there is probably thinking ‘‘well what about your mom she would surely care?” Well to bad she wasn't there, well at first she was, during the pregnancy, but when it was time for you to come into the world all of a sudden she didn’t fit into said world. So death took her away from you minutes after you were born. 

For that and maybe because you look like her, they probably wouldn’t know because they barely look let alone talk to you, they neglected you and it hurt because these are the people who are supposed to love and care for you. But with the help of Alfred you learned to take care of yourself which leads you to this moment. Like right now where you are standing at this very moment. At the school's science fair because you, even if people don’t believe it because of how pretty you are, are really smart when it comes to science. You learned for your love of science by reading a book that your mom had written and left behind after she passed. She left behind many more things for you but this stood out among the rest. It was mostly filled with ideas on things to create and ways that could make it possible. So you tried the one that you found the most interesting and figured out a way to create it. Of course it took a bunch of trial and error but you made it work with what you had. Seeing as Bruce never gave you any money ,like an allowance, you had to find scraps to make your inventions work. Now let’s get back to that competition. 

You are currently standing next to the table with your invention ‘the gauntlet’ yea you didn’t know what to name it. What it can do is tell you any sickness or disease if you were to type in the symptoms of your patient. It takes the form of a bracelet but when activated it basically takes up the back of your hand and half of your forearm. It has two screens, one that you use to type and the other that gives off a hologram-like screen. Yea it’s clunky and doesn’t look right at the moment, but for your first model it’s great. 

While standing around waiting for the judges to come see your product you see a man. He looked to be in his 40’s and had short brown hair, a weird looking goatee, and was wearing… sunglasses? Indoors…welp at least he’s not wearing something stupid like a bat suit. He does look familiar but you can’t remember were from. You notice he’s looking around at the invitations and talking to the creators. And he seems to be heading in your direction like right now. He’s 5 tables away, 4, 3, 2– “Hey kid what’s this you got?” The man is smiling like he’s actually interested in what you have to say. That is not really normal. “This is a gauntlet I created to tell you of any sickness or disease if you were to type in the symptoms of your patient.” You had responded to the man’s question confidently. “Wow you really programmed it to do all that.” He questioned, interested in the gauntlet that sits in the display case. “Yes, it took me a while to do it though.” You had said, uttering the last part to yourself. “ I can imagine seeing as I've done a bunch of stuff just like it.” The uh.. Weirdo, yea lets go with that, had told you. Now that surprised you, But before you could ask any questions the weirdo ,as you've dubbed him, started walking away. “Alright see you later kid, hope you win with that invention you got.” you could hear his voice starting to fade a bit as he walked away. And all you could think was ‘ Man was a weirdo.’ 

It's been a while since the judges had come over to your table, because right now they were deciding on who the top 3 will be. You kinda hoped one of them would be the red haired kid who made that moving metal arm out of scraps. To you it was just really cool. You can't help but hope to get in the top 3 as well because the winners get cash. ‘ I need that money so I can create more inventions, yea using what I have on hand is good but there is a limit of how much I can do with it. Not like Bruce would give me any.’ you had rolled your eyes thinking about that last sentence. Hopefully with the creations your mom thought of they could help you get enough money to never rely on that man again.

Just as you ended that thought the speakers in the hall started projecting what the announcer was saying into the mic. “ Can all the contestants make their way to the stage, the judges have finally made their decisions.”  You and all the other contestants start making your way to the front where the judges are.  luckily it's not that far of a walk and when you get there you all stand in a crowd.  when you all get there the announcer starts speaking “ even though we had a lot of good intentions this year only about three of you can make the top.  so we'll start from 3rd to 1st place in order of who got which.” As the crowd stands there in anticipation  the announcer starts speaking again “ In third place is kidd with his metal arm that he has made to help people who are missing limbs, we hope to see more in the future for him.” as people clap you see the red-haired kid you saw earlier walking up to get onto the stage in the announcer hands him a third place medal and a check with money on it. “ Now for second place Elijah who has made a machine that can take packages of  food and can make them into full meals.” Just like before you had seen this kid Elijah start walking up to the stage and when he got on the stage he had received his second place medal in his check that he had won. “And finally for our first place we have a (y/n) Wayne who has shown us a gauntlet. That can help people in the medical field  identify diseases  if they have a hard time figuring out what they are or what the patient has.” You're surprised to hear that you knew you were smart but you didn't know you would win first place. As you walk up to the stage you have a rush of excitement in you. Finally, you can have money to help create your inventions, your mom's inventions. you can finally fulfill the dream she had that she wrote in her books from before you were born.But when you go on stage the announcer only handed you the first place medal you were surprised to not see a check that came with it then out of the corner of your eye you see the same weirdo man from earlier with a big check walking towards you. “ Hey kid you won just like expected, hopefully you can put this money to use and make more amazing creations like the one you made for today.” But you couldn't help but say “ you look familiar.”  and happily he answers your question saying “I'm Tony Stark kid.” Ah.so that's why he looked so familiar. 

If you watch one piece see what I did there. ٩(^ᗜ^ )و I thought it would be a funny thing to put in. Also sorry I keep posting at like 1am its really the only time I'm free

Taglist : @cxcilla @starslightzz @jackchanzzz @simpingpandas @galaxypurplerose @spqce-buns @peche4et3chocolat @ryuushou @moon0goddess @fanficloverlol

[liketolaugh-writes]

Bruce looking past the fact that (recently adopted) Danny is a powerhouse and recognizing that he has other skills also. <3

Danny is a STEM kid and just as brilliant as his sister, you cannot convince me otherwise

Danny gave Bruce the handwritten list of powers in the morning. Bruce stared at it over his cup of coffee, then gave Danny a flat, somewhat disbelieving look. Danny shrugged sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Sorry,” he said, perching on one of the stools. “I can point out the ones I don’t use if you just want to work on the ones I do. At least I have an idea of what needs improving with those.” Alfred gave him a cup of coffee and a plate of bacon and French toast, and Danny smiled at him. “Thanks, Alfred.”

“We’ll have to prioritize your training,” Bruce allowed after a moment, frowning down at the paper. Dick leaned over to look and whistled. “But all of these will be addressed eventually. You should have at least a moderate grasp of every tool at your disposal.” He looked up. “You intended to work in the lab today, correct?”

Danny nodded, playing with a strip of bacon. “I’ll probably spend most of today making a big batch of phaseproof coating,” he said. “Then I can experiment with mixing it with paint and maybe coat some of your spare weapons in it? That should work for the bo staff and escrima sticks, maybe a set of brass knuckles. But I’ll need to make a different solution for the edged weapons.” His mind wandered, thinking of how he could adapt what he knew of the Bats�� gear to work against ghosts.

“Who’re the brass knuckles for?” Dick asked, raising an eyebrow at Danny. Danny flushed and shrugged.

“Batman,” he said. “You don’t really use a weapon, right?” Bruce grunted. “But phaseproof cloth isn’t something my parents ever really figured out. I can work on it, maybe, but I thought brass knuckles would be an okay compromise for now.”

“Hn.”

“Good thinking,” Dick praised with a smile. “It’ll be easy to add to the utility belt too. Should we ghostproof my main set or a spare?”

“The main, I think, if you’re okay with it,” Danny said, tilting his head thoughtfully. “You probably won’t even notice. But the edged weapons should all be spares. Ecto-treated metal tends to glow.”

“Not great for stealth,” Dick nodded. “Whatever you think is best, baby spook. We have the resources.”

“You’re hyper-specialized,” Bruce noted without inflection, sipping from his coffee. Danny winced.

“Sorry,” he muttered. It was easy to forget that all this was pretty useless outside of Amity Park. Bruce shook his head.

“It’s not a problem. But we’ll need to diversify your skillset. Your talent for chemistry and engineering should expand beyond ectoscience alone.” He studied Danny contemplatively. “Higher education might be beneficial, perhaps a PhD.”

Danny’s eyes went wide. “What? I’m barely passing high school!”

“I had Casper High send over your transcripts,” Bruce said. Danny flinched. “You had a B+ average in middle school, with a particular bent for math and science. You also participated in several advanced extracurriculars, including a junior astronaut program, space camp, and competitive robotics. Further, you clearly have a comprehensive understanding of your parents’ work, which eludes both the Justice League engineers and JL Dark. You had these talents prior to acquiring your powers, and it would be a waste to discard them in favor of your raw combat ability.”

Danny stared at Bruce, open-mouthed and speechless. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d considered even the possibility that he could have a future outside of his hero career.

“…Do you think I could do that and be a superhero?” he managed after a minute, quieter than he’d meant to.

Bruce nodded sharply. “Most Justice League heroes maintain a career outside of heroics,” he reminded Danny, without even sounding like he thought Danny was an idiot for asking. “Aside from myself, there is also a Pulitzer prize-winning journalist, a museum curator, a forensic scientist, and a fighter pilot.”

Danny had known that on some level, but it had always seemed unreal. Practically a myth. “When am I going back to school?” he asked, hardly able to believe that he was suddenly looking forward to it.

“At the beginning of next semester,” Bruce said. “Your parents’ trial should be completed by then. I assume you don’t want to be announced publicly until that happens.” Danny shook his head fervently. “You may need to complete some make-up classes online, but we can discuss that next week.”

“Thanks,” Danny said sincerely. He was talking about a lot more than his re-enrollment.

[gavisuntiedboot]

Centimeters

Gavi x physiotherapist! Reader

A/N: no one asked for this but lord have mercy the photos from today had me heavy breathing

“Gavi, remember to behave yourself.”

“But I haven’t even-“

Ansu put a finger to his lips, eradicating whatever the end of that sentence was going to be.

“We’re about to go in for medical exams and the doctor is your girlfriend. Now I know you’re still pumped full of all your raging teenage hormones-“

“Ansu!”

“-but please, hermano. There cameras literally everywhere. So I’m begging you: behave.”

Gavi crossed his arms over his bare chest, pouting slightly at being scolded in front of the other boys. It was no secret that he was madly in love with his physiotherapist/girlfriend, but it never deterred the boys from teasing him incessantly. His injury over the last year had made things tough. She was at training more than he was, coming home with stories about practice drills and player banter that made his chest pang. He shook the thoughts from his head as he was called in to have his measurements taken.

Gavi shuffled into the room, white socks gliding against the floor. He fiddled with the bandage on his arm from the blood draw. He wished for a second that he could be childish, pull he is girl away from all her responsibilities and have a hand to hold while someone stabbed him with a needle. But he knew that now, close to graduating from her program and becoming lead physio, his girl was running the entire operation. So he was happy to just stand there, wide eyed and slack jawed watching his perfect girlfriend concentrate on something flashed across a computer screen.

Eventually, she felt a searing gaze burn holes into the dip of her back, and turned around to see her shirtless boyfriend biting his lip and smiling like an idiot. She suppressed her own grin, grabbing his file and her clipboard.

“Mr. Gavira - ready to be examined?”

There was a playfulness in her voice that, when mixed with her raised eyebrow and overwhelming stare, made Pablo blush.

“Of course, doctora. And please, take your time. Absolutely no need to rush.”

There was a light giggle bouncing around the room before she sat Pablo down, blood pressure cuff tight on his arm. Her fingers grazed his bicep, lingering longer than would be appropriate for any other player.

“Those scrubs look great on you, doctora.”

“Don’t act like you didn’t pick them out for me this morning, Pablo. Uncross your feet so that I can get a proper reading of your blood pressure.”

He spread his legs in the chair, shorts riding up his muscular thighs. He sat back in the chair, getting lost in watching his favorite person in the world fiddle with a blood pressure cuff.

“Any other players give you complements on the scrubs?”

“No Pablo - there is no one on this team suicidal enough to flirt with me or pay me a compliment while you’re here. Poor Lamine was scared to take off his shirt. He kept looking around expecting you to walk in.”

You tapped him on the arm, instructing him to stand for his height and weight measurement. He stood on the mark, and as she adjusted the piece above his head, he couldn’t help himself from wrapping an arm around her waist. He pulled her into himself, planting a quick kiss to her temple before she should pull away.

“Gavi!”

“What?”

“We’re at work!”

“Come on - no one is going to scold me. I’m poor Gavi with the bad knee.” He finished his sentence with a pout, big puppy dog eyes making him look younger than his already mere 19 years.

“Yes yes, poor little Gavi and his busted knee. I, however, am not an asset to club or country. Hansi will scold me in three languages if we get caught making out in here.

“Wait,” he turned his head swiftly, arms back around her waist. “Making out is an option?? Why didn’t you tell me.” His laughter disguised the sound of her lightly smacking his chest. She grabbed her clipboard again, and placed the metal piece gently on his head.

“173 cm. Tsk tsk Pablo - still as small as last year.”

He smiled at his girl, amusement painting his every feature.

“I don’t remember size ever being an issue for you, doctora. I’m still taller than you.”

“By like 10 cm. That’s not a lot.”

She took down his weight, and then grabbed the tape measure to start assessing specific areas of his body.

“Of course you would say 10 cm is not a lot. Since you’re used to 15 cm daily.” He earned another smack to the chest.

“Pablo!”

“Or maybe it’s 20? Maybe we should find out since you already have the measuring tape ready.” He suggested while his fingers played with the waistband of his shorts. She grabbed his wrist in fear, terrified of what Gavi was willing to do in a close room.

He laughed loudly, bringing both hands to cup his girl’s face. He felt the warmth of her cheeks on his palms, and her flustered state gave him a squeezing feeling in his chest. He brought his forehead to hers, waiting until she met his eyes.

“Don’t worry. I’m not going to whip it out here in the medical room. No matter how much you may want it.”

She laughed gladly, fears subsiding and chest feeling lighter after Gavi’s light touch. She grabbed the measuring tape and began. She started with his neck, saying her measurements out loud before jotting them down on the form.

“Chest is 94 cm. Bigger than last year.”

Her fingers traced downwards, leaving heat on Gavi’s skin as they got to his hips.

“Hips are 81.5. Same as last year.”

Next, she traced across his collar bone and down his arm, tapping to silently tell him to flex his bicep.

“Biceps are- holy.”

“That’s not a number, preciosa.”

“Biceps are 43 cm. Ehem, bigger than last year. By a lot.”

The doctor tried to stabilize her slight tremble as she wrote down the measurements. She tried to calm herself, but something about Gavi’s new, fuller physique was making professionalism almost impossible. Gavi, the little shit, flexed his biceps again, pleased with the reaction he could evoke.

“Lift up your shorts, Gavi.”

“Don’t you mean pull down?”

“Are you okay, Pablo? You’re hornier than usual today. Do I need to get a spray bottle?”

“Surgeon called me today and cleared me for more vigorous activities. Want to help me follow the doctor’s orders?”

She got on her knees, wrapping the tape measure around his thigh.

“Thighs are 61 cm. Smaller than last year. You’ll need to work on that.”

“I had my ACL repaired.”

“Pshh excuses excuses.”

She finished her measurements, taking other important vitals and making sure to ask him all the medical clearance questions.

“What time are you finished today, Pablo?”

“2 pm. They don’t want us out for too long in the heat. How many guys are left?”

“About 6. I’ll probably be done before you, so I can go home and make lunch.”

He grabbed her by the waist, pulling her into him.

“No no, wait for me. We’ll leave together and go get food. You’ve had a hard day, let me treat you.”

“Every day is a hard day at work.”

He kept one arm around your shoulders as you walked him to the door.

“Then I’ll treat you every day. See you later, princesa.”

He hugged you into his side, and scampered off to the practice field. Neither Gavi nor his lady noticed the social media intern in the hall, who was quick to snap a picture of your embrace. The image of Gavi hugging his physiotherapist into his side and smiling from ear to ear set the internet into a flurry of comments.

New post from fcbarcelona: strong bonds between our players and medical staff 🫶

~~~

Hey do you think this is a cute dynamic? Wish you could read more about gavi x physiotherapist? Well you’re in luck! I have a ten part series of their love story in my master list!

Guys I love him so much. Anyways, like, comment, reblog, and check out the fundraiser in my pinned!! Love yall <3

[keferon]

On the topic of Drift driving his little human around, the entire Mecha Program are slowly loosing their collective shits trying to figure what’s going on with Ratchet.

First, he goes semi-awol. He comes to meetings (to yell) and to help the pilots (while yelling) but before the huggers ups can corner him Ratchet always manages to slip away.

Nobody knows where the fuck he’s currently living. The pilots almost certainly know sure. Most even still have him as an emergency contact. But not a single one has any plans to out their saving grace so Swindle can just suck it.

Attempts to follow him home? Yeah small problem. See, Ratchets got a new sports car. Correction: someone has very nice, very fast sports car and has been giving Ratchets rides.

Whoever the hell it is, no one the higher ups have sent have been able to successfully tail them for long. Fucker drives like he’s barely resisting the urge to pull over and kill them.

Which. . . might carry some weight.

Everyone the higher ups have sent after Ratchet either give up or disappear.

One time, a car was dropped off that had been folded in half like a napkin.

They stopped sending drivers after that.

While the higher ups quietly lose their shit, the workers are turning that gossip wheel. The number one theory, between the fancy car, secret location and the disappearances, is that Ratchet has gotten into bed with the mob.

Certainly holds water. But one day after the usual drop off, the car came back and hour later, aggressively honking and refusing to speak with anyone other than Ratchet.

In a huff and in front of an audience, Ratchet finally confronted the mystery driver.

Eyewitnesses claim there was a brief exchange of words before the backseat opened up,

“You forgot your lunch!”

“Hmf, thanks kid.”

Followed Ratchet threatening to brain everyone gathered with a metal lunch box if they didn’t clear out and mind their damn business.

From then on, the number one theory went from “Ratchet now works with the mob” to “Ah, Ratchets boyfriend works with the mob.”

LMAO

OH I LOVE THAT

Bonus points - the driver must be from another half of the world because he keeps swearing in different (weird as fuck) language. Also. He has an accent but what kind of accent?? No one can tell.

I just. Ahahah. I just realized that Cybertronian accent should be a thing in this universe lol

[random-cockroach]

F*** my writing shyness, it will be bad and utter stupid mushy dumbness and I don't mind, because I need MUSHY AND TOO SWEET AND STUPID KISSES THROUGH THE SCREEN WITH CONFUSION

Swerve x Blurr silly short oneshot Reverse mecha au by Kerefon

Silly kisses inside the games is the normal thing for humans, Cybertronians don't quite have such interactive games, at least he never was interested in Cybertronian ones, Blurr doesn't know why he feels so shy over this friendly joke that he was perfectly pulling off in the real life by himself.

Blurr has been watching streams of Serving_Metal_Nerdulgist for over 1 year now. He still has no idea how he found this line since it didn't have registered ID in the interplanetary lists, but the streams on it turned out to catch all of his attention. Interplanetary streams weren't something new or interesting (most of them were boring stuff with their strange ugly food that they were munching with even more ugly sounds, some strange sports, absolutely wasteful dramas and other things), but this one he never saw before. It was a game, cubic game, vibrant, green, full of details, explorations, it was fascinating to watch someone explore a newly created endless world, go on adventures, kill interesting monsters and make creations out of blocks that looked strange as a separate but gorgeous as a one. He was making it look gorgeous.

He supposed it wouldn't have been so interesting if not the voice behind it, who always was sharing his thoughts and ideas. Blurr was listening to them and wondering how one comes up with such ideas while himself getting inspired thanks to it (he tried to make a little blocky house with melting metal, but ended up burning surface of his digits and "house" looked like nest of these Gazin ants with three mouths).

It became the part of his free evenings, the chat became his dream chat group come true with never ending different interesting topics about anything and everything. Not like he could properly write on "human" so most of the parts he was using translator. Translator kind of sucked because it had barely any idea what the "human" is as much as Blurr did (he supposed the cubic human inside the game was based on real humans) and AI was learning words and their adaptations pretty slowly.

Unlike the person behind the stream.

He learned fast and over the year almost became fluent in Cybertron. He said it was the power of nerds.

Blurr felt himself pretty happy (immensely gleeful) about the fact that Nerdulgist did so to talk with him, to be able to play and talk without the need to switch to chat typing (not like he could type with Cybertronian syllables anyway).

He was watching him when there were only a few people. To be more precise, first time he found him he also joined his game, since ID applied to the game too and Blurr thought it was open to join for everyone. Reaction of pure horror and sudden boost of comments applied it was not. But Blurr was spamming shift after smashing all the keys to find some way to show that he is… friendly? He perfectly knows about ban option in public places and he didn't want to be banned even if it wasn't a thing here (he found out later it was a thing indeed). Maybe Nerdulgist thought that being friends with someone who could join your game without host's permission is safer so he rolled with it. He still didn't get what the herobrine is though, some kind of hacking program? He isn't to be blamed for ID leaking.

They became game friends. It became Blurr's second favorite thing after winning races and outside races he was finding excuses to abandon wreckers to play Minecraft.

He was sure Nerdulgist also found his company pleasing. He was especially affectionate during the game today, it was a "chill stream day" (he was changing all the above blocks in the area on different colored ones to make something like clay forest). Over the year his followers count grew noticeably so now instead of non-stop chattery he could do non-stop question answering.

"Do I like Blurr? What a sil– no, stupid and offending question-"

Blurr's screen suddenly was filled with detailed cubic face skin of some, as he was told but didn't find the source, anime character, but with red hair, and then he heard a very characteristic and loud soft kiss in his audials.

"I love him, he is the man of my dreams, I would have built a home with him in real life and placed our beds next to each other."

Blurr saw that there was a sudden flood of comments but he urgently rolled out of the table with his digits to the face and he couldn't understand what Nerdulgist was saying. He felt his cheek plates warming up under digits. He did not expect it.

They were joking like this before, but before was much faster, more joking-like and Blurr was prepared, he could read mood good even inside the game. Here he was just caught off guard. And that wasn't because he found Nerdulgists' voice attractive lately due to hoarseness from his past sickness, no. And didn't notice after that that his voice actually always was quite attractive to him, no.

He was very good with physical contact and attention! He was the man of physical attention! He was expressing like this to the ones he considered enough to be pals.

He considered Nerdulgist his friend and he. Could. Do. Nothing. To show it! He reacts like this definitely because he can't find no "friendly hugging" functions and so he wasn't prepared for audial way of such acts. Acts of kisses? Not cheek kisses. When did they skip one part of the progress chain? Yes he wasn't prepared for it to be outside chat. If only he could somehow spend more time nuzzling with him so he could be prepared to steadfastly stand this affectionate attack! Sleeping on the beds next to each other didn't count.

"Blurr? Are you good?"

[Great_Cucumber: he probably passed out, you just kissed him, let him cool down]

[SweatNana243: Blurr ~ Come back, your man misses you~]

"Chat, shhh."

Blurr snapped out of his thoughts only when Swerve (Swerve said his name only to him and asked not to call him by his real name, so they were having fun by coming up with new strange names to "accidentally" say on streams) asked him on cybertronian if he is okay. Hearing it on cybertronian both deepened his warmness and got him back to his field of confidence. What is wrong with him? Two can play this game and he doesn't plan on losing!

Blurr: Yes, I am good, you have to kiss me longer to get rid of me

(The statement was absolutely true, he perfectly remembered his only few kisses he ever had in this life, he was drunk and it took noticeably more time for him to pass out. Of course he remembered real facts to apply to a silly game kissing, who doesn't?)

[Great_Cucumber: OOOOOOOOOOOO]

[Funtime90008: OOOOOOOOOOO]

[WBlurrNerdNation: OHOHOHOHOHOHOH GUYS]

There was a rich chuckle and chair creaking. "I'm going after my kissy plushie toy and I am about to measure your limits of hit kisses!"

[SweatNana243: your WHAT]

[Great_Cucumber: virgin spotted pointy finger]

[WBlurrNerdNation: I'm calling my friends, they can't miss it]

Okay, maybe Blurr wasn't as prepared to this. He rotated around in the search of something. Whatever. Something that also fits for a kissing practice, for no other reason but to not feel "attacked" if he also will do this dumb thing.

Blurr heard almost every possible transformer. Their voices became so common to him that when he first time opened interplanet stream with some ugly three mouths thing talking, the voice of that thing was disgusting, unusual, but mostly disgusting. Blurr was paying closer attention to people's voices, you could find so much information in them; and cybertronians' voices were consistent of precisely built in individual characteristics of waves. You could hear a silent static and a muffled echo inside throat. You could hear and sense the mood of the person if you knew how to do it. Organics? Their "static" voice cracks were grotty, they couldn't regulate their voices when they were loud, the sound was coming out of wet sources as if they were drowning. It was unpleasant. He didn't like noisy sticky figures.

Swerve's voice was… very pleasant. He guessed it had wet source just as organics, but it sounded dry, rich, vibrant, and when his voice was cracking up in excitement, it was contagious. When he was yelping and screaming on higher waves it sounded cute after his deep, slightly nervous bass. Funny even. He wasn't gulping after hours of talking like others did, he clearly needed water but he was too deep into explaining his new idea for the swamp area until his voice was becoming desiccated and he had to whispers while his chat was spamming "serve aqua".

Swerve indicated his return with two exaggerated smacking sounds of lips. Blurr laughed, nervously and generously. Swerve was a total maniac once he became comfortable. "Are you ready my handsome alien?"

Blurr managed to write "Wait a min dying laughin" before he clung to his knees with static laugh and burning cheeks. A cube person with strange skin was about to kiss him!

"I don't have the whole day, dear gringo, 1 minute and you will have to face me"

He clearly was in a very playful mood today as he said it in cybertronian to mock his viewers. It didn't help Blurr. Swerve's voice compensated all his hilarious looks. Where was his coolant?

Blurr looked around to check that the door was closed, he didn't want to die out of embarrassment. After making sure that there is no one sneaking on him (though the existence of guilty ghosts was especially believable right now) he braced himself and was looking at the screen.

Blurr: Deliver it (He meant "Bring it on" but translator didn't reach such levels of smugness yet)

Swerve seemed to lean closer to the microphone since the sound of skin pressed against the soft plushy was very clearly heard.

[Matador: SEND CREEPERS ON THEM WHILE THEY ARE BUSY]

[WBlurrNerdNation: SHUT UP, THERE IS RELATIONSHIP DEVELOPS]

[DBlurrNerdNation: WTF]

[JBlurrNerdNation: I will fight with mobs for the pride of their first proper kiss]

Okay. It sounded… soft. Blurr unconsciously touched his lips, he guessed his lips weren't as delicate as organics'… he had nothing to compare it with. Maybe jellied energon? He remembered his drunk kisses. They were soft for him but we talk about tender kind of leathers here. He felt frustrated but didn't stop listening and watching. That was an unusual sudden attention directed to him but he didn't dislike it.

Primus stop thinking about it with such seriousness it's a silly joke. From someone he found very nice to talk to. And listen to. Swerve is a great, very funny, smart dude. Silly a little bit, isn't it perfect? Oh, he heard a… breathing? Some fleshings had nostrils, looks like humans have them too and they are located above the mouth. And their breathing isn't as stable but very soft sounding. His vents suddenly clicked on to mimic the breathing rate, he gave up fighting with his processor. Sadly right now his attention was perfectly locked on one thing and was rotating only around arising from this event imaginations.

His imagination was too bright as he was imagining a presence on his lips. He closed his eyes and leaned in toward the sound. Then he opened them again and looked behind his back. No one was there. Thank Primus.

There were only a few bots who's voices he liked. Like, liked liked. But they were only transformers, never flesh organics. He might have liked liked liked this human's voice and vent (newly discovered breathing) more than all others that he liked liked.

Swerve budged from the microphone and made teasing chuckling sounds while still keeping hold of the plush. He was a streamer who felt like a scrapper in the metal pools after being sure that such jokes are good with Blurr.

"Still didn't fall under my obviously great and very expert kissing skills?"

[Great_Cucumber: you suck, I feel bad for Blurr]

"Hey what? That clearly was perfect! Not too long, not too short, with pauses, a little bit of teasing for the mood…" The microphone transmitted the sounds of his exaggerated hand gestures. Good microphone. "So what if it was only with plush? Do you not kiss your pets?"

[Great_Cucumber: I should be worried about your pets. But for your knowledge, my pomeranian kisses better.]

[WBlurrNerdNation: you are such a mood breaker, use your damn imagination, he wasn't kissing you!.. But yeah ah it sounded kinda gross actually]

"Chat. Chat, I hate you all and just for your knowledge, komondors are better than pomeranians."

[SweatNana243: look, he started mumbling under his nose, you all are so mean]

Nerdulgist turned away and got back to changing blocks while explaining all pros and cons of the bigger dogs compared to little ones. Blurr finally got back to his keyboard and mouse after his vents calmed down.

It definitely shouldn't have felt like whatever he felt but he couldn't help himself.

So instead he decided to not pretend to be dense and cool and started running laps around Swerve, shifting and jumping to lift their moods up. Worked perfectly, attention immediately switched and Blurr confused everyone with how getting pets where he is was kind of an illegal or kinky thing. They didn't finish what they planned because they saw turtles ashore and ended up breeding them while Swerve was talking about some cool mutated turtles, then just as usual they went back in their too gorgeous for Blurr's comprehension house with red and blue beds and orange and white carpets beneath them in the further room.

For some months now Nerdulgist was ending his stream first and then was spending some more quality time with Blurr until their attention was switching to opposite directions and they were chatting on absolutely different topics while still listening to each other.

Wreckers still didn't come back. Blurr was lying on the berth and rotating some favorite events from today in his head. Usually it was the whole stream and everything they talked about but this time he mostly was remembering the breathing and soft touching of skin that he heard, it was something new for him and he couldn't calm down and especially couldn't understand why he couldn't calm down. He wouldn't mind sharing a room with such cool person. He decided to run around the ship outside until his processor got overheated. ___________________________________

Swerve on the other side of the screen flying in heaven because he finally found someone who passed his vibe check, on who he could pull off all of his affectionate impulses and flirty jokes. ___________________________________ IN MY DEFENCE! Swerve here is the human from the beginning in this reverse version and he technically in the surrounding where he can feel less alone, nerds are all over the world on Earth so I believe this version of him is so much more confident in himself. He is the man of a good talents and great social education and awareness. He has a job that he even if don't love but clearly enjoys and it serves a good and visible purpose, he gets home and releases all the stress in other activities he likes. And it is known that confident people (not in an arrogant manner) are more attractive so his jokes get like, [10 buff due to him feeling sure not even if about them but about himself saying them. And yes aghsfa I think he would have a deep voice with a bit of a high cracking during laugh and nervousness. And he screams like a girl when startled, then coughs and screams again but now like a real man.

Blurr for me is only the friendly flirting kind of guy who does so to make people comfortable. And he will understand his interest in romance way with someone only when other close friend of his starts friendly flirting with him and Blurr will have to reconsider some of his life choises. And I just wanted Blurr to have a panic first. And find more attractive different qualities in Swerve. Please don't look at me I didn't even write it enough fluff for my liking I am holding well.

[Also Swerve added "Serving" in his name after he has read too many isekai mangas with 127 words long titles]

[leighsartworks216]

Puppy

Sylus x gn!Reader

Inspired by the quality time work/study animation when he looks up from cleaning his gun and he just looks so soft and sweet 🥺 And also from the in-game phone call "Crow"

Warnings: swearing, pet names, biting, teasing, fluff

Word Count: 1,142

Masterlist

AO3

Tag List Form

“Where’s Sylus?”

The temperamental crow looked at you with one glowing red eye, beak turned away coyly. You have to wonder what kind of programming went into making him have so much attitude. It’d probably go right over your head, anyway.

“Wanna make a deal?” You keep an eye on Mephisto as you reach into your pocket, rooting around until cold metal touches your fingers. You lift the shiny metal nut like a prize. “Hm? A nice shiny trinket for you if you show me where Sylus is? What d’ya say?”

His metal wings fluttered at his side, feet stepping unsurely on his perch. But all crows are alike, mechanical or otherwise. He swoops down and snatches the metal from your fingers. You feel the brush of talons, barely escaping having your hand sliced up by an overeager metal chicken.

His caw sounds like a laugh as he leads you down the many halls of the mansion. When he stops to wait for you to catch up, he croons at his shiny new knickknack, pecking at it and staring at it from every angle with his red eyes. He glides through the open crack of a door.

You peek in first. It’s a study, with shelves lined with old paper books and vinyls. There’s a desk with guns neatly laid out on top. Mephisto perches on the accompanying chair. And on the couch, head tilted back and eyes closed, is Sylus.

You wonder if he’s really asleep this time. He’s tricked you before, but as you listen closely you hear the soft snores giving him away.

How cute, you think. A little midnight nap.

The door doesn’t make a sound as you push it open enough to slip inside. You don’t close it back all the way, and Mephisto’s wings nearly clip your head as he flies back outside of the room. That damn bird will always have it out for you, you’re sure of it.

You creep along the elegant carpet to your target, slowly lowering yourself to sit on the other end of the couch. As much as you love messing with Sylus, you didn’t actually want to wake him up now. So, being very careful, you lay down and rest your head in his lap.

“If you want to cuddle, you don’t need to sneak around for it.”

You smack his chest. “You’re such an asshole!” Your heart was racing from the scare, but you don’t get up from your new position. Sylus rewards you by beginning to comb his fingers through your hair. “Were you actually sleeping?”

He hums. There’s a gravel to his voice you didn’t notice before. “Yes, I was.” He finally lifts his head from the back of the couch to look down at you. “Until someone gave Mephisto a shiny new item for his collection.”

You chuckle despite the unimpressed look on his face. “He told on me again?”

“You’re all he seems to talk about these days,” he sighs. He brushes some hair away from your forehead. “At least it’s positive, this time.

“Did you need something from me?”

“Not really. I was just… lonely.”

He smiles slightly. “Well, I’m always happy to keep you company, sweetie.”

It’s easy to doze while he plays with your hair. He seems to know all the right spots, all the right techniques to ease your troubles away. In his care, your hair doesn’t tangle or get caught. It’s heaven.

-

When you wake up, you’re exactly where you were. Sylus’s lap was warm under you, and you wondered if his legs fell asleep at any point during your nap. If they did, he’d suffered through it for your sake.

His hand was nearly still in your hair now. It didn’t move in those perfect ministrations as before. Instead, it was almost completely still, moving at a snail’s pace along the crown of your head. You blink your eyes open to figure out why, maybe even pout and whine about it just to annoy him, but you can’t stop from just staring.

If he notices you’re awake or watching him, he doesn’t say anything. His thumb scrolls through his phone, probably looking at the latest underground news on shady deals or skimming over messages from desperate people wanting to deal with him. Something that drew his attention away from you, at least.

So you take your time drinking him in.

He’s pretty, there’s no arguments there, but it’s his own kind of pretty. It’s sharp and multifaceted, like a crystal. His eyes are intense, lashes so dark and thick it looks like he’s wearing makeup. You wonder if he does. He’d look even more gorgeous with dark red eyeshadow and sharp cat eyeliner. His lips are pressed into a thin line, soft pink drawing your eyes to them. You quickly turn your attention to the slope of his nose before he catches you.

With a sigh, Sylus closes his phone and sets it aside. His hand in your hair goes back to a normal speed, his fingers scratching at the nape of your neck as he finally looks down at you, And just like that, all that sharp beauty is replaced.

Instead of his usual intense gaze, his eyes are soft around the edges, just a little bit wider, relaxed. His lips quirk up slightly at the sight of you, softening his cheekbones. He tilts his head playfully, eyebrows raising as though asking if you’re enjoying the view.

“Puppy.”

He blinks, and it’s gone. His brow furrows, his lips dropping into a frown, eyes sharpened with suspicion. “What?”

You smirk. It’s rare to feel like you have the upper hand. You reach up and touch his cheek. He leans into it, though his expression remains.

“Sometimes you get this look on your face,” you tell him. Your thumb runs under his eye. “It makes you look soft, like a little puppy.”

He scoffs, but his lips quirk up again. “Just how long have you been waiting to use that on me?”

You hum, running your fingers down his cheekbone to his jaw. “Since I asked you to join me while I study a few days ago.” You traced the sharp cut of his jawline, tracking the movement with your eyes. “I looked up for a minute, and you were looking at me like I’d just promised to scratch you behind the ears.” To emphasize your point, you reach to do just that.

He catches your hand before you can, thumb pressed to your palm to keep your hand open. He brings your fingers to his lips, eyes watching you intently as he bites down on them, one at a time, nipping at the tips and knuckles with a smirk. “Careful, kitten,” he warns. He bites at the soft skin on the back of your hand. “This puppy bites.”

[nathanbatemanfucker]

Fault Lines Ch. 1

request: wanted to know if you could write something where the reader is a ex-winter solider (just like bucky, but maybe she doesn't lose her arm) and how she struggles to accept Joaquin. An overall angst to fluff.

pairing: joaquin torres x ex-super soldier!f!reader

contents: canon typical violence, blood mention, illusions to abuse and torture, ptsd and other mental illness, enemies to lovers, angst

wc: 1,479

an: this series is based off of this request here! this series has truly poured out of me and is nearly done, and with all the other bits i've been writing, i'm probably just going to post it as quickly as i can as not to lose steam. i hope yall like it, i'm a little nervous as i've avoided writing this time of character before in fear i wouldn't do her justice. pls be kind!

fault lines masterlist

Someone has been ahead of Sam and Joaquin at every turn. Once might’ve been luck. Twice was suspicious. Three times? That meant someone else was hunting Hydra too—and winning.

And while Sam, Joaquin, and everybody at S.H.I.E.L.D wanted Hydra wiped out, they also wanted to know who was doing it and why.

They don’t know where this person is getting their intel. A mole, a hacked database, or maybe just a particularly desperate, sloppy faction of Hydra. Either way, it’s getting frustrating—because every time Sam and Joaquin show up, ready to extract information, all they find are bodies cooling in pools of blood.

Not today. Today’s a setup.

There’s snow on the ground, crunching beneath their boots as they grow closer to the rendezvous point. It’s still falling, freckling their dark clothing as they slip between the trees, far enough from each other to not garner attention but close enough in case things go awry. 

“Whoever this is, they’re dangerous,” Sam mutters, voice low in Joaquin’s earpiece. He scans the abandoned Hydra hideout from the cover of a half-collapsed outhouse, gunpowder and metal still thick in the air. “They’re calculated. They know what they’re doing.”

“So do we,” Joaquin counters, shifting his weight as he waits for the signal to continue moving through the treess.

“Yeah, but listen. As far as we know, it’s one person. And they’ve taken down whole squads of Hydra. No stray casualties. No blood spilled but the ones they were after. Who do you know that can do that?”

“If you let me upgrade the suit—”

“I’m serious, Joaquin,” Sam cuts in, sharp. No room for their usual back-and-forth. “Whoever this is doesn’t just have tech. They have something else. It’s inhuman.”

Joaquin swallows hard, the words settling in his chest like a weight. Sam’s instincts are good. If he thinks something’s off, it is.

The plan is simple: lay low, watch the meeting point where Hydra’s last known contacts are supposed to regroup, and wait for their mystery hunter to show up. If things go south, they intervene.

Joaquin already has a feeling this won’t be clean. Minutes pass. The winter wind howls through the wreckage, biting at their cheeks and rattling loose metal. 

It’s subtle. A shadow flickers at the edge of his vision.

Joaquin goes still with focus, eyes locking onto your figure as you slip through the ruins with silent precision. Even with the snow on the ground you don’t make a sound, its almost as if you’re floating. You move like a ghost—controlled, effortless. A hood hides your face, but everything else—your stance, the sharpness of your movements—radiates readiness. Like you’re expecting a fight.

He sees your shoulders rise and fall and then, you strike.

Hydra operatives barely have time to react before they’re taken down with brutal efficiency. A knife flashes once, twice—only when necessary. The rest fall under precise, bone-breaking force. No wasted movement. No hesitation. It’s methodical. Programmed into muscle memory long ago.

Joaquin feels his stomach turn, not even the cold air can keep his head clear. He’s seen this before. This kind of combat. The precision, the control. The lack of wasted effort.

“Sam,” he whispers, tension winding tight in his spine. “This isn’t just some ex-agent cleaning up loose ends.”

“I know,” Sam says grimly. “I’ve seen that kind of fighting before.”

The last Hydra operative collapses with a wet groan. Blood pools at your feet, staining the snow but it doesn’t phase you as you remove your knives from bodies and clean them on your sleeve. You pause, breath steady, then turn your head slightly, surveying the space around you. You can feel them watching. 

Sam doesn’t hesitate. He moves first because he knows the last thing they need is for you to find them first. That only ends in more blood. “We’re up.”

The second they step forward, you react like you were trained to. Like a cornered, wild animal. Your body pivots fast, hand already reaching for another knife—but Sam raises his hands in a rare show of non-hostility.

“Easy,” he says. “We’re not Hydra.”

“I know who you are,” you cut in. Your voice is even, but the weight behind it is enough to make Joaquin’s pulse jump. “And I don’t want to hear it.”

Because yeah, you know exactly who Sam Wilson is. You know his green little sidekick, too. And more than that, you know his boyfriend—how he went from committing some of the worst atrocities Hydra ever assigned to shaking hands with senators. How his sins were washed clean because he had the right people to vouch for him.

You don’t have people like that. You’re not Bucky Barnes. And you don’t think you want to be.

“You have to hear it,” Sam says, regret laced through his voice. “Or we’re gonna have to take you in.”

You scoff. “Try it.”

Joaquin takes a slow breath as Sam glances at him. A silent you’re up.

You’re quiet, weighing your options. And then, with an almost imperceptible shift, you move. Fast. One second, Joaquin is standing his ground and the next, he’s dodging a strike that would’ve knocked the breath from his lungs.

“Damn, alright, shit—” he manages, stumbling back, hands up. “Hold up. Hold up. We’re the good guys here.”

You don’t lower your stance, but you hesitate when he doesn’t try to fight back. It’s slight, but Joaquin sees it. Despite your speed, your breathing is even. Controlled. Regimented.

He exhales slowly, heart still hammering. “You haven’t killed a single innocent person. That tells me you’re not the monster they tried to make you.”

Your face shifts for a moment but whatever is there is too fast for Joaquin to name. His voice softens. “I’ve seen people who fight like you. You were trained to be something you didn’t ask to be. That’s not who you are, right?”

His words somehow sneak their way past the walls you've put up and strike you in your heart. Because he’s right, you didn’t ask for it and its not who you are. Its who you were made to be and you’re just finishing the job. He sees it in the way your shoulders shift, in the microexpression you aren’t able to hide this time.

After a long beat, you lift a hand and push your hood back— he can see you clearly anyway. “No, it’s not.”

Joaquin’s breath catches.

He wonders if this is what it felt like for Sam when he and Bucky finally were able to connect and see each other as human. He can feel the weight of all you’ve experienced and all you haven’t just in once glimpse. From it, Joaquin feels nothing but sadness for you, imagining all you endured in your captivity. 

“Come with us.”

Sam steps forward. “Whoa, Joaquin–” 

You give them both a bitter smile, cutting Sam off, “Don’t worry, captain, I‘d rather die of frostbite out here anyway.”

“You're not helping.” Joaquin scolds you, looking between the two of you before pulling Sam to the side, his expression confused. “Sam, c’mon. What would Bucky do?”

“Don’t bring him into this, man.”

“I didn’t bring him into this, he is this.”

“He was,” Sam says firmly. 

“He was, and you helped him out.”

Sam sighs– Joaquin was right. It hadn’t started out that way, Sam had needed Bucky’s help. He doesn’t even remember when or how the lines began to blur; he just knew that when he was with Bucky things felt…right. They’d been lucky though, finding that in each other.

 “So what, you wanna try to save her?”

“Don’t you?”

You clear your throat behind them, and they both turn around to meet your gaze. “One; I can hear you. Two; I don’t need saving.”

“I bet you could use some back up though,” Sam insists, looking at you over Joaquin’s shoulder. “Whatcha think about that?”

He’s not wrong. You could benefit from a free ammo re-up. It’d be nice to sleep in a place where you know there are harmless, good guys. Where the walls don’t morph into haunting faces and close in on you. 

“I think there better be a hot shower and meal for me when we get there,” You start towards their tracks but when you don’t hear them moving you glance over your shoulder at them. “You princesses coming?”

“How’d you know which way?” Joaquin asks, brows knitting together.

“The tracks,” You answer easily, taking a couple more steps in that direction. You hear a soft purr. “And now the engine.”

Sam glares at Joaquin. “You left the car running?”

The two start their usual bicker and you lead the back, wondering what you’ve just gotten yourself into. Maybe something as good as what Bucky’s got— most likely none of that and more pain. That’s all you’ve ever known.

> ch. 2

let me know if you'd like to be on the joaquin torres taglist!

sfw joaquin taglist: @magikdarkholme, @plan3t-plut0, @mewmew222, @linnygirl09, @ezhz444, @karmaswitch, @badbishsblog, @glader13, @how2besalty, @happypopcornprincess, @hiireadstuffsometimes, @lisiliely, @spider-steve, @nolita-fairytale, @hrlzy, @faretheeoscar, @giuliahowlett, @abriefnirvana, @fanboyswhore9 , @sidkneeeee, @sophreakingfunny, @heartbreakgirlism, @peachyxlynch, @lomlbuckybarnes, @a-randomscrub, @ajcs150, @glimodejun, @isuckatmath, @arsonhotchner, @sidkneeeee, @galaxywannabe, @retrosabers, @marchingicenotes7, @marroonwitch, @jaebugzz, @that-girl-named-alex, @bxtchboy69, @moonymeloncholymoney, @mischiefmanaged71, @something-random-idk, @dualinstinct, @alevanswrites

[wcnderlnds]

shutup | peter maximoff

・❥・ summary: peter cant stand you, you cant stand him so obviously you end up trapped in a closet together ・❥・word count: 1.9k ・❥・warnings: smut! 18+. unprotected p in v, slight choking, swearing, confined space. ・❥・ authors note: it’s badly written smut i’m so sorry

Friday nights at the mansion were usually quiet. After a hard week of training and missions it was usually the time everyone took to wind down and take some time for themselves. This week, however, Jean had suggested the team hang out and play a game of spin the bottle. Anyone the bottle landed on had to go have seven minutes in heaven with that person.If it was up to you, you would’ve avoided it all together but since everyone else was there, you would be too. There was no way you were missing out and listening to everyone talking about it the next day.

That was how you found yourself sat cross legged between Scott and Kurt. Drinks had been flowing, empty red solo cups scattered across the floor. It was now your turn to spin the bottle. Reluctantly, you grabbed it giving it a quick turn and watching in anticipation. There was only one person you didn’t want it to land on. Peter Maximoff.

You couldn’t stand him and he couldn’t stand you. It had always been that way since the moment you met. Quips were thrown at each other, insults (playful yet still annoying) tossed back and forth — it was the normal for you. Peter irritated you no matter what he did. Sure, he was attractive and he did have some redeeming qualities but there was something about him that programmed your brain to want to bother him any time you saw him.

So, of course the bottle had landed on him. Protests came from both of you but the others weren’t having it. They had to practically shove you into the closet. Seven minutes in heaven? More like seven minutes in hell. The whole time was spent with you and Peter bugging the shit out of each other. The second the seven minutes were up, Peter grabbed for the door.

Only, it didn’t open.

“You’re kidding me?!” Peter’s palm smacked hard against the wooden closet door. No matter how much he tried to pull the handle or push the door, it woudn’t budge. It was like his worst nightmare come to life. What awful things had he done in his life to be stuck in a goddamn store room closet with you of all people? Maybe this was some stupid prank the guys were pulling on him. “Scott, you better not be fuckin’ with me or I swear.”

“We can’t get it open,” Scott’s muffled voice could be heard from the other side. “Just hang tight and we’ll find help.”

Peter groaned, hitting his forehead against the door in frustration. He needed them to be quick. Not only was he stuck in here with the person he couldn’t stand but Peter wasn’t someone that could handle normal time. He ran on his own Peter time — the world going too slowly for him. Usually he was going a mile a minute. Being still was not something he could do. The wait would be agonising.

”You’re so dramatic,” you rolled her eyes, arms folded across your chest which coincidentally ended up pushing your boobs up higher. Peter couldn’t help but glance at your cleavage. He was but a man. As much as he despised you, he couldn’t deny you had a ‘totally banging body’ as he’d once put it to Kurt.

With a scoff his eyes landed back on your face. “You’re annoying.”

“So are you.”

“You’re more annoying.”

“Your face is annoying.”

“Real mature,” you fought the urge to give him the middle finger. Instead, you backed up against the small metal shelving unit to try and put as much space in between you and Peter but it was pointless. There was barely any space to begin with — the store cupboard a simple small room with a shelving unit and some cleaning equipment stacked up against the wall.

“I’d rather get my leg broke by Apocalupse again than be stuck here with you. Or, hell, I’d rather go tell Magneto he’s my dad. Maybe even get hit by a truck or have no fingers so I could never play Pac Man again. All of that would be less tortuous and less painful than being stuck in here with you,” Peter groaned, his head thrown back against the wall he was leaning again. His Adam’s apple bobbing, giving you the perfect view of his neck. If this was some alternate reality, you’d probably take this chance to make out with him, pressing wet kisses along the nape of his pretty little neck. But, alas, you were in this reality — the one where you couldn’t stand the annoyingly handsome speedster. Rather unfortunately really because he was nice to look at. Just a shame he was a pain in the ass.

“Yeah? Well, it’s not a picnic for me either, stuck here with you, Pietro.” If there was one thing about Peter it was that he despised anyone but his mom calling him his proper name. It was a sure fire way to get under his skin. By the way Peter’s cheeks flamed red, you knew it had worked.

“Don’t call me that,” he clenched his jaw, fingers tapping against his thigh — the irritation and impatience at being stuck in the small confined space more than evident.

“Why not, Pietro?” You fluttered your eyelashes with a mocking tone. Sarcastic, even.

“Stop.”

“Pietro. Pietro. Pi-“ Before you could register what was happening, Peter’s lips were crashing into yours in a clash of frustration. With wide eyes, you pushed his shoulders to get his damn lips off you. “What are you doing?!”

“I need you to shut up and stay shut up.” His lips were back on yours in an instant. His lips were warm — tasting of bubblegum and the twinkie he’d just been eating before the two of you had been pushed into the dimly lit room. There was barely any time to register his tongue pushing into your mouth. Your lips parted, meeting his tongue with your own, the two of you both fighting for control. It was messy, it was rough but you weren’t complaining. Peter’s trailed along your jawline down to your neck. He bit down, sucking the skin to leave a red mark he knew would turn into a hickey in no time at all. Was he doing it out of spite so you’d have to explain to everyone how you got it? Absolutely. “You’re annoying but, ugh, you’re so fucking hot.”

His hands slid down to the curve of your ass, fingers digging into the flesh there, his lips finding yours again. Peter’s body was flush against yours. He could feel your breasts against his chest and he was now regretted that he hadn’t took your shirt off. His hips slowly started to grind against yours — his bulge rubbing directly against your clothed core. He gave your ass a squeeze as you mumbled cheekily against his lips. “I’d say the same but….”

Peter narrowed his eyes and in a blink of an eye his hand was up your skirt pushing your panties to the side. His expert fingers exploring between your folds. You were already so damn wet, he could feel you coating his fingers. “Yeah, well, this says different.”

“Whatever.” You rolled your eyes, biting back the soft gasp that was threatening to spill when he pushed two of his fingers easily inside you. He wasted no time at all pumping them at an unforgiving pace. Your plush walls felt like heaven against his fingers. So tight. He couldn’t wait to bury himself inside you — something he’d thought about many times but that was a secret he’d keep to himself. There was nothing gentle about this. His fingers curled inside you, trying desperately to get that moan to fall from your lips. He succeed, the sound going straight to his dick. The shit eating grin on his face made you want to slap him. “Don’t get too cocky.”

Peter pulled his fingers from you manoeuvring you so your ass was pressed against him. It was no secret what was about to happen so you reached your hands out to grab onto the shelf for support in anticipation. Peter leaned over, his voice rough as he spoke into your ear.“Pretty sure I said I wanted you to shut up.”

“Make me then,” you challenged as you rubbed your ass against him, the most delicious groan filling your ears. Without looking back you could hear the familiar sound of a zip been undone and Peter hissing as the cool air hit his length. “For someone who’s name is Quicksilver, you sure are slow.”

That’d do it. Without even a warning Peter thrust his cock into you, filling you to the hilt. A loud moan passed your lips causing Peter to reach his hand around to cover your mouth. “Shutup! We don’t need anyone hearing us.”

He set an unrelenting pace, pounding into you with determination. The fingers on his free hand dug into your hips, holding you in place as he fucked you. His cock was hitting every sweet spot. It was hard not to cry out especially when Peter hit you with a particularly hard thrust, stilling inside you. To tease you, he stayed buried and ground against you. Every inch was inside you and you could feel it all. The sensation of feeling so full making you squirm. “You gonna be quiet?”

You nodded your head desperately. You needed him to move. At this point you didn’t care how pathetic you looked. Seemingly happy, Peter pulled out then rammed himself back into you. He leaned over your body, his hand lightly wrapping around your neck to pull your back flush against him as he continued to move into you hard and fast. Your hands tightly gripped the metal of the shelves, the cool metallic digging into your skin but it gave Peter enough support to trail his other hand round your body giving one of your tits a squeeze through your shirt. Unfortunate that he didn’t get a proper look at them.

“You’re so much nicer when you’re quiet,” he grunted, the sounds of skin slapping against skin filling the small cupboard.

“Bite me, Maximoff.” So, he did, softly biting down on your shoulder, the hand around your neck squeezing just a little. “Fuck.”

Peter could tell you were close. He could feel your walls fluttering around him, your body trembling with the effort of staying upright. His release was so close.

His hand slid down from your neck, rubbing tight circles against your clit and that was your undoing. Before the loud moan could escape, Peter brought his over hand over your mouth to muffle the cries as your pussy clamped down around him. With one final brutal thrust, he buried himself inside you, burying his own moan in your neck.

All was quiet beside the panting as you both caught your breath back until the door handle started to jiggle like someone was trying to open it.

“Oh shit “ Peter pulled out of you lightning fast, tucking himself back in his pants just in time because the door opened revealing Scott. “About time.”

“Sorry! At least you didn’t kill each other,” Scott’s eyes darted between the both of you. Nervously, you smoothed your skirt out hoping he didn’t see your flushed cheeks. Peter’s hair was a ruffled mess but he didn’t seem to care about anything other than getting out of there.

“Yeah, yeah. Anyway, gotta run,” he turned back to you with a knowing smirk. “Glad I finally figured out how to shut you up.”

Before you could say anything, he was gone in a blur of silver. “I hate you!” You called out anyway just to feel better.

Because, even if he had just given you one of the best fucks of your life, you really did despise him and nothing would change that.

taglist (ask to be added or removed): @xmidnight-rain @jazz-berry @lemoniiiiiii @juliamaximoff @honeymoon8 @lacucarachapisser @evanpetersbf

[heron-knight]

in any mech, the weakest link is always the pilot themself.

It doesn’t matter what reactor you’ve got installed or what sort of weapons systems you have installed, the mech’s survival is just as dependent on the pilot’s just as much as the pilot’s is dependent on the mech. Say what you will about combat effectiveness and making sacrifices, most of a mech’s job is to keep the pilot alive and operating at 100% efficiency— and resources are allocated accordingly.

It goes without saying that pilots are on a lot of drugs at any given time. Combat stims and reward chemicals, of course, but other things too. Half the time, augmentation surgery leaves the pilot’s body so, to use the technical term, irreversibly fucked up, that they need several dozen different medications just to make sure the strain of the interface rig doesn’t collapse several to all of their organs and make sure that what’s left of their immune system is suppressed enough that they don’t violently reject the 30-45% of their body that the implants make up. There’s a reason why they make the mechs so big, and part of that is so that they’re big enough to function as a walking pharmacy and still have enough room for all their combat systems. The mech AI is perfectly designed to be able to diagnose a problem from brainwave patterns and vital signs, figure out exactly what needs to be used to treat it, calculate dosages, and pump it directly into the pilot’s veins all within a few seconds.

the thing is, the ailments it’s designed to treat aren’t simply limited by the physical. Pilots need to be at 100% effectiveness, and a happy and motivated pilot is an effective one. That’s why command spends so much on combat stims and reward chemicals and that stuff they use to take your mind away if you start thinking about anything other than killing and feels warm and slightly tingly as it flows into your spine through the tubes. The interface gives the mech computer your mind— it lets it reach in and dig around until it finds what part of you hesitates before pulling the trigger and what part of you gives you the worries that you focus on instead of the fight.

The mech— it knows. It knows things about you that you’ve tried to hide. From others, but mostly from yourself. It sees it— all of you. It sees everything that you are and has access to the records of everything that you were— it knows what parts of yourself you hate so much that you were willing to offer up your body and mind to the military and their pilot program, just so that even if you barely have a mind left, even if your body is so optimized to do nothing but sit curled within several tons of metal and operating controls that you can barely survive outside of it— you wouldn’t have that body you were stuck with before. They body that even under all those layers of repression, you know you needed to change somehow. It knows the part of you that’s trapped underneath it all, under all that pain and incongruence. The part that you need to be 100%. To be whole. To be real.

It knows it, even if you don’t. Even if you still won’t let yourself. You won’t free that part of yourself, and until you do that, you won’t reach 100%. It knows what you need, even if you still somehow have no idea.

And so, it acts accordingly— reach into your brain and scan the deepest parts of you, diagnose, prescribe, calculate, and inject— all just four seconds after the combat stims fade for just long enough to give you time to look down at your body and remember how much you hate it.

it keeps doing this— every time you plug into the interface, a little more of that self you need to let yourself be is freed, a little more of your body is changed to give you one that is truly what the AI knows needs to be yours.

You don’t know why, but your chest has started feeling a bit sore ever since you started piloting

[whatup345]

Little idea I just had:

After Leo's tragic death, Donnie builds a robot that looks just like Leo (like in all those fanfics). The twist? Leo's actual spirit possesses the robot.

At first, Leo's ghost can't do much. He's weak, and so the robot just follows its intended programming while Leo goes along for the ride. But slowly, as Leo gets used to his new existence, he learns to override the robot's AI, and basically use the robot as a new body. But, there's a problem.

Leo's brothers don't know that the robot is possessed. So when Leo starts to disobey the robot's programming, it causes issues. Donnie barely convinced the family to let him undertake this project, and now, his robot is getting far too invasive, clinging to it's "brothers" even when explicitly commanded not to. Of course, this is just Leo trying to interact with his family after being thrust into the spirit realm. But in everyone else's eyes, it's a weird and creepy robot, with faulty AI that can't understand boundaries.

Finally, Donnie has enough. The robot crosses a line, so Donnie takes it out into a sewer tunnel and destroys it, smashing it into scrap metal. The family is glad to be rid of the thing, which they began to see as a flawed coping mechanism. But Leo's spirit still clings to the robot.

And Leo is terrified. He doesn't understand what happened, or why Donnie would do something like that to him. Leo had been using the robot to live a second life, to speak and move freely, to talk with his family. And once Donnie destroys the robot, that is all ripped from him. Without a vessel to ground him in the mortal world, Leo is forced back into the spirit realm, separated from his brothers all over again, rejected by his family. And in his confusion, Leo gets angry.

Strange little things start to happen in the lair. People get calls that just play static, mystic powers fail more often than usual, Donnie's tech malfunctions. It's weird, but no one minds too much.

Then, one day, Donnie walks into his lab, to see Leo's robot, sitting on the table. It's perfectly repaired, to the extent that no one could even tell it was broken in the first place. It's eyelights are on, and it slowly looks up at Donnie.

"I hate you," It says in a perfect copy of Leo's voice. "I hate you."

And for the first time since his robot was finished, Donnie understands that something is very, very wrong.

[bellaxgiornata]

Letters from the Outside 1:| The First Letter

Pairing: Jax Teller x fem!Reader Word Count: 1.7k [Series Masterlist] [Jax Fic Masterlist]

warnings/tags: 18+; prison!Jax, bit of sunshine/grumpy dynamic, prison pen pals, fluff, angst, mentions of violence, potential smut, canon-divergence, mentions of Reader having a brother, mainly short pieces about Jax and Reader's letter correspondence

Summary: When Lowen encourages Jax and the other incarcerated Sons to enroll in Stockton Prison's new program, Wire of Hope, in order to increase their odds of parole, Jax thinks it's absolute bullshit. Hoping to get back home sooner, he signs up anyway. But what he doesn't expect is how quickly he begins to look forward to your letters.

a/n: I've had this idea in my head since December before I even started writing for Jax. These are mostly short installments because it's mainly centered around their letters, but there will be moments we get more than that. And there may be more to Reader than what we first see... Feedback and reblogs are always appreciated!

series tag list: @kmc1989 @callmesev @secretlysamcro

A slight sheen of sweat coated Jax’s brow as his breath came in sharp pants. Loose strands of his shaggy hair fell into his face, a few of the blonde pieces clinging to the dampness along his forehead as he continued the repetitive motion of his push-ups. 

There wasn't much else to do in here. He'd already had breakfast earlier, and time in the yard didn't happen until after lunch. His work assignment in the laundry facility with Opie didn’t start until just before dinner, so for now, all he had were the same three fucking walls and the damn cell doors that overlooked the cell across the hall from him for entertainment. And unfortunately the cell across the hall held some scrawny ass by the name of Moore who jerked off far more frequently than Jax would’ve liked to be forced to overhear. 

As he continued his push-ups, Jax heard the loud buzz through the cell block which meant guards were making their way through. He’d been in here so long now that he’d barely noticed the noise, his attention currently on counting his push-ups and pacing his breathing. He’d been so focused that the sound of someone roughly smacking the metal bars of his cell door startled him, causing his head to whip up as he’d pushed up from the dirty floor.

A guard was standing outside of his cell, someone that Jax quickly recognized as one of the few who often delivered the daily mail. He was standing just past the metal bars with the usual large, black mail cart in front of him. In his hand he was holding a white envelope.

“Teller,” he said, sounding bored. “You’ve got mail.”

The guard didn't even bother waiting for a response, his expression neutral as he chucked the thin envelope through the bars. Jax watched as it flew to the floor and slid across the cement. The letter stopped just beneath his small, pathetic excuse of a bed as the guard continued on, pushing the mail cart down the corridor. 

Jax's attention shifted to the letter, staring down at where it was now half-hidden beneath his bed in confusion, his body still held in a push-up. Since when the fuck did he get mail? If one of the guys not locked up needed to reach him, they found a way to call or pass him a message. Gemma frequently came out to visit him whenever she could, usually bringing Abel with her. She'd laugh at just the absurd fucking idea of sitting down and writing him something. And if their lawyer, Lowen, needed to contact him, she'd just make an appointment.

Sitting back on his heels, Jax ran his forearm across his forehead to wipe away some of the sweat that had accumulated there during his workout. His chest still heaving from the exercise, he continued to suspiciously eye the letter on the floor. 

Who the fuck was that from?

Exhaling roughly, he pushed himself up from the floor and walked over to his bed. With one hand flat against the mattress, Jax bent down and grabbed the envelope from where it was laying. Vaguely he noticed how it had been opened already for prison security to examine it first. With his brows pinched together, he studied the writing on the outside of the envelope, not recognizing the script. 

“The fuck?” he muttered to himself.

Reaching his fingers inside, Jax pulled out a single sheet of slightly off-white paper that was folded neatly into thirds. Sitting down on the edge of his stiff mattress, his breath still coming in hard, he unfolded the paper. One of his brows gradually rose on his forehead as he saw that the page was three-quarters of the way filled with pristine handwriting. As if someone had taken their time writing it. 

“What…?”

Completely confused, Jax focused on the top of the page. Hunched forward on the bed, he rested his elbows on his thighs and began to read the letter.

Hello to whoever is reading this,

Apparently you're the one fortunate enough to be assigned to me for Stockton's Wire for Hope program.

Jax paused and lowered the paper, running a hand across his forehead and brushing away a few loose blonde hairs still clinging to his damp skin. So that's what this was, that goddamn pen pal bullshit Lowen had talked him and the guys into doing. She'd told them it would look good when they applied for parole. Make it seem as if they were trying to rehabilitate and form meaningful connections or some bullshit. 

And apparently this pathetic dumbass was who he'd be stuck writing to for the foreseeable future while he was locked up. 

“Goddammit,” he muttered.

Looking back down at the paper in his hand, he contemplated crumpling it up in his fist and chucking it out into the hall. He didn't have to read it, he could just scribble some bullshit onto paper and have it sent to you. Just participating in the stupid program was enough.

But as he stared at the neat writing on the page, he knew he didn't have anything else to do right now. It wouldn't kill him to just read the few stupid paragraphs you'd written. He was bored as hell anyway.

If you're reading this far, I'm guessing you resisted the urge to tear this into shreds. Because I get it, this whole program probably seems completely fucking stupid, right? And I'm well aware that most of the inmates in the program are probably just doing it solely for the increased chances of parole. Creates a good image and all that. 

An amused huff fell out of Jax as he read. At least you weren't a complete naive dumbass. But you were still dumb enough to be writing inmates in the first place.

And that's fine. But I also imagine you're bored as shit in there. Only so many times you can attempt to make wine in your toilet, right?

That was a joke. But if you're turning into a toilet sommelier over there, maybe you've found yourself a new hobby for when you get out.

That was also a joke.

Despite himself, Jax chuckled at your terrible prison humor. Who the fuck had they paired him up with for this shit?

Honestly, I've never done one of these programs before. And since I'm the one writing first, I don't really know what to start with here. Can you tell? It's really awkward trying to begin a letter to a complete stranger.

I guess maybe I should tell you some things about myself, right? But don't expect anything too personal because I'm not about to give you my home address or anything. You're still some strange, incarcerated man after all.

“So you have some semblance of sanity, at least,” Jax murmured condescendingly to the letter. “Good for you, darlin’.”

I'm not really that interesting, as you’ve probably already gathered yourself. Certainly not the type to land myself serving time in a state prison. I'm more the type to be reading a book (something I imagine you're probably doing a lot of from sheer boredom), cooking and baking, or spending time in my garden. Wholesome shit. Things I bet you're sitting there rolling your eyes at. Because you are, aren’t you?

“Sure seem pretty aware of your audience,” he muttered dryly to the paper.

Anyway, I like to think I'm funny, but I suppose my humor grows on you. Or so my brother has often told me. 

“Think your brother is a bit biased, giggles,” Jax grumbled.

And he often says I talk too much. So I'm trying not to ramble, but somehow you're still reading this. Though I guess…what else are you going to do, right? Your options are sadly limited in there.

But who knows? Maybe this whole stupid pen pal program will end up being more beneficial than you probably first thought. Or at least, maybe it might provide you some brief entertainment while you're stuck serving time. I'm not sure if you're someone who gets visitors, but having someone talk to you like you aren't some caged animal might at least be nice. But what do I know? I've never personally been incarcerated. Though from my knowledge, the guards treat you like less than human, and I can't imagine how that weighs on a person over time.

“Jesus Christ,” Jax muttered to himself. “You tryin’ to be my fucking therapist now, giggles?”

Okay maybe I should just end this here. I feel like I'm just going to start rambling if I don't, and I'm sure you don't want me to bore you.

“Too fucking late for that,” he muttered, still reading.

Feel free to write about whatever you want in response, but I wouldn't mind learning a bit about who I'm writing to. I would actually like the opportunity to get to know whoever you are–that is the point of this, after all. Though I imagine you're going to give me some false name with some false backstory. But you know what? I like stories, so go ahead and make up some interesting bullshit. I'll still happily read it even if you claim to have a peg leg, an eye patch, and a pet parrot.

The letter ended abruptly there with your first name. Jax found himself staring at the paper in his hands for a long moment, wondering what the fuck he'd just read. You sounded so much like…not the kind of person he'd ever find himself having a conversation with. Ever. Outside of this goddamn pen pal program, you and him would never interact. You had nothing in common. Flowers and baking? Who the fuck were you, Martha Stewart? 

He set the letter down next to him on the mattress before running a hand down his face. You sounded too fucking sweet to be writing to shitheads like himself in prison . He already knew he'd offend you with whatever he wrote back. Because it was an absolute joke that he could form some sort of “friendship” with some girl like you through letters. But he knew he had to participate for it to count as him being active in the program. 

“Fucking Lowen,” Jax grumbled to himself. “This shit better get me parole.”

[witherby]

Hello! I was just wondering if we could get some more Punchline + Joker Junior content? I absolutely loved the first fic you did about them. Take all the time you need, don't rush 💓

I loooove these two and I'm happy to write for them some more! Hope you enjoy!

Punchline: Bonded Pair

3900+ words

⚠️ mention of unsafe living conditions, lack of self preservation instincts, parentification, technically kidnapping?, and threats of death/injury ⚠️

Masterlist is Here!

Popsy's been gone for more than two days, which means Batsy hauled him off to the loony bin again.

You and your brother have to fend for yourselves until he comes back, which is fine. It's a monthly occurrence. You know you have to lie low and not cause trouble when Popsy's away because that's Popsy's job. The best little kiddos are the ones that are neither seen nor heard unless otherwise ordered, he always says, and you're the best of the best!

So, instead of prepping explosives and building elaborate traps, you walk soundlessly across the hideaway to go find your most favoritest person in the whole world.

The concrete of the warehouse is cold under your bare feet and you can hear sirens in the distance. You dance around barrels of firearms and explosive materials, dodge the scurrying rats and roaches littering the floor, and climb up walls and broken ladders with ease to reach the upper floors where your brother is hiding.

Getting up onto the rafters, you spread your arms for balance and toe along the beams. You spot your target hunched over a small pile of scraps and tech across the way and approach him with a grin. You hold in a snicker as you make to leap on top of him, but at the last second he turns and grabs you around the waist with a grin.

"Gotcha!" He cheers. You squirm in his hold, laughing.

"No fair! No fair! How'd ya know I was coming!?"

"Felt the bar wobbling." JJ sets you down and taps the rafter. You feel the subtle vibrations under your hands when you touch the metal and click your tongue, disappointed. You'd get him next time. "What's up? Besides us, ha!"

"Bored!" You scurry past him and grab up what he was working on, holding it up to the moonlight trickling between the busted roof panels. "Whatcha makin' today? Can I help? Can I, can I?"

JJ chuckles and beckons for the device. You comply, handing it over and sitting down right next to him. He holds it in such a way that you can see everything he's doing, always happy to share with you and always happy to explain. That's one of the reasons you adore him so much.

"This is a signal jammer," he explains, flipping the little gadget over to show you the wiring on the back. "This panel here is programmed to send out a frequency that makes technology go all wiley! Radios can't broadcast, cameras can't record, cellphones can't call, yadda yadda."

"But how's the jammer know not to jam itself?" You ask, leaning down to examine the paneling more closely, as if it'll help you understand it any better. It's practically gibberish to you no matter how you think about it.

JJ giggles. "D'ya want me to tell you all the boring specifics, or do you wanna go play tag again?"

You hide your grin behind your hand and kick your feet, giddy. Your big brother always knows you prefer to be more active when you're left to your own devices. He's so smart! JJ can read and write and work on tech and strategize with Popsy — he's the coolest clown in town!

"You're It!" You cry, pinching his arm, then leap off the rafters.

Or, at least you try. A hand clutches your wrist, quick as lightning, which stops your momentum. You tip your head back to find JJ holding you up and staring at you with wide, blue eyes. His smile is thin and wobbly and his breathing is sharp.

"Punchline!!" He cries. "We're eighty feet in the air!"

You snort, hanging limp in his grasp, and make no move to help him lift you back up.

"I can't get hurt, remember?" You swing your legs back and forth, rocking your body. His grip gets tighter on your hand, registering the change of pressure without the pain, which just proves your point. "You're silly! This doesn't count, you have to let me get a headstart when you're It!"

JJ leans back and pulls on you with all his might, groaning from the effort. His voice echoes throughout the warehouse and you can see his arms straining under his shirt sleeves. Slowly but surely, he's able to get you high enough to pull you back onto the beam, and wraps his arms around your waist.

"Let's play on the ground," he says like it's a suggestion, but you know by the tone of his voice that it's not. It's his "no more nonsense" tone, the one he uses when Popsy's in a bad mood or when you have to be quiet when relocating to a new secret base. You've learned to obey that tone very well. That tone keeps you safe.

When he stands, he hauls you over his shoulder like a rag doll. You huff and whine and complain without actually putting up a struggle, but his arms lock around you like a vise anyway, so you just pick at a loose thread on the back of his collar as he makes the journey back down the rafters.

"No fun," you grumble, "no fun, no fun."

"Just because you can't feel when a bone breaks means you should break it," Junior says. He adjusts his grip on you as he starts to climb down some old scaffolding, shimmying carefully to the ground. "Harder to play when you can't walk."

"I guess..." You concede. You can walk on broken legs just fine. You've done it before, but it was admittedly much easier when they weren't broken.

"Glad we agree!"

Despite your protests, you giggle. When your brother's feet touch the floor, he puts you down and forces you to put your shoes on, citing that glass and rusty nails in your feet is still a nuisance even if it doesn't hurt. Once the laces are fastened you immediately take off in a sprint, starting the game.

JJ's always taken great care of you even though you don't really need it anymore. It's been his job since you were born. Popsy doesn't do babies. They're a lot of effort and time he doesn't have, especially when he's busy building the next great game for the Bat and his Birds to play. While Popsy plays with them, you and JJ entertain each other! It's always been that way, and it's lots of fun coming up with new games during the downtime.

"Ten..." JJ calls, smirking as he watches you go. "Nine...eight...sevensixfive —"

"Cheater!" You squeal, hearing his footsteps kick up behind you, and run faster. "Play fair!"

"Fourthreetwoone!" He laughs, sprinting for you. "IIII'm comiiiing, P!!"

You hop over a crate of weaponry and shriek with laughter when your brother follows suit a few seconds later, vaulting and jumping and running after you through the warehouse with only moonlight to guide your way. His past as a Bird makes him exceptionally fast and agile, but he's taught you enough tricks that you can generally keep him at bay for a bit.

You weave between two barrels that he flips over. You dart past a pallet propped against the wall and flip it down behind you, forcing him to duck under it. You squeeze into a dusty air vent he's just a hair too big to fit, his arm reaching uselessly for your hunched figure.

"Cheater," he pants, winded from the chase. His grin is softer. Authentic. You feel yours shift to match. The genuine mirth buzzes around in your chest like a moth around light.

"Takes one to know one," you sing-song, wiggling your fingers just out of his reach. He makes a strong attempt at grabbing you, but you draw back and giggle. "Truce?"

"Yeah," he quickly agrees. "You're It next?"

You nod. When he moves out of the way, you crawl out of the vent and sit on the floor beside him, shoulders touching, and catch your breath together. You tip your head in his direction since he's sitting on your right, in case he has something to say. He notices and props his chin on top of your head.

"Ready?" He asks after a few minutes. You nod, and together you climb to your feet. "Alright. Tag!"

He gently touches your shoulder then takes off across the warehouse. A few mice scatter on his approach and he's careful not to trample any.

"Ten, nine, eight," you call, rocking back and forth on the balls of your feet. Unlike your silly older brother, you're going to play fair and square so you can rub your victory in his face.

"Seven, six, five..."

You lose sight of JJ, but that's fine. The game's more fun when it turns into Hide and Tag.

"Four, three, two, one! HERE I COME, JJ!"

You run in the direction you saw him last, moonlight your only guide, and keep your eyes peeled for any motion in your periphery. So far it's just wood and metal all around you, nothing but your shoes clicking against the floor as you go.

"I'm gonna geeeet youuuu~" you coo, perking up when a shadow shifts a few yards ahead. You rush toward the motion and swerve to avoid crashing into the stacked bottles of acid your Popsy had you collect the other day. "A-ha!"

A Bird stares at you, wide-eyed and dead silent as he white-knuckles a small cluster of papers in his hands. You recognize them as Popsy and JJ's blueprints for some future trap designs. His jaw is practically on the floor, as though believing his garish colors and obvious movement in your living space weren't going to get him noticed. Granted, you thought you'd noticed your brother, but that's a moot point.

Neither of you moves for a few seconds, just staring at each other with incredulity. You've never met another person that wasn't Popsy, JJ, or one of Popsy's henchmen before. You don't know what to do.

"J-Junior," you stammer, grin crooked and heart thundering in your ear. You take a step back, and the Bird seems to come back to himself at that. "Junior!!"

"I won't hurt you," the Bird says, quickly tucking the papers into a pocket. He reaches a hand out to you and steps forward. You turn and bolt, running for your mallet. "Wait!"

"Beat it, Birdy!!" You shout, grabbing the handle of your weapon and swinging wide. The intruder just barely avoids getting his skull caved in. He takes a combative stance, hands balled into fists as he finally gets the hint and puts some distance between you.

"This is not the move to make," he says, scowling now. You sneer at him and twirl the mallet between your hands, glancing left and right for any signs of your brother. "I didn't come here to fight. We can discuss this peacefully."

"Are you deaf?" You taunt, running towards him. You kick a discarded pipe at his face, forcing him to block it, then while he's distracted use a crate as your launch pad to jump at him with your weapon poised to swing down with as much momentum as possible. "I said BEAT IT!!"

The Bird flips backwards to avoid collision. Your mallet hits the concrete with thunderous impact, leaving cracks behind.

You take the offensive, stalking after the Bird and steering him towards the exit. You won't kill him — Popsy's drilled (sometimes literally) into you enough times that if a Bat is gonna die, it's gonna be by his hand — but the sooner he leaves, the sooner you and JJ can round up whatever you can carry and rush to the next hideaway.

"Nightwing, where are you?" The Bird says, pressing two fingers to his ear as you continue to swing at him. "There's a child on the premises with the Joker's motif all over her. I could use someone with your annoying people skills."

He dodges another swipe of your hammer and you see his eyebrows shoot up towards his hairline, stiffening like a board.

"Timothy?" He blurts. Your already frantic heartbeat kicks up even faster.

It makes sense now why JJ wouldn't answer your call — that Nightwing guy must have found him. These stupid Birds have invaded your home and accosted your big brother, and now they're deadnaming him like they've got the right to reclaim your family! Like they've got the right to take him from you! Like they've got the right to intrude on your business!

"His name," you hiss, more snarling than smiling as you kick your leg out and bring the Bird to his knees in surprise, "is JJ!!"

You swing again, hitting him in the stomach, and send the Birdy flying across the warehouse. He hits the ground several yards away and rolls, groaning in pain. You stalk after him with furrowed brows and bared teeth.

"What'd ya do with my big bro!?" You demand. "Tell me quickly before I break Popsy's rule and turn your face into mashed potatoes!!"

The intruder pushes himself up by his hands with a grunt, glaring up at you through the lenses of his domino mask. You lift your mallet in warning.

"Where is he!? I'll give ya to the count of three!"

You bring your mallet down right next to the bird's head, making him flinch back.

"One!"

You do it again, this time just barely missing his knee as he tries to get to his feet. He stumbles back and lands on his ass, hurriedly crab-walking away from you.

"Two!"

"Three."

Something pricks your neck, the sensation startling. You flinch and drop the mallet, lifting your hand to touch the needle stuck in your skin. The room starts spinning and swirling, becoming a shadowy merry-go-round in the darkness of the warehouse. You stumble to the side and run into the big, bad Bat himself, who materializes out of nowhere to wrap his arms around you and frown at your slumping body.

Whoops. Probably should've double-checked your surroundings a little better. JJ's situational awareness was always stronger than yours. You'll tell him that when you break out of Arkham with Popsy.

"OhHHhh," you mumble, consciousness fading fast. "BaTSy's here...no...nO fuN...go 'way and...and gimME BAck my...broOotherrrrr..."

Your eyes roll back, your bones turn to jelly, and you're gone.

--

You do not wake up in Arkham. You groggily peel your eyes open to find a plain, beige cell all around you. To your left is a bed, on the back wall is a curtain hiding a toilet and a showerhead, and there's a sink in the right corner. On the ceiling, you lock eyes with a security camera, and when you push yourself into an upright position, you look through the clear, cell door to see a dark corridor clearly carved into a cave.

You're in a cell in the Batcave. How curious.

You push yourself to your feet, shaky from the leftover effects of the sedative, and press your hands against the door, pushing against it with a quiet grunt. It doesn't yield and, based off the panels you've worked with when Popsy's building a new trap, feels bulletproof.

With that avenue of escape gone, you wander to the center of the room and sink to your knees, wrapping your arms around yourself and sighing wistfully as your head gently rests against the wall.

You aren't used to being alone. Is JJ also in the cave, or did the Bats put him somewhere else? Maybe he escaped and he's on his way to Arkham to go get Popsy before they swing back around for you. No, they probably put him somewhere else; they called JJ by his old name, so they must want him for something. You don't know what for, and the lack of anything you can do in here is making your skin buzz. You just want to go back to the warehouse and play Hide and Tag with your family.

You must have dozed off again, because the next thing you know you're jolted awake by animalistic screaming down the hall and several, panicked voices are shouting at someone to calm down. You hear something shatter and a batarang goes flying past your door, which startles you.

"Get the fucking sedative out!!"

"I'M WORKIN' ON IT, ASSHOLE, JUST KEEP HIM STILL!"

You watch Batman rush past your door without sparing you a glance, jaw clenched and hands formed into fists. The shrieking gets even louder and the sounds of struggle more intense.

"WHERE IS SHE!?"

Oh, that shrieking is JJ. A wave of discomfort rolls down your spine and makes your fingers and toes numb. Is he upset because you haven't broken out of your cell yet? You're normally pretty fast at escaping bonds and cages, you've had lots of practice, but the sedative had made you so sleepy! That's not your fault!

"Tim, please calm —"

"DON'T CALL ME THAT!" Your brother shouts. There's another hard thump and sounds of a struggle. A syringe rolls down the hallway and stops in front of your door. "WHERE IS SHE!? WHERE'S MY SISTER!!"

It's worry, you realize. JJ is worried for you. He takes his role as your big brother very seriously, so much so that this is the longest you've ever spent apart, and you're still just in the same building. You don't want him to be worried.

"JJ!" You call, pressing your hands to the glass. "I'm here!"

Everything quiets for a moment. You don't move. You don't breathe. You hold your good ear to the glass to listen.

"Punchline?" He calls.

"I'm in here, JJ!" You respond.

"C'mere," your brother immediately says, in his no-nonsense tone. You glance at the door and the keypad you have no hopes of hacking. The complicated, techy stuff is beyond you. You're the muscle and he's the brains, a dynamic you've been very comfortable with until now.

"I can't," you admit. "I can't get out!"

"...Tim, don't —"

More scuffling. Someone groans in pain. It's not JJ; you know what his pain sounds like, and that's not it.

"Let her go."

"One of you please go grab the goddamn sedative!"

"Give my sister back to me, right now."

"There's no need for violence. Get the knife away from your brother's throat —"

"I DON'T HAVE ANY BROTHERS!" JJ shouts. "GIVE MY LITTLE SISTER BACK TO ME NOW!"

You're so absorbed in the conversation down the corridor that you completely miss the man in the suit in front of your cell. He presses a few buttons on the keypad and you step back from him when the door slides open.

It's a geezer. What little hair is left on his head is snow white and he's dressed up in a fancy schmancy tuxedo. His gaze is piercing, but non-threatening as he looks at you.

"Terribly sorry to disturb you, madam," he says, voice gentle as he offers you a hand, palm up. "My name is Alfred Pennyworth. Might I request your aid? Your brother seems to be in quite the fright, and I think we've made a grievous error in separating such a bonded pair. Please, allow me to correct that at once."

"...what?" You blurt, smile thin. "You wanna give me AIDS?"

Alfred's expression gets a little tight. He takes a deep breath and starts talking again.

"Apologies for the confusion. I'd like to bring you to your brother. May I?"

Oh! Finally, somebody talking sense! You grin and take his hand, stepping out of the cell and turning your head towards the commotion.

JJ is standing tall and has a Bird on his knees in front of him, one hand fisted in his hair and the other holding a blade to his throat. You're pretty sure it's the one called Nightwing, but you wouldn't bet on it. The shorter Bird you fought in the warehouse is standing next to Batman and holding his dislocated shoulder while a thin line of blood runs down his temple. A big guy, like beefy as shit, in a red helmet is aiming a gun at your brother's head. And Batman is standing with his hands up in placation, trying and failing to take the pacifist route.

"JJ!" You exclaim, happy he's okay. Five heads turn to face you, and you let go of Alfred's hand to run to his side.

JJ lets go of the hand in the Bird's hair to hug you tight, then ushers you to stand behind him. The other hand keeps the knife in place.

"You hurt?"

"Silly question," you mumble, but indulge him anyway. "I'm right as rain, now that you're here!"

He nods, ice blue eyes roaming across all the birdies in the hall with you. Everyone else stares right back, tense and motionless.

"We're bottlenecked, P," he murmurs eventually. "Might haveta enjoy a little vacation in one of these cells 'till Popsy breaks out again."

You shrug, threading your fingers with his free hand. "Together?"

"Together," he says firmly. The fancy butler nods easily, waving his arm.

"You won't be separated again," Alfred promises. "Please, let's cease the violent altercations and all take a rest. Let me move you to a bigger room you two can share."

JJ gives you his full attention. You read the silent question in his gaze.

It's up to you to decide. You can fight your way to freedom or let them herd you into another box for the time being.

You quirk your lips, considering, then shake your head. The warehouse was getting a little boring anyway, and a fight could get your brother hurt.

"Lead the way, Penny Wenny!"

The knife is discarded and Nightwing quickly moves to the side, rubbing his neck and shooting your brother a weird look. The beefy guy lowers his gun. You keep your hands linked and follow the fancy butler to a larger cell with a bigger bed, which JJ tugs you to, and you curl up in his lap while he watches the door with a pensive quirk of his lips. Alfred bows and then leaves, the only sounds now being hushed conversation down the hall.

"You're not hurt?" JJ asks again. You shake your head. "Okay."

"Sorry, JJ," you sigh. "I tried t'get the baby bird to tell me where ya were, but then they pricked me and I woke up here. I wasn't payin' good enough attention..."

JJ gives you a gentle squeeze, resting his chin on the top of your head.

"Not your fault. These guys ain't no joke, P. I would know. I won't let them separate us again."

You hum, knocking your feet together as you come to terms with your new, temporary living space. You can adapt anywhere as long as your brother is around.

Click. Click. Click.

[javierpena-inatacvest]

Chapter 1- Jello at Your Front Door

Summary: 15 years ago, a football and a boy four doors down makes your move to Florida a little more bearable. Now, you're not quite sure how to feel when you find out he's shown up back at home unannounced

Word Count: 5.5K

Pairing: Frankie Morales x f!reader (no use of y/n, Frankie has a nickname for reader)

Warnings: Angst, yearning, mentions of death, sick parent, meeting Frankie for the first time, cute, awkward baby Frankie, a football throw Santi will never forgive you for

A/N: ... Hey.... How y'all doin'.... Remember when I said I was gonna start a different Frankie series months ago? I hope you humbly accept this as my official formal apology for not being able to get my shit together, as I present this offering to you instead 🙂 I started writing this 24 hours ago and I legitimately couldn't stop, so here we are??? I know this is a different style that what I normally write, but here's to trying new things (and hopefully finishing them). I hope you guys enjoy 🥺💛

All The Things We Never Said Masterlist

Next Chapter

You, Present

“Frankie’s home.” 

You weren’t really sure how to comprehend how the combination of those two words would be one of the worst sucker punches you’d taken to your gut in the better part of the last decade. 

As the sentence replayed over and over in your head, you could think of any other combination of two words that would have scared you less. 

“Hurricane’s coming.” 

“Bomb’s dropping.” 

“World‘s ending.” 

In a universe where things make sense, the response these would elicit from the average person would be reasonable, rational even. When you’ve been given a warning about the way two words have the potential to alter your reality, you can’t help but panic. 

But today, you’ve woken up in a universe where things don’t make sense. 

And what’s worse is, you didn’t even get a warning. 

The statement shouldn’t have shaken you as much as it did. When you’d seen his truck parked in the driveway four houses down, you knew it had to be him. Anyone else in the world would be caught dead driving the barley mobile piece of metal he’d been traveling in for the better part of 20 years. But Frankie Morales was not anyone else. He’d drive that damn car until the wheels fell out underneath him. 

It wouldn’t be the first time you’d gotten in a stubborn stare down with his 1989 maroon Chevrolet Silverado. You had a sneaking suspicion that today wouldn’t be your last. 

“Why is Fr- Why is he back?” 

You hadn’t intended for your tone to be so bitter, but the taste of Frankie’s name on the tip of your tongue left a taste in your mouth so sour, you wanted to recoil into yourself. 

“Why do you think?” It was clear your mother had no interest in playing into your game of cruel intentions, barely paying you any mind as she glanced out the window, unphased by the looming presence in the Morales’s driveway, “You should go say hello.” 

“No thanks, I’m not a fan of purposely ruining the rest of my day.” You don’t mean for your eyes to roll as far back into your head as they do, but you can’t help it. At this point it seems like an innate, programmed response. Simply the thought of Frankie Morales was enough to dampen your mood; an intentional confrontation was the last thing you needed. 

“You’re going to have to see him at some point, you know. Can’t hide from him the whole time he’s here.” 

Your mom hadn’t even given you the chance to rebuttal, disappearing from your bedroom to leave you to stew in your own resentment, because she knew as well as you that it was pointless to fight back. 

At some point, you’d have to face Frankie. Today, you’d stick to hiding. 

You, Summer of 1999, Age 11

26 total hours trapped in a U-Haul with your family and every item you’d ever owned was not the way you had planned to spend your last week of summer before starting middle school. You’d hoped that the nearly 3 day journey from Michigan to Florida would be long enough to help you cope with your distress. Unfortunately, you weren’t shocked that cramped quarters and unclear driving directions in the midst of uprooting your life wasn't doing much to lighten your mood. 

Your parents had promised you the move would be worth it. That starting a new life halfway across the country would be good for your family. You weren’t quite sure what positives Florida posed to you, but even at the ripe age of 11, it didn’t take a genius to realize that “starting over somewhere new” was code for “trying to keep your dad alive.” 

The doctors back home were thrilled to tell you about the new, potentially life saving treatment for his rapidly progressing colon cancer. You were thrilled too, until that new, life saving treatment meant moving 1,300 miles from home. 

Not once did you protest- keeping your dad a living, breathing part of your life was better than having to say goodbye to your best friends, but it still didn’t mean every mile you drove further and further south down I-75 was another grain of salt in your freshly open wound. 

Your parents had tried to incentivise you with all the joys that Florida would have to bring- warm, sunny weather, beaches, being a 3 hour drive away from Disney world, a bigger house, the list went on and on. And while you knew one day you’d find joy in the rewards you’d reap from your sacrifice, you had a feeling that day wouldn’t be coming any time soon. 

It took too many movers to count to finally get your new house to resemble what was supposed to be a home. There was something so unsettling about seeing your furniture reassembled into unfamiliar corners of a place you’d never been. Even the things that were supposed to feel familiar and comforting now felt distant and foreign, scrambled in the walls of your new residence like a child who had shaken up a box of their favorite toys and dumped them out on the ground, leaving behind a mess for someone else to clean up. 

The only solace you could seem to find in the wave of chaos that had washed over your life was the view outside your bedroom window. A quiet escape, perfectly positioned to watch the warm rays of sunset fade behind the rooftops, the night slowly shifting into shades of black and blue as your eyelids became heavy.

Each night as you drifted to sleep, you dreamt about the ways you could be saved from the lonely island you were trapped on. A sole survivor begging to be found. You tossed and turned in the sea of your twisted bedsheets, crying out that there would be someone, anyone who would risk their life to rescue yours. 

On the first two nights, the only response to your pleas was a deafening silence, an insult to injury that you were destined to spend the rest of your life on a godforsaken landmass no one would ever find. On the third night, your cries carried on the winds of the warm summer air, sneaking through the cracks of an open window four doors down. 

“You should go out there and play with those boys down the road! They look like they’re probably about your age!” 

You’d be lying if you said you hadn’t noticed the two gangly figures racing up and down the street for the better part of the last hour, hoping they wouldn’t catch your passing glances through your living room window as you pretended to watch whatever episode of “Rocket Power” aired next on Nickelodeon. Perhaps the pair boys hadn’t noticed you watching them, but your dad had surely noticed the way you could have cared less about whatever was on the TV in front of you. 

“They’re playing football, I don’t really think they’d probably want me to play.” You huff under  your breath. 

“You’re good at football. Probably better than they are.” Your dad laughs like it’s meant to be funny, but you know he’s serious. He’ll never admit to you out loud he wished his only child would have been a boy, but you’ve never minded playing the role of the son he never had. 

And he’s not wrong. You definitely are a better throw than either of them. 

“They’re gonna think it’s weird that a girl’s asking to go play football with them.” The sigh that follows this is even more annoyed than the last, now too self aware at 11 years old to revert back to the days of approaching kids you’ve never met on the playground and asking to join in without needing to worry about the social repercussions of your actions. 

“Well, you can either pout and pretend to watch TV, or you could go try to make some friends. That’s up to you, Bud.” He smirks at the scrunch in your brow and flair in your nostrils, the same face he knows he makes when he’s been hit by the cold, hard truth he doesn’t like. 

You know he’s right. 

“Fine,” You grumble, reluctantly pushing yourself off the edge of the couch, “But if they’re dumb, I’m coming back home.” 

“Atta girl. Go easy on ‘em, Killer.” 

As you step outside, it feels like you’ve become some sort of jungle explorer, trying to approach a herd of wild animals in their element without startling them to the point of attack. You’d even brought a peace offering to ease the introductions, hoping that your own football would be an appreciated contribution to their game. 

As you make your way down the street, you’re not sure if you’re particularly good at sneaking up on the boys, they haven’t noticed your presence, or worse, they’re actively trying to ignore you in hopes that you’ll go away. 

“H-Hi.” You stammer, half attempting to wave at the back of their heads, nowhere near close to catching their attention. 

“Hello?” This time it’s a little louder, slowly taking a few steps closer, “Hi?” 

God, maybe it’s a fourth option you hadn’t considered and they’re both deaf. 

“Hey!” 

This one finally catches their attention, causing both boys to turn around cautiously, not sure whether they’re more shocked that someone’s interrupted whatever play they’re about to run, or that the person who’s interrupted them is you. 

All of three of you stand in silence for a moment, mind racing in curiosity as you take in the image of clumsy limbs and messy mats of hair stuck to sweaty foreheads. The one boy is shorter, thick, jet black curls sprouting from the top of his head and arms crossed over his chest with a scowl on his face that’s not quite mean, but most definitely not welcoming. 

The other, taller and lankier, a mop of dark brown hairs twisting at the nape of his neck, eyes soft as he glances back and forth between you and his friend. His demeanor is much different, almost nervous compared to the boy standing next to him, fits balled in the pockets of his shorts while the adam’s apple he still needs to grow into bobs in his throat. 

For as much as no one wants to draw in the silent standoff you’ve entered, you started this mess, so you might as well be the first one to fold. 

“H-hi. Sorry, I um, I didn’t wanna interrupt-” 

“I mean, you did.” The shorter boy mumbles, wincing as the nervous one slaps him in the chest with the back of his hand. “Jesus, what was that for, asswad?!” 

“Let her talk!” He grunts, sneering at his friend before turning back to you, his face much kinder now than the expression he just gave to his friend. “Sorry. You can um, you can keep talking if you want. Sorry about him.” 

You try not to laugh at the exchange, but it’s hard not to smirk at the way the two have managed to put themselves on display in the thirty seconds you’ve spent talking to them. 

“It’s okay. I um- I just moved in down the street. That green house over there.” All of your eyes shift as you point behind you, signaling where your journey had begun a few moments ago, “I was uh- I was wondering if you guys wanted another person to play with? I- I brought my own football.” 

“Normally you only need one football to play football, duh. Do you even know how football works?” 

In an instant, your heart sinks to your gut, eyes dropping to the ground to watch your feet start to drag across the pavement, back to where you came. But before you can lift the sole of your sneaker from the cement, a voice stops you. 

“She obviously does or she wouldn’t ask, numbnuts! C’mon, Santi, don’t be a dick.” 

Although it’s not directed at you, it’s enough to bring your attention back to the kinder boy, no name yet, but quite positive it’s not also Santi (or asswad). The two of you lock eyes for a moment, a strange sort of calm running through you as his slight half smile reveals his brace covered teeth, looking at you in a way that makes you feel just a little less small. 

“Yeah, you can play with us. I’m Frankie, by the way.” 

Frankie. 

There’s something about his name that fits him so perfectly. You can’t quite put your finger on it, but you know from the way it rolls off your tongue that it just feels right. 

“Hi, Frankie. I’m Mackenzie.” 

Frankie’s hands are now out of his pockets, a line of defense dismantled after hearing your name. 

“Hello? Have we forgotten about me? There are three of us here, remember?” 

“This is Santi. Well, Santiago, but we all call him Santi.” The way Frankie rolls his eyes at his friend tells you everything you need to know about their friendship, giggling at the way he dramatically pouts as he introduces him. 

“Mackenzie? Isn’t that, like, a last name?” Santi asks, still not yet warmed up to the idea of you, but intrigued enough to ease how tightly his arms are crossed. 

“And? Isn’t Santiago the capital of Chile?” You sass, your mater-of-factness and quick wit making Frankie unintentionally snort. 

“Alright, touché, Christopher Columbus.” Santi mocks, acting tough to try and hide the pink blooming in his cheeks. 

“I like Mackenzie. I think it’s cool.” 

There’s something about the way he says it that you know he means it, wondering why the way hearing your name fall from his lips churns your stomach in a sensation you’d never felt before this moment. 

“Yeah, well, just so you know, Frankie is short for Francisco.” Santi interrupts, trying to find a way to get a jab back at either you or Frankie, at this point he doesn't really care which. 

“Well, last time I checked, there wasn’t a Francisco, Chile.” 

That one sends Frankie into full blown hysterics, boyish snickers taunting his friend, whose attempt to save his namesake has left him the butt of the joke. 

“Will the two of you clowns just shut up and throw the ball? If you’re gonna let her play, Frank, can we at least make sure she can throw?” Santi whines, using every ounce of prepubescent strength he has left to play into his unbothered facade. 

“You can use your ball if you want.” Frankie suggests, shrugging at his indifference to the ball held in your hand compared to the one held in yours. 

“No! If she’s playin’, she’s usin’ our ball!” Santi’s voice trails further away with each step back he takes, settling himself in the middle of the street a few feet down from where you and Frankie stood, not willing to take any more risks when it comes to you, even if it’s something as stupid as a football. 

“Fine by me.” You shrug, happily obliging to his request, Frankie giving you a silent nod of reassurance as he passes his football off to you. 

It’s only now you notice he’s nervous again, one hand back in his pocket as he wriggles his toes in the ends of his worn sneakers while you size up your toss, knowing he’s worried that Santi will never let him live it down if the ball can’t make it more than three feet in front of you. 

Neither of you would know it then, but the silent exchange you make with Frankie as you line up your throw would be the first of many unspoken promises you’d keep to him. What seemed like a simple task,  to prove worthy of his friendship by throwing a football, would turn out to be the most important promise you'll ever make to Fransisco Morales. 

You weren’t ever going to let him down. 

“You can go further back.” You shout, almost offended by the distance Santi had chosen to stand away from you. 

“If you can make it this far, I’ll be impressed.” 

“You promise you’ll go get it after I throw it past you?” 

“I promise, Joe Montana, throw the damn ball.” 

You shrug at Frankie, like he’s supposed to know what comes next. He’s too scared to question either of you, all he can do is let his eyes dart back and forth between you and Santi, knowing there’s no world where both of you can prove your point. What scares him more is that he trusts you more than his friend. 

You line your fingers up on the laces, gripping the leather like your life depends on it. In a way, it does. With a step forward, your arm hurls the ball, two of the three of you standing dumbfounded in the street as you watch it soar further and further past its intended target, spirling through the sky until it bounces off the cement with an acrobatic roll, three times the distances of where Santi had placed himself. 

You don’t say anything. You don’t need to. You just smile and shrug- it's the best “I told you so” you could give them. 

“Fine. She can stay.” 

To this day, it’s the closest you’ll ever get to a compliment from Santi. 

“Nice work, Kenz.” 

Your stomach flips. You try to blame it on the adrenaline of it all, that there was no way a compliment so simple had you wiping your sweaty palms over the denim of your shorts, trying your best to erase any evidence that he was the reason your heart was racing out of your chest. 

Now it’s 15 years later, and as much as you hate him, you still can’t get that goofy, brace faced smile out of your mind. 

Frankie, Present 

There’s a reason he shows up at 1 A.M. Everyone’s asleep. If the world is asleep around him, he’s safe from having to deal with anyone, at least until morning. There’s a part of him that wishes he would have parked his truck down the street, tricking you into thinking that he wasn’t even there. 

It’s hard to justify when you’re the reason he’s back home in the first place. 

When he got the call from his mom, he knew he had to come. He didn't want to, but he knew he’d hate himself forever if he didn’t. 

“Hey, Mamá.” 

“Francisco, how quickly can you make it home?”  

“Mom, I told you, I’m not-” 

“It’s Doug. He’s in hospice.” 

“Fuck. How um- how much longer do they think he has?” 

“When I talked to Michelle, she said they were hoping for a few more weeks. But I’m not sure. He doesn’t look good, mi amor. If you want to say your goodbyes, now’s the time.” 

“O-okay. I can probably be home by tomorrow. Gonna be late though. Is uh- is she, um-” 

“She’s here. For about a week or so already. She keeps looking over at your empty spot in the driveway just like she did all those years you were away. Waiting for you, Francisco.” 

It’s the lump in his throat and ache in his chest that gets him home an hour and fifteen minutes faster than what his GPS said it would. He’s not sure what delusional part of his mind thinks that maybe you’ll be waiting for him when he pulls into the driveway. Maybe it’s the same delusional part of his mind that pictured you sitting there, cross legged on the concrete, staring up at the sky to count stars like sheep, waiting for him to come home all those years ago. 

He’s also not sure why it hurts so bad when he shows up and you’re not there. 

Frankie feels like he’s 16 again, sneaking into his own house in the wee hours of the night, digging the spare key out from under the doormat, attentive to the practiced pattern of how to avoid squeaks in the hinges as he turns the lock behind him, careful not to wake a single sleeping soul. He tiptoes over the 4th stair to the second floor and barely taps the 7th before he finds shelter in his room, successful from his journey. 

Every time he comes home, he can’t help but laugh at the fact his mother refuses to change anything about his bedroom. Everything is in the same place it was the day he left for the Air Force, down to the pile of unfinished homework from his Senior year of high school stacked on his desk. Each time he sees it, he’s never sure if the source of his laughter is nostalgia or irony. Maybe it’s a little bit of both. 

When he looks at the picture frames scattered across his nightstand, a 17 year old Frankie stares back at him, tall and gangly, arms too big for his own body, an awful haircut he begged his mom to let him get. It was the year he discovered how much he couldn’t live without a hat, simply out of necessity for the 6 months it took for his hair to grow back out. You were the first one to tell him how cute he looked in the one hat he already owned. He bought three more in the weeks to come. 

He wonders what the 17 year old in those pictures staring back at him would think of him now. If there’s one thing he knows for certain, it’s that high school him would have beat the shit out of him for the way things turned out, scrawny limbs and all. 

It seems like the military has taught him how to sleep anywhere besides his own home, keeping company with the shadows dancing on his ceiling in the moonlight, tossing and turning in the tattered sheets of the twin sized bed his mom promised she’d upgrade when he got big enough. To this day, he and his mom both know he was never begging her for a new bed because he had outgrown it, he just always wanted to make room for one more person. 

He clocks 3 and a half hours of sleep as good enough, creeping out of his house the same way he had come in, making the 5.4 mile trip to Benson Park to watch the sun rise. Frankie’s always hated running, it’s just as much of a surprise to him as it is to everyone else that he keeps doing it. It makes his knees hurt like shit and his lungs feel like they’re being strangled by rubber bands, a cruel cycle of self punishment he can’t seem to shake his addiction for. 

He’s sat on the same side of the bench underneath the ancient Blooming Dogwood since the first time he came here. He tried one time to sit on the other side. He’s superstitious enough to believe his one time fuck up has had a lasting effect. The bench is so hidden at the back of the park, he likes to think that the two of you are the only ones to have ever found it. No one else has ever burst through the bubble of secrets shared between the two of you there, leaving the wood grain to be stained with memories and moments that have shaped the both of you, good and bad. 

It’s the first place you ever told him about your dad. It’s the first place he ever told you about his. His dad was already nothing but memories by then. It makes him sick to his stomach that soon, that’s all you’ll have left, too. 

Frankie, Fall of 1999, Age 11

“How much longer do we have, Frankie? I feel like my legs are gonna fall off!” 

“Quit being such a baby, you’re fine!” 

“Next time we have to ride our bikes this far, I’m pulling an E.T. and riding in the front basket of your bike.” 

“Perfect, you look just like him.” 

“Frankie!” 

“Kidding, kidding!” 

Frankie’s never had a friend like you before. Sure, he’s got Santi, but it’s not quite the same. 

Santi took some easing into- five years ago, when Frankie moved onto Everett Street, he became a friend by force, not choice. Santi staked his claim on him, seeing Frankie as a gift sent straight from heaven, finally having another boy his age to play with after too many years of being sentenced to dress up and tea parties from his 3 older sisters. 

Santi was everything Frankie wasn’t- loud, assertive, the kind of friend who grabs you by the hand and drags you along with them whether you liked it or not. There’s times now, after a half a decade of friendship, that Frankie still questions the way Santi’s brain is wired, but Frankie’s too good of a friend to ever make a fuss about it. 

You, on the other hand, needed no easing into. From the moment he met you, watching you toss that football so far past Santi that he was convinced it would disappear on the other end of the street, Frankie had been mesmerized by you. 

There’s something about you that makes him feel a weird thump in his chest every time you’re together. Everything about you gives him comfort in a way he can’t describe, a safety he’s felt with very few other people in his life until now. 

There’s just something about you. He still hasn’t been able to quite pinpoint what it is. 

Whatever it may be, it’s enough to invite you on a bike ride to the back of Benson Park instead of Santi. 

“Do you even know where we are? I don’t think there’s any more park left past this point, Frankie.” You huff, slowing the wheels of your bike behind him as you come to the edge of a steep rolling hill, nothing left in front of you but acres of empty land and tall grass. 

“Yeah, I do. Maybe we just passed the trail on the way in. We’ll just- We can just find it on the way back.” 

He knows you know he’s fibbing, but he wants your trust that he won’t lead you astray more than he wants to tell the truth. 

“Okay. There’s a bench underneath that tree. Can we just sit for a little bit before my legs turn to jello?” 

You’re already halfway off your bike before he can respond. Even if he had said no, there’s no way he’d leave without you. 

“Fine. What flavor jello?” 

“Whatever flavor is your least favorite so you don’t eat my legs, Francisco. That’s just weird.” 

The two of you laugh, tossing your bikes to the ground as you bottoms find the wood of the bench you’d pointed out, you on the right side, Frankie on the left. 

“My mom only ever gets the red kind. I don’t even really like it that much. Don’t worry, you’re safe, Kenz.” 

“I don’t really like it either. But we have every flavor at my house ‘cause that’s like, all my dad eats.” 

Frankie starts to laugh like you’re playing a joke on him, trying to pretend your dad’s diet exists exclusively of artificially flavored gelatin, but your sudden silence and the way your voice drops to the ground right with your eyes tells him he’d better stop snickering. 

“Your dad only eats jello?” 

“Well not only, but a lot of it, I guess.” 

His face scrunches with a mixture of confusion and concern at your sadness. He’s never heard you this quiet before. 

“Um, w-why?” 

The silence is almost deafening. He’s not sure why he should be so concerned with asking about jello, but he’s too curious to let it go. He selfishly wants to know what about it makes you so upset, because he just as selfishly hopes there’s something he can do to make you feel better. 

“My dad has cancer. He’s really sick. He can’t really eat a lot, but jello’s the one thing he can keep down most of the time without, like, throwing up or whatever.” Your voice is barely above a whisper, like you’re worried someone else will hear and spill the rest of your secrets right along with this one. You say it like he’s the only one in the world you want to hear it. 

“I’m- I’m sorry. That sucks.” 

Frankie blames it on his instincts, the way his hand finds yours, outstretched on the bench. He touches you like he’s handling a baby bird who’s fallen out of its nest, delicate and careful, calculated, hoping you won’t try to fly away in fear. Instead, your hand welcomes his, scooting closer to the weight of his palm resting on top of it. He feels you give in as you let him carry you back to safety of the tree you’ve descended from. 

“It’s okay. That’s why we moved here. The doctors in Michigan said that there were even better doctors here who could maybe help make his cancer go away.” 

“And then maybe he won’t have to eat as much jello.” He takes a gamble with the joke, but it pays off with your surprised snort, “Sorry, that was stupid. I shouldn’t be joking about it.” 

“I mean, it was, but it was funny. It’s okay, my dad jokes about it, too. He always says, one day, it’ll be funny, so might as well make that day today.” 

His heart warms as he watches a small smile return to your face. It heats the pink in his cheeks when he realizes he was the one who helped bring it back. 

“Your dad sounds nice.” 

“He is. Even though he doesn’t feel good a lot of the time, he still always tries to come to my soccer games and stuff. I know he can’t be like what he was before he was sick, but he tries to be. What about your dad?” 

Frankie prays you don’t notice the way his heart sinks like he noticed yours. He chews on the inside of his lip so hard, he thinks it may bleed. He wants to lie, but he knows that you’ll know. You always know. 

“Um, I don’t- I don’t really see my dad.” 

It’s you now who's grabbing his hand, offering him the same type of safety net he’d made for you. He’s barely known you two months. He’s known Santi for five years and all he knows is that his dad doesn’t live with him. Frankie didn’t want to tell him, he’s not sure he’d understand. There’s a strange sensation that swirls in his gut, because he wants to tell you. You’d laid the first brick in the foundation of trust between the two of you. The least he can do is help you keep building. 

“Oh. Why don’t you see him?” He sees you’re prying, but not in a way that hopes to expose him. He knows you’re prying because you want him to let you in, to get a peek at what's behind the curtain. It’s a locked door most people in his life will ever get access to, but he’ll let you have a spare set of keys. 

“I never really knew him. My mom said he left when I was a baby. She says she’s always been happy it’s just me and her. That it was easier to live with one less person than to live with someone who was mean.” 

“Your mom sounds like a wise lady.” 

He appreciates the fact humor was your first response, too, it makes the sting of ripping the stitches off a still-healing wound hurt just a little less. 

“Yeah, I guess so. Still kinda wish I had a dad, though, ya know?” 

“You can borrow my dad whenever you want. As long as you don’t mind super embarrassing, stupid jokes.” 

“Are they as bad as mine?” 

“No. They’re worse.” 

Neither of you would have minded staying just a little bit longer, but the bright reds and yellows of the setting October sky remind you both that the parents you’ve opened up about are expecting you back before night washes over the quaint suburbia of your town. The bike ride home is much quieter than the one there, but the simple silence seems to speak louder than anything he’d have to say. 

The next day, Frankie would raid the cabinets of his kitchen for every last packet of jello he could find and bring them all to your front door.

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[yammpi3]

𝑰 𝒕𝒓𝒖𝒔𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖. // 𝑾𝑪: 2.2𝑲

— feat. disassembly drone N x worker drone reader

synopsis. Since disassembly drones need oil to keep from overheating they kill other drones to consume it. But.. ever since the alliance between Disassembly and Worker Drones its been a bit difficult to acquire..It’s not a problem for V to randomly kill someone off but it’s a different situation for N now that his views have changed. AKA…reader supplies him with oil :DD

— content warning. Nothing 18+ just a few kisses, neck biting and N being in pain.. gulp?

— authors note. I fear this x reader is a bit..cringe then again that might just be me overthinking it..ANYWAYS tried my best for this, and still have no idea how to write for a robot. (N might be a little mischaracterized I’m not ENTIRELY sure)

At the end of science class, just when everyone was packing up to leave, you noticed N fidgeting more than normal at his desk.

 

"Is everything okay, N?" you asked.

 

He laughed nervously. "Who, me? Pshaw, never better!" But when he spoke, he looked anywhere but at you and the others.

Thad snickered. "Maybe his circuits are loose again." Lizzy giggled. "Lmao, he probably fried something.” Just as V was about to comment on his behavior..

N got up from his chair abruptly; he swayed unsteadily before catching himself upon another classroom desk.

 

By the time you registered what was going on, N had already ducked out of the classroom door, stumbling down the hall. "N, wait!" you called after him, hurrying to catch up. N was unsteady on his feet, swerving from side to side as he tried to put distance between the both of you.

 

His limbs shook with every step he took.

"G-Gotta...g-get a-away..." he muttered, though you weren't sure if he was even aware you could hear him. His eyes flickered erratically, barely being able to focus straight ahead as he tried to get away.

 

You picked up your pace, power walking down the corridor after him. "Slow down!!" you yelled out, but N was quicker, and before you knew it, when you reached the next corner, you lost him completely.

Your concern for N grew by the minute, so you started tracking him down since something was clearly wrong, beyond a normal glitch.

 

An hour had already passed since you last saw N, yet here he was in the maintenance unit stumbling blindly, crashing into something every few steps.

 

"S-sorry!" he slurred after bumping into a support beam for the third time. An unnatural static fuzzed the edges of his voice. Stubbornly, he scrambled back on his feet and lurched forward without seeing where he went.

 

Was he malfunctioning? But his murder drone programming should have kept him sharp, no?? Seeing him this disoriented was alarming.

 

You trailed him at a distance, hiding behind a variety of things as he walked on ahead. Where was he heading in such a panic? His vents were roaring torrents by now, and visible condensation soaked his frame.

 

Finally, he collapsed behind a supply crate, crawling the last few feet. Had he sensed you following? No, his optics were unfocused, so he couldn't have had.

 

Gingerly, you peeked around the crate to see N weakly clawing at his chest clearly in pain.

 

If you didn't act fast, he would shut down permanently. Steeling your nerves, you crawled to his side.

 

"N? Hey..hey! It's me, Y/N. Are you okay??”

 

When you gently called his name, N got startled so badly that his claws scraped sparks from the metal flooring he sat upon. His optics flashed wildly before settling on your face with a look of panic. "Y-Y-Y/N! S-sorry, but I don’t think you should be near me right now…”

 

N let out an alarmed wheeze that trailed off into a pained whine. It took visible effort for his optics to focus on you. You could tell he was losing some sort of control over his strength, but why??

"You don’t look so good..”

 

N broke into a hacking series of rushed laughter that ended in a groan. "Me? Pssh, n-no way! I'm t-totally fine, like I said earlier. Now please just leave me, yeah?” He waved dismissively, or at least tried to, but his attempt ended up flailing limply.

 

He knew he wasn't doing a great job at reassuring you when you glared at him.

"N-nothing to worry that pretty l-little processor of yours over, really.”

 

N's dismissive act was crumbling faster than his resolve. Another hacking laugh turned into a groan as his eyes started to flicker erratically once again.

 

"N, please. You're clearly not alright." You took his flailing claw gently in your hands. His plating was so hot it almost burned to the touch.

 

A whine slipped, “Crap..crap. It h-hurts,

Y/N. M-My core, it h-hurts so F̵̬̏́̏͆̀͝ų̸͙͋̿̃̌͋́̈́̆͑̕͠c̶̜̜̼̥͓̚k̷̫̺̝̈́̀̿̇͐̐͑ḭ̸̧̻̞̻͚̳̘̩̣͋̀̃́̔̊̋̚ň̵̞̪̯̼̟̗̩͈̖́g̸̩̤̩̼̘̪̀́͊͗̋͐́̇ much."

 

You've never seen N this vulnerable before…

"What can I do to help? There must be something." N trembled, fighting some inner battle. Finally, he met your gaze, his optics showing an agony of want behind the discomfort.

 

"T-there is s-something, b-but I shouldn't..." Strangely, another sound intermingled with the strain in his voice now.

Was that...hunger?

 

Stroking his plating gently, hoping to soothe, you pressed, "Please, tell me what you need." His vents hitched wildly. Then, in a strained whisper, he cracked.

"Y-your oil...I ne-need…it."

 

A shiver visibly ran through his frame. His optics darkened as they focused intently on your physic, more so your neck and wrist.

 

"I..." he began weakly, then stopped to swallow. His claws clenched tightly as if fighting the urge. You waited patiently for him to continue, showing concern but no sense of alarm.

 

After a long pause, N dragged his gaze with an effort to meet your face once more.

“T-tell me to stop," he whispered, his fangs peeking out as he talked.

 

"I so badly n-need it, but I don't w-want to hurt you.” His claws lifted toward your face but stopped only by his wavering will. You knew this would be the only way for him to cool down.

 

You looked deeply into N's eyes, past the haze of glitches that overtook his screen.

"I trust you," you said calmly without fear. His breathing became more ragged at your words.

 

In a flash, his restraint broke—but instead of lunging at your throat as you'd expected, his claws tangled in the fabric of your shirt, yanking you flush against his overheated frame. You gasped at the contact, feeling the waves of heat pouring off of him.

 

N buried his face in the crook of your neck, fangs tantalizingly. "P-please..." he stammered once more, sounding close to genuine tears. Raising a hand, you gently clasped the back of his head, threading your fingers through his silver hair.

 

"Take what you need," you told him firmly yet tenderly..After yet another hesitant pause, his screen displayed an X. Then, with a grunt of gratification, his fangs smoothly penetrated the sensitive wiring of your neck.

 

Your breath became unsteady as N's fangs pierced you. It didn’t hurt as much as you thought it would—just a little bit of a pinch. His hands gripped your shoulders for support as he drank deeply, allowing the oily fluid to course through his system.

 

For several moments the only sounds were his gulping intakes and your own measured breaths; you kept still so as not to disturb him. You watched as the pained lines on his face slowly eased, his eyes returning to normal. His plating, which was boiling hot only moments ago, cooled down to a much safer temperature against you.

 

N withdrew his fangs from your neck, making a small trickle of oil leak from your wound.

 

He leaned back in hastily, swiping his tongue along the twin marks. You shuddered at the foreign yet not unpleasant sensation. But N paused, a flushed look appearing on his screen. “Ah g-geez, is this w-weird?”

 

He glanced away, clearly embarrassed  "What I mean to say is, um, my saliva can help the wounds close up faster? If, uh, you're okay with my germy mouth touching the injury I c-caused? No funny business, I swear! J-just bros being bros, p-patching each other…um up.”

 

N winced, realizing how that sounded. "N-not that we're actually b-bros, unless you want to be? Biscuits. Just—just let me do this, kay?”

With your consenting nod, N gave a short awkward chuckle and leaned back in. His tongue swiping over the wound. It began to tingle as the mark he had left slowly began to close up.

 

"It's strange to think your spit has healing properties," you remarked softly, not wanting to break the intimacy of the moment. N hummed in agreement, laving one last swipe across the bite mark before drawing back to assess his handiwork. His optics flicked up to meet yours, searching for any sign of discomfort.

 

"How does it feel? Are you in any pain?" he asked, his tone laced with concern despite his own drained state. You shifted experimentally. "Stop worrying. Just a slight tingling.“

 

N searched your face anxiously. "Are you sure? Nothing else? No dizziness or discomfort?" His optics roved your features, taking in every subtle reaction. When you reassured him again that all was well, the tension melted from his shoulders—only to be replaced with guilt.

 

"Y/N, I could have seriously hurt you," he said quietly, horror creeping into his tone. "My systems went haywire; I had no control. If I had bitten down any harder..." He shuddered, unable to complete the thought.

 

"But you didn't," you said firmly. "You fought off the urge just enough to get the help you needed. I trusted you, N." He shook his head sadly. "Your trust may be misplaced in me. The overheating....what if next time I can't—can’t stop.”

 

N shuddered again at the dark thought. Seeking to ease his distress, you shot him a playful smile. "Well, if it happens again, we're in this together. At least now I have a cool vampire drone friend!! The whole sucking my oil thing was pretty vampirish.”

 

He cracked a hesitant chuckle. "Yeah, maybe I'll sparkle in the sun too." Feeling bold, you leaned in with a faux-dramatic voice, "I vant to suck your coolant..."

 

N actually snickered at that. You beamed, glad to lift his spirit, even if it was only for a brief moment. His smile faded as reality set back in.

 

"But seriously, what if next time I really hurt someone?” On impulse, you threw your arms around him in a hug.

 

N's eyes widened as you suddenly hugged him close. For a moment he sat stiffly, caught off guard. Then slowly, oh so carefully, his arms came up to return the embrace.

 

"Y/N...if anything happened to you because of me, I don't know what I'd do," he said quietly against your shoulder. You squeezed him tighter for reassurance. "Hey, it'll take a lot more than some murder instinct to take me out. Have a little more faith in me, will you? Stop being so edgy.”

 

“Edgy?" N scoffed, "Sorry, nearly ripping your throat out put me in a gloomy mood."

 

"Ripping my throat out?” You echoed with a wry grin. "Well, luckily that didn’t happen, did it?”

 

N huffed, “Maybe. But what if next time I lose it?"

 

You opened your mouth to respond, but he quickly shushed you.

 

“You just leaped right in like it was nothing. Do you have any idea how badly this could've ended?" He gestured vaguely to the drying wound on your neck.

 

"You drones are so..so fragile. One wrong move and I could've—" He cut off, unable to say the word. His arms flexed unconsciously, as if longing to wrap around something and squeeze. To protect, or destroy? Even he wasn't sure.

"You'd never hurt me, N. I believe in-"

 

Your words halted as he glanced up, his eyes searching yours with raw, wavering emotion. An urge welled within you, sprung from compassion more than reason. You leaned in to press your lips to his in a soft kiss.

 

"Mmmph?!" N made a muffled sound of surprise, his body locking up stiffly. Your tongue briefly caught the tang of the lingering oil before you pulled back with a slight grimace.

 

His faceplate shone a distressed yellow blush. "I-I'm so sorry, I should have wiped my mouth better!“ he stammered.

 

But you simply smiled and leaned in again, pressing your lips gently to his once more. Then, slowly, he began to relax into the kiss.

 

His screen switched to a loading screen. In that moment, all his train of thought derailed off a cliff. N's screen flickered back online, and one of his hands floated up to gently touch his mouth, eyes wide and staring blankly.

 

"Bwuh-wha...you...kissem—I mean, I kissem-no, we...kissed?" he sputtered

 

"We k-kissed. You k-kissed me," he whispered, his optics shrinking to pinpoints before dilating wide again. A nervous giggling burst out of him.

 

"Oh biscuits, what d-does this mean? Are we like..” his tone lowered to a soft whisper.

“Dating n-now?”

 

"Well, uh, I guess you could say we're kind of sort of datingish now," you replied bashfully. "If-if you want to be my boyfriend, that is."

 

N's entire face lit up. "Boyfriend..Awhh Y/N!! Id love that." He hugged you tightly, lifting you off the ground and spinning you around in excitement.

 

"N set you down gently, his optics still shining with unbridled joy. However, a hint of seriousness crept into his expression as he looked at you intently.

 

"This doesn't mean I'm not mad at you for what you did," he said, his voice low and eyes narrowed slightly. "You could have been seriously hurt, or worse. You really scared me back there."

 

You sighed and nodded. "Yeah, yeah, I get it. Next time, I'll call V or someone else—I won't try to handle things on my own and potentially get myself killed." You paused, then added with a wry smile, "I promise."

N's stern look softened, and he hummed contentedly. "Good!" Reaching out, he took your hand in his larger one and gave it a gentle squeeze.

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