#She's still adjusting to Civilian life...

[atangledfate]

Was she getting comfortable with it? maybe? It was less being comfortable with physical contact and more that she was comfortable with Tangle. They were together now, it only made sense to show affection the only way she could. It wasn't like she could say i love you, or tell Tangle how nice her ass was! So she had to find other ways to flirt or, show her love. Sometimes that just meant a gentle touch here and there. Or sometimes it meant holding hands, or cuddling against her lover.

Though Tangle was right it had taken her time to let anyone past her defenses. She still remember the vivid thought of tossing her on her head when she hugged her the first time. But things weren't like that now, they'd grown---she'd grown. That was good wasn't it? Like Claire use to say... if we live in the past we'll never be able to see how bright our future is.

Maybe Tangle was talking to the wrong person about this type of brutality? It was probably because Tangle had never seen her flip her switch on had she? Weird as it was only Cream had. That moment where she nearly blew Eggman's head clean off his shoulders while he had no idea she was there. It wasn't as if she was above such violence, and if the moment called for it she'd do so. But She'd tried VERY hard to leave that life behind her and to never have to flip that side of her on ever again.

Still she was probably right about this guy. After all these weren't soldiers just thugs who picked the wrong fight.

✋ They got between him and his mission, he simply eliminated a threat. I don't condone his tactics at all, but i understand why he did it... if left behind they could have alerted others to his position or worse. Which makes me wonder if they do not have a military background. Still... those were civilians... so i see your point ✋

She lowered her head as Tangle reminded her that not everyone was a soldier, and that combat was really all she knew. Tangle didn't need combat right now, she needed time to decompress, to rest and recover. But she was probably the worst person to help her with that wasn't she? all she knew was battle, combat, tactics, and dozens of ways to kill people--- this was all... very new to her.

✋ Right--- Taking it easy, relaxing... resting... ✋

She fidgeted obviously these were all concepts she wasn't use to embracing. She was a soldier after all, a warrior, a fighter, and yet she was just worried about Tangle--- she hated not knowing how to help her.

✋ Sounds like you enjoy it, cooking i mean. What Sorts of things do you like to cook? Maybe we can plan out a few things while we are out of action since we might not have a chance later ✋

The entire attack on restoration felt like a multi-pronged strike of desperation. Clutch didn't trust his people, and so hired outside help to try and seal the deal. But luckily no one was hurt, and they managed to stop the attack from succeeding. She didn't think they targeted Tangle specifically as there were a number of explosives according to the report. She'd read it over while Tangle was recovering at the Hospital and gave her own report on what she had seen. In truth Tangle was placing alot of blame on herself for things outside her control. It was natural to do so but, she'd been a soldier so long she'd been so desensitized to near death experiences.

She reached out to Tangle and took her hands in her own, and rubbed her thumbs across the tops of Tangle's hands an an attempt to show comfort. She had never seen her quite so stressed out, and it was usually Tangle comforting her. It was an odd change but she'd be there for her in every way she could.

✋ There Isn't anything we could have done to prevent what happened. Sometimes all you can do is react to danger, and rely on each other. ✋

She reached up to caress Tangle's cheek and offered a little smile of comfort hoping that her presence was enough to quell her troubled mind.

✋ No matter what happens, i'll always be here to catch you when you fall. I promise...✋

She wasn't sure she trusted this figure either, but sometimes you had to take your allies where you could find them. Sonic understood that to its why he worked with the likes of Shadow, or the Chaotix and even Eggman at times. But working with and trusting were very different things. She worked with alot of people she didn't really trust at first. Tangle was one of those who had earned her trust and eventually her love. But few others did she ever regard as a friend, let alone trusted them as an ally.

✋ Some Soldiers can only see the mission ahead of them. It's how i was trained to be... if not for Claire i probably would have remained in that mindset... I am not saying we should trust them... just, we should gather more intel before we pass judgement ✋

Whisper could see Tangle's brain was running in overdrive and she couldn't focus it on anything but what happened. Maybe Tangle just needed something to focus on? Something to get her mind off of all her troubles and worries. Though Whisper was not exactly the most well versed in that area. She did have one idea though...

✋I think you are great at Relaxing, but you also have alot to mull over after what happened. We just need something to focus on outside of recent events... like a video game, or maybe we could spar? we haven't done that in awhile... though i guess dinner should come first✋

[tempobaekh]

Jacked and kind super soldier

Pairings: bucky barnes x civilian!f!reader

Warnings: FLUFFF, cutie, bucky being jacked and kind, maybe ooc bucky?

A/N: this trend is the cutest this everrrr. i HAD to write it for my fav super soldier. i also read a rafe cameron one somewhere a bit ago and got inspired by that lol. also I KNOW THAT IS THE HYDRA ARM IN THE PICTURE i just needed a picture of his metal arm kinda flexing.

The weekend was your sanctuary—a blissful retreat where the rest of the world melted away, leaving just you and Bucky in the warm cocoon of your apartment. The soft hum of the shower from the bathroom filled the air as you lounged on the couch, your phone in hand, scrolling through TikTok aimlessly. Alpine was curled up on the armrest, purring softly as if she, too, reveled in the peace.

As you swiped through your feed, a familiar trend popped up—a montage of strong men lifting their girlfriends effortlessly while Sabrina Carpenter’s “Slim Pickins” played in the background. The lyrics floated through your mind: “A boy who’s jacked and kind…”

Each video showed the guy flashing a proud smile, flexing an arm while the girl laughed, clearly enamored by the display of strength. A wistful sigh escaped your lips. The trend wasn’t new; you’d seen it countless times but never mustered the courage to ask Bucky to try it.

Bucky was still adjusting to modern life, often overwhelmed by the ever-changing whirlwind of social media and trends. While he was always a good sport about trying new things, you were careful not to overwhelm him, only occasionally roping him into your TikTok antics. Even then, you had maybe two or three TikToks of you both on your account.

But this trend? This trend stirred a little thrill in you. You couldn’t help but wonder—how would it feel to be hoisted onto his shoulder, his strength so effortless it was almost unfair? Would he smile that soft, proud smile you loved so much? Would he flex just to humor you?

Your lips twisted thoughtfully. Could you even ask? Would he think it was silly?

“Just ask,” you mutter to yourself, biting your lip as you stare at the video again. The sound of the shower shutting off jolts you out of your thoughts. Moments later, Bucky steps out into the living room, his dark hair damp and tousled, a gray t-shirt clinging to his broad chest. Alpine immediately perks up, trotting over to greet him.

“Hey, doll,” he says with a warm smile, rubbing a towel through his hair. “What’re you up to?”

You stand, heart thudding slightly as you approach him. “Buck, can I ask you for a favor?”

His brows furrow slightly, curiosity flickering in his stormy blue eyes. “Of course. What’s up?”

“Well...” you start, clutching your phone like it’s a lifeline. “There’s this trend on TikTok I’ve seen a lot. It’s harmless, I swear! But it involves... you lifting me. For a video.”

Bucky tilts his head, his expression a mix of amusement and confusion. “Lifting you? Like how?”

You quickly explain, pulling up the video and showing him. As he watches, you can see the flicker of understanding cross his face, followed by a soft chuckle.

“So, you want me to do that?” he asks, a teasing grin tugging at his lips.

“Yes,” you say with an embarrassed laugh, looking up at him with hopeful eyes. “But only if you’re okay with it!”

He pauses for a moment, then shrugs. “Why not? Seems harmless enough. And if it makes you happy...”

Your face lights up, and you throw your arms around him. “Thank you, Buck!"

Setting your phone up on the coffee table, you adjust the camera angle until both of you are perfectly framed. The familiar 10-second countdown begins, and you quickly fluff your hair, glancing back at Bucky, who’s standing behind you with an easy smile.

“Ready?” you ask, your voice tinged with excitement.

“Ready when you are, doll.”

The countdown hits zero, and the familiar opening notes of “Slim Pickins” filled the room. Before you can even do a little jump to help him, Bucky’s large hands—one warm, the other cool and firm—grip your waist. In one effortless motion, he hoists you onto his shoulder like you weigh nothing, his flesh arm supporting you.

“Bucky!” you gasped, laughing as you suddenly found yourself perched on his shoulder, your legs dangling. You clung to his shirt instinctively, though you knew he’d never let you fall.

He looked up at you with that soft, proud smile you adored.

Then, to your utter delight, he glances at the camera and flexes his metal arm, the vibranium glinting under the soft light. You giggle uncontrollably, your cheeks aching from the sheer happiness coursing through you.

When the music ends, he gently sets you down, his hands lingering at your waist as he looks at you with a soft smile. “How’d I do?”

“Amazing,” you say breathlessly, darting over to grab your phone and watch the video. The grin on your face only widens as you replay it.

Bucky walks over and wraps his arms around you from behind, resting his chin on your shoulder. “You’re cute when you’re excited, you know that?”

“Thank you for doing this,” you say, leaning back into his warmth.

“Anything for you, doll,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your cheek.

Later, as you upload the video, the comments start pouring in, and each one makes you laugh harder.

Each comment had you laughing harder, while Bucky groaned in mock exasperation. “What is wrong with people?” he muttered, though the pink tint to his ears betrayed his embarrassment.

“Oh, c’mon,” you teased, nudging him playfully. “You’re the internet’s new heartthrob. Own it.”

He rolled his eyes but couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at his lips. “As long as you’re happy, doll.”

You leaned up to kiss his cheek. “Always. Thank you for indulging me.”

“Like I said, anything for you,” he said softly, pulling you into a warm embrace.

You snuggle closer to him, your heart full as he pulls you against his chest. For a moment, the world fades away, leaving just the two of you and the easy comfort of being together.

Note: gifs, pictures, and header DOES NOT belong to me. CREDITS TO THE RIGHTFUL OWNERS!! Feedback and reblog is appreciated.<3

[lupinluvbot]

delivery

pairing: bucky barnes x fem!reader

summary: after moving into his new apartment, bucky barnes is still adjusting to modern day civilian life. but when a small mistake with a food delivery leads to a tense (and sarcastic) encounter with a neighbor, things take an unexpected turn.

word count: 1,206

masterlist

“About damn time,” Bucky muttered under his breath, setting down the last cardboard box with a soft grunt. The edges were fraying, and it had nearly split in half during the climb up the stairs. He stood in the middle of the living room, surrounded by mismatched furniture, open boxes, and the ever-present scent of new paint. The walls were bare. The silence was too loud.

He rolled his shoulders, joints popping as he stretched. The day had been nothing but a haze of unboxing, sorting, and regretting every life decision that led him to think he could move without help. His left arm, though reliable, wasn’t exactly subtle when it came to delicately handling fragile objects. Two mugs and a cereal bowl had already paid the price.

Still, the apartment was his. Really his. No underground base. No shared safe house. No rotating roommates with trigger fingers and haunted eyes. Just him, a half-unpacked apartment in Brooklyn, and Alpine—his fluffy, temperamental white cat—who was currently sprawled out on the one sunny patch of floor like she owned the place.

“Don’t get too comfortable,” Bucky muttered, stepping over her on his way to the kitchen. “You haven’t paid rent.”

Alpine flicked her tail and offered him a slow blink, as if to say, You’re lucky I haven’t left you yet.

He grumbled something under his breath but couldn’t suppress the faint tug of a smile. He poured himself a glass of water, took a long sip, and leaned back against the counter. His stomach growled. Loudly. A reminder that, despite everything, he was still human—still needed sustenance.

The fridge was depressingly empty. A few bottles of water, half a carton of almond milk, and a suspicious-looking Tupperware container he didn’t remember packing. His lip curled in disgust.

Delivery it was.

Bucky settled into the couch, Alpine hopping up beside him and curling into a tight ball against his thigh. She let out a soft purr when he absently stroked her head, his eyes glued to his phone as he scrolled through endless takeout options. His mouth watered just looking at the pictures.

He spent more time than necessary building the perfect order—extra rice, extra guac, no sour cream, and a ridiculous number of churros. It was stupid, but it felt like the first real luxury he’d allowed himself in months. Maybe years.

He hit submit, tossing the phone aside and heading to the shower.

By the time he emerged—steam following him into the hallway—he felt marginally more human. Hair damp, black t-shirt clinging to his chest, Alpine meowing impatiently near the door. She was always the first to detect any sound outside, ears twitching like tiny radar dishes.

“You hear something?” he asked, crouching beside her.

A moment passed.

The doorbell rang.

“Finally,” Bucky grumbled, grabbing his wallet from the counter and striding toward the door with all the energy of a man expecting glory on the other side. He yanked it open, hand outstretched—and froze.

The delivery bag was there, sure. But the person holding it? Not the expected disinterested teenager in a branded baseball cap.

It was you.

You looked thoroughly unimpressed, holding the bag out stiffly like it offended you to touch it. A streak of wind pushed your hair back, and Bucky noticed the way your jaw was clenched, your brows raised in utter disbelief.

“There,” you said flatly.

Without thinking, he snatched the bag out of your hands with a grumble. “Took you long enough.”

You blinked at him. “Excuse me?”

He was already halfway through shutting the door when you stuck your foot in it, stopping the frame just inches from slamming shut.

“Hold on,” you snapped, pointing at him with a finger that might as well have been a dagger. “Before you disappear into your brooding cave, you might want to check the delivery slip, jackass.”

His brow furrowed. He looked down at the paper stapled to the bag—and there it was. Wrong apartment number. You lived in 4B. He lived in 5B. He’d put your address.

“Shit,” he muttered.

“Yeah,” you said, folding your arms. “Exactly. I’ve been waiting for my own food, and instead this lands on my doorstep with no explanation and a guy with a Terminator arm yanking it out of my hands like I’m the one who made a mistake.”

“I didn’t—” Bucky paused, glanced at you, and sighed. He ran a hand through his damp hair, guilt creeping into his gut. “You’re right. I messed up.”

You gave him a look—pointed, cutting, but not entirely hostile. He deserved it.

“Look…” he shifted awkwardly in the doorway, the bag of food hanging at his side. “You hungry?”

Your brow arched.

“I mean… you came all the way up here. Technically it was your door. And it’s a lot of food. Probably too much. And—” he hesitated, glancing down the hallway and then back at you, “I feel like a dick.”

A beat passed. Then two.

You rolled your eyes. “Fine. But if you try to murder me, I’m calling the cops.”

“Deal,” Bucky said, stepping aside.

Alpine was still perched on the armrest when you walked in, watching you like a feline guard dog. You blinked down at her.

“She yours?”

“Alpine,” Bucky said, setting the food down on the coffee table. “She bites if she doesn’t like you.”

“Comforting.”

“She bit Sam once. Drew blood. I was so proud.”

That made you laugh—a small, startled sound that seemed to surprise even you. Bucky smirked, handing you a container of tacos and a drink.

You both sat on the couch, shoulder to shoulder but not quite touching, Alpine still keeping her distance. Conversation was stilted at first—comments about the food, complaints about the building, awkward silences—but slowly, the rhythm returned.

You found out he’d just moved in. He learned you’d lived here for three years. You liked plants; he killed them. You worked nights; he didn’t sleep much. He told you about Alpine—sort of rescued, sort of adopted—and you told him about the stray orange cat you’d been feeding in the alley.

Halfway through your churro, you asked, “So, Bucky… what exactly do you do?”

He paused, churro halfway to his mouth. “Uh… freelance.”

You stared at him.

“Security consulting.”

“Mmhm.”

“With occasional… combat.”

You laughed again, more freely this time. “You’re a terrible liar.”

“Better than I used to be.”

By the time the food was gone and Alpine had hopped into your lap, the tension had vanished entirely. You glanced at the clock and stood with a stretch.

“I should go,” you said reluctantly. “But, thanks for the tacos. And the almost door-slam.”

He stood, too, walking you to the door.

“I owe you one.”

You grinned. “Next time, double-check your damn address.”

As you disappeared down the hall, Bucky lingered by the doorway, watching until you turned the corner.

Alpine rubbed against his leg, meowing pointedly.

“I know, I know,” he muttered, bending down to scoop her up. “She was cute, wasn’t she?”

Alpine purred.

And for the first time in a long time, Bucky smiled like it meant something.

[thisgirlisgaythankyouverymuch]

Chapter 1: The Lights Flickering

Neglected! Sung Jinwoo Reader x Yandere Batfamily

TW: Impending Danger (Implied), Foreshadowing of Loss, Mild Child Endangerment (Implied), Emotional Tension, Dark Themes (Its Gotham so of course its dark)

WC: 1.3k

"Flash News: 

A strange phenomenon has been reported near Robinson Park. Witnesses have all described a blue portal that has suddenly appeared today, giving off an unknown energy. The area that had been said to have spawned this portal is currently off limits and is under investigation by members of the Justice League.

However, sources confirm that even with great effort, none of the members have been able to enter the portal, keeping its origin and purpose for appearing unknown.

Authorities urge civilians to stay clear and far away from the area as the Justice League continues their analysis.

In a shocking turn of events, the sudden emergence of different individuals showing supernatural abilities is said to be coincidental to the emergence of the dungeon. Early reports have been filed around the world, with citizens awakening abilities that defy the laws of Science. Although this would have been a shock, only a few hundred have been reported to have been granted this ability. The researchers of STAR labs have been analyzing these individuals and have been testing their abilities near the said portal in Robinson Park.

Although research and reports have been scarce, resources say that the labs will further investigate the situation at hand."

.

.

.

"A new portal crisis, huh? Well, isn't that interesting?" (M/N) says as they pick up their child, who is watching TV, giggling as the little one, no older than four, tries to wriggle out of their grasp, eager to keep watching the news. Holding the child close, (M/N) carries them into the kitchen. Footsteps echo from a nearby room as they begin preparing breakfast.

As the mother begins to serve breakfast, a low grumble from a male could be heard, laced with annoyance and irritation, but also the heavy drag of someone who didn't get enough sleep. The said male then went to give two of the most precious people in his life good morning kisses. One accepted the affection with a hum, eyes still half-lidded but a smile present, while the smaller one gave out an irritated grumble, clearly more interested in the bear pancakes their mom had made.

"Rough night, dear?" (M/N) said, placing down the plate of bacon and eggs as she poured a cup of coffee for her husband. (F/N) nodded and sat down at the table, taking a sip from his mug. "The lab called me last night," he said quietly, the steam from his coffee swirling around his tired eyes. "They said I need to help with the investigation about the portal in the park. Looks like they’re bringing in more researchers for this one." He took a bite of bacon, chewing thoughtfully as he glanced at his wife. "What about you? Did they reach out to you about it?" His brow furrowed a bit. "I hope not, because you’re already busy with this little gremlin." He pointed lightly at the child, smiling at the kid, who was completely focused on their pancakes.

"They did." (M/N) replied, wiping off the syrup smeared on the child's cheek. "But I rejected the offer. I can't carry on more tasks when I've got my hands full, especially with (reader)." She then looked at her husband before looking back at the little gremlin devouring the pancakes, syrup sticking onto the sleeves of the shirt she was wearing. "I tried to find a nanny... didn't work out." The woman then stood up and took the plates from the table before cleaning the dishes near the kitchen sink. "Although Mrs. Wetherby said she’d be more than happy to watch over (Reader)." (M/N) says as she dried her hands with a towel. The man then hummed before he stood up, scooping the child up and going to the bathroom to start the bath for the gremlin.

As the man adjusted the water temperature, waiting for the tub to fill, a quiet thought surfaced.

“Five years old next week, huh?” he murmured to himself, a soft smile tugging at his lips. He reached for the bubble bath and poured a generous amount into the stream, watching the foamy suds rise.

Behind him, the child’s eyes lit up as they realized what was happening.

“Bubbles!” they squealed before darting out of the room at full speed.

The man chuckled, shaking his head. “Guess that means toy reinforcements.”

He knelt by the tub, swirling the water gently as the bubbles grew, the air filling with the scent of lavender and plastic. Despite the early morning stress and the heavy topic lingering just outside the door, for this moment, just this one, everything felt simple. Whole.

.

.

.

"Alright, I'm heading to work now, my love" (F/N) says as he takes his coat and bag near the front door, not before pressing a kiss on the side of his wife's cheek and their child's forehead. "I'll see you at work, alright?" The woman then nodded her head before calling after him, "(F/N)! Can you stop by the cafe for my coffee, please?" (M/N) shouted to him. He then rolled down the window of the driver's side before shooting her a thumbs up and a wink. The mother giggled at his antics before looking over towards her child, waving to their Father, chuckling softly as the child ran towards the car, knocking on the door of the car before hugging (F/N). "Take care, Papa! Please come back safely." the child said as their hair was ruffled by the said father, getting a bit irritated but also laughing gleefully.

As the woman looked at the scene, she couldn't help but feel a little worried. The thing that appeared gave her the feeling of fear and anxiety, fearing for something that she didn't know yet could already feel through her bones. She then looked over again before taking the child and looking towards the car, driving off, watching as she scooped the kid up, walking away when the car was out of sight. She then changed her clothes for work before taking the papers from her desk, stuffing the papers in her bag, and picking up the child and the things they needed before getting dropped off at the sweet old woman's home.

The sweet old woman had insisted on helping, having spotted the dark circles under her eyes days ago. “Even though I’m old, I can still take care of children, you know?” Mrs. Wetherby had said with a wink. “Besides, it’s quite lonely eating apple pie all by myself. I thought I might share some with (Reader), they do have a sweet tooth, don’t they?” laughing softly as she gestured to the mother to enter her home. On the table looked to be a freshly baked pie, the smell of cinnamon, sugar, and apples filling the room, embracing the mother with a comforting feeling as she looked over the table. The pie had looked like it had only been pulled out of the oven, the crust perfectly golden brown and flaky, the apples inside gleaming beneath the soft sunlight that entered the room, sticky-sweet glaze covering the apples as she took a big slice of the pie, wrapping it up before giving it the the mother. "You know you could ask me for help, right, dear?" Mrs. Wetherby told the mother. Although they were in Gotham, a terrifying place, the fear seemed to disappear as the mother looked over to the old woman, who was smiling at her, her hazel brown eyes looking so warm, wrinkles forming at the side of her eyes, and her black hair turning gray, silence enveloped the mother, but not the akward type, It was like a warm blanket hugging her after a long day at work, where you can finally relax after working rigurous hours. With that, the mother agreed, thanking the old woman with a smile as big as hers.

So, with everything they needed, the mother soon took off with her child walking beside her on the sidewalk, heading straight to the woman's home, feeling content with her small family and Mrs. Wetherby, who was also now becoming a part of it as well.

But this contentment would soon disappear, as the Shadows of Gotham would soon sink its bare fangs on her beloved family, a cruel punishment they didn't deserve but was placed on them.

Oh, My Dear Gotham, why must you be so cruel.....

A/N: Heyyo, Everyone! decided to post the first part early as it is rotting in my drafts for weeks now, I had the motivation to finish this today, and felt like I should post it so I could start on other chapters. As usual, this fanfic is for fun and for entertainment only. I do not own any of the characters unless said otherwise. English is NOT my first language.

Taglist: @thelovelymoonlightofthemidnight @snowy-violet @cssammyyarts @the-dumber-scaramouche @bluevenus19

@bunniotomia @iansimpsforeveryone @fortunatelydifferentqueen @noisytoadhoundzipper-blog

[lunasfics]

Found Family - Under the Blossoms

summary: You’re new to that concept, it’s one thing you have yet to fully adjust to. The concept of people actively choosing to love you as you are, people who care if you disappear without a trace, people who see your flaws and shortcomings and still choose to see the good in you. 

this is sort of a continuation to found family! read here

pairings: Batfam x f! Reader, Supers x f! Reader

word count: 2k

request: "I neeeeeeed more Wayne-Kent daughter stuff. Your first post was truly amazing. Can I request a fic gets really upset about something and she hasn’t been home in a couple days. Everyone is looking for her but she’s hiding somewhere far away, maybe in Japan surrounded by cherry blossoms and a koi pond in the forest. Clark finds her and brings Bruce with him to see if she’s okay. You can change anything that you want but just the premise of the reader missing. Thank you!!! " requested by @ashdoctor

a/n: hi! i would first and foremost like to thank the sender of this request because I have had the worst writers block and this kind pulled me out of it :).also this not not proofread so sorry in advance for any typos,,,, anyway, this is kinda focused a bit on bruce and y/n's relationship cause they're both like. fucked up and complicated lolol but yeah I hope you like it! ALSO! i based the old japanese couple on a haikyuu character kita shinsuke, cause why not i thought it'd be fun

“Shit.” 

“Well I’ve flown through all of Gotham and Metropolis twice, and did a once-over around the country, not a trace. I’m getting really worried.” 

“She has to be somewhere, how long have we been searching?” 

“Going on day 3.” 

“Fuck.” 

“I’ve checked every landmark I’ve taken her to see during our training, I haven’t seen her once.” 

“We’ll keep looking.” 

The comms have been flooded for the past two days with nervous chatter and consistent but pointless updates in regards to your unknown whereabouts. Clark and Connor have been doing the physical searching while Bruce has hacked into any and every surveillance camera he could in hopes of the system picking up your face somewhere, anywhere.

Your siblings have taken over Gotham patrols, Barbara occasionally taking over the online search while Alfred forces Bruce to get some sleep. 

You’ve been living with him for well over six months now, adjustment has gotten easier for you, and you’d gotten more comfortable in going off on your own to explore. Now, Clark never has a problem with this, encouraging you to explore as much as you could, “The world has so much to offer, soon you’ll understand why we care so much for keeping it safe” he’d say. 

Bruce however felt it was reckless to use your powers so casually, you shouldn’t depend on them the way you do, that it's a liability to your civilian life. It’s not something you should be so careless about, “Your safety and well-being is not someone you should take lightly.” 

Naturally, you are too stubborn to see this was purely out of worry, that he actually cares for you. You’re new to that concept, it’s one thing you have yet to fully adjust to. The concept of people actively choosing to love you as you are, people who care if you disappear without a trace, people who see your flaws and shortcomings and still choose to see the good in you. 

Maybe that’s why you reacted the way you did during your last conversation with Bruce. The seething anger that heated your bones, the dense lump that formed in your throat as you spoke. The unpleasant pit in your stomach as you slammed the cave door behind you, the sweaty palms and the inexplicable reflex within you that told you to keep yourself guarded. To not let these people close enough to stab you in the back, to protect yourself and your skills. Do not allow yourself to be held back.  

So now here you are, on some farmland in a tiny town in Japan. You weren’t sure this town has had access to any recent tech for at least the past ten years. It was a refreshing change, it reminded you of all your favorite things about Smallville. The smell of the crops and the way the cherry blossoms bloomed along the outskirts of the fields in the spring. The pink of the petals was soft and peaceful, the wind blowing softly through them released a pleasant floral smell that made you feel at peace. 

Arriving there was an experience, you just flew and flew until you found yourself in a field at the crack of dawn, opening your eyes to an elderly Japanese couple standing over you, concern etched into their aged faces, confusion was evident in the way they spoke to you, but so was kindness. 

Mr and Mrs Kita were kind people, taking you in without question because they knew you were in need. They told you their story, about their grandson and how he goes to school in the city.

And so they invited you in and were delighted to find that you speak Japanese, although their dialect was different from yours, they welcomed you with open arms. You’ve worked in their fields the past two days, finding peace within yourself, and as nice as it was, you missed your family. 

Back in the house, the couple observes you as they do everyday, you pay no mind as you continue to harvest crops. 

“She’s a bit of an odd one, isn't she?”

“I quite like her, honest worker, though she seems as though she carries a heavy burden.” 

“Yes, I noticed that. She's quite adorable, she almost reminds me of our Shinsuke.”

“I do see it Dear, perhaps they’ll meet when he visits for the summer.” 

“I do hope so.”

“I’ve got something.” Bruce stood in his seat, gloved hands clicking away relentlessly as the batcomputer, pulling up a global map of movements that have broken the sound barrier within the past week.  

Clark stood behind him, eyeing the screen that was littered with red lines, the United States being full to the brim given their recent search. There were more streaks around the world leading to the landmarks, all which Clark could recall making. However there was one that stood out to him, a singular streak that abruptly stops in the middle of Hyogo, Japan. 

“What could she possibly be doing in the middle of Japan” 

“I really don’t know Clark but we need to go now. Wait for me outside, I’ll update the others.” 

All that was going through Bruce’s mind was seeing you again, having a rational, calm conversation where he isn’t so wound up from a failed mission and where you don’t feel so backed into a corner. 

Bruce Wayne isn’t very much a man of expressing feelings, granted, over time he has improved immensely, but he is nowhere near perfect and neither are you. You’re two people, a father and his daughter who are trying their best to be better for each other and for those you love. 

Bruce is a man who at times tends to lack patience, there are not many things he isn’t good at, unfortunately being emotionally vulnerable is one of the things he could use improvement on. 

That’s probably why he let you go that night instead of chasing after you, and it’s probably why he stayed silent while Lois was telling him off when he first told her and Clark that you were missing. 

If he’s learned anything in his time as a father, it’s that he’d do better, and he will continue to be a better father today than he was yesterday. 

Regardless, he knew he needed to get his daughter.

For one hour every day, at one o’ clock, you went and sat under the cherry blossoms, inhaling the comforting floral fumes, feeling the defined rays of sunlight peak through the branches of the tree and onto your soft skin. 

You knew the soft breeze by heart now, the way it felt softly dancing through your hair, the cool sensation of it against your hairline as it kissed away the beads of sweat formed by the day of work in the sun. You had decided last night that today you would go home, as peaceful as it was there you missed your family. You missed your dads and brothers and sisters, you missed the civilians you’d help on patrol. You missed helping people, but more than that you missed your family. You missed baking for them and laughing with them, learning about life and society with them by your side every step of the way. You had decided that today at sundown. you would leave everything in order and organized for the Kitas and bid your farewells, of course you would visit soon, they’re  kind people who took care of you when you needed it. 

You immediately knew something was off when you felt a sudden gust of air, uncharacteristic for the climate in this area. You knew for certain something was off when you heard the familiar swoosh of that cape. 

You turned slowly and sure enough, you saw Bruce, walking towards you in long powerful strides, Clark not far behind him. 

His steps are aggressive, almost sloppy, his strides large and powerful, his walk having more purpose than you’d ever seen it. 

You prepared yourself for the lecture, the mental image of his condescending glare as he breaded you for your lack of self preservation, your recklessness, how this could have compromised your identity, how you're stupid, so so stupid. How you don’t think. How you’re not worth it, a lost cause-

Two strong arms wrapped themselves around you before you knew what was happening. The scent of cologne and the faint smell of metal filling your senses, why isn’t he yelling at me? 

“I was so worried. We all were. Please, don’t do that again, we’ll talk it through next time. I’m sorry.” His voice was gentle, not what you were expecting, his voice was kind, so much so that you felt your eyes glaze over, a wet sensation making its way down your cheek. . You were crying. There was that puddle of warmth pooling in your chest, that sense of security and safety. Clark came up behind you and held you tight, the feeling intensified. 

Ah. Now it made sense. His steps weren't aggressive, they were nervous, emotional.

“You really had us scared there, kiddo. Next time, come to Metropolis, or Smallville, or the tower, anywhere with anyone, but talk to us. We’re always going to be here for you because that’s what family is.” 

Tears fell from your eyes, though you didn't understand why, tears were typically for sadness, but you weren’t sad. These were tears of disbelief, of joy, of love. How funny it is that you never, not once thought you could possibly be cared for like this, that you could ever obtain a proper family like the kinds you learned about. You decided then and there that you would be damned if you ever lost them, if you ever left this. 

“I’m sorry I left, I shouldn’t have. I was going to go back today– the people. The people here have been taking care of me, I was going to help them and say goodbye.” 

Clark shook his head, “You don’t need to apologize, it’s okay, Y/n. Why don’t you go say goodbye, and we can have dinner with Ma and Pa. Sound good?” 

You nodded gingerly, feeling like a small child, you never got a childhood, you didn’t get coddled nor did you get spoken to in a loving manner. You were never reassured nor were you truly shown kindness until the night they saved you from that lab. 

The world is a cold and scary place. You’d seen some of humanity's worst, you were created by them, you were intended to be one of them. You’ve found that within the world there’s kindness, there’s love, there’s peace. 

You pulled away from them and made your way through the field and into the house, smiling at Mr and Mrs Kita sitting at the dinner table playing a game of chess, Mrs. Kita stood and smiled at you, as if she already knew. 

“I want to thank you both sincerely for your hospitality, I can’t thank you enough for the kindness you have shown me,” your voice shook but you continued, “I promise to visit again soon, and anything you need, please let me know and I will give it to you.” 

Mr. Kita laughed and shook his head, “You owe us nothing, if anything we owe you, the fields look better than I’ve ever seen them, you’re always welcome here.” 

Mrs. Kita smacked his arm lightly, and smiled and pulled you in for a hug, “That isn’t the only reason, what he means is we will always welcome you here with open arms, Dear, be safe.” 

You hugged them and retreated back to your dads, joining them on their way back to Kansas, where your loving family was already waiting.

Bonus!

“My goodness! Did you see that scary man in the cape outside? How cold he looked.” Mrs. Kita shuddered as she laid next to her husband. 

“Yes, I did, and my, that bulky fellow in the blue? He could do without the leggings.” 

“I think they do him quite a service… from behind at least.”

“My goodness Yumie, have some class Dear.” He shook his head.

She laughed, “Well, you don’t have it like you used to, old man. I’d like something to look at every so often, why don't you go buy yourself some leggings?” 

He scoffed, “Not happening, Woman. I don’t want to talk about this anymore. They best not keep Y/n from visiting or I’ll fly to the states and get her myself.” 

The room erupted into giggles and laughter, it was peaceful in the small farm in Hyogo that night.

Taglist! Went ahead and just reused the one from the first chapter! If you'd like to be removed, send an ask to let me know!

Taglist- @one-green-frog @bonniecat @minnieearsposts @chickentenderx @murkyponds @loserwithnofriends @ilikefanfics4 @fangirlvibez @instantplaiddream @lovelywritersgarden @calicocat45 @strawberrycreamh @sappynappysworld @zyuuuu @allycat4458 @lovelypitasworld @batfamlover @pterodactyl-hater @american-idiot21 @starlets-things @th1s-b1tch-1s-dead @dontgivemeyourname @normal-internet-user @sillyfinn @lostgirlsstuff @llvmakk @princess76179 @vanessa-boo @1lellykins @blitzythefanvergentpitsterthings @samibrewss @pickyblue12 @thetiredtoad0-0 @lacklustertrashbag @biadoll21 @blublock404

[anyarose011]

She Looks Like the Real Thing (She Tastes Like the Real Thing)

->Bucky Barnes x Single Mom!Reader

Summary: The day after the Void Incident is quieter than one would expect. While you spent the past night stitching up your boyfriend's wounds, and finally (finally) opening up to him about what happened, the next morning is filled with repairing hearts that were once broken. The night...well, it shows what comes after kissing and making up.

Part 2 of 2 (Masterlist)

Warning(s): P in V Sex, Oral Sex (m and f receiving), Face-Sitting, Breeding Kink, Past Trauma, Implications to Past SA [including CSA], Abusive Parent, Canon Typical Violence, Past Coercion, Mention of Abortion, Past Torture, (Come on guys, it’s the chapter where everyone trauma dumps).

Yes, I am using the Phoebe Bridgers cover because I love her (and I am also biased and heard it before the original). This is a bit heavier of a chapter, and I did my best to be both gentle with the subject matters, without sanitizing anything. Dialogue is also something I try to capture to its realism, adding in the strange filler words and pauses. Again, I hope this gives a more realistic POV to civilian life in the MCU (Feat. Some inspiration from "The Pitt"; as in, showing stressful situations happening to regular people :))

Word Count: 7.8k

You didn’t remember what your nightmare was when you woke up. All you knew was that Clementine was no longer beside you.

For a moment, you forgot where you were. Then, as your eyes adjusted thanks to the princess night light in the corner of the small bedroom, your heart stopped beating so fast when you saw that you were in your daughter’s bedroom.  Alpine was still asleep at your feet. Damn cat. Rubbing your eyes, you looked down at the pink alarm clock on the nightstand.

10:58pm

You were only asleep for four hours. It wasn’t that late, but it was still the same, horrible day.

It was then you saw a glass of liquid beside the clock along with a note.

“For Mommy”

You brought the cup to your lips and closed your eyes at the taste.

Juice. She poured your favorite juice.

The sentiment made your heart full, and you finished the glass. Bringing yourself out of your daughter’s bedroom, you glanced into yours. Sure enough, Clementine was comfortably laid in your bed. It was only then you noticed you hadn’t changed out of your dance clothes, so as quietly as you could, you changed into a set of your favorite pajamas.

You wandered back out to the kitchen, remembering the dreadful mess you made earlier. That had been taken care of too. Clem cleaned the floor and moved the soup into a Tupperware and placed the dirty pot into the sink.

A light ‘thump’ came from outside.

Your heart stammered for a moment before jumping into action. As quietly as you could, you took a frying pan out of the cabinet, and tiptoed to the front door. Nothing else came from outside of it, but taking a quick breath, you pulled the door open, raising the pan above you.

Bucky fell on his back into the room.

Once he hit the floor, his eyes snapped open and he was on his feet.

“Jesus!” You both whispered.

Then you spoke first. “What the hell?!”

He placed a hand over his heart, calming his own breathing. “Good evening.”

“Were you outside there the whole time?” You prodded, relaxing.

 “I would’ve stayed until you came out.”

“Why?”

He looked at you as if you’d grown another head. “I don’t know. I mean, well, you didn’t answer any of my calls after a collective trauma, you lied about experiencing that trauma, you lied about Clementine experiencing it, you-.”

“-Okay, I get it.” You sighed. “Look, we’re tired can we just-?”

Bucky made another face, and you weren’t having it. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“I just want to sleep.” You borderline begged.

He nodded, and clenched his jaw. This was strange. You’d never seen him make that face before; it wasn’t the one he’d make if he was annoyed. It was then your eyes traveled to his chest, and you saw a wet spot on his black shirt.

“Shit.” Left your lips, immediately knowing.

Bucky said your name when you set the pan down and took his hand, dragging him into the bathroom. Flipping on the lights and shutting the door, you looked back at him.

“Take off your shirt.”

He didn’t resist. Sighing, he slipped it off, his dog tags catching onto the collar before falling back against what hair he had on his chest. Sure enough, a new wound was added to his body; a few of them, actually. While most were deep bruises and minor abrasions, the worst was a laceration the length of the top of your thumb to your wrist, blood still seeping out.

“I’ve had worse.” Was the first thing he said.

“Oh,” you mocked him. “I guess you’re good to sleep outside then. Sit down.”

He chuckled. “What, you gonna stitch it up?”

“Yes.”

“Didn’t take you for a secret nurse.”

You took a cloth off the towel rod by the shower, bunching it up and placing it over his wound. “Hold it.”

He listened. You kneeled in front of the cabinet sink, opening it and immediately finding a needle and surgical thread. Bucky made a face.

“Why do you have that?”

“Has the bleeding stopped?”

“Doll-.”

“-Has it stopped?”

He removed the cloth. “Yeah.”

You took another clean cloth and ran it under warm water and soap. “This will sting.”

You placed it over the wound, cleaning it. He sucked in a breath from the temperature but remained still. He said your name.

“Why do you have the professional stuff?”

You stopped cleaning, avoiding his gaze. “I…I didn’t know when you were going to go back to fighting but…I don’t know, I wanted to be prepared.”

He frowned. “I didn’t even know I was going to have to do all of this.”

“Call it hyper vigilance.” You sighed, taking out the needle and putting the surgical thread through the eye. “This is really going to sting.”

“Not my first time.” He offered a teasing smile. “You practiced stitching too?”

“No, I’ve only watched movies and sewed on hundreds of ribbons for pointe shoes.” You were serious.

He hummed, and you began to stitch him up. You wondered if his pain tolerance was enhanced by the serum; he barely flinched. He brought his right hand to your cheek, whispering.

“What happened today?”

Your stitching stopped momentarily as the reminder plagued your mind. Still, before you could disappear into the memories, the feel of Bucky’s thumb caressing your chin kept you anchored.

Perhaps…now you should tell him.

“It felt like Narnia.” Were the first words you said, continuing your stitches. “I don’t know how long I was in…whatever hell it was, but when I was out of it, I was still in the dance studio, holding Clem. She-she couldn’t talk. She had this look in her eyes I…”

You swallowed thickly. “There were forty children there. As young as kindergarten, as old as high school…and just three adults. Bucky it…I had to rush from one room to comfort a girl who threw up after crying, only to then be pulled to a little boy whose nose started bleeding because he was sobbing so hard.”

It all came out as you treated him.

If they wanted to, the kids could talk to a teacher about what they saw within their ‘nightmare’ (that was what they were calling it. For once, there wasn’t any news or information on exactly what had happened).

And you heard everything.

“The best thing would be if their dog died.” You couldn’t look at him. “Hell, even if it was a family member. I just…I never knew that-I mean, I did know…” You swallowed the oncoming tears. “Is it bad that I wish I never knew so many of them were…were…”

“No.” He kissed your cheek. “It’s not bad at all.”

“I wish…”

One of the teachers, Leslie, called your name. You shut your eyes tightly as you held a sobbing, ten-year-old Hannah. You looked over your shoulder.

“Yeah?”

“Can…can I talk to you? Alone?”

You pulled away from the little girl, wiping her tears. “I’m gonna talk to Miss Leslie, okay?”

She only nodded, lying down on the floor and staring up at the ceiling. You walked to the corner of the green room out of range (hopefully) from the kids.

Leslie’s voice shook. “I…what I saw-.”

“-You told me you needed a hand with the kids in here, and I’m already helping you.” You didn’t snap but spoke blatantly. “I left Sammy in charge of the blue room. She’s not a teacher, she’s a student. I’m sorry, but I don’t have time to talk about what either of us saw.”

Tears began to fall from her eyes. “I’m sorry. I-I don’t know if, I can’t…”

You bit your tongue, taking a deep breath. “Just give me ten minutes, okay? I’ll go check on my room, then the pink room and-.”

The sound of a mirror shattering in the blue room caused a few screams to erupt from the younger children in the room you were in.

You shushed them and left quickly. Racing into the blue room, you saw nearly all of the kids huddled on the other side of the room. Over on the mirror side, you saw a high school girl hunched over the broken glass on the floor.

“Sammy.” You called, worry written upon your face.

She looked at you, rage seeping from her eyes as well as tears. “I still feel his hands on me.”

“Jesus.” Bucky sighed.

You shook your head, nearing the end of suturing. “All of that was thirty minutes after the fact. A lot of parents came a little later. So, we went from forty kids to nineteen.”

Clementine hadn’t said a word to you ever since everything came crashing down. It wasn’t her fault; you barely had time to check up on her, and that was all on you. Sammy’s mom came to pick her up, so that lessened some of the anxiety; only some of it.

“Hi baby.” You cooed, sitting beside Clem, who had her math notebook open. She hummed, looking up to glance at her opened textbook but not at you. You forced a smile. “You’re doing homework?”

“It’s due tomorrow.” Was her response.

“You’re not going to school tomorrow.” You rested your head against the wall.

“I wanna go.”

You furrowed your brow. “Don’t-don’t you want to skip?”

“No, I wanna see my friends.”

“Sweetie,” you sighed. “no one’s going tomorrow.”

She didn’t say anything.

“Clem?”

It was like you weren’t there.

Biting your lip, you placed your hand on her shoulder. “Do you wanna talk about what you saw?”

She shook her head.

“It might help.”

“I don’t wanna.”

“Alright.” You agreed, feeling your eyes water. Standing, you fixed your skirt. “I’m gonna go take care of something, but I’ll be right back.”

“Okay.”

You walked over to the teachers in the front of the room, both in a circle with a few of the elementary kids.

“Hey, I need to take a break; just three minutes tops.”

Leslie nodded. “Yeah go, we got this.”

“Can I take mine after?” Suzie, the other teacher, asked.

“Of course.” You answered. “Thanks guys.”

You finished with the stitches. Still, you didn’t move. Bucky took the materials from your hands.

“What happened?” He asked.

Instinctively, you held your side. His hands wandered to the bottom of your shirt. “Okay?”

You nodded. Gently, he pulled the shirt over your head, leaving the top half of your body completely bare to him. You looked down and saw a nasty bruise forming along your side. It wasn’t as bad as you thought it’d be, but it was still there, and it ached.

“Okay?” Bucky hovered his lips over it, and you nodded. “I need to hear you, honey.”

“It’s okay.” You whispered. He kissed the darkness along your side with a softness you don’t think you’d ever felt before. You sighed into his touch you had missed for months, your hands disappearing into his hair.

“What happened?” He asked again, but even just from his tone, you knew the hidden question: ‘Who did this to you?’

You were in the stairwell on the second floor when you saw her. A woman who reeked of cigarettes and wore a rattled look in her eyes. You stopped on the stairs, standing above her.

“Are you one of the parents?” You questioned.

She stopped where she was, nodding. “Yeah. Sorry I’m so late I just…everything today-.”

“-No, I understand.” You nodded. “What’s your child’s name?”

“Hannah. Hannah Wylie.”

You had been at the studio in Manhattan for less than a day, and yet you already knew that was not Hannah’s last name. The previous conversation you had with the small girl hit you.

Her birth mother was…unstable. She would hold and praise Hannah for doing her schoolwork one day, then break a dish the next day just because Hannah forgot to put it in the sink. There’d be no outside reason anyone, even her father, could see her change in behavior.

It had gotten physical one night, Hannah’s mother punching her after she said she was being mean. That was enough for her father to divorce her mother and miraculously gain full custody.

“We don’t have a Hannah Wylie.” Was all you said. It was possible this woman was the mother, or that she was at the wrong place. “I know there’s another studio a few blocks away-.”

“-No.” She took a step up. “You have her.”

“What’s your name, ma’am?”

“You have my daughter, and I’m taking her home.” She harshened her tone. “I’ve been through hell today.”

“We all have.”

With no warning she dashed up the stairs past you. You turned on your heel, calling after her as you ran. She was on the fourth flight, one more away from the dance studio, when you caught onto her hoodie. She immediately started thrashing, screaming at the top of her lungs.

“Get the fuck off of me!” She yelled over and over.

“Ma’am-!”

She turned in your hold and kicked you in the stomach, sending you backwards onto the stairs, landing on your side. With the wind knocked out of you, you moaned, watching as she ran.

Gritting your teeth, you forced yourself onto your feet and grabbed the railing, pulling yourself up each step. Regaining your strength, you sprinted up the last set of stairs the moment you saw her just about to touch the steel door leading to the studio.

You grabbed the back of her hair, yanking her behind you before throwing the door open and closed once you were inside. The steel door rattled as you locked it, and the most guttural scream you had ever heard followed behind it.

All the teachers and students flooded out of the rooms, some coddling you as you bent over yourself to catch your breath. Hannah hid herself in the back of the group as the unmistakable voice penetrated through the walls, and the door kept shaking.

“She can’t get in, right?” Leslie questioned.

“There’s no way.” Suzie shook her head.

Your chest constricted with each breath you took, and the world was turning darker and lighter at the same time as you hunched over yourself, your breathing becoming erratic.

You didn’t remember when the screaming or the rattling of the door stopped. All you could feel was several little arms wrapped around your body.

For once…it was strangely comforting.

“When did she leave?” Bucky asked as you both laid in the bathtub. It was a peculiar sight; the water wasn’t on, and you both were topless as you leaned against his chest. You were hesitant of course, not wanting to cause more pain than he was already in. He said his pain tolerance was high enough, and it would be nothing more than some tenderness.

Tenderness he wouldn’t mind dealing with for your own comfort.

“I think a few minutes after?” You replied. “We got the kids back into one room so we could keep an eye on them, and it all just stopped. Everything that happened took place in an hour, and after thirty minutes, all the kids were finally sent home.”

He pressed his lips to the back of your head. “Longest hour of your life?”

“One of them.”

You remained in a comfortable silence. That was one of the things you missed; how you could be quiet together.

His name left your lips. “I’m sorry about what I said before I went to DC-.”

“-Not tonight.” You looked up at him. “Please I…I’m tired.”

He gave a watery smile, but nodded. “Okay.”

“Tomorrow.” You kissed his jaw. “I promise.”

“I’ll make breakfast.”

“Clem would love that.”

Neither of you got out of the bathtub right away, still just content in being in each other’s arms again. When Bucky’s right arm started to fall asleep, that was when you finally put your clothes back on and left. He took the couch without any complaints, even though you jokingly offered Clementine’s unoccupied child bed.

Surprisingly, Alpine snuggled onto his chest the moment he laid down, and you wished each other goodnight. You fell asleep before your head hit the pillow.

Clementine awoke before you, but stayed in bed until you woke up. Despite how big she was getting, you still took her into your arms and carried her on your hip out of your bedroom and into the living room. She quickly forced herself out of them once she saw Bucky sleeping on the couch. She crawled onto his chest, promptly waking him up.

You’d never say it aloud, but you were terrified for a moment. Aware that you yourself would panic if suddenly awoken by someone on your chest, you didn’t even want to imagine how Bucky would react with everything he’d been through.

Yet, he grinned first before opening his eyes and then taking her into his arms. She squealed as he tickled her sides, and that was the first time you felt warmth in your chest in the last twenty-four hours.

It was the first time she smiled too.

“Alright,” he grunted, standing. “what have we got for breakfast?”

“Mama said we’d make chocolate chip waffles on Friday.” Clem followed him into the kitchen.

“It’s close enough.” He smiled.

You wrapped your arm around Clem. “Do you want me to-?”

“-No, no.” He opened the pantry door. “I got it. You two just sit pretty.”

“I prefer to stand.” Clementine sassed.

“Suit yourself.” You flopped on the couch, reaching for the remote and turning on the TV. “Bucky, you want me to help with anything?”

“You just made yourself comfortable.” He smirked, taking out the flour and baking powder.

Sure enough, Clementine shoved her way onto the couch beside you. She’d glue her eyes to the television as you and Bucky chatted. It was almost frightening how easy it was to fall back into conversation as if all of yesterday hadn’t happened. There’d be times you’d look back at your daughter and see how her eyes would glaze over, and all you would have to do is brush her hair with your fingers and she’d come back to you.

Breakfast was served, and the lightheartedness returned. Thankfully, Clementine hadn’t said anything about school, and you texted your boss in Brooklyn that you weren’t coming in that day; to which she immediately replied with “No one is. Take care of yourself.”

Bucky would sometimes glance at his phone when a text or call came through but wouldn’t answer. After breakfast, Bucky took a shower as you and Clem had decided the three of you would take a trip to Sunset Park.

“You can take that if you need to.” You reminded Bucky as you were getting ready to leave and he got a call for the second time that morning.

“It’s not serious.” He reassured, tying your shoes after you tried to yourself but hissed from the pain in your side. “It’s just Alexie freaking out that Ava and Walker are fighting.”

“Are they gonna kill each other?” Clementine asked, holding her foot out for Bucky to tie her shoe.

He snorted. “You’re a big girl and can tie your own. And no, they’re just bickering.”

“Like how we all do?”

“Exactly, pumpkin.”

The streets seemed to be much deader that day. Not like how it was after the Blip, but like how it was after the 2012 attacks. Not as crowded as usual, but not to the point where you were the only ones outside. Even if the Void event (that’s what you read they were calling it on the news) only happened in Manhattan, it still took a toll on New York as a whole.

Damn…maybe you should move to DC. No, if it weren’t for the Hydra attack a decade ago, then it would be for the former president turning into a Red Hulk merely months ago…

…Was anywhere in the world safe?

The three of you made it to the park safely, and Clementine made a beeline for the playground. You and Bucky sat on a bench nearby and felt a sigh of relief that Clem managed to make friends with the few kids also there.

Bucky spoke first. “Do you wanna talk now?”

“There’s a lot.” You answered.

“I know.” He sighed. “I’m sorry, let’s start there.”

“Sorry for what?”

“Bringing a bunch of strangers home unannounced, not going to your work to-.”

“-I didn’t tell you to come over,” you shook your head. “and I didn’t answer any of your calls. That’s not your fault.”

“Doesn’t matter.” He looked at you. “I should’ve found a way to find you.”

You slipped your hand into his. “I’m an adult, so please stop trying to hold the weight of the world on your shoulders.”

He took a deep breath, relaxing from your touch. “And I’m sorry for all the shit I said before leaving.”

You swallowed thickly, breaking your gaze. Biting your tongue, you did everything within you to keep tears at bay, and you succeeded; even when Bucky wrapped his arm around your shoulders, bringing you closer to him.

He didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to.

“Clementine’s father was my teacher at the Ballet.” Was the first thing you confessed, and you didn’t know why.

You felt Bucky tense. You had barely said anything about Clementine’s birth father, and Bucky had never asked; always wanted you to speak first.

“I…I saw him in the Void,” you said next. “I saw myself in his office and…God, I was twenty-two again. We’d been together for a month or two at that point, it was going to be my first principal role, and…I was good, I was really good. We were celebrating, and he just asked me out of the blue to…you know.”

Bucky hid his face in your hair, nodding. You could practically feel the blood boil under his skin.

“I didn’t want to, but he just kept begging and begging and I wanted him to stop…” You sighed. “I just wanted him to leave me alone.”

You felt Bucky’s lips caress your scalp.

“The next room I walked into was when I found out I was pregnant with Clem.” You swallowed, leaning into him more. “I told him, and we talked about getting an abortion. I thought about it; I really did…but when I’d ever bring up maybe, just maybe, not getting it, he’d say I shouldn’t sacrifice everything I worked for. When I told him it was my choice at the end of the day, he said that it wasn’t serious, and I was overreacting when I called him out.”

You tried to whisper it, so Bucky wouldn’t hear a familiar word. But he heard it.

‘Overreact’.

“I saw us a few months ago when I went to the last place.” You still didn’t look at him. “It was just another loop. ‘You’re leaving, and you’d sacrifice us all for a shitty run at being a politician’, I kept saying, ‘You’re overreacting’. You said…”

He shook his head. “I shouldn’t have said that-.”

“-You didn’t know.”

“You were right, you were angry-.”

“-But I didn’t say it right.” You admitted. “I could’ve told you how I felt without insulting you.”

“I should’ve never left.”

You pulled away, cupping his cheeks. “I never should’ve brought the argument home, where Clem heard it all.”

His face fell upon the realization. You nodded. “Yes, I was incredibly hurt by what you said, but I’m more ashamed of what I said to you, and what Clem heard. I’m sorry.”

He rested his forehead against yours, and you felt complete peace for the first time in a while. The birds were singing, and the chatter of people helped ground you as well as the love of your life’s skin against yours.

“I…” he cleared his throat, trying to mask emotion. “I can’t tell you what I saw-.”

You shushed him, kissing the corner of his lips.

He still kept going. “Not now. I’ll tell you tonight.”

“You don’t have to give me a deadline.”

“I need to tell you…I want to tell you.”

Opening your eyes, you saw everything in his. The fear he had for what he would say, the shame for things he said in the past, but above all, there was the love that he had for you and for your little girl.

You smiled. “So, is Alpine ours now, or do you want her back?”

He laughed, shaking his head. “We’ll see who she likes more by the end of the day.”

You spent another hour and a half at the park, just simply walking and taking breaks to sit and people watch. When all was quiet as you sat upon a hill before lunchtime, Clementine spoke up.

“A lot of kids were laughing at me in my nightmare.”

She confessed all that she’d seen the day prior; including memories you hadn’t even known existed. How a nasty group of kids in her grade, and even a grade above, would constantly belittle her. Whether it was talking about plans in front of her or teasing her for every little movement and action she made. Those were what most of her memories were.

The final one was the argument between you and Bucky. She said that he yelled until his face turned red, and you did until your voice was hoarse. It wasn’t how you remembered it happening…but it’s how she did.

“Are you gonna leave?” She asked, voice breaking as she looked at Bucky.

Immediately, several ‘No’s left both of your lips as you both wrapped your arms around her, uttering reassurances.

“We’re both sorry.” you told her. “We said things we shouldn’t have said, and we’re going to be better about talking.”

“Promise?” She prodded.

Bucky kissed her cheek. “Promise. I love you and Mama so so much.”

Even though you knew that, just to hear him openly and effortlessly say that to your daughter…it triggered something within you; a feeling that made you so whole, you felt like you would burst.

The three of you went to a nearby diner for lunch, and all was well. There was more laughing there than there had been in the last few hours. After being stuffed completely, you walked back to your apartment and laid on the floor. For the next hour the three of you simply talked about the most important topics known to mankind.

“Mama, why do you bake cookies but cook bacon?”

You and Bucky lifted your heads up when your daughter asked. Bucky snickered.

“Clem, I think you’re going to get a doctorate when you grow up.”

“I don’t wanna be a doctor.” She whined.

“Too bad, you shouldn’t have been so smart.”

She sighed dramatically. “I’m gonna flunk every class, quit school, and join the army.”

“No!” You both sat up at that.

“That’s what you did!” She pointed out to Bucky.

“You want a metal arm when you grow up?”

“Yes!”

And you laughed until you couldn’t breathe.

Dinner was just box macaroni and cheese and sitting on the floor while watching a movie.

“I still think this takes five years off your life.” Bucky said but still ate.

“Then you can starve.” Clem didn’t take her eyes off the television.

“Woah,” you playfully shoved her. “none of that. But she’s right, we’re here for a good time not a long time.”

You even let Clementine stay up thirty minutes past her bedtime. If not just as a mini reward for surviving yesterday, it was to tire her out more; and it did. As she could barely keep her eyes open, Bucky put her to bed, giving you time to do your night routine.

After washing your face, it was while you were brushing your teeth that you overheard them while the bathroom door was cracked open.

“Someone hurt mama yesterday,” Clementine said from her room. “really bad.”

“I know.” Bucky’s voice was laced with guilt. “I’m not gonna let anything happen to you or her ever again.”

“You can’t promise that.”

He was quiet for a moment. “That doesn’t mean I’m not going to try.”

A smile spread upon your lips, as well as a flutter in your heart. Once you were finished, you kissed your daughter goodnight, turned on the nightlight, and shut her door. You were slipping on an oversized shirt in your bedroom when you heard Bucky’s voice behind you.

“I didn’t mean to scare you yesterday.”

You turned over your shoulder. He leaned against the doorframe, wearing his boxers and a white tank top, his dog tags still around his neck, and his arms crossed. You couldn’t quite tell what the look he was wearing.

“I can’t even imagine what was going on.” You approached him, taking his metal hand into yours. “Come on, when was the last time you slept in an actual bed?”

He snorted. “Not that long.”

After shutting and locking the door (it was always a habit, welcome to being a woman in New York), you pulled him under the covers with you, snuggling into his side and resting your head on his chest. “But…we’re safe, right? From Valentina?”

“That was the first thing I talked to her about after she knighted us as the New Avengers.” He scoffed at the name. “She’s in no position to make threats if she wanted to, but she can make promises. No one’s touching you or Clem.”

You nodded, feeling more at ease even though the thought hadn’t occurred until after he spoke of it. Unprompted, you tossed your leg over his thighs, bringing yourself up to straddle him. He smiled, his hands holding your hips.

“Have I ever told you you’re the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen?” You ran your fingers over his face.

He hummed. “Maybe once.”

You giggled, leaning into him, your hands going into his hair and your lips onto his forehead. “It’s not just because of how you look.”

“Yeah? What is it then?”

“Well, since you’re fishing for compliments, you’re a good man.” Your lips hovered over his ear. “I don’t see many of those anymore.”

He tensed under you, and you brought your face away to look at him. He wasn’t uncomfortable, at least where it was obvious. Still, you saw a look in his eyes and were about to get off him, but his hands held you firmly.

“What’s wrong?” You asked.

Bucky sat up, still looking at you. He wrapped his arms around the small of your back to avoid hurting your side, and pressed his face into the crook of your neck. You held him, running one hand up and down his spine, and the other cupping the back of his head.

He leaned against the headboard. “I’ve hurt so many people.”

You brushed your lips where the skin and the metal met on his left shoulder yet let him continue.

“I’ve tried to forgive myself.” He sucked in a breath. “I’m better where I am now then a year ago, hell, ten years…God, has it been that long since I’ve woken up? I don’t…”

You tried to lift your head to look at him, but he brought his hand up to keep your face pressed into him. “No please, just listen.”

And you did.

“I still get nightmares.” He admitted. “Not many anymore and not as bad but…what I saw yesterday…I never…it was happening again. I was back in the forties, and it was the first time Hydra captured me and my unit. I kept saying my name, my number, where I lived, hell, even my baby sister’s name just so I wouldn’t forget anything. The next thing I know, it’s when…after I fell from the train and…”

You gently combed your fingers through the knots in his hair.

“It hurt…I forgot how much it hurt. The machines they hooked me up to, how it took so many tries for them to wipe my memory I was running out of things to say to try and keep myself afloat until…I forgot everything. I went into another room, and I wasn’t just watching the missions I did; I was the mission. It was…I was being chased by myself but I…I don’t know.”

 You didn’t speak, knowing he had more to say. All you could do was keep running your fingers on his skin to let him know you weren’t asleep and remind him that he was there with you.

“It-it doesn’t seem that bad after but I…” You felt warm tears on your skin, and you held him tighter. “Steve left. He left over and over again and I couldn’t say anything. I couldn’t tell him that I loved him, that I didn’t want him to go, that I hated him, that he…” He pulled you closer as if trying to make you sink into him.

“I don’t know why that one got me.” He pressed his lips to your shoulder. “Then I saw you. I thought I was out of the woods until I couldn’t see myself, but I heard all the things I said before I left for DC. You looked so scared-.”

“-I wasn’t.” You finally interrupted. “I was of losing you, but never justyou.”

“That’s what it looked like to me.” He professed as if there was something rotten inside of him. “She looked just like you. I thought you were really there, and I tried to open my mouth to say I didn’t mean it, but I couldn’t.”

He fell silent, pressing his face into your shoulder. Slowly, you pulled away just enough to look at him. You moved hair out of his eyes to reveal even more tears. You swallowed thickly, feeling your own emotions bubble.

“If you think I’m going to take back what I said about you being a good man, I’ll throw you off the roof.”

Bucky shook his head, saying your name.

“No, you listen to me now, James Barnes.” You held his face and attempted to speak firmly. “I didn’t know you in the forties, or even ten years ago when you stopped being the Winter Soldier. There are questions I can’t ask, and some things I might never know about you. But I know enough to feel safe; I know enough to let Clementine be safe around you. If any part of me thought you’d relapse, or you would do anything to hurt us, I wouldn’t be here with you right now. I love you; do you hear me? I love you.”

He released a shuttering breath, pressing his face against yours. You don’t know how long you stayed there until-.

“I wasn’t really religious, even back then.” He confessed against your lips. “But God, you’re making me think He’s real.”

You smiled, softly kissing him. “Why?”

“I don’t know how else you’d be here with me.”

“Oh God.” You scoffed, playfully of course. “I gave you a whole monologue about why I tolerate you, and you think God’s the reason?”

He laughed. “‘Tolerate?’”

“Well, it’s going to be that if you-!”

Usually, you hated in romantic comedies how the guy would kiss the girl to shut her up. Now though, you realize it only works when you’re both being playful. You weren’t telling him something serious, so him putting his lips on yours was the best thing to do.

There was a passion that you only had gotten a taste of from him before. Now, it was all consuming as he wrapped you in the safeness of his arms. You moved your hips experimentally, slowly. This was a similar song and dance you both had performed before, yet there was something strikingly different.

He bit your lip lightly before pulling away just enough to speak softly.

“I wanna try something.”

You arched your brow. “How long has it been?”

His eyes shifted for a moment, and you already knew. There were questions you could not ask, but from past nightmares, and what little he had alluded to from them…you already knew.

“A while.” Was what he said.

You nodded. “Me too. Not exactly, but…”

He kissed the bridge of your nose. “We don’t have to do anything. I can just hold you.”

Smiling, you brushed some of his hair behind his ear. “What do you want to try?”

Bucky pressed his lips back to yours. Gentler this time, he bunched the bottom of your shirt up until his fingers rested on your panties. Cautiously, he pulled them down your legs and you separated to toss them off the bed. With that, you also slipped your shirt off.

It was only as you watched his pupils grow while they traveled down your body, did you realize that this was the first time he had ever seen you naked; and that you had never seen him like that either.

He must have shared a mind with you, because he soon took off his shirt. You’d seen his bare chest countless of times over the years, even when you hadn’t been dating, but the wetness between your legs only intensified. Bucky laid flat on the bed.

“Come here.”

You leaned forward to kiss him.

“No,” his grinned widened. “come here.”

“What?” You giggled.

“Come here.”

“What do you-?” Your words drifted as they settled in. “Oh…oh!”

He caressed your cheek, laughing. “You okay with that?”

“I mean…” You suddenly felt self-conscious yet tried to mask it. “I haven’t tried it either, and I haven’t even shaved in-.”

“-You think it bothers me if there’s hair in my food?” He nuzzles his face into your neck, his hands kneading your ass.

Your breath hitched before sighing in pleasure. Kissing his chin, you grunted. “If you insist.”

Still, even as you crawled over him, your knees on both sides of his head, you felt a shiver chill your body; both from the intimacy, but also the unknown. Bucky lightly gripped your thighs, leading you closer to his mouth.

“It’s okay,” he said into your cunt. “it’s just me.”

His tongue entered your lips, and you released a choked sound. Eyes fluttering shut, you put your entire weight on the headboard, resting your head on top of it. Bucky urged you down farther until he was pressing kisses to every inch of your core. He moved his right hand to part your folds before diving his tongue deeper.

You rocked against his mouth by accident, apologies spilling from your lips as you bit your tongue to keep quiet. Your stomach clenched both from the growing pleasure and the repression of sound. Once his lips found your bud, a strangled moan finally escaped, and he didn’t let up.

Your hand traveled into his hair, gripping the top of his head. Unconsciously, each strand you tugged only caused Bucky to move against you; his groans resonating throughout your entire body.

His nose bumped against your clitoris and that was what sent you over the edge. High pitched babbling of his name left your lips as you rode his face and the rest of your pleasure out.

It was after the burning in your stomach settled that you realized your thighs were shaking. Pulling yourself away, you landed beside Bucky, breath still quivering. Both your chests rose and fell, and in the pale lamplight of your bedroom, you saw your own slick upon his chin. You placed your lips on his gently only to pull away, needing even more air.

“How was that?” He asked in between breaths.

You didn’t answer him vocally. Kissing his jaw, your hand traveled down his chest and over his boxers.

Damp.

Eyes flying open, you looked down and saw that there was indeed a wet spot over his flaccid cock. He sighed, hand over his eyes

“Nuts.”

You furrowed your brow. “What?”

“I didn’t mean to…to…”

“Finish from making me cum?” You smiled. “Bucky, it’s sweet.”

“It means if I was normal, I couldn’t do anything for the rest of the night.”

It had been a conversation in passing, a funny one when you were both tipsy at a friend’s wedding in your early days of dating, where he openly stated that the serum ‘heightened’ his stamina in more ways than one.

“It means,” you trailed your hands down to his waistband. “you like me.”

Tenderly, you slipped off his boxers, his now sweltering cock falling between his thighs. Bucky sighed, resting his head against the pillows. Kissing down his stomach, you licked a long strip from the base to the head of his dick.

He sucked in a breath, humming. “You’re trying to kill me.”

You didn’t bother saying something witty back; he was expecting it. You kissed his tip before slipping it into your mouth. Bucky gasped, his left hand gripping the sheets, and his right tangling into your hair. It wasn’t to push you down or even guide you; just to feel you.

Every sound you pulled out of him only grew the deeper you took him. Whatever you couldn’t take, you used your hands, caressing and fondling his balls. You’d glance up every so often, and he only looked at you once. The first and only time he did, he tossed his head back, releasing a strangled moan.

“Honey,” he sighed. “I-I don’t think I’ll-.”

You shushed him before taking him again, bobbing your head up and down. He called your name like a little prayer, pulling you off of him the second you felt little spurts of precum. You wish you could’ve seen what you looked like, because as soon as he pulled you away, you saw him visibly shiver as his eyes grew.

“I-I need you.” Was all he could manage.

“Okay.” You wiped your mouth.

He sat up, grunting from how red and sensitive his cock had grown. He took your face in his hands, chastely kissing you.

“If your side starts hurting-.”

“-I took Tylenol,” you soothed. “I’ll be fine. I’ll tell you though, just in case. How do you want me?”

He laid you down onto the bed as if you were something precious. “I need to see you.”

You lightly grazed your nails over his skin, being more mindful of the scars, past and present. Bucky placed a kiss onto your right nipple, suckling on it as he lightly massaged the other.

“Please.” It didn’t sound like a whisper from you, more like an escape of air.

“Please what?” He asked against your breast.

“James…” You gritted your teeth. He said your name, glancing up and you bit your tongue to not groan. “Please fuck me.”

He grinned against your skin, kissing up to your lips. He shifted to be above you, clutching a pillow then holding the back of your hips with his metal arm. The coolness pleasantly surprised you, a sharp mewl following. He lifted you up, sliding the pillow under your hips before gently placing you back down. He kissed your forehead.

“I remember this.”

Your breath shuttered as you felt the weight of his cock against your fold. Slowly, he entered you, not taking his eyes off yours for a second. The stretch was almost too much to bear from the dry spell, your face tightening.

“I’m okay.” You said when he gave you the look of ‘Should I stop?’.

He kissed the apples of your cheeks. “Just tell me when.”

You adjusted, running your hand up and down his neck. When you felt him fully within you, you began to move your hips. He moved with you, taking your left hand in his right and pressing it above you. With his metal hand, he guided your legs around his waist, angling you deeper.

His name left your lips as he rolled himself into you further, kissing your moans. Your heels pressed into his backside, urging him closer.

And closer.

And closer.

“God, you’re beautiful.” He said against your mouth.

“Love you.” Left yours.

“I love you.”

His cock kissed your cervix, and it was history from there. Strangled, staccato whimpers escaped your throat as he rutted into you, your name falling from his lips so many times it didn’t even sound like a word anymore.

“Come on, baby.” He breathed, hot breath on your sweltering skin. “Come on, give it to me, I know you can.”

You tried to form words but only syllables came out as you clutched his hair, trying to meet his thrusts. His dog tags dangled between you, hitting the space between your breasts with a light ‘cling!’ each time.

“In me.” You whimpered.

“What?” He didn’t stop, but moved some stray hair out of your face.

You didn’t know you said it aloud until he asked. Still, the desire to feel every bit of him flooded your senses enough to beg for it again.

“In me, please, please!”

Bucky shook his head, groaning against your lips. “No, no, we’ll make babies another time.”

That was it. Your euphoria burst like wildfire within you, leaving you a shuttering, whining mess. Bucky’s arms encircled your thighs to hold them apart and let him dig in impossibly deeper. You muffled your moans into the pillow beside you, only for him to capture your lips so that every little noise you made could reverberate through him.

Bucky soon followed behind, pulling away just as spurts of white cum painted your thighs.

There you both lay beside one another, panting messes. He laid his head against yours, breathing with you until the air in our lungs intertwined with each heavy inhale and exhale. He took the box of tissues by your bedside, cleaning himself before slipping on his boxers, kissing your stomach and taking you into his arms.

He took you into the bathroom and placed you on the toilet, cleaning you as you relieved yourself. Quickly, you both sneaked back into your room, and you collapsed on the bed. Still, Bucky slipped your oversized shirt back on, and you both crawled back under the covers, shutting off the light.

“You’re one of the reasons I get up every morning.” He whispered into your shoulder as he held you from behind. “I hope you know that.”

Your hand held his, shifting your head to kiss whatever part of his face you could reach. “They don’t make men like you anymore.”

He chuckled into your skin, and you fell into silence. There was something so intimate about whispering confessions to each other in the dark.

“Did you mean it?” You asked. “That you wanted to have babies with me?”

Bucky didn’t say anything right away. It worried you for only a second before he turned you over onto your back. You could faintly make out his figure from the light of the streetlamps outside your window.

“I’m getting you a ring first.” He vowed. “If you want that.”

You didn’t know if he could see the tears in the corner of your eyes, but you didn’t care. You wrapped your arms around his neck and brought him down to you, kissing him.

And kissing him.

And kissing him.

And everything was well in that apartment in Brooklyn.

[sincerelyhunnybee]

unchained | dark romance w. dabi

chapter 2

wc: 3.5k

cw: captivity/abduction, psychological distress, power imbalance, sensory discomfort, dubious morality, surveillance

ೀfrom bee: surprise ! i'm posting this chapter a lil early c: thank you for all the support i received on ch.1, it really keeps me motivated to keep this fic going. as always, pls enjoy

Two Weeks Before

The night shift was always quieter in theory.

That was the lie you told yourself every time you clocked in past midnight, the city already yawning its way into sleep. The hospital lights buzzed faintly above you, cool against your temples and harsh on sleep-starved eyes. Coffee in one hand, tablet in the other, you drifted between rooms like a ghost in scrubs.

Tonight was different.

The air had that edge to it again—static on the skin, that eerie sixth sense that said something was coming, even if you didn’t know what. You’d felt it before—just before the pro-heroes rolled someone in half-burned, or when gang members stumbled through the emergency doors, screaming and soaked in blood.

The city never really slept. It just held its breath.

You stopped in front of Room 407. Little girl. Seven. Quirk onset came with internal bleeding—a rare mutation in her genetics. She was brave. Didn’t cry when you took her vitals. Smiled with a mouth too big for her face and said she wanted to be a hero, “like Mirko, but scarier.”

You smiled back.

You always smiled back, even when it hurt.

A nurse passed you in the hallway, nodding. “You going home after this?”

“Soon,” you said.

Lie.

You had two more charts to finish. Another patient in observation. And a coffee you hadn’t even touched. Your life had rhythm then—exhausting, yes, but your own. It was predictable. You walked home at sunrise. You knew which alleys to avoid. You bought fresh fruit from the lady who opened her market before dawn.

You weren’t special.

You were safe.

You had no idea someone was already watching you. That somewhere in the darkest corners of this city, your name had been written down by hands that burned.

Present

You wake up with the taste of hospital antiseptic still in your mouth.

For a moment, just a second, you expect to see the buzz of fluorescent lights, the soft beep of monitors, the comfort of clean sheets and sterile halls.

But the world that greets you is concrete. Cold. Still.

The memory evaporates as your eyes adjust.

The tray of food is still there. Untouched. The water is warm now, condensation gone. Your body aches from sleeping curled in a ball on the floor, your shoulders stiff, jaw sore from clenching in your sleep.

You don’t know what time it is. There are no windows. No clocks.

Just the camera.

You glance at it, and even though you know logically it’s just a blinking red light, your skin crawls.

He’s watching.

You shift, stretch your legs slightly, testing your restraints. Still tight. Your wrists throb from sleeping on them, but you’re intact. Unhurt. Not bleeding. Not dead.

Not yet.

You exhale shakily.

Last night plays on a loop in your head. The way he looked at you. The way he moved. Calm. Detached. Not like a man—like a wildfire that learned how to walk.

Dabi.

You try saying the name in your head without flinching. It doesn’t work.

You’d read about him before. Seen clips. Reports. Flames licking up from buildings. Civilians screaming. Pro-heroes chasing a blur of blue fire through the night.

None of it had prepared you for the way he stood in that room. Like he was daring you to scream and betting you wouldn’t.

You hadn’t.

You don’t know if that was bravery… or just instinct. He hadn’t come back.

Not yet. 

But he will.

And when he does, you have a decision to make: survive by staying silent, or start figuring out who he is beneath the ash and the name that makes people run.

You hear the lock before you hear his footsteps.

It’s not loud, but your body recognizes the sound now. It sends a ripple down your spine before your mind catches up. The bolt retracts, the hinges creak, and the door opens with all the ceremony of a breath held too long.

You don’t move.

You’ve already decided that.

You’re still seated against the wall, face carefully unreadable. You’ve had all night to think about what to say—what not to say—and somehow you still don’t have anything ready.

He steps in, like he never left.

Same coat, same boots, same lazy, soulless expression. But something in his shoulders reads differently this time. Not tension—restraint. Like the temperature in the room rose with him, and he’s holding the heat in his palms.

His eyes land on you.

You wonder if he was expecting to find you curled up, crying, broken.

You meet his gaze head-on.

Neither of you says anything at first.

Then he lets the door close behind him with a soft thunk.

“You didn’t eat,” he says, nodding toward the tray.

You shrug.

“Didn’t trust it,” you reply.

Dabi tilts his head like that’s mildly interesting. “Not poisoned. If I wanted you dead, I wouldn’t waste the time.”

Charming.

He takes a few steps further into the room, keeping a generous distance between you. You can feel him, though. Like smoke curling under a doorframe—he doesn’t need to be close to suffocate you.

You wait for him to speak again, but he doesn’t. He just watches you, the way someone watches a storm cloud—not afraid, not fascinated, just calculating the odds of thunder.

“I thought you said I was leverage,” you say, voice low. “Is this how you usually treat hostages?”

That earns the ghost of a smirk. Barely there. “Only the interesting ones.”

You don’t let your face flinch. “What makes me interesting?”

He leans against the wall, folding his arms. “You didn’t scream.”

“Maybe I will next time.”

“Wouldn’t blame you.”

He says it so casually, so disinterestedly, it makes you want to stand up just to break the stillness. But you don’t. You stay still, and so does he.

For a while, the silence stretches. This time, it’s not oppressive. It’s observational. Mutual.

You speak first again. “Why are you here?”

Dabi raises a brow. “In the room, or in the existential sense?”

“Either.”

He looks away, eyes flicking to the ceiling like the answer might be written in the cracks.

“I’m here,” he says slowly, “because the others would’ve made a mess. And you’re more useful not crying in a corner.”

You study him. “You’re not what I expected.”

He shrugs. “Most monsters aren’t.”

That catches you off guard. Not the word, but the ease with which he uses it. No denial. No pride. Just a statement of fact.

You shift forward, cautious. “You don’t strike me as someone who follows orders.”

“I don’t.” His voice sharpens slightly. “I do what I want.”

“And what do you want right now?”

He looks at you then. For a moment, you swear the flicker in his eyes is uncertainty.

Then it’s gone.

“I haven’t decided yet.”

Your pulse kicks harder, but your face doesn’t show it. You hold his stare for a breath too long before breaking it, looking toward the tray again.

You speak softly this time. “I’m not going to beg.”

“Good.”

Another long pause.

Then, unexpectedly, he straightens up and walks back to the door.

Halfway there, he says without turning, “I’ll bring something fresh next time.”

You blink.

“What?”

“The food.”

And just like that, he’s gone.

The door shuts behind him, the lock clicks into place.

But this time…

The silence doesn’t feel as empty.

-

You don’t realize how long you’ve been staring at the tray until your eyes start to blur.

It’s still there—untouched, as much a part of the room now as the camera and the cracks in the ceiling. The water’s probably lukewarm. The bread’s stiff. You should eat. You know that. But doing so feels like a concession. A thread of compliance you’re not ready to hand over yet.

Even if you’re starving.

You roll your shoulders, wrists aching again. The zip ties haven’t been cut. Dabi didn’t offer, and you didn’t ask. Some twisted part of you knows: the longer they’re on, the easier it is to remind yourself this isn’t normal. This isn’t peace.

You aren’t safe.

You glance at the camera again.

Still blinking red.

Still watching.

You wonder if he’s behind it now, the way he had been last night. You wonder if he’s already making observations. Filing you away under “useful” or “breakable” or something worse. You wonder if he’s the kind of man who watches for fear or for interest.

You hate that you’re wondering anything at all.

Time passes strangely in this place. You think an hour goes by. Maybe two. Your thoughts spiral and slow until they collapse in on themselves. The tension in your body finally gives way to exhaustion, and you drift in and out of a shallow, uncomfortable half-sleep.

Until—

Footsteps.

Soft. Deliberate.

You sit up straight just as the lock shifts again.

This time, your heart doesn’t race. Not the same way.

The door creaks open, and your muscles go tense on instinct.

But it isn’t Dabi.

It’s her.

The girl from the voice outside the room. The laughter.

Blonde, messy hair. Pink cheeks. Eyes too wide, too sharp. There’s something wrong with the way she moves, like a child mimicking grace. In her hands, she holds a little bag—like she’s stopping by a friend’s house with snacks.

Her smile is too sweet.

“Hi there,” she says, sing-song. “Touya’s busy, so I thought I’d come say hello.”

Touya. You almost miss it. 

She doesn’t notice your expression. Or maybe she does and just doesn’t care. She walks in with the casual confidence of someone who knows she can make you scream if she wants to.

“Brought you something,” she says, dropping the bag in front of you. “New food. Not poisoned, promise.”

You don’t move.

She crouches, getting a little too close for comfort, resting her chin in her hand as she watches you.

“You don’t talk much, huh?” she pouts. “Touya said you were ‘quiet.’ He likes quiet things. Broken things, too.”

Your stomach turns.

“You know…” she hums, drawing a little knife from her pocket and spinning it between her fingers, “you’re really lucky. If it were up to me, I’d already be trying you on.”

“Trying me on?”

She tilts her head. “I like to wear people I like. Just for a bit. Get inside them. See how they move.”

Your body goes rigid.

She giggles. “But he said I’m not allowed to touch you. Isn’t that sweet?”

No.

It’s not sweet. It’s terrifying.

The door creaks again, and Toga’s eyes flick up, disappointed.

“Oh well. Looks like my playtime’s up.”

She twirls on her heel and skips to the door. Just before she leaves, she glances back and adds, “He’s watching, you know. All the time.”

Then she winks.

The door shuts behind her.

And this time, the silence that follows is different.

Tainted. Sharpened.

You stare at the camera again, pulse roaring in your ears.

If he’s watching, he saw all of that.

If he’s watching, he let her come in.

And if he’s watching now—he knows you’re not afraid of him the way you’re afraid of her.

And maybe that’s exactly what he wanted to see.

-

You don’t move for a long time after the door shuts.

Your breathing is shallow. Controlled. The kind of breathing that comes from training your body not to react. You learned that from long nights in the emergency room—when a patient flatlined and you had to keep your hands steady, your voice calm, your mind ruthless.

It’s different now.

You’re not the one doing the saving.

You’re the one trying not to fall apart.

Toga’s visit lingers like a stain on the air. Her giggle still echoes in your head, high and sharp, like glass against your eardrums. The glint of the knife. The word Touya. You turn it over in your mind, unsure whether it was a mistake, a threat, or both. Your eyes shift to the bag she had left of what you assumed to be snacks. Your stomach rumbles at the thought of crunching on chips. But you can’t give in so soon.

You glance at the camera again.

Still blinking.

Still watching.

You whisper into the silence, more to yourself than to the lens.

“Are you going to let her come back?”

The red light blinks once. No answer.

Of course.

You wipe your palms on a pant leg. They’re damp. You hate that. You hate that your body betrays what your face won’t show. Fear is supposed to be a defense mechanism. But here, it just feels like an invitation.

You scooch back and curl into your corner again, knees pulled tight to your chest, heart thudding dully against your ribs.

You don’t sleep.

Not really.

It’s hours later—maybe night, maybe early morning—when you hear the lock again.

You stiffen instantly, pulse surging.

This time, you know the footsteps.

Measured. Heavy. Him.

The door opens, and he walks in with the same expression as before, like the world bores him and you’re just another piece of it. But his eyes track you carefully, sweeping the room once, then landing on you.

You’re still where he left you.

But now, you speak first.

“Is she going to come back?”

Dabi doesn’t respond right away. He sets something down—another tray, this one warmer, steaming slightly. A thermos beside it.

“You eat yet?” he asks, like you didn’t just bring up the girl who nearly carved your face off.

You don’t look away. “She called you Touya.”

He pauses, only for a heartbeat, before picking up the plastic bag of snacks, grimacing as he looks inside. “She talks too much.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

Dabi crosses his arms. He looks at you like he’s trying to decide whether you’re stupid or brave. “She won’t bother you again.”

You narrow your eyes. “And I’m just supposed to trust that?”

His jaw tics. “You don’t have to trust anything.”

He walks toward the wall and crouches to adjust the tray, sliding it closer to you. The steam from the thermos carries something you didn’t expect—heat, yes, but also spice. Real food. Something cooked. Not whatever sugary junk Toga had likely stolen from a convenience store.

“Why are you being nice to me?” you ask, voice softer now, not accusing—genuinely trying to understand.

He lets out a quiet breath, something between a laugh and a scoff.

“I’m not.”

You look down at the tray. Then up at him again.

“You stayed.”

That stops him.

He looks at you, really looks this time—like your words touched something raw beneath the skin. And for a fraction of a second, something almost vulnerable flickers behind his eyes.

Then it’s gone.

“I’ve done worse things than keep people in a room,” he says.

“I believe you.”

You pause.

“But that’s not what I asked.”

Another silence.

“Eat,” he says. “Before I change my mind.”

He turns and walks out without another word.

The door shuts.

The lock clicks.

And for the first time since you woke up here, the food in front of you doesn’t feel like a trap.

It feels like a question.

You don’t touch the food right away.

You sit there, staring at it, steam curling lazily in the still air. The scent drifts toward you—familiar, comforting. Warm broth. Rice. Maybe curry. Someone cooked this. He cooked this?

You doubt it. But he brought it. Set it down himself. Told you to eat.

And now you’re sitting here, legs numb, stomach knotted, and all you can think is—

Why?

Not just why the food.

Not why the careful distance, the control, the vague threats wrapped in silence.

But—why you?

You whisper it into the room like it might answer back.

“Why am I even here?”

It echoes, thin and useless against concrete walls.

You’re not a hero. You don’t have a quirk anyone would weaponize. You don’t work for the government. You’ve done nothing special—just studied, worked, lived quietly.

So why?

You stand slowly, every muscle aching from stillness, and pace across the room. It’s a short path—five steps, turn, five steps back. But it helps. Sort of.

The camera blinks in the corner.

You stop and look straight at it.

“Is this supposed to mean something?” Your voice is louder now. “Is this punishment? Leverage for what?”

Silence.

You breathe through your nose, grounding yourself, trying to stay calm—but you’re fraying. You can feel it in your hands. In your voice.

“I don’t matter,” you say. “That’s the part you’re missing. I’m no one.”

The door stays shut.

But your chest tightens with something hot—not fear this time. Anger.

“Tell me why I’m here,” you mutter. “Say it. Or kill me. Pick one.”

You don’t expect an answer.

So when the door opens, you almost lose your mental balance.

Dabi steps in like he never left. He leans against the doorframe this time, arms crossed. Watching.

“Yell a little louder,” he says. “Maybe I’ll feel something.”

You glare at him, your breath sharp. “I want to know why.”

He raises a brow. “I already told you. Wrong place, wrong time.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“It’s the only one I’ve got.”

You stare into him from your seated position.

“I’m not stupid,” you bite. “You said I was leverage, but for what? I don’t have connections. I’m not rich. I’m not someone who matters. So why—why me?”

Dabi looks bored. Tired. His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t blink.

“Maybe it wasn’t about you. Maybe it was about who was supposed to come looking.”

You freeze.

He doesn’t elaborate.

You wait, but he just shrugs.

“Guess no one did.”

The words hit harder than they should.

Your throat goes tight. You don’t know if it’s anger or humiliation or the ache of a truth you were trying not to name. Maybe it’s all of it. Maybe it’s the idea that he’s right—that you are no one. And maybe that’s the real reason he’s not afraid to keep you here.

Because who would miss you?

Your voice is quieter now. “You don’t know anything about me.”

He tilts his head. “I don’t need to.”

“You act like I’m some puzzle you’ve already solved,” you snap. “Like you can just keep showing up with food and silence and expect me to play along.”

“You are playing along.”

“No. I’m surviving.” Your restrained body language showing the best emotion you can.

Dabi’s eyes narrow slightly. Not in anger—more like interest. You watch him watching you. He walks towards you and kneels in front of you, close enough so you can see the color in his eyes. Not just blue, but glacial. Cracked. Ancient.

He doesn’t move.

Neither do you.

The air between you is charged—frustration wrapped in a stare-off neither of you wants to lose.

And then—

He gets up and steps back.

Just one step.

He doesn’t break eye contact when he says,

“If it makes you feel better, you’re not the only one who doesn’t know why they’re still here.”

Then he turns and walks out.

And for the first time—

You hear the lock click behind him, and it doesn’t feel like a prison.

It feels like a wall.

A wall you’re starting to want to break through.

-

You don’t move for a long time after the door clicks shut again. This time, it doesn’t feel like being locked in.

It feels like being left behind.

The difference is subtle. But it’s there. You feel it in your chest—like a door inside you closed too, sealing something off before you even had time to give it a name.

“You’re not the only one who doesn’t know why they’re still here.”

The words replay over and over.

You’re back to your seated position against the wall. The food is still sitting where he left it, but your appetite is gone. What’s curling inside you now isn’t hunger—it’s something else. Guilt? No. Loneliness?

Maybe it’s the quiet.

Maybe it’s what silence sounds like after someone almost let you see their humanity, then took it away again.

You glance at the camera. Still blinking. Still watching.

But he’s not there now.

You’re sure of it.

You shift your gaze to the wall, to the cracks in the paint, to the corner where the cement doesn’t quite meet the floor. You start counting breaths.

In. One, two, three. Hold. Out. One, two, three.

You used to be good at finding meaning in the little things. A soft smile from a tired nurse. A kid drawing pictures in the waiting room. A stranger’s kindness on the subway after a double shift.

You wonder if those things still matter in the world outside.

You wonder if the world outside even misses you.

Because no one has come.

No alarms. No police. No search.

Dabi was right.

Maybe no one did come looking.

Your eyes sting. Just a little. Not enough to cry. Not yet.

You tuck your face into your knees and exhale.

You don’t want to care about him. You don’t want to wonder about the weight in his voice or the look in his eyes or the way he steps back like he’s afraid to be close to something that still breathes without guilt.

But the wondering is already there.

And deep down, you know this is how it starts.

Not with kindness.

With curiosity.

With questions.

And for now, those are the only things you have left.

reblogs + comments are very much appreciated !

taglist (open + ask to be added): @reggieswriter @d4rlinxs @dabislittlemouse @ppomodori

[on-a-lucky-tide]

Like You Mean It: A Nikprice Mafia AU

John is invalided out of the military and is struggling to adjust to civilian life, stuck in a cycle of poor coping mechanisms and denial. He gets sent to Chester by his younger sister to service a client that has scared all her other employees. Little does he know that the appointment will change the trajectory of his life forever.

cw: post-traumatic stress disorder, extremely poor attitude to his own disability, toxic coping mechanisms.

“How is the new hobby going? Painting, isn't it?”

Price frowned at the table in front of him, counting the rings of coffee stains. Four. “It didn't work out.”

“Oh, that's a shame. What happened?”

Price swallowed, his fingers twitching on his knees. He could tell the truth: that the inane, witless conversations had bored him to death, or that one of the women had started flirting with him and it had made him uncomfortable, or that the paintbrush had felt unwieldy and small in his hands, that it looked wrong there, or that he had lost his temper, overwhelmed by something he couldn't put his finger on, and thrown the canvas to the floor before limping out, or…

“It jus’ didn't hold my interest. ‘M sure I'll find somethin’.”

The therapist tapped her notepad with the end of the biro and studied him closely. She was one of the best, Mac had said. Worked with all the old boys that invalided out after a lifetime in the service. She helped them get back on their feet, navigate civilian life, and finally put to bed some of the ghosts they dragged behind them. Price had to give her a chance to help, which meant opening up some of those wounds he’d let heal badly over the years. Sally was nice enough, and he was trying not to let his own internal battles influence how he regarded her. Sometimes, she made that hard.

“How are the nightmares? Any better?”

“Yeah, they… uh, they don' happen as regularly.”

“When was the last one?”

Last night. “Coupla weeks ago, I reckon.”

She wrote that down. Price tapped his knees again and glanced at the watch on the table. She made him take his off because he had spent the first two sessions glancing at it. The compromise had been that she would set an alarm on hers. It was a brand new smartwatch, she said, it tracked her calories, her heart rate, had GPS. The kind of thing his watches had been doing for years, except his watches could call in an air strike and track enemy combatants across the field of battle.

The old one, that is. His new one just told the time.

Her husband had bought it for her, so Price had said it looked very posh.

“Have you given any more thought to the dating app we talked about?”

The watch beeped. Thank fuck.

“Whelp.” He clapped his hands together before rolling to his feet with a quiet groan, a combination of actions that he knew made him appear ten years older than he actually was. “I'll see ya next week then, Sally.”

She handed him back his watch and he slipped it over his wrist, before she placed the notes down on the table. Given that his eyesight was still sharp, he caught the words, ‘denial’, ‘withdrawn’ and ‘isolated’ amongst the scrawl. His jaw twitched and he averted his gaze. This was one assessment he didn't seem to be passing in flying colours. She gave no indication she had realised he'd seen. “Companionship, John. Even a friend that has nothing to do with the service. It will do wonders.”

“Right. I’ll… work on that.”

It was raining when he stepped outside, grey clouds stretching across the skyline in a dark, homogenous blanket. He almost skidded on a drain, his uneven gait prone proving more of a liability in the wet, as he walked across the car park, and he swallowed the resulting grimace even though there was no one around to see. He did it more out of habit than anything else; show no weakness.

When he slumped into the seat of his old Honda Civic, he sat in the mute silence for a moment, watching the raindrops tumble down the windscreen. His leg throbbed, the tight scar tissue pulling, tendons creaking under tension, and he looked down at his knee with a scowl.

It had been a building falling on him that had done him in the end, trapping his leg for seven hours while his task force dug him out. Ghost had dragged him out by his bitch strap, and then carried him to casevac, with Soap doing his best not to look at the mangled state of his captain's leg as he covered the rear. A miracle that he hadn't lost it, they said. That he hadn't been crushed completely.

A miracle.

So, now, he got to rot away slowly in a small, one-bedroom flat in Liverpool, with TV dinners and Coronation Street. He walked through the world numbly, like he was observing it from afar, through frosted glass. The only brief glimpses of feeling he got was when one of the 141 messaged him. Sometimes a picture, other times a text. They were few and far between. It wasn't that they didn't care. They were busy. He knew the demands more than anyone. The world didn't stop turning because Bravo Six had left the game.

That didn't stop him checking his phone every few hours, just in case he had missed a notification. Checking his watch so he could tell himself where in their routine they would be.

He did it now.

1400, Tuesday.

If they weren’t on mission, Simon would have the experienced operators running drills with the trainees. It was autumn, which meant the start of bad weather and low visibility environs. It was likely he would do a jump in a few weeks with full kit to test the development of their survival skills.

He glanced at his phone. Nothing.

With a deep sigh through his nose, Price jammed his keys into the ignition and turned. The old car choked into life, the engine ragged in the cold, and he clicked it into ‘Drive’. He was grateful for the bloody thing, really. Those first few months of riding around on the bus had nearly been enough to send him to an asylum, with screaming kids and the constant smell of piss from seemingly every person that sat down. When his GP had approved him to drive an automatic, he'd almost dropped to his knees to fellate the bastard in gratitude.

He didn't really track his drive home. Stopping at reds, giving way, flicking down the indicator as he turned corners. The streets, houses and people of Liverpool passed by in a colourless smudge until he was pulling into his car parking space and staggering out in the rain. It happened a lot; the disappearing into his own head. Like his brain was giving up without stimulus and switching into standby mode.

The lift was still out of order despite his numerous phone calls on behalf of the residents, so he turned into the stairwell and began the arduous climb to the third floor. Gone were the days when a phone call from John Price moved literal armies. Now he couldn't even get fuckin’ Bill from maintenance out with a screwdriver to fix the fuckin’ lift so Jenny, eighty years old and wheelchair bound, could leave to do her groceries.

By the time Price reached the top of the first flight, his leg was burning; by the second, he was breathless from pain, and by the third, his eyes were welling with tears. The pain from his leg seemed to burn through his entire body, clutching his chest in a vice, bile and nausea building in the back of his throat, and he was having to stifle the sounds punching from his chest by biting on his knuckles.

His hands shook as he extracted his front door key, and continued to do so as he tipped more than a single dose of his strongest painkillers into his palm, the kettle hissing behind him on the countertop as he slid to the floor. He didn't wait for the tea to brew, but necked the pills dry, crunching them down in between huffing deep breaths through his nose.

There had been a time after his injury that he had believed he would recover and return to the field. A small part of him still did sometimes, but all it took was a set of stairs to truly humble him, leaving him whimpering and shaking on his kitchen floor. Pathetic, weak. How far he had fallen. He turned his face into his palms and pressed the heels hard into his eyes.

When he looked up again, the room was dark.

Price latched a hand on the edge of the countertop and pulled. His bad leg was stiff, seized with cold and aching, and his right one was numb from where he'd been sitting on it. His stumbling efforts would have made for a great Benny Hill sketch, he thought bitterly.

Once he had set the kettle reboiling and a frozen TV dinner in the microwave, Price checked his phone. One message. From his sister.

Carol (16:00): How did the appointment go?

Price glanced at the clock. 1900. Bollocks.

Price (19:00): Good.

Carol (19:01): Three hours to write that. Nice one, John.

He sighed, smacking the top of the phone into his forehead in frustration, before typing out a response.

Price (19:04): We talked about the painting thing, some old missions, and she asked me about the dating app.

Carol (19:05): did you make the profile yet?

Price (19:06): what the fuck do you think?

Carol (19:07): stop being a miserable cunt and do it

Price (19:07): No one wants to date a cripple.

He didn't send that one. It read far too much like self pity and that just turned his fucking stomach.

Price (19:07): If I wanted someone nagging me 24-7 I'd move in with you.

Carol (19:08): Prick.

Price (19:08): Yeah, tthat'd be a fine thing.

Carol (19:09): omg 😭

Carol (19:11): Gary says you never text back about games night. Kimmy wants to see you.

Gary was Carol’s “gay bff”—her words. He’d been a godsend when her bottom feeder of a husband had finally pushed the old bill too far and got himself nicked for possession with intent to sell and GBH. Price owed the bloke a lot, because he’d picked up the slack where a big brother should have been. He was pretty sure Carol had tried to set them up once, which would have gone about as well as trying to get a Labrador to date a Persian cat. Gary would have shredded Price with his kitten claws in minutes.

Price (19:12): Depends on my shifts, boss.

Carol (19:13): Ok.

Carol (19:13): Don't give up on us.

Carol had saved him enough already. She had been the one to force him to retrain at college so he could work at her salon. Physical therapy and massage. Something to do with his hands that wasn’t killing people, she’d said. Besides, she wanted to attract more male clientele and his machismo would make them feel less emasculated about seeking support. He felt like there had been a hidden barb there, but hadn’t pressed. Price swallowed the lump in his throat and stared into his dark kitchen for a moment before he replied.

Price (19:14): trying

Carol (19:15): I know

Carol (19:15): love you big bro

Price (19:16): love you too, love to Kimmy.

He shoved his phone into his pocket as he poured his tea, taking it black despite the presence of milk in the fridge. That was at the other end of the kitchen and the pain killers hadn’t yet kicked in properly. His microwave meal seemed more or less cooked through, the steam searing his fingertips as he tugged off the plastic lid, so grabbed a fork and headed into the dark sanctity of his living room.

His flat had always been sparse, with basic furniture, a handful of books and family photographs. None of the ‘homely’ touches you’d expect of a home. In all fairness, he had never spent a lot of time here—only a few days leave if he’d been at a loose end. But even then he had preferred sleeping in Carol’s spare room, doing the school run in the mornings so she could have a less hectic start to the day, and making sure the house was clean, that there was something edible on the table in the evenings. Fat chance of that now. She didn’t need another deadbeat arsehole on her couch twenty-four hours a day. She’d done her time with that bullshit. So Price had only visited a handful of times since being discharged; once to take a look at a leak under the kitchen sink, and then to check the weird noise her car had been making when the temperature dropped.

Price slumped into the permanent dip of the right hand sofa cushion and took a moment to bask in the relief, tea and dinner hovering over his lap. Some days, he wanted to stay on the damn sofa and rot into it, but the stubborn streak that had managed to survive the last few months wouldn’t let him. He had to be doing something—anything—even if that was hobbling about the supermarket for Jenny while the lift was out of action. A last, defiant stand against the listless void left behind when they had taken the service from him.

He dug the clicker from where it had fallen down the side of the cushion and turned over just in time for the opening credits of Coronation Street, blowing over the heap of white rice and tasteless curry in front of his mouth. His mind faded out into white noise as he ate mechanically and knocked back his tea to wash the taste away. The episode hadn’t even finished before he was pulling the fleece blanket from the other cushion over his lap, eyes drooping closed. He checked his phone once more before he placed it on the lamp table for the final time.

The storm outside picked up a notch and Price felt it tremour through the old building, and he watched the rain lash against the balcony windows as fitful sleep dragged him under.

—

“This is Bravo Six in the blind; Watcher—ahh, Watcher, do you c-copy?”

Static.

”Kate… Kate, please… fuh-ck, Watcher, this S-six in—“

The rubble above his head moved. He held his breath. There was nowhere for him to move. Nowhere for him to run. It had taken an eternity to wrestle his arm free enough to get to his radio. If the rubble shifted now, it would crush him.

The pain was blinding. Like white hot pokers stabbing through every muscle. If he hadn’t been able to move his arm, he would have assumed his spine or neck were broken. Maybe both. He could feel his right leg, but not his left. Couldn’t even see it.

”Watcher, do you copy?”

Static.

”Kate, please… don’t let me die down here, don’t… please…”

His pleas were soaked up by the oppressive silence. The muffled, muted space that seemed to swallow his voice.

Suffocating nothingness.

Static.

He couldn’t move. Not an inch. His trap was closing in. Crushing him. Several tons of concrete and steel pressing down on his ribs, his legs. He couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t breathe.

Couldn’t breathe.

—

Waking up felt like he was having to claw himself out from beneath that rubble himself, chest heaving, the neck of his t-shirt stained dark as he fought his way back to the surface. Early morning light was leaking through the balcony door, the spots of rain still clinging to the glass making the living room glitter like a disco ball hung from the ceiling. He lifted a shaking hand from beneath the fleece and smoothed his damp hair back over his head, mentally counting through the grounding exercises Sally had taught him.

Feel, see, hear, touch.

Like he’d been run over by a Challenger—his ceiling—phone alarm—blanket.

Price threw out a hand and managed to swipe his damn phone off the table. Cussing and snarling, he slumped onto the floor, fishing it out from beneath the lamp stand. He didn’t have enough energy to climb his way back onto the sofa, so he sat there once he’d switched the alarm off, staring into space. The world slowly filtered back in, his senses spreading out through the room, latching onto anything that connected him to the reality outside his head. Unfortunately, that also brought with it the constant dull throb of pain in his left side.

That last mission had been the final crack in a dam he hadn’t even been aware of. Over twenty years of difficult operations in the most inhospitable environs and his mind had soldiered through, unbroken, robust. Colleagues and friends had fallen before him, so he knew what post-traumatic stress disorder looked like, but it was something that happened to other people. Not him. Not in a million fuckin’ years.

But leave him trapped under some rubble for a few hours and suddenly every difficult experience, every interrogation, every period spent trapped behind enemy lines at their mercy, every close call, every fallen soldier, they all came flooding back like vengeful demons that had been caged in the pits of hell to tear off their pound of flesh.

The nightmares weren’t always the same. Sometimes, his subconscious decided to dredge up an experience from over a decade ago to torture him with. A few nights ago, it had been the interrogation that had left him with burn scars over his lower back. A month spent in an Al Qatala detention facility before Mac had extracted him. He hadn’t broken—had given them bloody nothing—and had passed the psych eval after that one with flying colours. Even the psychologist had been a little suspicious—impressed, but suspicious. Turned out all he’d done was squash it all so far down that it was invisible to a prying eye, and then managed to trick himself that he was just made of stronger stuff than average.

He was good at that though: keeping secrets. Pretending, manipulation, getting what he wanted out of people. Out of himself. It was no surprise that he’d got so good at it over the years that he had managed to dupe even himself into believing what he needed to get the job done. Stupid wanker.

Price scowled as he rolled to his feet, wobbling unsteadily at first as he regained his balance, before limping into his bedroom. He had a quick shower to wash the sweat off and threw on his gym kit. Just because his lower half was useless, that didn’t mean he couldn’t keep the rest of him in shape. The physio had told him to keep it light, that everything in his body was connected and his nervous system needed time to adjust, and he had nodded along.

Truth was, he liked the burn of it. It felt like punishment. A punishment that he could control. It was both proof that he was still, physically, worth something and a way to chastise the parts of himself that weren’t as strong as they used to be. John left the house just as his morning alarm went off.

He ignored the sideways glances from the reception staff as he limped through the automatic barriers, his car parked in the second row back because he couldn’t quite bring himself to use the damn blue badge the council had given him when Carol had completed the forms on his behalf.

This early in the morning, the gym was more or less empty. There were a few night shifters getting their end of day workout in at the squat racks, so Price dumped his gym bag by a bench in front of the dumbbells. The powerlifter to the right glanced at him as he grabbed 26kg for a warm up set, and from that point on he let his mind go blank. All that existed as he worked his way through his ‘push day’ was the burn in his shoulders, his chest, down his spine. If he closed his eyes, he could pretend he was in the gym in Credenhill, with Ghost grunting on his right and Soap pausing to take yet another selfie on his left…

His phone trilled.

He dropped the dumbbells to the floor at his feet and snatched it from his bag. He hated himself for feeling disappointment when he saw his sister’s name.

“Wotcha, love, everyfin’ ok?” He slumped back on the bench, spare arm dangling between his legs as the burn of the lift faded.

I know it’s ya day off, but I need a favour…

”Right…”

We’ve got a regular in Chester who needs a home visit.

”Oh yeah, cheshire set, is he?”

Nah, he’s… a foreign national. Scary bloke, actually. And that’s the problem, all the girls are refusin’ t’ go.

”Did he touch one’uv‘em?”

No, no. Nothin’ like that. He’s just… scary. Lives in one of those big detached houses, and he has loads of… well, they called ‘em henchmen. Said it’s like walkin’ int’ mafia film, John.

”If he’s so bloody terrifyin’, why not jog ‘im on?”

It’s… not tha’ simple, la.

Price’s hackles went up instantly. Not that simple could mean a hundred different things, but all the dots were joining up in a way that made Price want to load his M1911 before he drove over. “Why?”

Look, I… if ya can’t do, ‘ll go meself, but…

”Don’t you bloody dare,” Price growled. “I’ll go. Send me the time, the address, what his usual is.”

He heard her breathe a sigh of relief down the phone.

Cheers, John. I… I owe y’bevvy, yeah?

“Stop tryin’ to set me up with Gary, and we’ll call it even.”

Oi, I was jus’—okay, fine. Gary is off the Price menu.

”Carol, I swear t’…” He glanced over his shoulder as the grunting behind him had gone conspicuously silent and the brief moment of eye contact was enough to make him drop his voice. “Right. Forward me the intel, and—“

She chuckled.

”Wot?”

I will forward ya the intel, big brother. Love ya, see ya later.

Price stared at the phone in his hand long after it had gone black. The heat under his skin was adrenalin. He’d recognise the bubbling rush of it anywhere; the heavy drum of his heart, the tightness in his chest. Excitement.

“Fuckin’ ‘ell, get a grip,” Price mumbled as he chucked his phone into his bag and returned the weights. It was probably some sweaty billionaire who fancied himself the bloody Godfather. Normal people—people who hadn’t spent their entire adult lives fighting real mobsters, crooks and war criminals—saw a grim face and a sharp suit and were easily intimidated. Price would scope the place out and gather some more information on whatever the fuck this arsehole had on Carol, and then he would fix the problem. He was good at that. Fixing other people’s problems. It let him ignore his own for a bit longer.

[promptsbytaurie]

dialogue prompts: five words

!!please credit/tag me if you use any! I'd love to see what you write!!

"This story has one ending."

"Give it a shot, okay?"

"It's way past your bedtime."

"Is this really worth it?"

"Believe the prophets, they're right."

"You're not real, are you."

"Truth is nothing without lies."

"It was me, wasn't it?"

"The world wants me dead."

"'It'll be fun,' they said."

"What an... interesting first date."

"You're such a drama queen."

"I thought you were alone."

"Wish I was dead now?"

"This cannot be a new concept."

"So you didn't have to."

"Has anyone helped you yet?"

"I'm adjusting to civilian life."

"Take it to the boss."

"You really live like this?"

"I don't want to remember."

"Is it me or you?"

"Am I still a god?"

"We have work to do."

"Is there something you're hiding?"

"Stop stealing all my thunder!"

"It's November, put it away."

"You're so brave, little one."

"I believed in you too!"

"Can you just stop trying?"

"What did she ever do?!"

[pilotingdreammsss]

Spare Parts. - New faces and places.

Part 4 in my running au where the reader insert is an ancient in a crumbling world.

Part 3

Part 2

Part 1

The voice hadn't been present in your life since the day you cast yourself away, no longer feeling needed nor wanted. Your memories are too fuzzy to recall what was said that day.

"Must...rise again!..."

The voice is not your own... it lacks a form, and seems to be resonating from the light.

"They need you, get up!... The kingdoms may fall, but they need you!... break the solitude!"

The murmurs of the outside world are starting to seep in. The darkness gives way to the light of the infirmary, a fluorescent white. Your eyes struggle to adjust to the brightness. It's partially blocked out by a figure, thankfully, but it doesn't negate the strain to your eyes.

"You're getting up..."

Your eyes finally adjust. To your side is Caramel Arrow Cookie, and beneath you is the plush covers of the infirmary beds.

"We were worried for a moment."

You attempt to sit up, though your head spins and makes it's splitting ache apparent. You wince loudly, Caramel Arrow Cookie gently guiding your form so that you are at rest.

"Do not sit up so fast. Crunchy Chip Cookie went to find some jellies, we'll see if that gives you some energy."

Caramel Arrow Cookie's downcast, worried look hovers over your form. Nothing serious had happened, but you'd since forgotten the last time you had been so fragile.

"How long has it been?"

You ask, shuffling slightly so that your eyes meet hers again. She seems to be in deep thought.

"I can only make a vague estimation, it hasn't been too long. Maybe an hour..."

You sigh in relief. This could mean you could return to your kingdom-ly duties soon. Before you can find cause for celebration, you are met with a daunting realisation.

Your soul jam cover is... missing. You trace over the gem, no longer glowing or emanating energy, petrified of what this would mean for...

Caramel Arrow Cookie gives you a pitying look.

"...We are aware."

Your breath hitches. You look away, shuffling so that she could no longer gaze upon you. It's hard to remain composed.

"Your souljam is safe. We'll talk more of it when it is appropriate..."

You nod subtly, though still avoid looking at her. The silence spans until Crunchy Chip Cookie gently pushes open the door.

"Ah! They're up!"

He lunges forward, still holding the star jellies in his hands. Prudently, you turn to grab one of them off his hands. You bring it hesitantly to your lips before taking a bite. Never had you been more relieved to eat. It allows you the energy to reflect on what that distant voice had said.

You intended not to break your solitude, but now, the stakes seemed higher than ever. Civilians were suffering, and so were your so called friends. Opening your wings to them seemed the least of what you could do.

When you left the infirmary, after a hefty recovery period, you ordered Mixed Swirl Cookie to dispatch messangers via carriage, with intent to examine the other kingdoms. Effective immediately - you hadn't the time for it to go through every executive or higher-up.

It wasn't quite breaking your silence, but it was the first time you'd expressed interest in the other kingdoms in perhaps a decade. Only then did you retreat to your chambers to catch up on your sleep.

Now, it had been a week since you'd sent out the messangers to the other kingdoms, and one of the carriages was bound to return. The birds were only just waking up as the carriage was spotted at the borders by your watchmen. The sigil of your kingdom on the carriage's side allowed it to skim through the border with urgency.

"Your majesty!"

Just as you were to leave your castle, a shrill voice addressed you. You were then informed that the carriage had returned, though it had been trailed by some unexpected visitors.

You had let Caramel Arrow Cookie and Crunchy Chip Cookie remain in your kingdom, though weren't expecting other cookies to join them.

You're quick to gather your items and push open the doors, with some newfound and admittedly nervous energy. Your feet clatter against the cobble streets as you swerve towards the wall and your kingdom's entrance. The ruckus emanating from the entrance is concerningly loud.

Before you stands your army, facing 3 seperate cookies. They must've been causing some sort of disruption, however, since your armed force would usually not be so tense around newcomers.

You push through the cookies, passing Mixed Swirl Cookie, and prepare to face them head on, only to be stopped.

"Your majesty, these cookies are dangerous."

You narrow your eyes and peer past the general. Three cookies, one undoubtedly of spice, the second a paladin with a sword much too large, and the third some sort of potion-maker. Though battle-ready, they seemed a little bit beaten up already.

You push past the general, speeding up slightly to break up the incoming fighting. You find yourself at the crown of the crowd. Still weary, you address the three cookies with a certain vigilance.

"I apologise for my army's misconduct."

You turn to eye the crowd slightly.

The potion-maker eyes you skeptically, eyes widening slightly. He says nothing, but the look tells you all he was going to say. You approach the three carefully so as not to rouse their aggression. However, are met with the sword of the paladin at your chest. You take it as a palpable sign to not continue your approach.

"I just want to help."

The one of spice seems somewhat sympathetic to the cause.

"Kouign-Amman Cookie, I'm sure they mean no harm!"

He flashes the paladin a charming smile. She smiles dimly back at him and lowers her sword cautiously.

"I'm sorry, I don't really know what got to me there."

She chirps, though her tense hold on the oversized sword does not seem to falter in the slightest. Still distrustful, though it's something you can get behind.

What had happened out there? Concern creeps through your dough.

You bring your hands to your face, eyes scrunched shut, sighing in newfound tiredness.

"We apologise, but we're seeking shelter."

The potion-maker adds, though it seems to be said through gritted teeth and falsified politeness. You figure he was perhaps lacking in patience, though the situation feels far more nuanced than impatience.

You swivel to face your army and order for them to disperce. Now raising your head, you watch murmurs spread through the crowd as they slowly begin to diverge, all in different directions. As if distrustful of your orders. It concerned you slightly, as they'd always been fully compliant with your orders.

"Are you hurt?"

You ask, shuffling to face them again. They seem to murmur subtly to each other, though the consensus seems to be that all are minimally injured.

A few crumbs, here and there, however no particular chunks taken out their dough. It was relieving, given medical supplies were finite... However, you feared that their demeanor revealed something malicious, festering in the outside world, just beneath the surface.

Something you'd possibly let into your kingdom with open arms.

Against your better judgment, you allow the three to trail behind you. You barely hear their talks.

"Another day out there, and we'd be crumbs."

"I never thought I'd have to flee the academy, there were so many of them..."

"We'll stay here till we have our strength back, then ask the kingdoms or Republic for help!"

"We'll regroup and leave this place, Kouign-Amman cookie. I just need more time to make some potions. We've been relying on Capsacin Cookie's brute strength and your sword for so long."

"I don't know if that's such a good idea, Prune Juice Cookie, we only scathed by as it is!"

You wince, knowing the kingdoms face similar difficulties. The outside world appears more sinister than you'd imagined.

Something must be very wrong, and as you depart from them, lingering fears of what Earthbread has come to emerge. A deep, omnipresent fear, one that had convinced you to retain a reclusive presence in the first place.

Now these fears were truly at your doorstep.

________________________________________

"...Hello?"

A slither of light projects itself onto your desk.

You pick yourself up from slumping on your desk. Scattered on it are battle plans. Strategies, theories as the whats and hows to prepare.

"Caramel Arrow Cookie, come in..."

The light from the hallway graces the room.

"We have a letter. It's.. from Beast-Yeast."

A/N: Sorry for the wait! It's almost Spring break for me, so expect more writing in the next few weeks! Then I have exams, so..

Taglist!~

@otterluver05

@ang3lin3r33

@donnie-is-da-best

@inkberri

[hostilemuppet]

Christina "Bliss" Utonium

(Nickname given by Bubbles, who is her favourite sister (don't tell anyone!))

Once a normal and perfect little girl, the daughter of Professor Utonium (whether adopted or from a previous relationship is up to audience interpretation) was accidentally exposed to various chemicals of the alphabet variety and, after being infused with Chemical W, mutated into what would later be known as the very first Powerpuff Girl. After living the first five years of her life with no powers and suddenly capable of more than she could have possibly imagined, she was unstable, but more than that she was scared. Scared of destroying everything she touched, scared of getting hurt, scared of hurting her dad. So after blowing yet another hole in the house, she fled to somewhere she could be alone and could gain control of her powers without hurting anyone she cared about.

since theyre made of different chemicals, she doesnt have the exact same powers as the other three girls. bliss cant fly, but she can teleport. she doesnt have laser eyes, but her... explosive personality more than makes up for it. she may not be the strongest or the fastest, but her telekenesis means she can hold her own just fine. she is not the ultimate powerpuff who makes the others look weak in comparison, she is just another member of the team - she has not been sent off to space - who is capable but not invincible

or, she would be. after being alone on a deserted island (Him was not communicating with her through Mih, but she did talk to herself. a lot.) for a decade, shed really prefer to focus on the luxuries of civilian life. and who can blame her? if i was eating nothing but fish and coconut for 10 years, id want a good burger or ice cream too. and shes missed out on sooooooo many movies... hey, have you girls heard of tiktok? bliss would never shy away from a fight, but shes not exactly seeking it out. shes too busy trying to adjust back into society, for better or for worse. and trust me, romance is the LAST thing on her mind right now

for the most part, the powerpuff girls remain a terrific trio, with bliss aiding them now and then, the same as in the show how she pops back to earth every so often for the plot. except she is still on earth and lives at the utonium residence, because after being separated from her family for 10 years, why would she give that up again? this is the best of both worlds; she gets to be around her family instead of being put on a bus, and shes not forced into the main group permanently

in terms of design, she was inspired by the Perfect Little Girl from the original whoopass shorts; she was the first after all! this is mostly shown in her colour scheme but an earlier draft had a similar hairstyle for her island look. since she was at one point a normal human, unlike the other ppg she has five fingers, a nose, and she lacks the iconic ppg eye design, along with all the other traits i use to separate the x-creations from regular humans. what makes bliss special is how normal she seems (if you ignore the teleporting and the levitating of course). design process:

[archivewriter1ont]

Shep-Centric Thoughts...

I'm plotting out a Shep-centric fic and I have come to the conclusion that this man is amazing, awesome, and doesn't get enough attention in the fandom.

Bullet points on why below...

One: His relationship with Phee.

Are they actually, biologically related? Was she instrumental in helping him and Lyana find Pabu, this safe place away from the Empire? Has she saved his and his daughter's life and now he feels like she's the greatest person ever? Was she a stray he found with a bullet wound in her side and a machete sword in her hand, snarling and snapping until he and Lyana "tamed" her? We don't know...but we're durn sure they're close and that for all anyone knows, they're family through and through.

Two: His willingness to accept Phee's friends.

Now, Phee might have called ahead to tell our friendly mayor that she was bringing friends, but even if she did Shep is so freaking welcoming. He doesn't ask how or why she came into sudden possession of three muscley ex-commandos and a smol danger child but you know what? He doesn't really care either. They're Phee's friends and so they're his friends, full stop.

Three: His eagerness to make the Batch feel accepted.

Throughout his scenes, Shep is going out of his way to make the Batchers feel safe and at home on Pabu. I ADORE that he seems to give extra attention to Hunter, who has the hardest time adjusting to a non-combat life and who is constantly on edge regarding the safety of those around him. Shep is also a leader in a way, so I feel like he understands a little of where Hunter is coming from, but because he's a normal human, he recognizes that Hunter's obsession with keeping what is left of his broken family together is breaking the sergeant. Because his accelerated life has been spent as an experimental soldier who may or may not see tomorrow and who must constantly be on guard, Hunter doesn't know how to be safe. He can't accept it because it goes against his very DNA. I think Shep clocks that and is trying to reassure the tracker that he can relax on Pabu - -that they're not threats, but also that Hunter and his brothers and sister are not a threat to the Pabuans, either.

Four: His insistence that they stay.

Shep isn't blind and I'm sure that little things reveal to him that the Batchers have all had very rough lives. Instead of pushing them away and being unwilling to take on their issues, Shep is completely sincere in wanting them to stay on Pabu, to build a new life for themselves despite what they've already been through.

When Wrecker says he's never full, what does that trigger in Shep's mind? I think he would instantly realize that these are survivors, but because he's around them, watching them, he also notices that just because they know how to survive doesn't know they know how to actually live. The Batchers are still adjusting to not being soldiers and now they're fugitives, castaways. Even before the war ended, they were experiments and viewed as canon fodder, created for a war that they didn't get to choose to fight. But more than pitying them, I think Shep would just be that much more eager to set their minds at ease and help them adapt to civilian life. That's certainly what he seems to be doing in the buildup to Season Three.

And now we just have some more pics because I love Shep so much.

[justaparsec94]

Celebration

Author's Note: Another February Fluff request, requested by anonymous. Written for the prompt: Soft, repeated pecks on the lips, causing the other to laugh/smile against their lips. Beware: Very soft FLUFF ahead.

Pairing: Hunter x fem!reader

Word Count: 4,933

****************

Hunter had travelled to many different places across the galaxy in his relatively short life. Unfortunately, though, most of the places he’d seen had been active war zones. For a soldier, death and destruction were just part of the job. But despite all of the carnage he had witnessed over the years there had still been times when he had been able to catch glimpses of all the galaxy had to offer. Wild oceans, peaceful forests, towering mountains, cities that felt like living things, even in the midst of the war beauty persisted. None of it, however, had ever compared to Pabu.

There was still a part of him that couldn’t quite believe that a place so beautiful, so peaceful could exist and that he, Omega, and his brothers were allowed to be a part of life on the island. He would be lying if he said the first few months hadn’t been a major adjustment for them. After a lifetime of battles, constantly watching their backs, and having no true home of their own, going from the structured lives of soldiers to free-will civilians had been difficult at times. Hunter especially had struggled with the change. There was a part of him that still felt guilty to have left it all behind, especially when he knew that Rex, Echo, and others were out there still fighting. It was hard not to think about what The Empire was inflicting on the rest of the galaxy while they were safely tucked away on their island paradise. But those thoughts were fleeting and grew less insistent as the rotations went on. Seeing Omega thrive was worth every doubt that plagued him. For the first time in her life, she was allowed to be a kid, she was happy, she was safe, and that was truly all that mattered to him. On nights like this one, watching her laugh and dance, her pure unaltered joy brimming out of her, he knew he would go through everything a thousand times over if it led to her happiness. 

While he and his brothers had taken time to adjust to life on the island, Omega had taken to it naturally. She embraced every aspect of it, especially the celebrations that seemed to happen regularly. Tonight was Pabu’s annual summer solstice celebration and the courtyard surrounding the Archium had been transformed. Lanterns and string lights bathed everything with a soft glow as the sun began to set, tables of food and drink lined the edges of the courtyard, and it seemed that nearly every person on the island had turned up for a night of dancing and socializing. His heart warmed at the sight of Omega in the midst of it all, her enthusiasm on display for all to see. She had been talking about this night for weeks and was clearly enjoying every moment of it. 

Tonight though, Omega wasn’t the only one who had his attention. In fact, he was having a very hard time looking at anything other than you. You were radiant as you danced with Omega and Lyana, head thrown back with laughter, smile brighter than the sun as the three of you held hands, dancing in a small, wild circle in the middle of the courtyard. Your breezy outfit swirled around you as you spun, your skin glowing beneath the lanterns strung across the courtyard. Even watching you from afar had his pulse racing beneath his skin. You were so beautiful, more beautiful than anyone he’d ever come across, both inside and out, and he had never wanted anyone the way he wanted you. 

He knew that on some level, from the way your pulse would quicken and face would flush whenever he was around, you found him attractive. But every time he thought about making a move, he just completely froze. He couldn’t fully understand it, usually, he was fairly confident in himself. He’d picked up enough dates from various places over the years. But when it came to you everything was different, he supposed it was because he wanted more than just one night with you. He wanted everything and he was terrified of messing things up. 

He sighed and slumped slightly in his chair as he continued to watch you laugh and dance with Lyana and Omega. The sight was causing an ache in his chest that he didn’t even know how to begin to deal with. For a moment, the desire to join the three of you was nearly overwhelming, but it vanished just as quick. Dancing was decidedly not in his set of skills. 

A scoff from beside him had him sitting up straighter suddenly. Hunter turned his head, his gaze narrowed, over to where Crosshair was sprawled across his own chair, long legs stretched out in front of him with his arms crossed over his chest. His hard gaze was trained on Hunter. 

“What?” Hunter asked gruffly, both annoyed that his brother was scoffing at him about something and the fact that his attention had been drawn from you. 

Crosshair rolled his eyes, the toothpick in his mouth rolling from one side to the other before he fixed Hunter with an unimpressed look, “Why don’t you just do something about it already and spare the rest of us from having to witness that sad look on your face any longer?” 

Hunter spluttered for a moment, face heating. Of course, Crosshair would have noticed. He noticed everything, a skill that was incredibly useful on the battlefield but incredibly annoying when it came to Hunter’s currently non-existent love life. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Hunter replied gruffly but he was unable to stop his gaze from straying back over to where you were. It was as if you had a gravitational pull that only he was susceptible to. 

“Sure you don’t,” Crosshair scoffed. 

Hunter turned his head back just in time to swat away the toothpick that was headed his way before it collided with his chest. He glared at his brother, the urge to pick up the offending piece of wood and throw it right back at him was almost overwhelming but before he could even think about stooping to get it the sudden appearance of a smirk on Crosshair’s face had him freezing in place. 

“Oh look,” Crosshair hissed, grin widening, “here she comes…” 

Hunter’s head whipped around at an embarrassing speed, and sure enough, for once Crosshair wasn’t just trying to get a rise out of him. You were headed directly their way, drink in hand. When your eyes connected with his you raised your free hand and gave him a quick wave, solidifying your intention to join them.  

Hunter felt his palms begin to sweat as you made your way over to them, his heart rate picking up pace with each step that brought you closer. Your smile was so bright, so beautiful, and trained entirely on him. Before he even fully realized what he was doing he found himself standing up as you reached them. You greeted them both with a quick hello that he couldn’t seem to manage more than a deep grunt in response to. He tried his best to ignore Crosshair’s snort of amusement at his complete inability to keep himself in check as you drew to a stop in front of him. Your gaze was warm as you tilted your head back to look up at him, impossibly your smile seemed to grow even brighter. So much so that he averted his gaze, looking over your shoulder back to where you’d just come from. Misreading the movement as a question rather than what it truly was, a pure nervous tick,  you followed his gaze. 

“I really wish I had even half of the energy that those two do,” You said fondly, voice slightly breathless as you looked back over your shoulder at where Lyana and Omega were still dancing, “I was beginning to think I was about to keel over.”

Hunter’s fists clenched at his sides as he desperately tried to ignore the desire to reach out and touch you as you seemed to unconsciously drift closer to him, you were so close now that the smallest movement of his hand would have been enough to bridge the gap between the two of you. Your sudden proximity was quickly sending his senses into overdrive, every breeze had your scent enveloping him further. As usual, any time you were around you were suddenly the only thing he could focus on. His throat felt incredibly dry, but somehow he still managed to choke out a response to you, “Uh, yeah, those two have enough energy to power a hyperdrive.”

He ignored another snort from Crosshair at his bad joke, focusing instead on your soft laugh and the smile on your face that was so bright that it was nearly blinding. His face felt as if it were a hundred degrees as he watched you take a quick sip of the brightly coloured drink in your hand before you looked back up at him,  “Are you two enjoying your first summer celebration?” 

“Uh, yeah, it’s uh - nice,” He replied as he lifted a hand to rub the back of his neck awkwardly. Generally, parties and celebrations weren’t his thing, not that they’d ever had many opportunities to be a part of them before, but given that all of his senses were dialled to 1000 he tended to avoid crowds. But he supposed, as far as celebrations went this one was… nice. At the very least it wasn’t giving him a headache. 

“Nice…” You repeated with a soft chuckle before your expression turned teasing, “It’s a good place to start, but I guess we’ll just have to work a little harder to make it great.” 

Hunter watched with amusement as you lifted your drink to your lips, pausing for just a moment to flash him a wink that had him biting his lip before you downed the rest of the contents of your glass. He watched wide-eyed, face-burning, as you maintained eye contact with him as you put the glass down on a nearby table. 

Your face flushed and a quiet laugh escaped you before you spoke again, “Hunter, would you like to dance with me?”

Of all the things he had expected you to say, that had been very far towards the bottom of his list. He felt his entire body tense as his brain struggled to process the question you had asked. Equal parts desire and fear rushed through him at the thought of joining you out on the dance floor. The thought of being so close to you was overwhelming but even more overwhelming was the anxiety that came with it… he didn’t know how to dance. 

“I, uh,” He stuttered, his face feeling as though someone had taken a torch to it as his pulse raced beneath his skin. You were simply looking up at him expectantly, the same bright smile still on your face but he could see the look in your eyes beginning to shift the longer he took to answer. He wanted nothing more than to finally be able to touch you, to be so close, but the thought of embarrassing himself, of messing things up kept him rooted to the spot, “Uh…”

“One dance, just one - that’s all,” You continued softly with a shrug, still smiling at him,  “I’d like to try and make your night better than just nice."

To an untrained ear you would have sounded casual, light and airy, in your request but he could hear the undercurrent of doubt that had suddenly crept into your tone. As though you immediately regretted asking him, which only made him fluster even more. 

“I uh, don’t think that would be a good idea,” He finally managed to spit out, even though the last thing in the galaxy he wanted to do was disappoint you. And it was immediately clear that he had. Even though your smile barely faltered he still caught the slight downturn, the flash of pain in your bright eyes. He immediately wanted to take the words back but it was already too late for that. 

“Oh,” You replied softly, a nervous chuckle slipping out of you as you fidgeted with the strap of your top, “Yeah, no worries! That was probably a silly request anyway...” 

He was a di’kut. Not just any di’kut either. He was quite possibly the biggest di’kut in the entire galaxy, he decided as he watched your bottom lip tremble just slightly and your cheeks flush with embarrassment. It seemed you were unable to meet his gaze any longer and he watched in silent horror as you looked at literally anything other than him. 

“Well,” You said as you turned your head, clearly looking for an escape from the situation that he had made horrendously awkward, “I should maybe get back out there with the girls.” 

“Right…” He managed to choke out, unconsciously taking a step towards you, an apology on the tip of his tongue. He just needed to explain that you had nothing to do with why he’d turned down a dance. 

“Have a good rest of your night guys,” You continued, your smile still soft but considerably duller. Before he could even form a sentence he watched, frozen, as you slipped back into the crowd without so much as another look back at him. 

He watched you go, a lump forming in his throat as you joined Omega, Lyana, and now Wrecker in the middle of the makeshift dance floor. You were back to laughing and dancing with the group in moments, as though nothing had happened. 

“You’re a di’kut.”

Hunter startled, turning to glare at Crosshair who looked incredibly unimpressed from where he was still sitting.

“You’re one to talk…” Hunter shot back, unable to stop himself. He wasn’t even mad at Crosshair, he was mad at himself. You’d given him a chance at something more and he’d completely blown it.  

Crosshair simply rolled his eyes, “You’ve literally been pining over that woman for months and she finally makes a move you don’t have the guts to and you turn her down. Di’kut.”

He was right. He hated that he was right. 

“I don’t know how to dance,” It slipped out of Hunter before he could even stop it. The thought of eventually doing something that would mess up the friendship the two of you had, of destroying any chance of something more, went unspoken. Because truthfully, that was the root of it. If he kept his distance he could spend the rest of his days in safety, admiring from afar. He was a soldier, he didn’t even begin to know what a relationship would look like, but he was fairly certain he would mess that up. He’d messed up enough for one lifetime. 

“Who cares if you look stupid?” Crosshair scoffed, “Look at Wrecker, nobody cares. Just go dance with her.” 

Despite the truth in Crosshair’s words he stayed frozen in place, watching as you and the girls took turns being spun around by Wrecker, even without his enhanced hearing he would have been able to hear your giggles as you twirled. His heart clenched at the sight, he really was a fool. 

“Don’t waste your chance, Hunter.” 

He looked over at Crosshair who had schooled his look into one of casual disinterest but Hunter hadn’t missed the brief look of regret in his brother's eyes. For the things he’d done and missed out on, for the brother who would never get to experience any of it. Something inside of him solidified in that moment. He might be afraid of what came next but if he didn’t at least try he’d likely spend the rest of his life regretting it. 

Resolved, he was suddenly on the move, weaving his way through the crowd before he could fully comprehend that he was taking advice from Crosshair, of all people. 

He was only a few feet away when you caught sight of him and he watched with amusement as you completely froze in place. Your eyes widened comically as he crowded into your space until you were nearly touching. His heart was racing in his chest, his senses on overload at your proximity but for once he ignored it all. 

“Is that, uh, offer to dance still valid?” He asked somewhat awkwardly, trying his best to ignore the desire to look away from the intensity of your gaze, to fidget with his clothes, or to rub the back of his neck as anxiety coursed through him. 

Your answering smile was blinding, “For you, Hunter, always.” 

He chuckled softly, his heart rate reaching a speed that couldn’t possibly be healthy, “I should warn you though, I don’t know how to dance.” 

You laughed, shaking your head slowly as you grabbed hold of his hands. Your touch sent heat coursing through him like an electrical charge. Your voice was quiet as you leaned up into him, as though you were about to share a secret with him, “I don’t really know either. But that’s ok, we’ll just figure it out as we go."

He had the distinct feeling you were talking about more than just dancing. 

Hunter wasn’t able to stop the soft smile that spread across his face as you pulled away, but only just slightly as you guided his hands to your waist. He felt as if his skin was burning from the heat of you as you lifted your arms up to wrap around his neck. You were suddenly much closer than he had expected, your head so close that it would have taken only a slight turn of his head to bury his nose in your hair. Usually, such closeness was uncomfortable with his senses the way they were, but he found he didn’t mind though, with you it wasn’t nearly enough. He wanted you closer as you started to gently sway to the music. 

His focus was entirely on you as he followed your lead, swaying to music that was maybe a bit too fast for the rhythm you had set but you didn’t seem to care. Your grip on him tightened as you pulled back just enough to be able to look up at him. Your gaze was warm, sparkling with happiness as your eyes met his, “See, this isn’t so bad, is it?” 

He chuckled, his tone teasing, “It’s not the worst.” 

Your head tipped back as you laughed, the sound sending him nearly into heart failure, “‘Nice’ and 'not the worst', I'm really going to have to try harder to impress you.” 

He laughed again, shaking his head in amusement before turning sincere once more, “You don’t have to change anything to impress me.” 

The way your expression warmed at his words had him nervously looking away from you for a moment. A laugh escaped him at the sight that greeted him behind you. Wrecker had Lyana standing on one foot, Omega on the other, twirling the two girls around the dance floor, all three laughing loudly and drawing the attention of most in their vicinity. Hunter suddenly didn’t think he’d ever been happier, watching his family joyfully fool around and you safely in his arms. Even though there was a part of him that was still afraid of the unknown, it was something he could definitely get used to. It was something, he was beginning to realize, that he had always longed for.  

At your quizzical look he spun the two of you around so you could see what he’d been laughing at, “Looks like they’re having fun,” he said as you laughed at the small, silly group. 

“He’s a good dancer,” you replied, tone impressed as you smiled and turned your attention back to him.   

“Yeah, he must not have skipped that class on Kamino,” Hunter joked, earning another laugh from you. 

“Apparently,” You started before your own expression turned teasing, “it must have been while you and Crosshair were off learning to be brooding and mysterious…” 

Hunter snorted, his face heating slightly as he protested, "I am not brooding and mysterious,” At your raised eyebrows and skeptical expression he felt himself flush even further, “Alright, fine. Maybe a bit. Unintentionally.” 

“It’s ok, Hunter,” You replied softly but the amused glint was still in your eyes as one hand drifted further up his neck to his hairline, sending shivers racing down his spine, “You don’t have to change anything to impress me.” 

Undoubtedly, you were going to be the death of him, but what a sweet death it would be. He smiled slightly as he moved to grasp one of your hands, his voice low as he brought it down between the two of you.

“I think I might try though, just a little bit,” before you could say anything else he moved, spinning you out and away from him exactly as he had watched Wrecker do before pulling you back in towards him and spinning you both around in a circle. Your laughter was contagious and his pulse was racing as your body collided with his own as he brought you back in close.

You were absolutely glowing as you looked up at him, your laughter turning breathless as your gazes connected. The look in your eyes stole the breath from his lungs before you moved, arms wrapping around him once more as your cheek rested against his own. He wrapped his arms tightly around your waist, every nerve ending in his body electric as the curves of your body fit perfectly against his own. The two of you were quiet for a long time, swaying slowly to the music once more as you basked in each other's warmth. Everything around him had faded away as he focused entirely on the feeling of you. 

After what could have been minutes or hours you pulled back slightly, looking up at him, your eyes still glowing even in the darkness that had settled over the island, “Come with me,” you requested softly,  “the fireworks are about to start and I know a better spot to watch them.”

He nodded wordlessly, reluctant to let you go he only took a slight step away. His face flushed as you reached down to grasp his hand in your own, smiling softly at him before you pulled him along behind you, making your way easily through the crowd of dancers and other partygoers. You were silent as you walked but every once and a while you threw a look back at him over your shoulder as though you expected him to disappear. The only place he was going though, was with you. 

You didn’t slow until you reached an outlook a few levels down that jutted out over the ocean. With mostly everyone else being up at the Archium the place was completely deserted and Hunter felt his nervous system calm at the quiet seclusion of it. The festivities hadn’t been too bad but standing beside you, looking out over the water with only the soft sounds of the ocean was infinitely better. 

Hunter watched you as you leaned back against the half wall, angling your body so you were facing him. His hand was still grasped firmly in your own and as you smiled softly up at him you tugged gently on it, pulling him in closer to you. He went without hesitation, crowding into your space once more as the lines of your bodies pieced together. You tipped your head up to look at him, warm gaze tracing the lines of his face, as he instinctively reached out to you. One hand went to your waist while the other, ever so hesitantly, lifted to cup the side of your face. You closed your eyes, melting into his touch as your own hands slid around his waist, your touch leaving goosebumps across his skin in its wake. 

You both startled slightly as the first crack of a firework disturbed the silence of the night. You let out a breathless laugh as you turned your head to look, the bright reds and golds of the fireworks bathing you in light. Hunter didn’t even bother looking, he’d seen fireworks before and absolutely nothing compared to you and finally being able to hold you in his arms. 

Seemingly sensing his gaze you looked back towards him, the same gentle smile still on your face as your hands tightened just slightly on his waist. He felt close to combustion himself, every sense entirely consumed with you. He wanted nothing more than to kiss you, to close the final space between the two of you, but he seemed frozen, his heart absolutely racing in his chest at the thought. He wanted to know that you wanted this too, to be sure, because he was certain that once he started he was never going to want to stop. 

Your eyes seemed to be searching his face for something when he finally managed to speak. His voice was a rough croak as everything he was feeling seemed to be bubbling up his throat, “Can I kiss you?”

Your eyes lit up as fireworks continued to flash overhead, bathing the both of you in flashes of colour, “I thought you’d never ask.”

Hunter laughed, his face growing hot for a moment before he moved, finally closing the distance between you. Your lips were even softer than he had imagined, your warm scent washed over him completely as you pulled him closer, deepening the kiss. He moaned softly as you gently nipped at his lower lip, your hands sliding up from his waist to his back as his own grip on you tightened. It was better than anything he could have ever dreamed of. He broke apart from you for a second, his nose bumping against your own as he gasped for air. He felt light-headed, his entire body electric from just one kiss. He’d been right earlier, you were truly going to be the death of him. He felt your lips stretch into a smile before he kissed you again, his hand gently trailing down the side of your face to your neck. He could feel and hear your pulse racing, nearly as quick as his own as he kissed you. It thrilled him to know you were just as affected as he was. 

After a long while he pulled back, chest heaving slightly as he let his forehead tip against your own. Your gaze was a little wild as you looked up at him, lips swollen and red from your kisses and the sight did unspeakable things to him, desire pooling in his stomach at the thought that he had been the one to do that to you. 

“You have no idea how long I’ve been wanting to do that,” You finally said, your voice a nearly breathless whisper as he lifted his hand back up to your face once more, marveling at how soft your skin was beneath his calloused hand.

Hunter chuckled softly as you pulled away slightly, just enough to be able to see his entire face, “I actually think I might have some idea.”

“Oh, really?” You asked, raising a skeptical eyebrow at him. 

“Well, if you’re anything like me it’s been from the moment we first met.” 

“Really?” You questioned as a teasing smile spread across your face, “If I remember correctly I’m pretty sure all you did the first time we met was grunt at me.”

Hunter laughed as his face heated, “Shush,” He leaned forward to press another kiss to your lips quickly, “I was just speechless.”  

You chuckled as your hands made their way up to thread through his hair, pulling him in closer to you, “Oh, yeah, sure…”

Hunter shook his head in amusement before closing the gap once more, capturing your lips with his own. He kissed you quickly, repeated, soft pecks against your lips to keep you from further pointing out his previous lack of social skills. His tactic worked as after only a moment he felt you smile against his lips before full-on laughing as he peppered you with kisses. 

He turned serious once more as you settled into a different sort of dance, the push and pull of your lips against his was intoxicating. Your kisses were warm and certain and he was breathless and completely lost in you. He wanted more as much as he wanted to keep things slow and savour the moment. 

You nipped gently at his lip one final time before you pulled away slightly, shoulders heaving softly as you attempted to catch your breath. You pressed up into him, nose brushing against his as you spoke softly, “Thank you for dancing with me Hunter.” 

The fireworks were still exploding overhead, bathing everything around you in light. The distant sounds of cheers and music were only just audible to his ears, but once again he found himself unable to focus on anything other than you, “Anytime.” 

And he truly meant it, he’d spend the rest of his life dancing with you if you let him. There were still a lot of things he was uncertain of, old soldier habits died hard after all. Without a doubt, there would be mistakes along the way but he found his doubts beginning to grow silent and the nervousness he’d felt before settling as you wrapped yourself tightly around him, your head resting gently against his chest as you turned your head to watch the sky above. He wasn’t going to waste his chance. He could learn to let happiness in.

[sgiandubh]

Live with it

Dear Masquerading Anon,

There is no need to shout, it is very rude and translates as hate speech. And it is absolutely ridiculous to bet on something you will never be able to prove, simply because you can never prove something that never happened.

I am a senior Government official, with already a twenty-two year long career in various positions, who was sent by my ministry on a diplomatic mission to Athens from 2018 to 2024, under the umbrella of our MFA and as part of our Embassy team. This has been confirmed many times, including by people of this community who used (and still do) my mail address and my private phone numbers, both in Greece and at home. I am currently home, waiting for my next tour abroad, which has been decided upon and requires a lengthy ongoing procedure. I have consistently offered more evidence about myself and my real life than you ever offered about your own identity, whoever you might be.

Why do I have the unpleasant impression I do know who you are, having kicked you out a long time ago, from my page? If I remember well, you have always insisted to know who I was, what I did for a living, where I lived, and so on. I could be wrong, of course, but at the moment, I tend to doubt it.

Connecting that other blogger's decision to deactivate and any intervention from me is supposing I have far more leverage or interest in her person than I ever did and plain demented. Bet you'll never be able to explain how I would have managed to do it, nor the logic fracture between me being a civilian (according to you, since you stated I was a liar, therefore nobody) and the same civilian nobody being suddenly able to have someone else deactivate a blog I only superficially read, and not really cared about.

The same above person's decision to block me was never explained, but explicit enough. She and I never talked and she was never mentioned on this page. Another blogger, now deceased, came in my DMs shortly before or afterwards (not caring, I do not remember exactly when, on that timeline) to utter menace and the same accusations of content robbing. I felt beyond insulted and had no idea what she was talking about or to whom she thought she was talking to. But I also understood I was talking to an elderly, perhaps fragile woman and chose to remain silent about it. With all due respect for someone who passed away, I will make an exception from my DM non-disclosure rule and give you that very short conversation:

Note the date: June 28, 2023. I have to confess it was the first time I was under this kind of online pressure and I did not take it very well. Yet, I carried on, with no fuss and no drama. I simply hope the person that so cavalierly approached me found peace and knows, by now, the truth of this circumstance. I honestly believe she does, and cannot hold a grudge, in her case: de mortuis, nisi bene. That does not mean I forgot about it, mind you.

Following this incident and some other people putting direct or indirect pressure on me, I took the decision (and appropriate steps, with regard to my own life circumstances) to be as open as I could afford about myself. I believe I was always civilized to people who approached me in a civilized manner, always admitted my mistakes and always appropriately credited any blogger whose work I have used or who tipped me. Even those who did not want to be mentioned: politeness always finds a way. I have nothing to be ashamed of, so to speak, on account of my presence in this community.

About @gabysachs' very recent insinuations of me robbing evidence discussed by Diggsydogsquee, which might have triggered you to post this Anon, well… A browser is a thing of wonder, indeed, because it keeps trace of every single thing one does on the Internet. It's called the 'History' tab and is very useful.

For example, I have posted that thing apparently bothering many of you exactly on Monday, at 04:08 AM, local time:

I usually write as I research and adjust upon proofreading, which has often landed me in boiling water. It is what it is and again, I always confessed my sins and sought atonement (I know you are familiar with this vocabulary). To prepare that particular post, here is the activity log, recording the webpages I have consulted and then screen capped. Beware, it is a long backwards roster, from the most recent to the first consulted webpages - research is a tedious affair, after all:

Highlighted above are the webpages I believe @gabysachs thought I might have robbed from her friend's now deactivated blog. In reality, the hitch.co.uk reference is one of the top ten links listed by Google when you look for 'foreign citizens getting married in Ibiza'. I chose that particular one, because it was reasonably recent (2022) and a British source:

You were saying?

Thought so. And no, darling. I am not going anywhere. Learn to live with it.

PS: You are not even blocked. Cobbling this post was so annoyingly long that I lost the Anon draft in the process. A Tumblr glitch, I suppose, of which there are many.

[omiomi]

You guys loved the first part, so I js had to make a second part!🤭

—

Master list

Part 1

Code Red: Unfinished Sutures (Part 2)

Baek Kang Hyuk x Fem!Reader

Inside the crowded medical tent, the team worked in synchronized chaos. The air smelled of antiseptic and sweat, the rhythmic beeping of monitors the only thing grounding them amidst the whirlwind of trauma care.

Baek Kang-Hyuk finished suturing a patient’s wound when he noticed Jaewon, Jangmi, and Gyeongwon staring at him from across the room.

He ignored them.

Jaewon leaned toward Jangmi. "He’s pretending we’re not here."

Gyeongwon snorted. "Because he knows we have questions."

Baek sighed, tossing his gloves in the disposal bin. "If you have something to say, say it."

Jaewon grinned. "So. Malaika, huh?"

Baek didn’t react. "What about her?"

Jangmi crossed her arms. "Come on, Dr. Baek. You said her name like it meant something."

"It’s a name," Baek replied flatly.

Gyeongwon raised an eyebrow. "And yet, you’ve never reacted to anyone the way you reacted to her."

Jaewon smirked. "You looked like you’d seen a ghost. A very pretty ghost."

Baek exhaled sharply. "*Focus on your patients.*"

Jangmi wasn’t letting up. "So, what’s the deal? Former colleague? Ex-girlfriend?"

Jaewon gasped dramatically. "Former lover?!"

Baek shot him a glare. "Don’t be ridiculous."

"Okay, but you know her," Gyeongwon pressed. "And it’s personal."

Baek didn’t answer.

Jaewon grinned. "So it is personal."

Baek turned to Gyeongwon. "You’re supposed to be the rational one."

Gyeongwon just shrugged. "I’m curious too."

Baek pinched the bridge of his nose, regretting every life choice that led him to this moment.

Finally, he muttered, "She’s a reckless idiot who doesn’t know when to stop.”

Jangmi grinned. "And you care."

Baek looked away. "That’s not the point."

Jaewon nudged Gyeongwon. "It’s totally the point."

Before Baek could respond, a soldier burst into the tent, panting.

"Dr. Baek! We need your help—we have an emergency!"

Jangmi exchanged a look with Jaewon. "Guess we’ll get our answers soon."

Jaewon smirked. "Let’s see how not personal this is."

Baek ignored them and grabbed his med kit.

"Move out. Now."

—

"Malaika! We need your help—we have an emergency!"

The panicked voice tore Y/N from the two-hour nap she had barely managed to steal. Her body screamed in protest, but years of experience had taught her to push through exhaustion. She grabbed her gear and rushed out of the tent, her boots kicking up dust as she ran.

Outside, the sky was thick with smoke, the acrid scent of burning metal mixing with blood and dirt. Gunfire rattled in the distance—closer than before.

"What happened?" she demanded, strapping on her gloves as she met a frantic soldier.

"Ambush near the main road. Civilians injured—some critical. We need to get them out before they bleed out or the syndicate gets to them first!"

Y/N's pulse spiked, but she shoved the panic down. "How many?"

"Five that we know of. Maybe more."

She nodded sharply. "Get a vehicle ready. We’re bringing them back."

"You don’t need to go yourself, doc," the soldier hesitated. "It’s dangerous out there."

Y/N scoffed. "Yeah? So will you be if you stop me again. Move."

The soldier swallowed hard and nodded, sprinting toward the waiting vehicle. Y/N adjusted her kit, mentally preparing for what she would see—bullet wounds, shattered limbs, faces contorted in pain. She had done this a hundred times before.

Still, she wasn’t prepared for what she saw when she reached the road.

The first patient was already loaded into a transport, but two more lay in the dirt, bleeding out. And crouched beside one of them, hands slick with crimson, was a figure she never expected to see again.

Baek Kang-Hyuk.

The breath caught in her throat.

"Malak?" she murmured before she could stop herself.

His head snapped up, and for a brief second, amidst the chaos, their eyes met.

Recognition. Shock. And then—irritation.

Baek scowled. "Are you just going to stand there, or are you going to help?"

Her brain snapped back into action. "Jae-Won, take over the other patient! I’ll handle this one!"

She dropped to her knees beside Baek, barely registering the way their shoulders brushed. The soldier he was working on had taken a shot to the side—too much blood loss.

"Pressure," she ordered, reaching for a hemostat.

“Already on it," Baek muttered, shifting to make room for her.

Their hands moved in perfect synchronization, sealing the wound with practiced efficiency. For all their personal conflicts, in an emergency, they were seamless.

"BP dropping," Jae-Won called from the other side. "Shit—he’s going into shock!"

"Move him to the truck!" Y/N ordered.

Baek barely spared her a glance before lifting the patient with one smooth motion. Just as they started toward the vehicle, another explosion rocked the ground beneath them.

"GET DOWN!"

Baek barely had time to react before instinct took over—his arms wrapped around Y/N, pulling her close just as the explosion sent them flying. They hit the ground hard, his body twisting at the last second to shield her from the worst of the impact.

For a moment, the world blurred into ringing silence, the air thick with dust and smoke.

Y/N groaned, her breath uneven as she stirred against him. "I hate this job."

Baek let out a sharp breath, his hold on her tightening for just a second longer than necessary. "Then quit," he shot back, his voice rough.

Ignoring him, she shifted, her fingers grazing his temple where a thin streak of blood trailed down his skin. "Are you bleeding?" Her tone was softer now, almost careful.

"Not mine," he muttered, but he didn’t move, letting her touch linger for just a second longer than necessary. His eyes locked onto hers, something unreadable flickering in their depths.

A breath passed between them—unspoken, heavy, undeniable.

Then reality snapped back. Baek exhaled sharply, forcing himself upright. "Truck’s hit," he said, voice steadier now. "We can’t take the road back."

But even as he pulled away, his fingers still tingled with the memory of holding her close.

Y/N cursed under her breath. "Then how the hell do we get out of here?"

A soldier sprinted toward them, panting. "Doctor—Dr. Baek! The secondary transport was shot down. We need to move, now!"

Baek ran a hand through his hair, clearly frustrated. Then his eyes flicked to something behind her.

Y/N turned, following his gaze.

A motorcycle.

She blinked. "Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me."

Baek was already moving. "You coming, or are you planning to stay and argue?"

She clenched her jaw. "I hate you."

"You’ll hate getting shot more," he quipped, swinging onto the bike. "Get on."

The soldiers loaded the remaining injured onto a makeshift stretcher attached to the back of a second bike. Y/N hesitated for half a second before climbing behind him, gripping his waist tightly.

Baek glanced over his shoulder. "Hold on."

"I am holding on," she snapped.

"Not for yourself," he muttered under his breath, just low enough that she almost didn’t catch it.

But she did.

Before she could say anything, Baek gunned the engine, and they shot forward.

The battlefield blurred around them—gunfire cracking past their heads, the burning wreckage of vehicles flashing in their periphery.

"Left!" she shouted.

"I see it!"

Baek swerved hard, narrowly dodging a collapsed building. The road ahead was blocked—fighters were closing in.

Y/N’s heart pounded. "We need another route!"

"Working on it!"

A bullet whizzed past, narrowly missing her shoulder. She turned, pulling her handgun from her holster.

"What the hell are you doing?!" Baek barked.

"Saving our asses!" she retorted, firing a shot that took down one of their pursuers.

Baek cursed but didn’t argue. Instead, he kicked the bike into a higher gear. The cityscape was a blur as they weaved through debris, dodging bullets and explosions.

"Almost there!"

Just then, a sniper's shot rang out.

A sharp, searing pain tore through Y/N's shoulder.

She gasped, her grip slipping. The shock of it made her vision blur for a second, but Baek reacted instantly, one hand leaving the handlebars to grab her wrist and keep her steady.

"Stay with me!" he ordered.

"I'm fine," she grit out.

"You're bleeding," he snapped.

"I'm fine," she repeated, tighter this time.

Baek's jaw clenched, but he didn't argue. Instead, he pushed the bike harder, racing against the gunfire until, finally, they reached the safe zone.

As soon as they skidded to a stop, Baek jumped off and turned to her. His eyes immediately locked onto the blood soaking through her sleeve.

"Let me see," he demanded, reaching for her.

"I'm fine," Y/N repeated, pulling her arm away.

"Stop saying that," Baek snapped, frustration leaking into his voice. "You're bleeding. Let me help."

Y/N exhaled sharply, chest rising and falling rapidly. Then, without another word, she turned and walked away.

Baek stared after her, something unreadable in his expression.

"Y/N—"

She didn’t look back.

He watched as she disappeared into the medical tent, her silhouette fading into the flickering light.

Baek clenched his fists, his jaw tight.

Ah. So this is how she feels like every time I walked away from her.

Part 3

Hope you guys liked this!

[juniperss]

Hi! I saw that requests were open and was wondering if you could write for Dick Winters? Preferably post war and reader is just a civilian. He saw her a couple times pass by him on the sidewalk and every time got hopeful that he'd see her again. Finally they meet because thet keep making small glances at each other? ilysm and youre carrying sm of the fandom w these requests lmao❤️🫶🏽

Winters, beloved!!! When I say he was one of the first characters I got a crush on in BoB, I mean I was down BAD. Thank you so much for requesting, lovely!

Winters is still getting used to life after the war. It's not just the trauma of death and the brutality of humanity that he's healing from, but he also grew up fast in the last few years. He's trying to learn to let the weight of leadership leave his shoulders and he's trying to enjoy the freedom of civilian life! But breaking out of routine is hard and he still finds himself waking up early.

So he started taking walks. A lot. He wouldn't even necessarily pick a destination, he would just let his feet start walking and enjoy the scenery, taking in the sights of what he had missed since he was away. And that's when he first saw her.

She was walking towards him, busy adjusting the flowers in her arms, and glancing up to meet his gaze just as she was walking past. She gave a smile, one that was admittedly "just polite", but kind none the less.

Later that day when Winters noticed the same type of flowers the Beautiful Stranger had been carrying earlier. He lingered at the vendor for a moment before fishing out his wallet and buying a bouquet as well. Maybe his home could do with some fresh flowers.

The next day, same time, he began his walk. Nodding good morning to the elderly couple sitting together and enjoying the sun and fresh air, easily dodging out of the way of a couple of kids kicking a ball down the street with a small chuckle as they shouted after one another. But his smile was reserved for when he noticed the same Stranger from the previous day. Her arms were once again full of another bouquet of flowers. This time a collection of purple and white blooms.

However, this time, The Stranger was preoccupied with her purchase and she caught Winters' eyes much sooner than before. He wasn't oblivious to way that she inspected him, looking him over and quickly assessing him before she granted him another smile, passing him the same way as before.

This became a daily routine for the both of them, their passing one another, her arms full of flowers. Over time Richard noticed the change in her smile the longer their minimal interactions continued. No longer were they simply "polite" smiles reserved for strangers or acquaintances. Instead they were the kind of smiles that would grace ones' face after seeing a particularly adorable dog. And they were paired often with with a "Good morning" or a "beautiful day, isn't it?".

Some days it seemed as if maybe, just maybe, The Stranger was waiting for him to cross the street before she rounded the corner to be on the same path as he was. But that couldn't be right, could it?

Strange enough, he realized just how much he looked forward to seeing The Stranger and on the rare days that their routine was disrupted by poor weather or life's meddling ways, his day didn't quite feel complete.

Their routine lasted like this, a constant exchange of growing familiarities and smiles, before one day Winters decided that he needed to do something. It was getting ridiculous that almost a month had passed and he still didn't know her name or what she could possibly need with so many bouquets of flowers.

The next day, he decided, he would say something. He spent just a little more time to ensure he would make a good first impression speaking to the Stranger before hurrying towards the street he knew she would be heading down promptly.

But she wasn't there....Winters waited, busying his hands with his watch and then the buttons of his coat, casting an unsure glance behind him as if he could've possibly missed her. After counting 60 more seconds, he continued towards the flower stand, coming to the conclusion that he'd missed her. Spending too much time preening himself that morning.

"Ah this is the gentlemen who has the same taste in flowers as you do, Miss."

Richard's cheeks turned a soft pink as he rounded the corner and saw The Stranger, arms not yet laden with her choice of flowers, and the shop keeper. The shop keeper was smiling, his bushy white mustache rising with his lips, and motioning to Winters.

"I was wondering if you were going to come today." He was no stranger to her voice, but hearing a complete sentence come from her and purely meant for him, sent a swarm of butterflies lose in his chest.

"I thought I missed you." It was feeble response that The Stranger shook her head in reply to. "I was running late this morning, thought I'd wait here. Gus was telling me that you usually buy flowers every day as well."

"I couldn't resist after seeing you. I mean. The flowers. You with the flowers.

The Stranger and Winters continued their first and slightly awkward first conversation in front of the flower shop while Gus, now moving to select fresh flowers for his costumers, watched on with a knowing glint in his eyes. Almost as if this was not the most uncommon series of events he had expected to witness.